When Two Hearts Meet (Brightmore #2)

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Twenty-One: He must not be an emphatic drunkard. I could not tolerate a man who imbibes considerable amounts of liquor, nor could I abide one who is foxed.

 Extract from Oriana Harmony Brightmore’s Journal

Plumes of steam drifted lazily from the surface of the tub and caressed her face, warming her skin. It felt absurdly wonderful to be submerged in a hot bath, the water soothing her limbs as she allowed herself to wallow languorously, half inclined to fall asleep so relaxed was she.

Oriana Brightmore sighed resplendently and draped her arms along the slippery edge of the bath, stretching her muscles into oblivious relaxation.

It was just the thing she needed to eradicate the remnants of that awful meeting earlier with that repulsive man. Oh, just the thought of his blatant discourtesy raised her hackles.

And the lout had the audacity to lay his hands on her person, to kiss her...

Oriana shuddered in disgust. What a horrendous afternoon it had turned out to be.

Oh well, she thought as she sunk lower into the hot water, her chin dipping into its recesses as she expelled a long-suffering breath. It did not matter what she felt about the offensive stranger she had met earlier that day. It was not as if she intended meeting the man again. Most certainly, she did not. Not another thought should be wasted dwelling on his insolence and the discomfort she had felt.

She had come to Falmouth as a form of respite, not to jump from one vexation to the next. Indeed, Ori had enough on her mind with the insufferable pressure her mother was placing on her to find a husband. She certainly did not need the added aggravation from a relatively unknown man who meant nothing to her.

Hmmf.

Draped artlessly at the crown of her head, Ori felt her hair escape some of the pins that held it loosely from the water.

Drat. It would take hours to dry if it got too wet.

Falmouth Castle was not the warmest of establishments and the day was getting late. It was only at Dani’s insistence that Ori had relented to the urge for a quick bathe before dinner was served, her friend and host sensing Ori’s discomfort and tension after having spent much of the previous day travelling.

That isn’t to say she was not fond of the castle. It was large and gothic and exceptionally vast, so much so that since her arrival the prior afternoon, Ori had become hopelessly lost on several occasions. It was only by chance whenever she happened upon a servant that she was directed to the appropriate route that she sought.

But it was truly lovely to have this respite from her insistent mother and family. Really, Ori thought disparagingly, wasn’t it enough that she had been bequeathed with the largest set of ears ever to flank a person’s head? And then, juxtaposed against her chest, the pathetically tiny pair of breasts that would put a young girl to shame. Oh, the Lord had surely been very cruel when allocating Oriana Brightmore her womanly assets. How the deuce was she to attract a reasonably charming man with breasts and ears like hers? It just was not fair.

Thank goodness Danielle had written to her the previous month suggesting the little sojourn in the county. Ori had practically leapt at the opportunity. At least in Falmouth she would not be badgered incessantly about settling down and producing healthy babes.

Oriana, sitting at three and twenty years, was quite content with her self-acclaimed spinsterhood.

Apparently, Ophelia Brightmore (her mother) was not.