AUTUMN 1816
There was no ballroom at Castle Aymers, as such, but the great hall was larger than most of the ballrooms Tiffany had been in, and with its ancient banners safely stored away and chandeliers rigged up, it looked quite magnificent. Outside, the weather was unseasonably cold, bringing Santiago’s unenthusiastic plans for hunting and shooting to a merciful end.
Tiffany couldn’t help the feeling that her mother might have had something to do with this.
The castle being huge enough to accommodate half of Society, they had decided to invite just the ones they liked. Among the great and the good mingled Esme’s eclectic friends. The Misses Brockhurst had already cut a swathe with their strident opinions on the Grimm Brothers’ fairytales, and Lord Hornwood had been seen eyeing up Percy Brougham, whose complexion had cleared up and who didn’t seem to mind the attention at all.
Tiffany was just returning from her second surreptitious trip to the kitchens when she bumped into William Nettleship.
‘You look very smart,’ she said, because in his eveningwear he did.
‘Thank you, Your—Tiffany,’ he corrected himself. He glanced at the crumbs on her gloves and his face went carefully blank.
Hurriedly, she dusted them off and gave an unconvincing smile. ‘Did you need something? Supper will be served soon, they tell me. I was just checking on the extra staff we brought up from the village,’ she added as a rather lame excuse.
‘Ah, yes. The vicar is telling everyone the poor relief scheme you and Santiago devised was his idea,’ said William. Tiffany thought about being annoyed by that, and decided she had enough on her plate. ‘And Mr Noakes is making a very detailed itinerary for your trip to Egypt.’
Tiffany rolled her eyes. ‘I only said we might be thinking of a trip,’ she said.
‘He’s very enthusiastic,’ said William laconically. ‘As it happens, I was looking for Billy. He’s been reading a book of limericks and I can’t shake the feeling he’s going to start reciting them in front of polite company.’
Tiffany laughed. ‘Oh, let him. We said we wanted the occasion to be memorable. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’
She hurried back to the great hall, where a set was forming for a country dance. Smiling politely, she resumed her duties as hostess, introducing potentially interested parties to each other—Miss Brougham taking a shine to William that her mother did not know whether to approve of or not; Mr Noakes being fascinated by Miss Belmont’s surprisingly detailed knowledge of the eruption of Mount Tambora—and making sure there were enough drinks and places to sit.
Speaking of… She spied a seat in one of the curtained window embrasures, empty probably because it was chilly, and took the weight off her feet for a moment.
Hosting a ball was hard work. She felt a little pink in the face, and reminded herself to adjust her appearance before she went back out there again.
The curtain twitched, and then Santiago was ducking into the alcove with her. ‘Mi amor,’ he said, quickly coming to sit on the bench beside her. ‘Are you all right?”
‘Oh yes, just taking a tiny rest. It is tiring, being a hostess.’
He looked troubled. ‘We should have cancelled the weekend—’
‘After all we’ve spent on it? There are people starving in this country, Santiago. We should never be so wasteful.’
‘There are no people starving here,’ he said. ‘Thanks to you.’
She shrugged. ‘The kitchens needed rebuilding and staffing. It only made sense to hire local people.’
Santiago slipped his arm around her and hugged her to him, careful not to disturb her hairstyle. ‘And the crops that miraculously didn’t fail in this wretched summer?’
‘Luck.’ She peeked up at his cynical face. ‘And maybe a few ideas from Madhu. Why do you think I insisted on riding over all the fields at Beltane?’
‘I thought you were seeking privacy for us,’ said Santiago, pretending to look wounded.
‘That was just the silver lining,’ she told him, and he kissed her lips.
‘My duchess witch,’ he murmured, and his hand slid to her waist. ‘Do you think our child will be a witch?’
Tiffany shuddered. ‘Lord, I hope not. Babies are enough work without them accidentally making the tapestries come to life, or lifting their own cribs over their heads.’
Santiago looked stoically into the distance. ‘I have survived the pirate queen of the South China Seas,’ he said. ‘I can survive this.’
‘Do you think she would like to be the child’s nurse?’
Santiago laughed. ‘Have you told your mother?’
‘No, but I can’t believe she doesn’t already know. Aunt Esme made a point of handing me a sarsaparilla earlier,’ she explained gloomily.
She allowed herself to rest against him for a moment longer, then straightened with a sigh. ‘Once more unto the breach. I have not yet greeted Cornforth and Elinor, and needs must, I suppose.’
‘Why did you invite them?’
‘Because I wanted Harriet to enjoy her first house party as an adult, and not be constantly at her mother’s beck and call as she was at Dyrehaven.’ She paused in straightening the skirts of her lovely deep green gown. ‘Our party is superior to theirs, isn’t it?’
Santiago grinned. ‘Well, your brother hasn’t shot me yet, so I can only say that is a significant improvement.’
They emerged back into the great hall, its noise and heat something of a shock, and Tiffany reminded herself to smooth out her figure before anyone noticed. Gwen, of course, would not be fooled, and she paused in her discussion of the tale of Snow White to look Tiffany over and say, ‘I’m so glad you chose to call her Sylvia, dear. It goes so well with her colouring. Now, Miss Brockhurst, why did you choose dwarves and not cats, as in the Scottish tale?’
‘I think we can safely say Gwen knows,’ Santiago murmured drily as they moved away.
‘Gwen could be talking about anything,’ said Tiffany. ‘She’s rarely on the same week as the rest of us.’
‘Whatever you say, mi amor. Ah, there is Esme…’
‘It is a splendid ball, dear,’ said Esme, as they reached her.
‘Indeed. Billy’s limericks are very funny, although I am not sure they are entirely suitable for ladies,’ observed Amelia. Her gown was a deep, beautiful midnight blue, and opals shone at her throat.
Santiago shook his head in exasperation. ‘Why did we teach that boy to read?’
‘So that he can better himself and become apprenticed to William,’ Tiffany reminded him. ‘He has already identified three children at the village school who are not getting enough to eat. The teacher had no idea.’
‘I saw young Henry Proudbody taking cloaks at the door,’ said Amelia. ‘He still seems quite shocked by the weather in Yorkshire.’
‘It probably isn’t always like this,’ said Santiago, glancing out at the flakes of snow that were beginning to fall. ‘Probably.’
‘Hmm,’ said Tiffany.
She saw her mother’s eyes widen, and then she was saying very quickly, ‘Gosh, I really must go and tell Madhu how well that shade suits her, my dear. Oh, and get some rest,’ she added, with a darting glance at Tiffany’s midsection.
She sighed, and turned, already knowing who she would see. She put on a brave face as Santiago greeted them.
‘Ah, Lord Cornforth, Lady— but no, I must call you Chalkdown, now! Lady Harriet, how charming you look this evening.’
Harriet blushed and curtseyed and Tiffany wondered if she might have a little crush on Santiago. She couldn’t blame her. He was looking quite irresponsibly handsome tonight, and extremely piratical.
Her brother wore a black mourning band over his already black evening coat and Elinor was in a grey dress, which did not suit her, and a black cap. Harriet had on a pretty white frock, trimmed with black ribbons, which was a lot more stylish than Elinor had probably been aiming for.
The Earl of Chalkdown had died following a fall from his horse outside a military encampment in occupied France earlier in the year. Tiffany received the news much as Santiago had spoken of his grandfather: a man she never knew, and was never likely to. Her mother had been somewhat less circumspect, and her cry of ‘I’m free, Esme!’ had echoed through Mayfair. They had both worn sombre clothing for a few months, and then forgot about him entirely.
‘It is a splendid occasion,’ said Chalkdown. ‘The house is quite remarkable.’
‘Yes, we must give you a tour some time. It may take until Michaelmas, though,’ said Santiago, smiling.
‘I really don’t know how you go on with a house of such size,’ Elinor said, gazing around at the lofty ceiling and diamond-paned windows. ‘I should not like to live in a castle.’
‘Then it is well that you don’t,’ said Tiffany pleasantly.
‘We would not have come, but that we had to cancel our own house party after the sad news,’ Elinor went on piously. ‘But everyone has been most respectful, even going so far as to pretend we are not even here.’
Santiago nudged her, a smile tugging at his lips, and she fought to keep a straight face. It was petty, but it was vengeance of a sort. She wondered when Elinor would realise people were simply forgetting she existed.
‘But he died doing what he loved,’ Tiffany said, and her brother nodded thoughtfully.
‘Serving the Iron Duke,’ he agreed.
‘Following him around like a little puppy,’ Tiffany murmured under her breath, then louder. ‘I say, Elinor, what a clever fan you have.’
The fan dangling from her wrist was not just edged in black, but painted that shade entirely, which Tiffany thought was going a little too far.
‘And having already spared the expense,’ Elinor whispered the last two words, ‘of Harriet’s new wardrobe, we thought it best to complete her Season. After all, the last young woman I launched into Society married a duke,’ she added, with a laugh that verged on a simper.
Tiffany glanced up at Santiago, and felt her gaze soften. He had cut his hair, and the scar on his cheek was even more apparent now. His skin glowed golden in the candlelight. And his evening coat was green velvet.
‘No,’ she said, and leaned in to kiss his scarred cheek. ‘I married a pirate.’