Chapter 12
Clara circled her once. She’d been in Aoife’s room for hours helping her prepare for the lords’ visit.
Aoife had even enjoyed herself. Clara shared stories from the house, nothing scandalous, nothing Mr Lanyon or Mrs Harrow would be distressed at her sharing.
She’d laughed out loud as Clara told the tale of the time Pansy had spilt a pail of ash over the floor and the other maids had helped to clean it up before the butler saw.
None of them noticed it had gone under the door to the boot room until James had walked through and traipsed black footprints all over the servants’ hall.
For a moment, she could forget where they were and what they were doing, and just enjoy spending time with a friend.
Clara finished with her dress and nodded approvingly. “This gown will do very well tonight. The skirt’s cut wide to make the hips look fuller. It’s all the fashion.”
“I feel like I’m wearing the bedclothes. How are you supposed to move with so much fabric?”
“Fashion isn’t about comfort,” Clara smiled as if explaining it to a child. “It’s about status. Ladies in the capital don’t want to look like they’ve missed a meal in their lives. Soft lines and curves are a sign of wealth.”
Aoife examined herself in the mirror. The dress hid her thin frame under layers of fabric, but her face still clearly showed the signs of hunger. Her cheeks had filled out a little since she’d been here, but her cheekbones were still too prominent compared to the women in the paintings.
“I don’t think the dress will be enough to fool them.”
Clara approached her with a pot of powder and a brush. “No, but it’s a start. This’ll help a little too.” She said as she applied the powder to Aoife’s face.
When she finally stepped back from applying all the powders and lotions, Clara seemed satisfied.
Aoife caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and almost didn’t recognise herself.
She took a step forward, trying to see the trick.
Clara had made her cheeks look fuller and her complexion clearer.
Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and her eyelashes were full and fluttery.
“How did you do this?” Aoife said, turning her face from side to side and examining her makeup from every angle.
“Do you like it?” Clara asked.
Aoife stopped. She’d been so absorbed by the magic of the transformation she hadn’t stopped to think whether she liked it.
She remembered Cormac’s words, ‘Don’t let them change you.
’ Would he even recognise her like this?
But she hadn’t changed. All of this was outside.
It wasn’t who she was. That hadn’t changed.
Had it?
She finally settled on “Lord Halverton will like it.”
Clara’s face fell a little, but before Aoife could reassure her, the door opened.
Lord Halverton froze when he saw her. It took a moment before the spell broke, and he fully entered the room.
“You look incredible.”
“Clara did a great job.”
Halverton looked around, spotting Clara for the first time. “You may go.”
Clara curtsied, picked up her things, and slipped out of the room.
Halverton circled her with a critical eye, clearly pleased with what he saw. He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him.
“The Lords will be enchanted,” he beamed, kissing her hand. A shiver ran up her spine as his lips touched her skin. The sleeve at her wrist rode up a little, revealing the leather bracelet Cormac had given her.
“You cannot wear that,” he said, already reaching to take it off her.
“It was a gift—”
He finished pulling at the knot; the bracelet slipped from her wrist for the first time since Cormac had tied it there. Halverton held it between two fingers as if it might bite him and dropped it on the dressing table.
From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a velvet box. “You will wear these instead.”
Inside lay a necklace and matching bracelet, fine silver set with small green stones. His fingers lingered on the inside of her wrist as he fastened the bracelet. Aoife’s head spun as he brushed the soft skin. By the time he moved behind her to fasten the necklace, her heart was racing.
“There,” he said, brushing her hair into place. “Stunning.”
He kissed the side of her neck, and Aoife’s knees turned weak. As he stepped away, she reached out for the bedpost to steady herself. Was it fear or fervour? She wasn’t sure.
“If you remember everything I have taught you, tonight will be a resounding success, and tomorrow I shall be inclined to grant you a favour.”
“Could we send the leftovers to the village?” The words were out of her mouth before she took even a second to think. She would guess he had expected her to ask for new dresses or jewellery. If he were displeased, he did not show it.
“If you keep your composure tonight, speak properly, carry yourself well, I shall consider your request.”
A knot of tension uncoiled in her. Finally, there was something she could do to help her family and her friends.
Halverton turned towards the door, and Aoife grabbed Cormac’s bracelet from the dressing table and slipped it into her pocket, hidden but close.
As they descended the stairs and joined the household staff outside to welcome the visitors, the knot of tension reformed in her chest. How she behaved tonight might dictate whether Eoin and Maire ate tomorrow or went hungry. The pressure to be perfect sat heavy.
The guests arrived in a grand carriage, their laughter carrying on the crisp air. Aoife stood beside Lord Halverton, a piece of art on display.
The first to emerge from the carriage was Lord Montbrass. Aoife recognised him even before Halverton murmured his name. He was tall but soft, his coat straining across a generous belly. His cheeks were flushed from travel or drink. It was hard to tell which.
“Halworth! Haversham!” he boomed, waving broadly before settling at last on, “Ah, Halverton, yes. Knew it was one of those. All the same in the Empire’s eyes, eh?”
He laughed, a deep, jovial sound.
Halverton smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Aoife felt a wicked sense of satisfaction at the mispronunciation of his name for a change.
“And who might you be?” Lord Montbrass asked, addressing Aoife.
“This is my fiancée, Eva,” Halverton said smoothly, deliberately using the Eldrossi version of her name.
Aoife tried to school her features. She knew Halverton expected her to marry him eventually, but she’d never thought he’d used the term fiancée. She didn’t see things that way.
Lady Montbrass descended from the carriage with practised grace. She wore a gown of rose-gold satin, the fabric soft as a petal. Her cheeks were full and glowing, her hair threaded with pearls. She smiled warmly at Aoife, even as her assessing gaze swept over her, appraising and politely curious.
“Such a lovely young woman,” Lady Montbrass said to her husband, though loud enough for everyone to hear. “And in emerald! Quite a statement.”
“Thank you,” Aoife managed, hoping she sounded as Eldrossi as Halverton wished.
The next figure looked out of the carriage door.
“It is you,” Lord Severcombe said, leaping down from the carriage. He was shorter than Montbrass but carried himself with rigid dignity. His coat was deep navy, trimmed with silver braid, and a signet ring glittered on his gloved hand as he held it out to Halverton to shake.
“I would never have believed it at Bayforth. I thought you were destined for greatness, not a small backwater province.”
Halverton forced a smile. “A mere stepping stone, I assure you.”
Finally, Lady Severcombe appeared, draped in layers of lavender silk and lace. Her powdered cheeks were dusted with lilac to match her gown, and she wore enough jewels to shame a treasury.
“Oh, how charming,” she breathed, surveying the manor’s facade. “Remote, of course, but there’s a certain rustic dignity to it.”
Aoife wasn’t sure whether that was praise.
A young man of roughly Aoife’s age was the last to appear. He was as finely dressed as the rest of them, but not quite as at ease. As he approached, it was Lord Montbrass who spoke, “Bayforth is on break so my son, Lord Oswin Montbrass, will be joining us. I do hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Halverton replied, and he entirely meant it.
After all, it was the staff who would now have to prepare a bedroom, change the seating, and conjure an extra serving out of thin air.
Aoife thought about the food that would have gone to the village that would now go to feeding this boy, and her jaw clenched behind her smile.
The group clustered together at the foot of the steps like a bouquet of rich flowers.
Behind them, the household staff bowed and curtsied in unison.
Aoife stood at Halverton’s side, trying not to fidget under the weight of so many eyes. Their clothes gleamed, their faces were full, their laughter rose easily, unburdened by worry.
And for the first time, she understood exactly how wide the gulf was between her world and theirs.
The party moved indoors for pre-dinner drinks, their voices rolling ahead of them. The sconces were lit although it was still light outside, and the drawing room glowed gold and soft.
Lady Montbrass and Lady Severcombe drifted immediately toward the walls, admiring portraits and porcelain, cataloguing the worth of the room by eye. Their jewels caught the light, scattering colour across polished frames.
The lords stood near the mantel, glasses in hand. Aoife could hear their conversation from across the room: the elder Lord Montbrass’s booming laughter, Halverton’s smoother, more measured responses.
Aoife kept to the edge of the room, sipping her wine, trying to look composed.
That was when Lord Severcombe slipped away from the group.
He approached her with a smile that didn’t touch his pale eyes. “You must be Miss Eva,” he said, letting his gaze travel over her. “A pleasure.”
Aoife dipped her head. “My lord.”
He stepped a little closer. “Halverton didn’t tell us he housed such beauty in this barren corner of the empire.”