Authors: Gloria Harchar
"
So when are
you
going to give up on this silly hobby and start being a real countess?
"
Glissando
asked, suddenly appearing on a bonnet displa
ye
d in the window.
She remembered the night before—the failed seduction of her new husband—and felt despair rise in her throat. How could she have been so clumsy? Her cheeks burned as she remembered the manner in which she
'
d tried to remove his boots. Her attempt to discard his shirt had been utterly humiliating. She hadn
'
t been successful at much of anything lately—not in preventing the marriage, not in seduction, not in her business. It was enough to make her
downright crabby.
"
So, why is your skin green and Allegro
'
s
ye
llow?
"
she asked instead of answering.
"
Because that
'
s how pixies are.
"
The thought amused her.
"
So, if you and Allegro are different colors, does that mean you could have been b
orn
half green and half
ye
llow?"
"
Bah, I
'
m n
ot a woman! Only females are born
in multi
-
colors.
"
"
You
'
re jesting,
"
she replied, awed.
Tapping his chin, he narrowed his e
ye
s.
"
I asked if
you
are going to keep this ridiculous business of making hats. Are
you
going to answer me, or conti
nue to evade my simple question?"
"
It
'
s a
silly
question, not simple. And the millinery is not ridiculous,
"
she groused.
"
It is when
you
have everything you need.
"
Except a husband who wants me,
she
ye
arned to shout, but instead she swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat.
"
I need to feel useful, to create something. A successful woman of business is my destiny.
"
"
Not if your hats
...
"
He trailed off, muttering.
"
What did you say?
"
Her sharp demand didn
'
t make her feel any better.
A slight stirring of the atmosphere whispered through the shop as
Glissando
started pacing, a dark scowl marring his features.
"
Lass,
you
r hats
are...
"
He stared at her, then looked down at the spray of flowers on her latest creation, sprigs that suddenly drooped.
"
Oh, what do I know about women
'
s fashions
…."
He must have seen her wilted spirit.
She sighed, realizing that
Glissando
'
s heart was in the right place and that she had no business taking out her ill- humor on him.
"
Tell me what you started to say. Go on. You can be truthful with me. You
'
ve been around a long time and have seen many fashions so I trust your judgment.
"
Her tone was a tad aggressive, so she tried to smile. It was wobbly at best.
Glissando
flew toward her.
"
Lass, I like
you
and I don
'
t want to hurt
you
r feelings, but
…
"
"
But what?
"
She told he
rself to stiffen her upper lip,
that she could take anything
Glissando
dished out.
"
Tell me what you think, truly, of my hats. Why doesn
'
t anyone purchase them?
"
She let
Glissando
perch on her palm.
"
I can look upon any judgment as logical, sound advice.
"
"
Are
you
certain, lass?
"
"
Go ahead,
"
she replied, mentally preparing herself.
"
Tell me the truth.
"
"
All right,
you
asked for it. I
'
ve never seen such a lack in balance and design.
You
r hats are awful.
"
"
Glissando
!
"
she cried. She
'
d been certain she could succeed at the millinery—that she must succeed.
"
How can you say that?
"
"
Lass, lass, I knew I shouldn
'
t have told
you
.
"
He moaned, his brows twisting with worry. Abruptly, he stilled and then leaned over to look past her shoulder. His e
ye
s widened.
"
Ooops.
"
He threw her a sheepish grin and then vanished, coloring the air with a poof of green sparkles.
Awareness crackled across her skin, and she knew who was in the chamber without even looking. Slowly, she turned to find
Malcolm
staring at her from the doorway. Why hadn
'
t she heard him? Probably because she
'
d been too miserable with failure. From the wide-e
ye
d consternation in his e
yes, she
realized she was in for an interrogation.
Cogs
.
If she was to ever capture his heart, she would have to stop looking like a complete imbecile. It didn
'
t seem
possible.
Slowly, he advanced. He didn
'
t say a word, just continued looking at her as if she were a banshee. When he reached her, he captured her hand, the one on which
Glissando
had stood. Holding it palm up, he studied the surface, rubbing a callused thumb over it. She trembled from the intimate touch,
ye
arning for acceptance, fearful of rejection.
Carefully, he lowered her hand, still holding hers.
"
I thought you pretended to believe in
pixie
s to dissuade me from marrying you. But it wasn
'
t a pretense, was it?
"
"
It was.
"
At least, she had pretended to see
Glissando
the
time
Malcolm
walked into her shop two weeks before. Shivering from the warmth of his touch, she looked at his face, which seemed to be carved of marble, and chose her words carefully.
"
That day, I pretended to talk to a
pixie
in your presence.
"
He leaned against an armoire and contemplated her.
"
What, precisely, are Callers?
"
Frowning, she wondered why he asked.
"
T
hey are pixies that right the wrong in this world
.
"
"
Bloody hell, this whole town is swimming in superstition,
"
he muttered. He gave her a piercing stare.
"
What about you? Do you believe in otherworldly beings?
"
She evaded the question.
"
Don
'
t you believe in magic and love ever after?
"
"
No.
"
Her heart sank, knowing it was true.
"
No? Why not?
"
"
Magic and superstition are used to explain phenomena not
ye
t explained by science. No, I don
'
t believe in magic.
"
She felt some hope return.
"
What about love?"
"
Love is a temporary flare, a chemical reaction between a man and woman also not
ye
t fully explained by science. In other words, magic and love are both superstitions to explain scientific phenomena.
"
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.