Prologue
My Jo,
You must stop apologising in your letters. I do not find them dull. I find them very interesting, in fact, because they are from you.
I miss you very much. I know it has not been so long since you were last with us, but it seems as if an age has passed.
The blackberries growing near the lakes are so close to ripeness: if you were here, we could walk to the water’s edge and pick them.
Perhaps there may still be some berries left after your brother’s tournament.
I must once again ask you to pass on my displeasure to your steward at his refusal to invite my family. Does he fear that we will cause even more scandal? Have we Bardens given ourselves such a fearsome reputation in the South?
The tournament would have given us an opportunity to fix that.
Ash is passable at the joust and very good with a sword, although no doubt he would have caught the eye of some southern beauty and then caused even more scandal when he inevitably cursed at her to leave him alone.
Raff was fair with the sword, but with his arm as it is I am quite sure he will never duel again.
He refuses to take better care of himself, and is always off wandering up mountains or through forests with Penn.
I am often forced to remind him that if he does not do as the physician says then his arm will fall clean off.
I told him that when this happens and it is eaten by wild dogs I shall laugh at him. I do not think he found it amusing.
I could ride in his stead. I have always wished to take part in a tournament, ever since I was small. It sounds thrilling. And I would not have cursed at any southern beauties. Quite the opposite, in fact.
I wish I had more exciting news for you; although nothing rivals the excitement of a tourney, I am sure. I eagerly await your next letter, and even more eagerly await your return to Dunlyn Castle.
Yours,
Lily Barden
Dearest Cecily,
Thank you a hundred times for your latest letter. I, too, wish that I could visit Dunlyn Castle once more. I would love to return to the lakes and pick berries and enjoy the sunshine. I cannot imagine anything I would like to do more.
But I cannot, even after the tournament is over. I have discovered at last why the steward, Edmund, has been behaving so peculiarly. He took me yesterday morning to my father’s brother’s solar to inform me that they intend to find me a worthy husband amongst the tournament’s attendees.
I suspect Edmund feared that I would react strongly, but in truth I felt very little. I know that I cannot remain in the keep forever, and now the time has come when I must leave.
I should not allow myself to slip into doubt or worry. Certainly, I do not have time to do so. It is not as if I am being married today.
I do not wish to burden you with these thoughts. It should be a time to celebrate Ellis’s new title. This is what I remind myself every day: that all my pains are for him. When he is a man grown, I hope he will remember, and be a better earl than our father was, God save his soul.
Please send my love to Penn, and tell him I miss him every day.
Please also send my regards to your brothers, and inform Raff that I quite agree with you on the matter of his arm, and that if he loses use of it (I do not agree with you that it will fall off and be eaten by wild dogs), then that is his own fault for not taking better care of himself.
I hope I will see you again soon.
All my thoughts and regards,
Johanna de Foucart