Chapter 3 #2
Last night, after his intriguing dancing partner had run away, and he’d chased after her, she’d lost a shoe. And he, naturally, had picked it up. But with nowhere to put it, and unwilling to hand it over to a servant, Max had returned to the room he’d been loaned and had hidden it in the drawer.
Now, he withdrew it and carefully unwrapped the bundle. The shoe gleamed against the white cotton as he turned it first this way, then that. The lady Lysander had been dancing with—his pink angel, he’d called her—had been wearing unusual shoes as well. But this unusual?
This shoe was covered in red silk that had matched the lady’s hair. That, in itself, would’ve been unusual, but it was the heel which made it so intriguing. It had been made of metal and was engraved with intricate, perfect little gears.
Six months ago, Max had known nothing about engraving.
But after being offered the position here in Scotland, he’d learned all he could.
Andrew Prince had even taken him to New York in the spring to visit the Prince Armory, so Max could see the fruits of the Oliphant engravers.
Their work on the custom firearms was exquisite, and so was this.
Of course, Oliphants were known through Scotland as master engravers, a tradition dating back to the middle ages. Was one of them engraving shoes now?
And if so, how could he meet this engraver? Because, judging from the fuss he’d heard made last night about the shoes Lysander’s partner had worn, there was a market out there for wearable works of art such as these.
Humming thoughtfully, Max re-wrapped the shoe. He had a job to do, so he’d move the shoe to his office, but he’d keep his ears open for news about a lady missing a shoe. Of course, if she were anything like Lysander, she likely had dozens and dozens of pairs of shoes and wouldn’t miss this one.
But then again, if she was like Lysander—refined and haughty—why had she run off into the night?
He’d find her, return her shoe and ask if she needed help. And if she didn’t, he’d ask her where she’d gotten the shoe, because he wanted to meet the engraver.
In the meantime, Max figured he’d better go put on some pants.
The afternoon sun beat down atop Ember’s bare head, and she relished the sensation. Here in the kitchen garden, there was little chance of a guest stumbling across her and her “scandalous” hair color, so she’d removed the cap the baroness insisted she wear.
It was freeing, but not as freeing as the memory of last night, and how it had felt to catch the eye of the guest of honor.
If someone did see her now, sleeves rolled up as she wrung the water from her stepmother’s unmentionables in preparation for hanging them to dry, they would never guess she was the same mysterious, silk-garbed, be-geared lady from the previous night.
Ladies do not have to wash their own drawers, much less someone else’s. What is this stain? Does Machara eat chocolate in her undergarments? No, do not smell it!
A wisp of hair fell in front of her forehead, and Ember blew upward. When that didn’t dislodge it, she swiped it with her forearm, then she tossed the last of the white cotton into the basket and bent backward with a groan, stretching her back.
“Are you certain you do not need any help?” Bonnie asked quietly from her place on the bench, where she’d been reading.
“Yes, now that the hot water part is done, you can help me hang these things.”
Machara had long ago forbade her daughters from doing any manual labor, or anything which would risk their chances at attracting the worthiest—meaning wealthiest—suitors.
Which meant wrangling their own drawers in and out of near-boiling water and scrubbing them with caustic soap was out of the question.
But she had no objections to Ember doing such work.
“Pass me those pins, and I will start on this end of the line,” Bonnie declared.
Gratefully, Ember did so. “Thank you.”
They worked in silence for a while, until Bonnie suddenly asked, “Why do you do this? The laundry, I mean.”
Ember shrugged. “Because it has to be done. Your mother refused to hire another maid after Lisette married, and if I did not do it—”
“No, I mean…” Bonnie shook her head, as if looking for the right words. “This is our laundry.” She flapped one of her sister’s chemises, getting the wrinkles out before hanging it. “You should not have to do it.”
Ember snorted softly. “Oh, is Tiffany going to suddenly start doing laundry?” Both of them knew Tiffany had been grateful to be forbidden from doing manual labor.
“Besides, this load is not all your and Tiffany’s and Machara’s things.
I had to wash all the tea towels, and I threw in one of my soiled petticoats as well. ”
Not the ones she’d worn last night though. Those, and the gown, were hanging in the back of her wardrobe, while the mask and her one remaining shoe had been carefully wrapped and placed on the highest shelf in her little room.
Bonnie didn’t reply for a long moment, but when she did, she sounded almost disappointed. “I know this is not what you want from life, Ember. And it is not fair you have to slave for Mother.”
She was right. It wasn’t fair. Before her father’s marriage to Machara, they’d been happy. Father’s wealth had come from his engraving work, and he was well-respected.
But he’d thought that he wasn’t enough for his ‘little lassie’, so he’d married to give her a mother and sisters. Her sisters had been a wonderful addition to Ember’s life, but the Baroness had never been kind.
“I do it to keep the inn going,” Ember declared stiffly. “But I will not do it much longer.”
Her sister brightened, tugging the clothesline down so she could smile at Ember over the top of the drying garments.
“Oh, yes! Your shoes were the highlights of the ball last night! You should have seen the way everyone stared at them.” But then her expression fell.
“You should have been allowed to see. I am sorry. Mother told us what she did to you after we had left.”
Ember hesitated. Bonnie didn’t know she’d been able to attend the ball after all, and Ember wasn’t certain how to react. Finally, she settled on simply turning her face away and trying to keep her tone light.
“Well, it was nice to have the evening off at least.”
“Oh, Ember, you do not need to pretend you are not heartbroken. I wanted you to attend too, you know. The ball was dreadfully boring and—”
“There you are!” Tiffany flounced into the garden, her scolding tone making it sound as if Ember were at fault for not being wherever she’d looked first. “Is it not a glorious day?”
She spun once in a full circle, smiling up at the branches of the old oak tree, which shadowed the ancient well the inn used to rely on back when it was a manor house.
Ember had to admit that this stepsister of hers did look as though she was having a glorious day; she looked well-rested, her coiffure was perfect, and there was a spring in her step.
Ember laughed. “Have you come to help me with the laundry then?”
Tiffany stuck her tongue out pertly, before declaring teasingly, “And ruin my fingernails? Do not be silly. I am a lady.”
“So am I,” muttered Bonnie around a mouthful of clothespins.
“Yes, but I am a lady who cares about a lack of calluses and ink stains on my fingers.”
Giggling, Tiffany settled against the mossy stone lip of the well.
Ember was certain if she were ever to do that, she’d either come up with a big muddy spot on her arse, or she’d fall in.
Tiffany, on the other hand, looked much like something out of a painting, as she traced the old stones with one slender perfectly manicured finger.
Venus Rising From the Well, perhaps. Or Venus Among the Lilies.
Actually, who was that Greek myth who stared at his reflection in the water until he wasted away, awed by his own beauty? Narcissus? Yes, that one. Narcissa and the Kitchen Garden Well.
Still staring dreamily into the well, Tiffany sighed. “Oh, Ember, the ball was glorious.”
“It was boring,” Bonnie murmured consolingly, which caused her sister to glance sharply at her.
But as if she understood Bonnie was trying to make Ember feel better, her expression sharpened. “I saw Mother pushing you to dance with all those men.”
“I did not want to.”
“You would likely prefer to be back at home with a book, I suppose?” Tiffany shook her head. “I am sorry you were not able to go, Ember. I am certain that tangerine gown would have fit you perfectly.”
Aye, it would have, because Ember had ensured it would. But it wouldn’t have been right with her coloring, not the way the perfect silver gown had been. And that one had fit like a glove as well.
She forced herself to shrug. “Bonnie was just telling me what I missed.”
Tiffany sighed happily again. “It was incredible. The decorations! The flowers! Oh, Ember, the flowers! Everything was perfect!”
Ember and Bonnie listened in silence, finishing hanging up the last of the laundry, as Tiffany rhapsodized first about the flowers—which she made out to be considerably more exotic than Ember remembered—then about her dancing partners.
“Oh and the gowns! Remember the gowns, Bonnie?”
Without giving her sister a chance to respond, Tiffany began to describe some of the more flamboyant costumes, although Ember noticed she left out Laird Oliphant’s chicken costume for some reason.
“Your shoes were very popular, of course.”
Ember was in the process of dumping out the dirty laundry water when she heard her sister’s words. “Really?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did anyone mention them?”
“Not to me,” Tiffany declared. “I was too busy dancing.”
“Three of my partners complimented me and asked where I had received them.” Bonnie spoke from behind her book. “I told them all I knew the designer, who would be happy to accept orders.”
Ember huffed as she planted the tub back into place. “Yes, but I need women to be interested in them.”
Maybe she could find some time to hide in the workshop and begin work on another shoe to replace the one she’d lost last night. Or perhaps it’d be better to start on a new pair entirely, in order to have something to show potential customers.
“I am certain they were only asking for their wives or daughters.” Tiffany waved her hand dismissively. “And I will admit I did hear some whispers as I swept in. They were the perfect complement to my gown and”—she patted her hair with a smile—“beauty.”
“Thank you, milady.” Ember managed to make her bow sarcastic enough her sister snorted.
“Oh, stop it. I am just trying to tell you how popular they were. Of course, I am not certain if Mr. DeVille noticed them. He is the man you need to impress, correct?”
“Yes,” Ember admitted with a sigh. She hadn’t had a chance to explain the shoes to him last night during their dance. “Maybe I could try to arrange a meeting with him.”
“I do not think he noticed much of anything last night.” Bonnie finally lowered her book. “He was far too entranced by that lady in silver.”
Ember froze. “What?” she croaked.
Tiffany waved her hand again. “If I had had my sights set on him, I would have been quite put out. Once he saw her, Mr. DeVille had eyes for no other.”
“Her?” Ember whispered hopefully.
“The lady in silver,” Bonnie declared matter-of-factly. “She showed up late and danced only the one dance—with Mr. DeVille—but everyone was watching them. Her mask was so intricate, so different, and it was a perfect backdrop for her long red hair.”
Self-consciously, Ember pulled her simple braid over her shoulder, as if she could hide it from her sisters. “She sounds…lovely.”
“Mr. DeVille certainly seemed to think so.” Bonnie lifted her book once more.
“She suddenly disappeared, and he went charging out the door after her. When he returned, he seemed quite dejected, and I saw him request brandy from a servant.” She shrugged, disappearing behind the open pages.
“I assumed he was so distraught at the way she had abandoned him, he went to get drunk.”
Did he?
How…delightful.
No, horrible.
Aye, delightfully horrible, of course. To have a man get drunk over her! How delightfully horrible.
But deep inside, a part of Ember gave a little shiver of excitement. A man had liked her company enough to drink when she was gone. How intriguing.
“Of course, we could not stay long enough to confirm my hypothesis,” Bonnie murmured, lowering the book just enough to cut a glance at Tiffany.
Ember turned to Tiffany. “You three were home earlier than I expected. What happened?”
She’d ripped both her stockings, running home last night like a crazed fox— Mare? A crazed mare? What sort of animal ran pell-mell—
Oh, never mind.
The point was, she’d made it home just before her stepmother and stepsisters and had jumped beneath the covers on her bed, just moments before Machara had unlocked the door to check on her.
It had been hard enough pretending to be asleep, but it had been almost impossible to pretend when she was wheezing from all the exertion to get home first. Somehow though, her stepmother hadn’t noticed.
Tiffany, however, didn’t know any of that and waved her hand dismissively as she languished against the well’s upright post. “Mother objected to the way I chose to spend my time.”
“You were hiding behind a pillar with a knight, Tiffany,” Bonnie murmured from behind her book.
“I was standing beside a tree with the most eligible bachelor in attendance,” her sister snapped in return.
Ah, so the man dressed as a knight had been one of the Oliphant brothers.
“Really?” Ember prompted, just to be polite. “The Duke of Cashard?”
“It was Lysander Oliphant; I just know it.” Tiffany sighed. “He danced with me, twice, and I noticed how close he held me as well.”
In armor? That must not have been very comfortable.
“Well…congratulations,” Ember hazarded, “but I thought your mother had her eye on the heir for you.”
“The Beast of the Oliphants?” Tiffany shuddered. “Have you seen him? Like some sort of monster with all those scars. He was there at the beginning, scowling at everyone, but not for long, thank the Lord. Lysander is not only more handsome, but far more charming. A prince among men.”
Ember grinned as she collected the rest of the washing accessories. “A real charming prince, you might say?”
Tiffany snickered. “Do not be silly. This is not a fairy tale, and he is not perfect.”
“Oh no,” Bonnie began to giggle. “He is merely handsome, titled, and worth quite a lot of money.”
“Well…” Accepting the teasing in good grace, Tiffany shrugged. “Perhaps he is perfect.”
Tilting her head back to the sunshine, Ember shut her eyes and forgot about the fact she hadn’t had enough sleep last night, or that she’d missed her chance to sell Mr. DeVille her design, or that she’d lost a shoe.
She just stood with her sisters and laughed.