by Caroline Lee
Roland made a show of leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and craning his head sideways, as if trying to catch a glimpse under the bubbles. “I suppose ye’d rather someone else hold yer—what did ye call yer bollocks? Och, aye—yer genitalia.”
Max glared. “You’re not offering, I hope?”
Chuckling, Roland dropped his head, then sucked in a breath and cupped his forehead. “Ow.”
“Headache?” It was still early enough in the day, was it possible Roland had overindulged the night before?
“Too much brandy. It doesnae sit as smoothly in my stomach as good Highland whisky, aye?”
Max had to agree with that. “I know what you mean. I had a bit too much myself.”
“I ken it. That’s why ye’re currently enjoying the hospitality of one of Newfincy Castle’s most recently installed bathtubs. It’s nice, aye?”
Allowing himself to relax a bit, Max rested his head against the edge of the tub, but didn’t un-cup his hands, just in case Roland could see through the bubbles. “I’ll admit you Scots know how to live life. Now don’t get me wrong, we’ve got some nice bathing chambers back in America—I’m sure your cousin Andrew Prince can afford one—but I’ve just never experienced it, and I’m glad I accepted the opportunity to enjoy it.”
“Ye mean ye were just too drunk to make it back to the inn last night, so ye gave into my nagging.”
“Possibly.” When Max shrugged, a bit of the water spilled over the side of the tub, and he resisted the urge to wince.
Here in the Highlands, he was allowed to make messes—and demands—without feeling guilty.
Roland rolled his shoulders with a groan. Then, straightening, he arched his back, as if stretching out the discomfort. “Ye mean to tell me that fancy father of yers didnae have running water installed in his house?”
Why would he, when he had Max—and later, paid servants—to do the work for him?
But all Max said was, “Nope. I might just stick around here so I can take baths more often.”
To his surprise, Roland didn’t look happy about that idea, even though it had been him who’d been constantly bugging him to do that very thing. “I need an excuse to visit ye at the inn.”
“Really?” Max’s brows shot up. He hadn’t spent all that much time at The Oliphant Inn in the last few weeks, only returning there to sleep. And Roland had only visited him a few times, like yesterday, when he’d come to fetch Max. “Why?”
His friend seemed hesitant to answer at first. “Did ye see the pink angel I danced with last night? The one with the fancy shoes?”
The mention of shoes drew Max’s attention to the dressing table across the room, and the object nestled in the top drawer. But he merely said, “I remember seeing the two of you together.”
“Aye, well, she didnae tell me her name, but I want to see her again. She told me I could find her at the inn.”
Max frowned. The woman Roland had danced with had worn her blonde hair up in a fancy style, and there wasn’t much else to use to identify her. But he had an idea. “You think visiting the inn will allow you to find her?”
“Maybe she’s a guest?” Roland shrugged.
“The inn proprietress, Lady Machara Oliphant, has two daughters. The older of the two has lighter hair.”
Roland sat forward; his eagerness plainly written across his expression. “Do ye think it might be her? I remember meeting them ages ago and thinking they were both beauties, but last night…”
As he blew out a fond breath, Max was surprised to feel…jealousy? He’d seen Roland dancing with the lady in pink, seen the two of them laughing together, and had even seen him pull her aside for a private conversation. He hadn’t seen what had come of it, but it had been clear Roland had enjoyed himself at the ball.
And Max? Well, he’d danced with an absolutely intriguing redhead in pure white, who wore unusual footwear…but had then run from him. Not just from him, but from the ball, and from the castle. What had he done to warrant such an escape?
Uncomfortable, he shifted in the tub, the water spilling over the side once more. He couldn’t shake the idea she might’ve been in trouble and needed help, but he was unlikely to find her again, wasn’t he?
Although…
His gaze cut to the dressing table again. She’d left something of hers behind, and if he were ever offered the chance to return it, he would. And he’d thank her for the most interesting dance and ask her about the business proposition she’d mentioned.
“Max?”
He started, remembering his friend was waiting for a response. “Aye, the older daughter’s name in Vanessa, I believe. I remember thinking she was a bit prideful, thanks to her beauty.”
“Haughty?” Roland hummed. “Aye, that could be my angel. I’ll have to call on Baroness Oliphant at the inn and inquire after her daughter.”
Max sunk lower in the tub. “So that’s where you’re off to today?”
His friend chuckled. “Nay, although I wish. I have to spend some time at my estate for a change, then Da is sending me off to Inverness for the week—possibly longer—to follow up on some business. I told him ye were likely no’ to miss me.”
“I’ll miss ye terribly, deeply!” Max sighed with over-dramatic sorrow. “But somehow, I’ll console myself with the mountain of work I’ve got waiting for me at Oliphant Engraving.”
“Aye, that’s what I meant.” Roland grinned. “I dinnae care if ye stay here in my absence, or move into yer own house, but when I get back, I’m dragging yer arse to the inn for an introduction.”
“Deal. Now go away.”
Roland grinned. “I’m waiting to escort ye down to luncheon. If I have to sit around too many loud people with a headache, I insist on ye going with me.”
“I’m not getting out of this tub until you’re gone!”
“Why?” Roland stood, making a nonchalant show of peering into the tub as Max sunk his chin below the water. “Ye havenae got anything I havenae seen already, do ye? I have more than one brother.”
Spitting water out of his mouth, Max glared. “I’ve only got the one, and you’re pissing me off about as much as he does. Hand me that towel and get out!”
Chuckling, Roland snagged a towel off the top of a pile of fluffy white ones and tossed it underhanded toward Max’s head. Max had to scramble upright—more water splashed on the floor—to keep it from sailing past the tub.
“Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically.
“Dinnae mention it!” Roland was on his way out the door. “Put yer trousers on and come downstairs to see me off, or I’ll believe ye’re pining for me.”
Max snorted and waited for his friend to close the door behind him before he stood. Pining for Roland? Unlikely. He’d spend the next week getting comfortable at Oliphant Engraving, settling into his new role, and he’d likely not think of Roland a bit.
But he had to admit, there were others occupying his mind, as he used the towel to sluice water and bubbles from his skin. Such as that flustered girl he’d bumped into yesterday at the inn. Or the redhead, with the intriguing mask and shoes, at the ball.
One was a lady and one was a servant, but they both had captured his attention. Maybe it was because, for most of his life, he’d been little more than a servant himself, but now he was rubbing elbows with lairds and Earls and whatnot.
With a sigh, Max stepped from the tub, careful to drip onto the towel he’d placed down for just that reason. He hung up the wet one he’d used, then grabbed a fresh one to wrap around his waist, tightening it securely, with a suspicious glance at the door, just in case Roland returned.
Then he crossed to the dressing table and pulled open the top drawer. There, beside a guest shaving kit, lay a bundle wrapped in cotton.
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 t
he 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 Roland 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 to match the lady’s hair, Max supposed. 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 Roland’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 Roland, she likely had dozens and dozens of pairs of shoes and wouldn’t miss this one.
But then again, if she was like Roland—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, he’d ask Mrs. Oliphant’s daughter at the inn about her shoes…or not.
Nah, it would be best to leave that until Roland was back home and could woo the lady properly.
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, white-garbed, be-geared lady from the previous night.
Ladies dinnae have to wash their own drawers, much less someone else’s. Does Machara eat chocolate in her undergarments? Ridiculous!
A whisp 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 ye certain ye dinnae need any help?” Bonnie asked quietly from her place on the bench, where she’d been reading.
“Aye, now that the hot water part is done, ye 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’ll start on this end of the line,” Bonnie declared.
Gratefully, Ember did so. “Thank ye.”
They worked in silence for a while, until Bonnie suddenly asked, “Why do ye do this? The laundry, I mean.”
Ember shrugged. “Because it has to be done. Yer mother refused to hire another maid after Lisette married, and if I didnae do it—”
“Nay, 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. “Ye shouldnae have to do it.”
Ember snorted softly. “Oh, is Vanessa going to suddenly start doing laundry?” Both of them knew Vanessa had been grateful being forbidden from doing manual labor. “Besides, this load isnae all yer and Vanessa’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 ken this isnae what ye want from life, Ember. And it isnae fair ye have to slave for Mother.”
“I do it to keep the inn going,” Ember declared stiffly. “But I’ll no’ do it much longer.”
Her sister brightened, pulling the clothesline down so she could smile at Ember over the top of the drying garments. “Aye! Yer shoes were the highlights of the ball last night! Ye should’ve seen the way everyone stared at them.” But then her expression fell. “Ye should’ve been able to see. I’m sorry. Mother told us what she’d done after we’d 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.
“Och, well, it was nice to have the evening off at least.”
“Oh, Ember, ye dinnae need to pretend ye arenae heartbroken. I wanted ye to attend too, ye ken. The ball was dreadfully boring and—”
“There ye are!” Vanessa 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 no’ 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.
“Have ye come to help me with the laundry then?”
Vanessa stuck her tongue out pertly, before declaring teasingly, “And ruin my fingernails? Dinnae be silly. I’m a lady.”
“So am I,” muttered Bonnie around a mouthful of clothespins.
“Aye, but I’m a lady who cares what I look like.”
Giggling, Vanessa 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. Vanessa, 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? Aye, that one. Narcissica and the Kitchen Garden Well.
Still staring dreamily into the well, Vanessa 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. “It was no’ boring, but I saw Mother pushing ye to dance with all those men.”
“I didnae want to.”
“Ye’d likely prefer to be back at home with a book, aye?” Vanessa shook her head. “I am sorry ye werenae able to go, Ember. I am certain that tangerine gown would’ve fit ye 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 perf
ect white 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’d missed.”
Vanessa 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 Vanessa 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, Vanessa began to describe some of the more flamboyant costumes, although Ember noticed she left out Laird Oliphant’s chicken costume for some reason.
“Yer shoes were verra 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?”
“No’ to me,” Vanessa declared. “I was too busy dancing.”
“Three of my partners complimented me and asked where I’d received them.” Bonnie spoke from behind her book. “I told them all I kenned the designer, who would be happy to accept orders.”
Ember huffed as she planted the tub back into place. “Aye, 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’m certain they were only asking for their wives or daughters.” Vanessa waved her hand dismissively. “And I’ll 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 ye, milady.” Ember managed to make her bow sarcastic enough her sister snorted.
“Oh stop it, I’m just trying to tell ye how popular they were. Of course, I’m no’ certain Mr. DeVille noticed them. He’s the man ye need to impress, aye?”