Esme was coughing again as smoke moved to escape the window; the fit halting her expressive choice of words to the terrace and the gardens. She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her open lab coat and caught a sneeze just in time. Her eyes shut with the action, the irritating unladylike sound that wasn’t the least bit cute—at all. Esme muttered a curse as she wiped her nose and rubbed her barely burning eyes.
It was in this brief time that the door the Morning Room, her lab, shot open and her maid came back in. Anita again. “My Lady! Are you alright?! I heard an explosion!”
“God save me,” the scientist muttered under her breath. “The Queen doesn’t need His help; I do.” She pushed hair out of her eyes as the turned to look at Anita. The girl was sturdy enough, the main reason she’d hired her as her personal maid. But Esme had discovered soon enough that despite her stocky figure she was little more than a mouse most of the time. By that point it had been too late to contemplate sending her off for someone better—or worse with Esme’s luck. American women were built of stern stuff, but there was a good chance she’d just hire another mouse and Esme did not want to waste time getting someone else used to her... habits. Again.
Maybe she should have hired an Irish or Scottish maid. Maybe gotten herself a young girl who had an interest in both dressing ladies and science.
Barmy. She was becoming barmy.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Anita.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Just a little mess. Nothing to fret over, I assure you. You may go.”
“Are you sure...?”
“Yes.” The glare she shot Anita had her apologizing and scurrying out of the room—just like a mouse. Esme huffed, hands on her hips from where she stood next to the window. It was around this time that she heard a thickly accented male and not American voice behind her—outside.
Esme jumped and whirled. Red strands tumbled against her dirty cheeks as cobalt blue eyes, almost too dark to be blue and seemed more black at a distance, looked from one place to another. She leaned out on the edge of the window that was station at the ground floor, looking past the terrace and towards the trees, flowers, and bushes. “Who—.”
And then he made himself know, stepping out from behind a thick red maple tree.—bowing. Esme blinked several times, not entirely sure how to take his previous proclamation. Who was he? She knew all of her staff and while he did look a bit like a gardener, and while she could be forgetful sometimes, she certainly didn’t misplace her staff or their names. Well... she’d hadn’t recently.
She couldn’t get a good look at him from this distance, but his voice had been loud and clear—a Scott. And he had either insulted her or teased her, neither of which she was entirely pleased about. She’d had enough of that in England—louts who liked to make fun of her. The heiress that couldn’t land a husband because of her bad manners and equally foul mouth that always always always betrayed her when she least wanted it too. And while her money had certainly been enough to shut them up to ask for her hand it wasn’t enough for her to buy a husband who would hate her and try to keep her from her work.
“I’m not having a good day,” she snapped in the cultured accent of her home country, both because of comment and because of the last three days.
And the setback not but two minutes ago.
Her arms crossed over her chest and her chin lifted. “Thieves don’t usually make their presence known to the lady of the house. Is there a reason your on my property, Sir Scott?”
It was in this brief time that the door the Morning Room, her lab, shot open and her maid came back in. Anita again. “My Lady! Are you alright?! I heard an explosion!”
“God save me,” the scientist muttered under her breath. “The Queen doesn’t need His help; I do.” She pushed hair out of her eyes as the turned to look at Anita. The girl was sturdy enough, the main reason she’d hired her as her personal maid. But Esme had discovered soon enough that despite her stocky figure she was little more than a mouse most of the time. By that point it had been too late to contemplate sending her off for someone better—or worse with Esme’s luck. American women were built of stern stuff, but there was a good chance she’d just hire another mouse and Esme did not want to waste time getting someone else used to her... habits. Again.
Maybe she should have hired an Irish or Scottish maid. Maybe gotten herself a young girl who had an interest in both dressing ladies and science.
Barmy. She was becoming barmy.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Anita.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Just a little mess. Nothing to fret over, I assure you. You may go.”
“Are you sure...?”
“Yes.” The glare she shot Anita had her apologizing and scurrying out of the room—just like a mouse. Esme huffed, hands on her hips from where she stood next to the window. It was around this time that she heard a thickly accented male and not American voice behind her—outside.
Esme jumped and whirled. Red strands tumbled against her dirty cheeks as cobalt blue eyes, almost too dark to be blue and seemed more black at a distance, looked from one place to another. She leaned out on the edge of the window that was station at the ground floor, looking past the terrace and towards the trees, flowers, and bushes. “Who—.”
And then he made himself know, stepping out from behind a thick red maple tree.—bowing. Esme blinked several times, not entirely sure how to take his previous proclamation. Who was he? She knew all of her staff and while he did look a bit like a gardener, and while she could be forgetful sometimes, she certainly didn’t misplace her staff or their names. Well... she’d hadn’t recently.
She couldn’t get a good look at him from this distance, but his voice had been loud and clear—a Scott. And he had either insulted her or teased her, neither of which she was entirely pleased about. She’d had enough of that in England—louts who liked to make fun of her. The heiress that couldn’t land a husband because of her bad manners and equally foul mouth that always always always betrayed her when she least wanted it too. And while her money had certainly been enough to shut them up to ask for her hand it wasn’t enough for her to buy a husband who would hate her and try to keep her from her work.
“I’m not having a good day,” she snapped in the cultured accent of her home country, both because of comment and because of the last three days.
And the setback not but two minutes ago.
Her arms crossed over her chest and her chin lifted. “Thieves don’t usually make their presence known to the lady of the house. Is there a reason your on my property, Sir Scott?”
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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[Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Blade - 11-25-2015, 02:36 AM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Blade - 11-25-2015, 02:43 AM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Hobo_Bob - 03-07-2016, 08:53 PM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Blade - 03-07-2016, 10:21 PM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Hobo_Bob - 03-08-2016, 01:10 AM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Blade - 03-08-2016, 04:13 AM
RE: [Historical - 1850] Chemical Reactions [Closed] - by Hobo_Bob - 03-09-2016, 12:53 AM