“I wouldn’t mind if people kissed my toes. You know, I might be a wee bit irritable in the next day or so,” Layla said, drumming her fingers against her seat. “Cheroots give me a sense of calm that seems to have gone missing at the moment.”
“You can howl all you wish, as long as you give them up,” Edie told her.
Layla sighed. “Right. Well, darling, what we’re going to do is set the scene for an evening of romantic bliss. Champagne, flowers, poetry.”
“Poetry?”
“I’ll instruct your husband myself. You know I’ve seen every romantic play performed in the West End in the last three years. I’m an expert.”
“You cannot tell Gowan what we’ve discussed!” Edie ordered.
“I would never do that,” Layla said, looking injured. “Trust me. I’m as wily as a fox.”
At that moment the carriage rocked around a turn. Edie looked out the window and gasped.
Before them lay a fairy-tale castle. It was pale yellow stone, the exact color of October beer, its battlements sharp-edged against a sky so pale that it looked like skim milk.
“God, I hope your husband had bathrooms put in,” Layla said, sliding across the seat so that she could look out her window. “Castles have garderobes; did you know that? I gather they’re nothing more than holes that empty straight into the moat.”
“No moat,” Edie said. “I’m looking at the flag.”
“Good Lord,” Layla said, in a shocked voice. “Just look at the size of that dragon’s sword. Either it’s a mighty boastful flag or you really do have something to complain about.”
Edie squinted at the sword the dragon held. “It’s a trifle out of proportion.”
“No wonder the man is so autocratic. Every time he comes home he likely forgets he’s a mere mortal. Do you suppose trumpets will sound when you step from the carriage?”
“I hope not.”
“That’s what happens in threepenny plays when the princess marries a swineherd who turns out to be a king,” Layla said. “Trumpets, and lots of them. Who would have known you’d marry someone like this? I can’t wait to see you drinking pearls dissolved in wine and generally carrying on like Cleopatra. Given the size of that castle, Gowan should be giving you a diamond for every squeak of pain you suffer.”
“Layla!”
Twenty-seven
Edie climbed down from the carriage, clutching the doll she’d bought for Susannah, to find Gowan and company waiting in front of the castle.
“I feel as if we’ve traveled through time to a medieval fiefdom,” Layla said, stepping onto the ground next to her. “Weren’t those the days when a returning duke was met by servants running in from the fields and the like?”
Edie was watching people stream out from the portcullis. “I suppose.”
Gowan moved to her other side, his expression as grave as ever. He had helped Edie from the carriage, but he hadn’t said much. Now he stood silently with his hands clasped behind his back. She had the feeling he was angry at her, but she wasn’t sure why. When he asked about her monthly courses, she’d told him the truth. If he had asked, she would have allowed him into her bed.
But he hadn’t asked.
At that moment, all the assembled servants bobbed up and down at the same time. Gowan lifted his hand.
They were so silent that Edie could hear a bird singing over the wall.
“I present to you the Duchess of Kinross,” Gowan said. His voice was quiet, but utterly commanding. “She is your mistress. Respect her as you respect me, obey her as you obey me, and love her as I bid you.”
They all bobbed more curtsies and bows.
“Thank you,” Edie called, looking from person to person with a hopeless sense that she would never come to know all the people who lived in her own house. What’s more, if she couldn’t talk Gowan out of his habit of allowing his retainers carte blanche in his bedchamber, in the breakfast room, and in the dining room, she’d have all these strangers wheeling through her life on a daily basis.
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.”