Once Upon a Tower

by Eloisa James

  Bardolph stepped forward. “On behalf of your clansmen, Your Grace, we welcome you to Castle Craigievar.”

  “Ah,” Edie said, fascinated to see Bardolph’s lumpy knees poking out from beneath a kilt. “I am grateful for your kindness.”

  “I shall now introduce you to those who work here. The housekeeper, Mrs. Grisle.” Mrs. Grisle was a very tall woman, with teeth so large they seemed to rattle in her mouth when she spoke. She didn’t look like the sort of person who needed constant supervision, but Edie reserved judgment.

  “You have already met Mr. Rillings, Mr. Bindle, and the chef, Monsieur Morney,” Bardolph continued.

  “Good afternoon,” Edie said.

  “The kitchen workers,” Bardolph announced. A group of some twenty stepped forward.

  There was a short lull as the housekeeper marshaled a group of maids in preparation for presenting them en masse. Edie glanced at Gowan and had to restrain herself from shivering. There was an odd distance between them, but at the same time . . .

  No woman could look at Gowan and not think about kissing him. He had such animal magnetism that his very walk promised a woman that he could pleasure her for hours.

  “Edie, where’s your new daughter?” Layla asked. “Your father is not going to be happy if she turns out to have been a figment of the duke’s imagination. And neither will I, though I suppose I could eat the gingerbread I bought her myself.”

  “Where is Susannah?” Edie asked, turning to Gowan.

  Gowan lifted a finger. Bardolph snapped to attention.

  “My sister.”

  There was a bustle of activity toward the rear of the crowd, and another group was ushered forward. “Miss Pettigrew, the nanny,” Bardolph announced. “Alice, Joan, and Maisie, the nursery maids. Miss Susannah.”

  Miss Pettigrew was quite large and swathed from neck to slippers in immaculate starched linen. She was flanked by three nursery maids, similarly attired. And to the side, arms folded over her narrow chest, was a child, dressed entirely in black, who looked like a very small crow next to four looming white storks.

  Bardolph beckoned. “Miss Susannah, you may greet the duke and duchess.” There was a hint of asperity in his voice.

  Lady Susannah bobbed in a knee flex that only remotely resembled a curtsy. She favored Gowan with a scowl that he seemed to find unsurprising.

  “Susannah, this is my new wife, the Duchess of Kinross,” he said.

  The child shifted her scowl to Edie. Her red hair stood out around her head like a flame in contrast to her attire. It suddenly came to Edie that although Susannah wore black from her slippers to her hair ribbon, Gowan was not wearing mourning for his mother. Indeed, she had never seen him in black.

  “How do you do,” Edie offered.

  Gowan folded his arms over his chest. “Curtsy to the new duchess, if you please.”

  Susannah bobbed her knees again.

  “She looks just like you!” Edie exclaimed.

  “No, I don’t!” Susannah retorted, speaking for the first time. It was astonishing how such a very small person could look down her nose. A family trait, one had to suppose.

  Edie threw a slightly panicked look at Layla, who whispered, “Stoop down so she doesn’t have to look up at you.”

  Edie crouched down, balancing on her toes, and held out the doll she’d brought all the way from London. “I brought you a present.”

  For a moment they both looked at the doll. She was very stylish lady, with painted yellow hair and a frock trimmed with real lace. Susannah did not reach out for the doll. Instead she looked away, to Gowan. “Is she my sister?” she demanded, pointing to Edie.

  “She’s your new mother,” Gowan stated. “And ladies never point.”

  Susannah’s chin firmed. “I wanted a sister. I told you. I said I wanted a sister. I don’t need a mother.” Her voice rose higher with each declaration. “I told you to bring me a sister smaller than I am.”

  “And I informed you that I could not bring you a sister.” Gowan was clearly in danger of losing his usual imperturbability.

  “I don’t need a mother because I’ve already had one of those,” the girl said, turning back to Edie, who was frozen in place. She came a step closer, so close that Edie could see a faint pattern of freckles on her nose.

  “I’m sorry,” Edie said awkwardly. “I certainly don’t wish to replace your mother.”

  Susannah’s eyes darkened. “No one can replace my mother because she’s dead. She’s gone. I don’t like you very much. And that doll is ugly.” She reached out and gave it a push.

  Edie was still balanced precariously on her toes, and Susanna’s shove sent her tumbling backward, landing on her bottom in the gravel. Edie was so startled that she didn’t move, even though her legs were inelegantly splayed before her.

  A murmur arose from the surrounding servants. They likely hadn’t witnessed such an interesting family drama since the death of the former duke. Not to mention a lady’s ankles, albeit ankles clad in lacy white stockings.

  “Blast,” Layla muttered.

  “Susannah!” Gowan bellowed. He bent down and helped Edie to her feet.

  At the same moment, Miss Pettigrew stepped forward and grabbed the little girl by the elbow with one hand, giving her a hard whack on the bottom with the other. “You will apologize this moment,” she hissed. The nanny had red patches in her cheeks, and she was so furious that her eyes looked like black currants.

  “It was just an accident,” Edie put in, not liking the way that Susannah’s body had jolted forward when she was spanked.

  “No, it wasn’t!” Susannah retorted, her voice as strong as ever. “I don’t need a mother, and I told him. I don’t like you. So you can just go back where you came from. And take that ugly doll with you.” She tried to pull free of her nanny but couldn’t manage it.

  Gowan stepped forward, his eyes kindling.

  Edie quickly stooped down before the small girl. “I expect you are very sorry for hurting my feelings, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  But something about Edie’s gaze must have sunk in. “I’m sorry,” Susannah said sullenly.

  “If you don’t wish for this doll, I’m sure that someone here has a little girl at home who would love her.” Edie held out the doll again.

  Susannah’s eyes went from the doll’s golden head to Edie’s. “I don’t want it,” she said, her tone hard. “You can throw it away.”

  Edie straightened and handed the doll, rather blindly, to Bardolph. She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.

  “Edie, would you introduce me to Miss Susannah, please?” Layla asked gently.

  “Susannah, this is my very dear stepmother, Lady Gilchrist.” Edie put a steel undertone in her voice. “Please make your curtsy.”

  Susannah bobbed a curtsy.

  Layla knelt down with no regard for her skirts. “Hello, Susannah.”

  Edie was battling a sharp sense of utter failure. She looked down, trying to see Layla’s tip-tilted, smiling eyes and sweet mouth through a little girl’s eyes. Sure enough, Susannah’s shoulders softened a bit. “Hello.”

  “I’ve brought you a present as well, though it’s not as nice as that beautiful doll.”

  A cautious light shone in Susannah’s eye. “Really?”

  Layla nodded. “It’s something I loved when I was your age.”

  Susannah stepped closer, enough so that Layla could take her hand. “What is it?”

  “A gingerbread princess. Have you ever eaten gingerbread?”

  “No. Where is it?”

  “She’s in the carriage,” Layla said, standing up. “Shall we find her?”

  Miss Pettigrew moved forward. “I regret to say that it is time for Miss Susannah’s French lesson. Because she was extremely misbehaved this morning—which I am sorry to tell you is not uncharacteristic of her—she will have a double lesson, followed by an hour practicing deportment, after which she will lie on a board for an hour. Her post
ure is deplorable.”

  Susannah slanted her nanny a look that was far too worldly for her age.

  “Susannah!” Gowan thundered.

  That scowl must also be a family trait, like the ability to look down one’s nose. And yet Edie thought she could see a heartbreaking vulnerability behind Susannah’s frown.

  Layla said, very quietly, “Edie.”

  Edie knew exactly what Layla wished to convey with that one word: to wit, that Miss Pettigrew wasn’t a suitable person for the nursery. If Edie didn’t dismiss her, Layla probably would, despite having no authority. Edie squared her shoulders. She had to take responsibility; this was her household now.

  “You must be polite to your nanny,” Gowan was saying. “And to the duchess.”

  Susannah bobbed up and down in her version of a curtsy, looking like a cork thrown into the water. “I apologize, Miss Pettigrew.” At the age of five, she had mastered a perfectly expressionless tone.

  Miss Pettigrew lowered her chin in a gesture that bore no resemblance to a nod, and turned back to Edie. “As you can see, Your Grace, the child has been sorely spoiled. She has no languages, no music, and no understanding of polite comportment of any kind whatsoever.”

  Edie didn’t think that Susannah looked spoiled. She looked like a person who had learned very young that it was better to be scornful than to cry. Frankly, Edie agreed with her.

  “I myself speak no French,” she told Miss Pettigrew.

  The nanny’s thin lips tightened. “As the daughter of a duchess, Miss Susannah ought to be fluent in at least three languages. Given her questionable paternity, her behavior must be exemplary. As you can see, much work remains to be done.”

  After that speech, Edie needed no further prompting from Layla. She looked the woman squarely in the eye and said, “Miss Pettigrew, I thank you for your service to the family, but I am terminating your employment, effective immediately. Bardolph, make all due arrangements. Miss Pettigrew shall have a generous severance and transportation to wherever she wishes.”

  Shockingly, the nanny opened her mouth as if she might argue, so Edie fixed her with a look. “As I said,” she repeated, “a generous severance. But there will be no letter of recommendation.”

  Bardolph seemed rather stunned, but snapped to attention and drew Miss Pettigrew to the side.

  Susannah’s eyes widened, though she didn’t move or say a word.

  “Now then, shall we find that gingerbread?” Layla dropped her reticule on the ground, bent down, and scooped up the little girl. Susannah’s legs looked birdlike against Layla’s curves.

  There was one long moment when Layla and Susannah stared at each other, and then the little girl smiled. Some of her teeth appeared to be missing, which was oddly adorable. Layla turned to Edie and said, “Susannah and I will find the gingerbread in the carriage and return shortly.” She walked away, holding Susannah as if she were very precious.

  Edie took a deep breath and picked up Layla’s reticule.

  “I see why you were concerned,” Gowan said, his voice offering no judgment. “Clearly, you are not accustomed to children, but Lady Gilchrist is. Perhaps she will offer a solution to the question of Susannah.”

  Edie stared at him. Had he just offered to give away his sister?

  “Are Lord and Lady Gilchrist permanently estranged?” he asked.

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “Perhaps we can persuade Lady Gilchrist to live here in the interim.” That was Gowan. When a solution to a problem presented itself, he moved swiftly to carry it out.

  Edie gave herself a mental shake and turned to the nursemaids. “Do we truly need all three of you for one child?”

  “The best nurseries have at least three nursemaids and a nanny, if not a governess as well,” Bardolph put in.

  Edie looked at him, and he fell back a step. “Which of you does Susannah like best?” she asked the maids.

  After some hesitance, a chubby-cheeked girl with a sweet mouth stepped forward and said, anxiously, “My name is Alice. But I don’t speak a word of French, Your Grace. Nor any other language except the King’s English.”

  “You shall be the head nursery maid for the time being,” Edie said. “Susannah is still in blacks, so languages can wait. The more important thing is to find a music instructor. The younger she is when she begins, the more proficient she will become.” It was the one thing she felt confident about. She herself had picked up a cello around Susannah’s age.

  Gowan seemed faintly amused. “Find a musician who can tutor the child,” he said to Bardolph.

  The nursemaids curtsied and departed. Bardolph ushered forward a group of women who wore dark crimson gowns and snowy white aprons. “The downstairs maids.”

  “Good morning,” Edie said.

  Bardolph waved forward another group. “The dairy maids.”

  “Good morning.”

  The second-floor maids were followed by the scullery maids, who were followed by some other groups, and then by the bootblacks. The very last cluster were the swineherds, of whom there were a surprising number.

  “I’m very happy to meet all of you,” Edie said when the final group had been introduced. “I hope that in time I shall learn all your names.” There was a round of smiles at that.

  “Good morning,” Gowan called, followed by a tidal wave of curtsies and bows, and then it was over. “There are others,” he told her. “The bailiffs and the stewards, the keeper of the tower, and so on. But they can wait.”

  They walked across the courtyard toward a huge open pair of richly carved wooden doors, as Edie absorbed the idea that there were still more people to meet. “The ‘keeper of the tower’? Which tower? I saw several as we approached in the carriage.”

  “I shall give you a tour of the grounds, when I have the time. The towers in the castle fall under the purview of the groundskeeper, who is under Bardolph, of course. The tower to which I refer is an unattached structure built in the thirteenth century, down in the meadow by the Glaschorrie River.”

  “It sounds very romantic.”

  “No,” he said uncompromisingly, “it is not. It presents constant trouble, as fools cannot resist climbing it. One boy fell two years ago and cracked his head so badly he nearly died. After that, I appointed the keeper to make certain no one approaches it.”

  The entry hall was large enough to roast four or five suckling pigs and still have room for a maypole. The acoustics, Edie noted automatically, would be terrible, given the fact that the ceiling disappeared into the gloom far above their heads.

  Bardolph immediately caught Gowan’s attention and bore him off to the side of the hall. Layla had emerged from the carriage and followed them into the entry hall with Susannah trotting along beside her, so Edie took the opportunity to ask the little girl, “Do you know where your brother’s bedchamber is?”

  “No,” Susannah answered, unsurprisingly. “You’d have to ask her.” She nodded toward the housekeeper, Mrs. Grisle, who had been drawn into the conversation with Bardolph and Gowan.

  “Let’s try to find it ourselves.” Edie started up the great stone staircase, followed by Susannah and Layla. At the top, she began pushing open doors. “Do you like living here?” she asked Susannah.

  “It’s lonely. My mother is dead.” She put a bit of vibrato into her voice.

  “So is mine,” Edie said.

  “But you are old.”

  “My mother died when I was only two. Younger than you are.”

  “Oh.” Susannah digested that for a while. “Did your mother fall into a loch and drown?”

  “No, she did not. She took a chill and caught pneumonia.”

  “Were you sad?”

  “I don’t remember, but I’ve been sad about it since. I would have liked to have a mother.”

  “They’re not so important,” Susannah told her.

  Edie tried not to take that personally.

  “I think mothers are very important,” Layla put in.

 
; The next door led to a large bedchamber, but it had no connecting doors leading to a bathroom or dressing room.

  “This appears to be a guest room,” Layla said. “Shall I stay here, Edie?” It was a bilious room, completely done up in mustard yellow, from the drapes to the rugs to the bed hangings.

  Before Edie could answer, Susannah said, “You can sleep in the nursery, if you want. Miss Pettigrew had a bed there but now she’s gone. The room is small, though.”

  Edie instinctively recoiled at the idea, but she caught herself. Layla never saw a baby on the street without stopping to coo. She paid calls merely to catch sight of children who might be paraded through the morning room. Of course, she already adored Susannah, and it seemed Susannah adored her.

  “I like small rooms,” Layla said. “I think they’re cozy, don’t you?”

  Layla wasn’t one to travel light and had brought three trunks full of clothing with her. Cozy would not accurately describe Edie’s understanding of her preferences.

  The duke’s bedchamber turned out to be just down the hallway. Here the rugs, drapes, and bed hangings were brown.

  “I like the nursery better.” Gowan’s little sister planted herself in the middle of the room with her arms crossed over her narrow chest. “This is not a good room,” she stated. “This is a bad room, and maybe someone died in here.”

  “There are no ghosts in my castle,” Edie said, walking over to an interior door, which led to a large chamber, with a built-in bath and an adjoining water closet.

  “There are three ghosts in the tower,” Susannah said. And then: “The bath is large enough to swim in.” She sounded impressed for the first time.

  “How is the bath in the nursery?” Layla asked.

  “There isn’t one. I have a tin tub.”

  “Then you shall bathe here tonight,” Layla promised.

  The far door, on the other side of the bathing chamber, led to the duchess’s room. It was blue. All of it: rugs, hangings, curtains. Just as she noticed that the ceiling was also blue, Gowan strode in from the corridor.