Chapter 3
The week following their tea at Dumpkins, Tiffany and Bonnie were hiding in the garden.
Not the inn’s formal garden, which Mother hired someone to tend to every Monday afternoon during the warmer months so the guests would always have a pristinely landscaped natural retreat.
No, this was the small garden off the kitchens where Ember used to hang the laundry, and where the girls had always escaped to when necessary.
The bushes were overgrown, and the herbs were the most important plants.
And of course, there was the well.
Since she was a little girl, Tiffany had always been fascinated by the old well; with its moss-covered stones and ivy growing up the posts. She’d been convinced it was the home of fairies at one point, but now she knew it just contained frogs.
Which was pretty much a metaphor for her life these days.
“Are you certain she did not see us escape out here?” Bonnie murmured worriedly.
Tiffany waved her hand as she settled on the cool stones, knowing she’d cleaned them well enough there was no chance of dirtying her skirts and hearing her mother’s anger later. “I told you, she was busy berating Annie in the front parlor. We should be safe for a half hour at least.”
With a sigh, her sister settled onto her favorite bench and plopped her book on her lap. “I do not think either of us realized just how much Ember did for us until she left.”
Tiffany nodded mournfully. “I honestly had no idea so much work went into keeping the inn running. I know Ember mostly attended to us and Mother—”
“At least you are willing to help with the washing these days,” Bonnie teased, flipping through her pages and looking for her bookmark. “Mother has the maids running ragged from adding on all the new chores now that Ember is gone.”
“Well, we cannot very well force the lasses to work double without more pay, can we?”
“Why not? That is what we expected from Ember.”
Tiffany sighed and rested her head against the ivy-covered post. “Yes. I wish I had realized…” she murmured, the knot of shame still twisting her gut.
It seemed she had plenty to be ashamed of these days.
When Ember’s father had married Mother—second marriages for both of them—Tiffany had been thrilled to get another sister.
But, as Mother explained, Ember wasn’t a lady.
She wasn’t important. Therefore, after her father’s death, it was perfectly natural to give Ember more responsibilities—of the dirty, back-breaking kind—to make sure she had her own place in the world.
It wasn’t until she’d left that Tiffany truly understood what that meant. Mother had used Ember as an unpaid drudge, and their stepsister had accepted the role, until she could break free.
Now Mother was frantically trying to get by—at the same level of ease and comfort as before—without having to pay another worker. This meant Tiffany and Bonnie were taking on more tasks and avoiding Mother’s anger when she realized her precious princesses were being forced to work.
“Well?” Tiffany prodded, closing her eyes. “Get on with it.”
Her sister chuckled. “You will make a great lady in a castle someday. Mother’s lessons in imperiousness have worked. Where were we?” There was the rustle of pages as she flipped through the book. “Oh, yes, The Frog Princess.”
As Bonnie read the old fairy tale, Tiffany allowed her mind to wander. A great lady in a castle? That had been her dream.
But the dream had changed when she’d danced with Lysander Oliphant.
Oh, she’d danced with him because he was a viscount, but she’d begun dreaming about a forever with him after she’d felt the tingle in her arm from his touch, and the way the sparkle in his warm hazel eyes made her breathless.
And when he’d leaned in, close enough she thought he might kiss her, Tiffany had almost swallowed her tongue in anticipation.
Yes, Lysander had become her dream, and not because he had a castle and almost five thousand pounds yearly.
Although, of course, that helped. At least where Mother was concerned.
But the way he’d treated her at tea last week—the anger and accusation she’d seen in his eyes as the afternoon had gone on…?
Tiffany wrapped her arms around her middle.
It was clear. Lysander Oliphant was no longer interested in her, and she could guess why.
“Tiffany.” It wasn’t until Bonnie called her name that she realized the story was over. “Do you recall when we were both young coming out here to catch frogs?”
Tiffany’s eyes shot open, and she gasped. “No, I had forgotten that!” Glad for the distraction, she sat upright, a smile blooming. “That was back when Father was still alive, remember? He would take us on his knees and kiss us and call us his ‘bonnie lasses,’ and we would come out here to play!”
“You were the best at catching frogs. You did not have to sneak up on them.” Bonnie giggled. “I used to think they were transfixed by your beauty.”
“Maybe they were.” Tiffany wasn’t being vain; she knew she was beautiful. She’d been told so often enough. “But yes, I had forgotten how it felt to just be able to walk up to them and scoop them up.”
“And do you remember kissing them?”
Gasping again, Tiffany shifted on the well-stones to face her sister. “No! I had forgotten that too! We would…kiss them?”
“Yes!” Laughing, her sister closed the book. “In the hopes one might turn into a prince.”
“Lord help me, I remember now!” Tiffany whispered, wide-eyed. “I was certain it was only a matter of time. Look at this place! There were so many frogs, I just knew one of them had to be a prince.”
Bonnie sighed. “That was before we knew about real princes, I suppose.”
Her expression souring once more, Tiffany peered down into the distant depths of the well. “Sometimes I suspect a frog would make a better prince than the ones we have met.”
A frog, at least, wouldn’t be offended when she said something cruel.
Well, at least you are recognizing what you said was cruel.
“Sometimes I suspect a frog would make a better husband,” Bonnie corrected.
Well, that earned a surprised burst of laughter from Tiffany, who turned an incredulous look on her sister. “What do you mean?” she asked, with a hint of laughter in her tone.
Bonnie shrugged. “He would be easy to feed—no complaining about whatever menu you decided on.”
“Ha! Bugs are simple, I suppose.” Tiffany was warming to the joke. “And I suppose he would not take up too much room in bed.”
Bonnie’s nose wrinkled. “Ew! But at least he would not mind a wife who spoke her mind.”
“Or a wife who monopolized a conversation!”
Giggling, Bonnie tilted her head to one side. “I suppose any conversation would be monopolized by us in that scenario, right? It would be a bit one-sided.”
“Do not be silly! Our slimy green husbands would be able to say, ‘Ribbit-ribbit,’ whenever they had something to add to the discussion.”
“Hah! We would have to rely on each other and our friends for meaningful conversations, I suppose.” Bonnie was shaking her head.
“Yes, but there would be compensations.” Tiffany wiggled her brows lewdly, and her sister’s eyes opened wide.
“Oh, of course! Why did I not think of that? There is always…”
Together, they both finished that thought. “His tongue!”
Tiffany dissolved into giggles, while Bonnie wrinkled her nose again, as if she’d smelled something foul. But she couldn’t hide the small smile on her lips, and Tiffany took that as a win.
As her laughter subsided, Tiffany tilted her head back against the post and closed her eyes.
Marriage to a frog might sound nice to Bonnie, for the reasons she’d mentioned—minus the tongue reference of course—but that wasn’t what Tiffany wanted from her husband.
She didn’t want a marriage where she never spoke to her husband, or where she expected him to leave her alone to follow her own goals.
She wanted a partnership: someone who would support her and whom she could support in return. Someone with whom to discuss their goals and achievements, and plans for their future.
Until she’d met Lysander Oliphant and realized exactly how well the two of them fit together, she’d thought her dream highly unlikely. If Mother had her way, Tiffany would be married to the most eligible bachelor in Scotland, because she was the most beautiful maiden around.
She supposed she was just lucky the most eligible bachelor in Scotland was Lysander.
Too bad she’d ruined her chances with him.
After a moment, she realized she’d been sitting there moping in silence, and Bonnie hadn’t said anything further. Tiffany peeked open one eye and glanced over to where her sister sat.
Bonnie was carefully removing the piece of correspondence she’d been using as a bookmark. There was something in her sister’s expression which made Tiffany pause, and she watched in silence as Bonnie unfolded the letter and began to read.
The paper had obviously been read several times before, and it wasn’t until she saw her sister bite her lower lip—a childhood habit none of Mother’s nagging had been able to cure Bonnie of—that Tiffany realized just how bad the news was.
“Bonnie?”
When her sister looked up, and Tiffany saw the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes, she gasped out, “Oh, Bonnie!” and slid from atop the old well. “What is it?” she asked as she hurried across the garden.
But her sister didn’t answer, even when Tiffany settled on the bench beside her. She hesitated only a moment before wrapping her arm around Bonnie’s shoulders and pulling her closer.
“What is wrong, Bonnie? Another rejection?”
“Yes,” sniffed Bonnie. “I know I should not be upset each time. The Lord knows I have had enough No-thank-you-for-your-submission-but-we-cannot-publish-a-scholarly-work-by-a-woman letters to last a lifetime.”
“But that does not mean they hurt less when you receive one.” Tiffany pulled a hankie from her sleeve and passed it to her sister. “Let me read this one.”