“I adore the new wide-cut skirts,” Aoife told them, placing her hands behind to emphasises their fullness. “They are so flattering.”
Lady Severcombe nodded eagerly. “A girl with taste. Emerald suits you, by the way.”
“Lord Halverton’s choice,” she smiled. “He was generous enough to buy five new gowns.”
Lady Montbrass’s eyes lit up. “Oh, how I envy you.”
Aoife smiled, resisting the urge to laugh. She would have to thank Clara later.
Across the room, she caught Halverton watching her. When their eyes met, he offered her a smile. He looked pleased, proud, almost relieved. For a moment, Aoife stood a little straighter. So far she had played the part well.
The butler appeared in the doorway, bowing with precise formality.
“Dinner is served.”
The ladies released her, adjusting jewels and skirts as they took their husbands by the arm and moved toward the dining room in a sweep of satin and perfume. Halverton appeared at her side, and as she looped her hand around the crook of his elbow, he looked down at her. “I’m impressed,” he said, voice low, meant for her alone.
“If you can be this composed at dinner, I imagine the village will have a pleasant surprise tomorrow.”
Chapter 13
The dining room gleamed. A long table stretched the length of the room, polished to a mirror shine. Silver candlesticks burned steadily along its centre; crystal glasses caught the light; porcelain plates from far-off lands were arranged in perfect symmetry.
The footmen stood against the wall, waiting, silent and unmoving, their presence denied by the guests’ collective insistence that they did not exist.
The first course was a bowl of oyster soup, followed by what Lord Halverton had told her were “savouries”.
Aoife kept her gaze on her bowl as the conversation drifted gently around the table.
Lord Severcombe dabbed his mouth with a napkin and said, “You’ve kept a fine household, Halverton. Matching sets are so hard to come by these days.”
Aoife looked up, trying to make sense of the comment. Matching sets? Of what? Porcelain? Cutlery?
Halverton smiled, pleased. “I was fortunate. The pairing worked out better than I expected.”
Across the table, Lady Montbrass murmured her approval. “Very presentable.”
Aoife didn’t understand until Kit stepped forward with the tray, his shoulders held a fraction too tight.
Then it clicked. The way he and James mirrored one another: their height, build, the sharp jawlines and matching haircuts, the same shade of golden eyes. How many times had she confused one for the other? So it was deliberate then. A sign of his status and good taste that the staff matched. Aoife swallowed her food without tasting it.
Severcombe went on, entirely unaware of the discomfort tightening Aoife’s spine. “The trouble is, the young men in Eldross are all marching off to do their glorious duty for the Empire. Admirable, of course, but it makes keeping staff difficult.”
Polite laughter. A few nods.
Halverton lifted his wine. “I make do. I have both Eldrossi and Morran men in my service.”
A hush fell, brief but sharp.
Lord Severcombe looked stricken. “You… have Morran men in your service?”
“Of course I do,” Halverton replied, as if it were obvious. “And once they are trained, they work well.”
Montbrass made a face. “Oh, I don’t think I could.”
“They can’t be soldiers,” Severcombe said.
Halverton tilted his head. “What alternative do you suggest when the Empire refuses reinforcements? You either recruit from the locals, or you risk losing everything you’ve built.”
