Elsie came back, gasping and holding her sides. “These stairs, miss! To reach the housekeeper’s chambers, I have to go down the back stairs, and then down another set on the left, and then up again, and then down once more!”

Annabel stepped out of the bath into a towel warmed before the fire.

“Your gown for this evening is ready. Mrs. Warsop offered to do it with her own hands, and a beautiful job she’s done. Do you know, she and Mr. Warsop have been married these forty-three years? And he’s been the butler here at the castle since he was a lad.”

Elsie kept talking while Annabel’s hair dried, and while she brushed it until it shone. Then Annabel put on her chemise and her corset, the French one. Her gown was a long sweep of plum-colored, figured sarcenet that hugged her curves and then widened into a small train. A lace fall emphasized her bodice.

Elsie tied Annabel’s hair into a knot of curls and finally Annabel looked at herself in the glass. She thought she looked fit for a castle. For an earl. Even…perhaps…for a man such as Ewan. But she caught herself up trying to coax her face into a pious expression: the kind of look that Ewan’s wife ought to wear. Marriage was one thing, and playacting quite another.

Twenty-nine

The dining room was cavernous, and dubiously heated by enormous fireplaces at either end.

“Once we’re married, I suppose you’ll have to sit down there,” Ewan said, gesturing toward the far end of the huge table. “I remember my parents dining so, as if they were marooned on separate islands. But for tonight, I’ve asked Warsop to put us all at one end.”Beautiful old china was set for the family and the three monks, but even those ten places took only a fourth of the span. “But this table is surely meant for a whole clan,” Annabel said. “Why on earth haven’t you replaced it with a smaller one?”

“An excellent suggestion,” Ewan said.

“Things should stay as they are,” Lady Ardmore said, sweeping into a seat to Ewan’s right. She had changed into a gown that had apparently been designed, if not made, in the days of Queen Elizabeth. Her petticoats alone must have weighed two stone, and a large, stiff ruff jutted from behind her neck. “There’s no reason to turn everything topsy-turvy on account of a new bride in the castle. This castle’s seen many a bride come and go, and maintaining the behavior contingent to an earl’s dignity is more important than comfort.”

Uncle Tobin sat to Lady Ardmore’s right. “You’re going to have to hand over the reins,” he told her, clearly enjoying himself. “Everything will change when you’re the dowager countess.”

Lady Ardmore eyed Annabel. “If Miss Essex thinks she can run a household distinguished by such a large staff, I will be most content to relinquish control.” She directed a smile at Annabel that would have felled a pirate.

But Annabel hadn’t spend her youth skirmishing with unpaid tradesmen for nothing. She returned with a tolerant smile that indicated no wish to be unkind, while signaling its opposite. “You must be exhausted after all these years,” she cooed. “It will be my pleasure to take some of the burden from your shoulders.”

“You sound like a demmed missionary,” Lady Ardmore said with revulsion. “You didn’t find yourself a hymn singer to marry, did you?” she demanded of Ewan. “The castle’s already overrun by them.”

Father Armailhac smiled, unperturbed, and Gregory kept eating peacefully. “Absolutely not,” Ewan told his grandmother. “I knew a bride with a churchgoing disposition would be upsetting for your digestion, Nana.”

Lady Ardmore readjusted her wig and took a bite of her supper. “This house has gone to wrack and ruin since we moved the demmed Catholics in,” she said loudly.

“Lady Ardmore, I promise you that I was merely experiencing a streak of luck last evening,” Father Armailhac said. “I shall give you a chance to recoup your losses tonight.”

She glared at Annabel, but there was a whiff of camaraderie in her glare. “Took all my money, he did. A gambling monk! I never thought I’d see the day. Perfectly disgraceful.”

“You’re giving Miss Essex an erroneous impression of us,” Father Armailhac said, smiling. “We play for bawbees, Miss Essex.”

“This family didn’t gain its wealth by wasting its coins, no matter if they are only worth a few pence,” the countess announced.

Annabel sipped her consommé. “This is delicious,” she said to Ewan. “Did you have trouble finding a cook so far up in the Highlands?”

“We’re lucky enough to have a French chef,” Ewan replied. “Mac found him and lured him here for quite a large salary—”

“Disgraceful!” his grandmother interjected.

“Monsieur Flambeau likely would have left us during his first winter, except he fell in love with Mac’s sister.”

“Disgraceful!” from Lady Ardmore.

“Now they have two children and no plans to move from Scotland, although I do have to raise his salary every time the snow goes over five feet.”

Ewan’s grandmother opened her mouth, but Annabel anticipated her. “Disgraceful?” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

“French!” the countess snapped. “Of course, it remains to be seen what you think of winter in the Highlands, Miss Essex.”

Annabel wasn’t sure whether the cook showed his Frenchness by falling in love, or by disliking high snow.

Gregory was sitting quietly next to Uncle Tobin and hadn’t yet said a word. “Do you have a tutor, Gregory?” Annabel asked him.

He looked up from his soup, seeming rather startled to be addressed. “Not at the moment, Miss Essex. Last February my tutor decided to return to Cambridge, and since then Father Armailhac has been tutoring me in Latin and French.”

“Do you enjoy the study of languages?” Annabel asked. Gregory seemed quite different from children whom she had known. He was remarkably self-possessed, with manners so exquisite as to be positively antique.

“Most certainly. But I do miss studying mathematics,” he said, pushing back his hair from his forehead. “And archaeology.”

“I thought it would do Gregory good to take a break from his studies,” Ewan said. “I’ve asked him to join me in the fields this summer.”

Lady Ardmore snorted. “The fields! Utterly unsuitable!”

Annabel raised an eyebrow. “The fields?”

“We raise all sorts of crops on my lands,” Ewan explained. “I generally spend the greater part of the summer moving from one field to another.” A look at Gregory’s rather peaked, white face made Annabel think that Ewan’s plan for sunshine and fresh air was a good one.

“Manual labor,” Nana grumbled. “It’s not befitting an earl. Your father would never have dirtied his hands in such a fashion.”

“I’ll be planting a number of experimental crops this year,” Ewan said, ignoring his grandmother altogether.

When the meal was over Gregory and Father Armailhac left, talking of Socrates. Lady Ardmore walked out on Uncle Tobin’s arm, swearing that she would take all of Father Armailhac’s bawbees or die in the attempt. Ewan and Annabel were following until he waved the butler ahead of them and shut the door.