Chapter 6
“Did you have a big luncheon?” Ember grunted as she yanked Tiffany’s corset ties. “There is no way I will fit you into—”
“Tighter! Less talking, more pulling,” gasped Tiffany.
At her own dressing table, Bonnie tsked. “There is no need to torture yourself, Tiffany. You are lovely just as ye are, and your waist is small enough.”
“No!” Tiffany was gripping her bedpost. “I have to look my best for Lysander, and you know that means my lavender tea dress.”
“You had that made two years ago,” Ember reminded her.
“Are you saying I have gained weight since then?”
Ember exchanged an amused glance with Bonnie in the mirror, then one side of her lips curled wryly. “I am saying your tits are bigger, Tiffany.”
“Oh. Well.” Her stepsister blushed. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Are you certain you could not wear something else?”
Bonnie turned in her chair. “The pale blue one is perfect for your coloring, Tiffany.”
Their sister preened. “It is, is it not? Fine, I will wear that one. And I will be able to breathe. Fetch it please, Ember.”
Ember sunk into a deep curtsey. “I live to serve, milady.”
“Oh, shut up.”
When Tiffany stuck her tongue out, Ember chuckled and rose, heading for the wardrobe. “You are still certain the man you danced with at the ball was Lysander Oliphant?”
“Yes!” Tiffany sounded excited as she settled her corset more comfortably.
“I asked Mrs. Oliphant to ask Mrs. Oliphant at Newfincy Castle—you know they are sisters—and she spoke with Mrs. Oliphant the housekeeper, who said Lysander has been at his estate for the week attending to business, but will be returning to the house party soon.”
“And the very first thing he did was request permission to call on us for tea,” Bonnie finished with a smile. “He must certainly have an eye for you, sister.”
Tiffany patted her coiffure. “And who would not, after all? If he offers to take me for a walk, Bonnie, you must be our chaperone!”
“Me? Why?”
“Because I trust you to bring a book and be completely distracted.”
“She is right,” Ember called, as she pulled the blue gown from the wardrobe. “You would be the perfect chaperone if Tiffany is planning shenanigans.”
Bonnie gasped. “Are you planning shenanigans? Are you going to let him kiss you?”
“Why not?” Tiffany lifted her chin proudly. “He is the most handsome man on Oliphant Land, and a viscount besides! And as I am the most beautiful woman, why would he not want to kiss me? We almost kissed at the ball, remember?”
“Oh, Tiffany,” Bonnie tsked, but Ember couldn’t tell if it was because she was shocked or because she disapproved.
Carrying the tea gown, Ember stepped up beside Tiffany. “Arms up.” As she helped her sister dress, she said casually, “You know, if you think you might have a future with Lysander, kissing him now might be a good idea.”
“What do you mean?” Tiffany called, spitting out a mouthful of lace.
Ember shrugged as she pulled the skirts straight over her sister’s petticoats. “I just mean, it would be good to know now if you have that spark, that attraction. It is important—”
“Ember Oliphant.” Tiffany spun out of her reach; her eyes bright with excitement. “Have you experienced that spark with someone? You speak as if you know what you are talking about.”
Refusing to be ashamed, Ember lifted her chin and shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps.”
Bonnie gasped again. “Who is he?”
There was no need to lie. “Just a man. A guest.”
“Oh, Ember.” Tiffany sighed, clasping her hand to her chest. “Is he handsome? Is he a good kisser? Are you in love with him? Will you marry him and let him sweep you away from Mother and the inn and all this drudgery?”
Will you marry him?
Ember hadn’t realized it, but that was what she’d been considering, wasn’t it? Even before she’d kissed him she’d been thinking about a future with him. Which was silly because she’d barely known him, still didn’t really.
But seeing the plans for his modest, cozy home, she could picture herself sitting there in the parlor with him. When he laughed, she wanted to make him laugh for years to come. When he expressed interest in her, she knew he’d support her dreams.
You cannot marry the man. You do not even know his last name!
But after that kiss, she felt as if she knew the important things about Max.
Then why did he hand the shoe back to you and leave?
Ah.
A harder question.
Ember swallowed, her fingers twining through one another as she considered the kiss last night at Oliphant Engraving. No—it wasn’t the kiss, it was what came after.
It was when she was telling him about her shoes and asking for his help in presenting the idea to Mr. DeVille. He’d completely shut down, handed the shoe back to her, stammered out an excuse, then hurried up the stairs.
She’d been mortified. Had she acted too boldly or something? Should she be ashamed of her actions, of the way she’d thrown herself into his arms?
On the verge of tears, she had gathered up her tools, put the shoe in her bag, along with the three heels she’d already turned, then hurried out of the building. All night, she’d tossed and turned, torn between joy at his kisses—his touches—and confusion and hurt at his response to her project.
“Ember?” Bonnie prompted softly. “Do you want to marry him?”
“I want…to be free to make my own choices.” Ember’s voice grew stronger as she realized the truth. “I want autonomy, not this life.”
A week ago, she’d known exactly what she wanted.
She’d wanted to sell the new manager of Oliphant Engraving on her design and convince him to start production.
That money would allow her to leave the inn guilt-free and start a simple life somewhere of her own choosing.
She’d be leaving her father’s workshop, but his tools belonged to her, and she could create her art in another location if Mr. DeVille wouldn’t allow her to work in the engravers’ studio.
Aye, she’d known exactly what she’d wanted.
But then she’d danced at a ball with the guest of honor and had been the center of attention. She’d spoken with Max, had kissed Max, and more. He’d made her heart beat faster and made her reconsider her plans for the future, and now she wasn’t certain of anything.
“Could this man of yours be part of that autonomy?” Tiffany teased, winking.
Slowly, Ember nodded. She’d like Max to be a part of her future, but she wasn’t certain if he wanted that, not after the way he’d reacted the previous night.
“Good.” Tiffany nodded once, firmly, then spun around and offered her back to Ember. “You deserve happiness. Now button me.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
As Ember focused on the buttons, her stepsister laughed. “Do not be silly. Lysander is a viscount, not a king.”
“Why is his aulder brother not the viscount?” Ember muttered, distracted by the fiddly little buttons.
“Oh! I know this!” Bonnie tapped her finger against her dressing table. “I read about their family somewhere.”
“Of course you did,” muttered Tiffany.
“It was a special case, which is why the heir—Leonidas—does not have a title. What was it?” Bonnie pursed her lips thoughtfully.
“Oh, I remember. Your Lysander, and his younger brother Phineas, are sons of the laird’s second wife, correct?
Her father was a viscount, so the title passed to her eldest son, Lysander. ”
“A viscount…” sighed Tiffany.
“Yes, Viscount Something-or-other. You know how ridiculous these titles are; they all sound the same.”
Ember had to agree with Bonnie. “Viscount Sandringtonshiresauce or Lord Meglandonkington or Earl of Pastyburgham. I do not know how anyone can keep them straight.” She frowned as she reached the lower curve of her stepsister’s back and the buttons became more difficult.
“It has been ages since I had studied it, but do you recall the way your mother made you learn the etiquette? How to address an earl’s second daughter, or which person has to speak first when you meet someone of a higher rank. How to keep that all straight?”
“Oh, I know it!” Bonnie burst out with a chuckle. “And you remember Mother explaining how, once we are married, we needed to call our husbands by their titles, rather than their names? Can you imagine yelling, ‘Oh, Pastyburgham!’ in bed?”
Ember straightened, laughing. “You could probably shorten it to ‘Oh, Pasty!’”
“That is even worse!”
Tiffany waved her hands about for attention. “Remember, she told us she always referred to Father by his title?”
“Which was ‘Oliphant!’ ” Bonnie clamped her palms over her mouth, to dampen her chortles.
“And she did not see anything strange about calling him Oliphant,” Ember asked, “when everyone else around here was also named Oliphant?”
“Exactly!” Tiffany sighed in exasperation. “I have no intention of calling my Lysander ‘Viscount Blah-blah-blah’ in bed.”
“That is good,” Ember said dryly, “because you would be Viscountess Blah-blah-blah then, and that would be awkward.”
“A viscountess,” her sister sighed happily.
Ember shook her head as she checked Tiffany’s skirts. “I cannot believe you are already considering marrying the man. He has not even been here for tea yet!”
“You have not kissed him yet,” Bonnie pointed out.
“I do not need to kiss him to know we will be perfect together.” Tiffany lifted her chin proudly. “After all, I am beautiful, and he is a viscount.”
“Ah yes,” Bonnie murmured dryly, “what else does a happy marriage need?”
Ember pressed her lips together, refusing to point out—yet again—her sister’s pride would be her downfall. Besides, she did want Tiffany to be happy, and if that meant marrying Lysander—a viscount—then good for her. Ember just knew she didn’t need that kind of title to be happy.
At the ball, she’d danced with the guest of honor, Mr. DeVille, who’d been nearly as fancy as one of the laird’s legitimate sons. He’d certainly danced as though he’d belonged at the ball, and Laird Oliphant himself had introduced him.
Aye, he might not be titled, but he held a position of power and he was important, and she’d danced with him.
But it was Max who had captured her imagination and passion and interest. It was Max who made her daydream about a future in his little house while she dusted the upstairs parlor. It was Max she’d all-but-attacked last night, desperate to feel his hands on her skin and taste his lips.
Bonnie had taken up the gauntlet of arguing with Tiffany during Ember’s silence while she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Sister, being a viscountess is not the goal in life, remember.”
Tiffany hummed as she stepped away from Ember and in front of the mirror. “And what is then? Being a countess? A duchess? A princess?”
“Being happy is the goal in life, Your Grace,” Bonnie said with a touch of sarcasm. “Try to remember that.”
“Marrying a viscount will make me happy, I am certain.”
“It will make Mother happy, for certain. You do not even know him,” Bonnie argued. “You do not know if you can love him. Love is what will make you happy.”
Love?
Did…did Ember love Max?
Good heavens.
Tiffany was scoffing. “Love is well and good, of course, but being called Lady, and going to balls like the one last week—not just at our neighbors’ estates, but all across Scotland!
—and having other women look at me enviously…
? That will make me happy. Oh, Ember, fetch the shoes you made me?
I know they do not match exactly, but they make a statement. ”
Ember’s eyes lit up. “And your Lysander is close with Mr. DeVille, so maybe he will mention them!”
“Yes, they are brothers now!” Tiffany clapped in excitement. “I will be certain to bring up the topic, just for you. We will have Mr. DeVille agreeing to manufacture your shoes in no time, and then you can start engraving full time!”
Ember hadn’t told her sister that the man she’d kissed—the man she might be falling in love with; the man who’d kissed her back, then acted horrified by it— was one of Mr. DeVille’s employees.
He was likely a clerk of some sort, but he could help her gain the manager’s ear.
Assuming he still wanted to help her after whatever had passed between them last night.
As she knelt at Tiffany’s feet to help her into the heeled slippers, she heard Machara calling for her from down the corridor.
She’d have to go help her stepmother get dressed, she assumed, but then she planned on heading to Papa’s workshop for an hour or two to start engraving the heels she’d turned yesterday.
Designs were already flitting through her head, and she was excited to try to capture them. Surely tea with Viscount Blah-blah-blah would distract her stepmother long enough that Ember could enjoy herself for a bit.
Bonnie had stood and was finishing her dressing as well—luckily able to handle it on her own.
“I just think, Tiffany, you do not understand what it truly means to be happy. Say you marry Lysander. You have already said you do not want to call him Blah-blah-blah in bed. But from the way you speak, it is his title you would be marrying. You are not thinking of him as a man, or even as a person.”
This normally quiet sister of theirs was becoming agitated. Her fists were planted on her hips, and her cheeks were flushed. “If I marry, I am not going to yell, ‘Aye, milord!’ in bed. I want to call him—oh, I do not know, Lionel, or Robert, or—”
Tiffany gasped, spinning around to face her sister so quickly, she almost knocked Ember over.
“Bonnibelle Oliphant, the heir’s name is Leonidas!
Is that who you have been secretly dreaming about marrying?
” When her sister began shaking her head, Tiffany pressed her.
“Lionel is very close to Leonidas, and neither are particularly common!”
Flustered, Bonnie held her hands out in front of her, palms out. “I did not mean it like that. It was just a name I pulled from—”
“From your imagination? Or from your daydreams?”
Bonnie shook her head so wildly, her coiffure was in danger. “No! No, I just—it was just a name!”
From down the hall, Machara called again. “Ember, you lazy girl, get in here!”
Her sisters didn’t seem to notice, but Ember sighed and accepted she’d better go help her stepmother or deal with her fury. “I’ll just be going then,” she murmured. She was ignored, as she’d expected.
“You expect me to believe, of all the names you could have pulled out of thin air to yell in bed, Lionel was an accident?”
“Lionel is a very common name,” Bonnie defended.
“Leonidas is not!”
And this time, Machara’s call was a screech. “Ember!”
And so Ember slipped out of the room, leaving Tiffany haranguing poor Bonnie, and went to tend to her stepmother. Hopefully, once Lysander arrived for tea, the three of them would be so occupied fawning over him, Ember would have a little peace and quiet.