Free If You Give a Girl a Viscount by Kieran Kramer

at the table. “Which is why I dared not interrupt. It appears some people here aren’t aware of the exciting opportunities to be had in the Highlands.”
    “Not for me,” Perdita said.
    Daisy couldn’t tell which was worse: the ugliness of Perdita’s tone, or the completely flat expressions on the faces of Cassandra and Mona.
    So into the awkward silence, she blurted out what came to her head at the moment: “No one has ever stopped me from fishing. Indeed, it’s a favorite pastime.”
    She didn’t mention that fishing was a very necessary pastime, as well, to help keep them fed. When Joe was too busy to fish, as often happened, it was up to her to sneak away from Mona when she was finished with her chores and cast a line in the nearby burn.
    “Is it something you enjoy?” the viscount asked her as if he were shocked.
    “Of course.” Why should he be surprised? Did he think women were weak creatures?
    Cassandra gave a dramatic shudder. “The very thought of hooking a flopping fish makes me ill.”
    Lord Lumley ignored her disgust.
    “Perhaps you can show me your angler’s tricks while I’m here,” he said to Daisy. “I find I always learn something new about fishing from the locals. Especially the ones kind enough to tolerate my own attempts not only to catch something in their waters but to surpass their own catch. It’s very rude of me. But if you can endure my competitive nature, I’d be much obliged.”
    There was that twinkle in his eye again.
    “I’m happy to put up with your sporting ambitions,” Daisy answered him, “and if I were a better hostess, I’d inform the fish they should attach themselves to your hook, not mine. Alas, I’m not so well mannered.”
    Cassandra skewered Daisy with a piercing look that resembled hatred.
    “People can’t speak to fish,” Perdita said in self-important tones.
    There was another blank silence that Daisy longed to cover up but she dared not, as Mona stabbed her trout viciously and glared at her, almost white-eyed.
    “Speaking of sporting ambitions,” the viscount said eventually, “the last leg of my trip here I was picked up by a bevy of glossy black coaches carrying a group of anglers, all international travelers of some means. They dropped me outside of Glen Dewey and continued up to Brawton.”
    “They’ve fine fishing in Brawton,” said Daisy. “Most visitors don’t know Glen Dewey has just as much. We’re a bit off the beaten path.”
    “So I noticed. But I must say, those extra three miles I walked to get here were worth the effort.”
    “Yes,” Daisy said, “there’s something special about Glen Dewey. Something unspoiled.”
    “That’s a kind way to say tedious, ”said Cassandra.
    “I’m so sick of tedious,” Mona said with a yawn.
    “Me, too,” said Perdita with a long, rude sigh. “I long for the dirty streets of Cheapside.”
    Daisy caught the viscount’s eye and saw that he was amused—or perhaps, bemused—by her stepfamily.
    “I like tedious if that’s what you’d call this trout. It’s delectable.” The viscount pierced a forkful, held it up, then popped it in his mouth.
    Daisy smiled. The twinkle in his eye softened, then as his gaze lengthened, she had to look away. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he been remembering earlier today, when they’d been alone? When he’d kissed her?
    At the meal’s conclusion, he excused himself early to write letters rather than retire with them to the drawing room.
    He hesitated at the door and gave a little chuckle. “Oh, never mind. I can’t do that.”
    “Whyever not?” Mona asked him. “There’s quill and paper on the desk in the library.”
    “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said cryptically. “Pardon me for thinking out loud. I do appreciate the quill and paper.”
    “The footpads,” Daisy guessed. “They took what money you had. You can’t post letters.”
    She could tell by his expression that she’d guessed right.
    “We can post the letters for