Is a bluestocking who brooks no nonsense a good match for a scholar who leads with his heart?

A MacKai Family Novella

The Bluestocking and the Butler adds to the history of clan MacKai and clan Marr while the hero and heroine explore more ancient history. This short story is currently available only in the collection Desperate Daughters by the Bluestocking Belles.

Excerpt: Bess left Mrs. Crewe in the mews to deal with the stableman who cared for the horses and equipages of all the townhomes on the row. She would arrange for the vicar’s pony cart to be returned to Starbrook. Meanwhile, Bess would begin the inspection of the premises to ensure that all was in readiness for when her sisters and Patience arrived later that afternoon.

She was delighted to see that the herb garden beds had not run wild. A bit of care from Josefina and all would be well. She approached the door leading into the house and discovered one of the window panes had been broken. She tried the latch, and the portal opened without use of her key. Cousin Rose would never be so careless as to leave doors ajar and broken window glass.

When Bess looked more closely at the glass, she noted small red flecks. Blood? One touch confirmed her deduction. But whose blood? And was the intruder still in the house? Impossible to tell since the blood was dry. Cousin Rose had valuables in her study. Spice lockers from India, illustrated scrolls from Japan, elegant porcelain from China. And most important of all to Bess, a complete map of the locations of the various known Egyptian Monuments—Pyramids, Sphinx, Obelisks, et al—along with a variety of smaller curiosities from the Nile basin. Treasures from her cousin’s journeys that Bess longed to see. Pray heaven those artifacts had not been stolen.

What to do? Should she call the watch? And if no one was in the house she would feel most foolish. But she and Mrs. Crewe would be safe. And thinking of Mrs. Crewe decided her. She waited for that worthy woman and sent her in search of the watch. Then, and only then, when help was already on the way, did Bess prime the pistol–Patience had insisted she carry in her reticule for protection on the road–and enter the house.

With a plan in action, Bess made a slow search of the first floor. She decided to leave the kitchens for later exploration as she thought it most likely that any thief would have searched first for valuables unlikely to be stored in a kitchen. One room remained on the first floor for her to examine. The study, cousin Rose’s treasure room. It would be her refuge once the family arrived and all the social activity began.

Approaching the door, she took a deep breath and prayed she would find nothing. Ready at last, she entered the room but stopped just over the lintel. The room was warm, and . . . . Is that smoke I smell? Her heart began to race. She forced herself to make a quick visual survey. She could linger on the fascinating objects later. Right now, she must make certain all was safe. She found the source of the smoke burning in the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. Before she could release a relieved sigh, she froze where she stood. Stretched toward the fire were a pair of booted feet and long limbs encased in fawn-colored pantaloons. The sound of soft snores issued from the same vicinity.

She considered making a rapid silent retreat. Surely Mrs. Crewe and the watch would be here soon. Thank heaven the family was not here. She could well imagine the noise and kerfuffle that would ensue if her sisters had discovered the stranger. She shook her head. No need to wait for Mrs. Crewe. The pistol gave Bess an advantage. Thus, she decided to confront the intruder on her own. She paced the length of the room until she stood beside the chair where the man slept.

As she approached, she scented something beneath the odor of smoke. She stopped to sniff quietly. Onions? Onions and whisky? That was when she saw the half full tumbler and decanter of amber liquid on the carpet beside the chair. Is he drunk? Drunken men could be dangerous. Good thing I have a pistol.

Avoiding the tumbler, she came to stand beside the sleeping intruder. His head lay cocked against the side of the chair. A couple of bruises adorned his high forehead. His night-dark hair lay in mussed contrast against the light-colored upholstery. Save for a small scar that twisted the left corner of his mouth he could have posed for Michelangelo’s David. His throat was exposed, his cravat being removed and tossed to the floor on the far side of the chair. He’d removed his coat too and loosened his waistcoat, so his shirt lay open exposing a large V of curl-dusted chest.

A log shifted in the fireplace, stirring Bess from the distracting sight before her. She blinked. What was I doing? The weight of the pistol in her hand recalled her instantly to her purpose.

She lifted the weapon, pointed it at the stranger’s head, then pulled back the trigger. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the slight snuffling snores he emitted.

“Huh?” The man started, lifted his head, turned to look at the muzzle of the pistol and stilled. His body’s position had not changed. Nonetheless, it was easy to see he was no longer relaxed but alert and wary.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my cousin’s house?”

A warm caramel-colored gaze traced upward from the barrel of the pistol past her arm and shoulder to her face. Despite knowing she held the upper hand, Bess’ cheeks heated.