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“Besides,” he continued, “if titles matter, you shall be Lady Farrington one day. Until then, you are Mrs. Farrington. And, when we are alone together, you will be the Naked Enchantress Euphemia, Conjurer of the Merry Dancers and Pleasurer of Husbands. Well, one husband. Me.”
“Hmm. I shall strive to be worthy of such an exalted title.”
Several hours later, after repeatedly earning her laurels, she was putting the final pins in her hair when she heard the muffled clop-and-jangle of a carriage outside.
Andrew paused before the next swipe of his razor. “Blast. I told the coachman to return before midday. I confess I hoped he’d be a bit less punctual.”
“Finish shaving,” she said. “I’ll speak with him.”
Outside, the world was a breathtaking realm of crisp blue and glimmering white. She wrapped her shawl tighter and blew into her hands. Clear weather was lovely but deuced cold.
Ten feet away, the coachman dismounted and tipped his hat. “Miss.”
She smiled. “Missus, actually. We’re not quite ready to leave yet. Would you care for tea?”
He was nodding his thanks when the carriage door opened. Out stepped Mrs. MacBean, looking frazzled. “Wee bit cramped for nappin’, this one.”
“Mary!” Euphemia embraced the old woman and ushered her toward the cottage. “I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.”
“That’s just what the Brodie brothers used to say after a long night and three bottles of whisky.”
Euphemia drew her inside and busied herself pouring tea. The coachman downed his quickly and returned outside to tend the horses. Mrs. MacBean milled about, pausing to run a fingertip over the carvings of the swan chest.
“What brings you here?” Euphemia asked, handing her a cup.
Mary sat in one of the chairs near the fire. “Forgot to give ye yer weddin’ gift yesterday.”
Andrew entered from the bedchamber. He wore his darkest brown coat and a bronze waistcoat. He looked so dashing and so happy, Euphemia wanted to leap upon him and demand he kiss her.
“You mean to say my favorite tea wasn’t our wedding gift?” he said.
Mrs. MacBean smiled over the rim of her cup. “’Tis good tea. I asked a friend to send it from London. He’s English, too. Ye’re welcome to keep it, laddie.”
Andrew took the fresh cup Euphemia offered and gave her a slow, devastating grin. “I think it served its purpose.”
Euphemia’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to melt into the settee.
“Och, lassie, ye’ve landed a bonnie catch. Reminds me of the youngest Brodie brother. Had dimples onallhis cheeks.” She took a sip and shook her head. “Those dimples would fair wink at ye when he was feelin’ cocky. Irresistible man.”
Andrew sat next to Euphemia and nodded toward the swan chest. “You have our eternal gratitude for that, Mrs. MacBean. No other gift is necessary.”
“Oh, but ye’ll fancy this one.” She set her tea on the table and dug into a leather pouch strapped around her waist. After extracting a white feather, a scrap of red tartan, and a shriveled mushroom, she finally withdrew a circular medallion the size of a large coin. It had a pair of chains attached. When she dangled the medallion before them, it separated into two halves.
Euphemia leaned forward to peer at the gold half-moon. “Oh!” With trembling fingers, she lifted the delicate filigree closer. “A swan,” she breathed.
“Aye,” said Mrs. MacBean. “Two halves of a whole heart, ye see?” She slid the two halves together and snapped them into place. Their arched necks intertwined, their bodies overlapping. Behind the pair of birds was a polished silver moon. And when the medallion was whole, a banner of aged copper became visible across the sky. The copper was green.
Euphemia’s throat tightened. “Oh, heavens, Mary,” she choked. Light swirled. Tears tumbled. Andrew offered her his handkerchief, and she accepted it gladly, dabbing beneath her spectacles. “How did you…? Where did you…? This is…”
“Aye, the Ross lad has a grand talent.” The old woman shrugged. “To be expected, I suppose. His father’s a goldsmith.” She frowned. “Although, what a goldsmith is doin’ runnin’ an inn is beyond my ken.”
Andrew took the exquisite piece in hand to peer at it more closely. “Extraordinary,” he breathed. “I am speechless, Mrs. MacBean. Thank you.” He paused, his gaze sliding to Euphemia and glowing with tenderness. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you.”
Mrs. MacBean gave them a wink. “Send tea from time to time. That’ll do.”
Euphemia sniffed and smiled wide. “We certainly will.”
“Oh, and news of the twins once they’re born.”
Euphemia’s eyes flared wide. She shared a startled look with Andrew. “Tw-twins?”
“Aye. Sinclair twins dinnae come along every day, ye ken. Nae doubt ’tis for the best.” The old woman grinned above her teacup. “This world can only bear so much magic.”
The End
