“I’m perfectly fine.” A frustrated sound came from her as she finally managed to right herself, pushing a pillow beneath each arm with a grunt to hold herself in place. “I needed a moment of respite. Ware is smothering me. Like one of his bloody moths. When he isn’t about, the dowager’s ancient butler follows me, hands out, bracing himself in case I fall.” Tamsin’s eyes drew up to her brows. “As if he could catch me. He’s at least eighty with bones more brittle than the china.”
Aurora bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Poor Tamsin. Ware was rather terrifying when intent on the protection of his wife and child. “His fear is warranted given the number of cats inhabiting your home. You might trip.” The Dowager Duchess of Ware was well known for her love of felines. There must be at least a dozen inhabiting the duke’s mansion.
“I had to sneak out.” Tamsin thumped a pillow with her fist. “Forced to bribe one of the footmen so as not to alert the household I was leaving.” She wiggled about, trying to getcomfortable which was nearly impossible given her condition. “This is Ware’s fault. All of it. Make me a plate, Aurora. Escaping a duke makes one quite hungry.”
Aurora took a small plate and filled it with two scones and a biscuit, handing it to her sister who promptly placed the bounty atop the mound of her stomach.
“These smell quite delicious.” Tamsin inhaled. “I’m starving.”
“Well, I rather think you might have had something to do with it. You can’t blame Ware completely.” Alyss, Malcolm’s wife, perched in a chair, her ever-present parasol leaning to the side, dark eyes observing the mountain that was Tamsin.
“At least I wasn’t ruined in a cottage while pretending to be someone else.” Tamsin bit into a scone viciously. “Waving about a parasol. As if that would frighten anyone, let alone, Malcom.”
Alyss raised a pale brow, not the least put off by Tamsin’s comments. “The ruination occurredafterI revealed my identity,” she corrected. “Not before. Malcolm knew perfectly well who I was. And as for parasol injuries, I can give you a list of my cousin’s former suitors.” She smiled sweetly.
“You’re merely grumpy, Tamsin,” Odessa, chimed in. “Because you haven’t had anything stronger than tea in ages. Not even a glass of ratafia.”
“The smell of spirits,” Tamsin declared, “makes my stomach pitch. Trust me, I long for just a sip of good, Irish whiskey. Dream of it. Ware poured a glass and—well the results were not promising. I think I may have ruined his boots and scared the half-dozen cats surrounding me. Also, I would like to point out, I am not paying a call. Only visiting my family. Besides, if something happens,” she waved a hand in a circular motion around the giant mound of her stomach, “Holly will carry me up the stairs and send for the physician, won’t you, Holly?”
Holly, the Emerson butler, inclined his large head. Rather like a mastiff who ushered in guests. “Yes, Your Grace.” He adored Tamsin and would likely have the child for her if he could.
“I read the most provocative story, just the other day.” Odessa, eyes gleaming, took a bite of a biscuit. “There is a werewolf in Northumberland. Spotted very near Spittal. Carried off two sheep.” She paused, eyes wide, waiting for their reaction to the news. “Close toDunnings.”
“We are all aware,” Tamsin chewed her scone, “where Dunnings is located, Odessa.”
Aurora had also read a provocative story the other day, though it had little to do with strange beasts roaming Northumberland eating sheep, and a great deal to do with naked limbs and the correct position for one’s mouth to perform a particular sexual act. The book Worth had loaned her was more memoir than anything else. Quite titillating.
She took a shaky sip of her tea as a light pulse drifted between her thighs.
“Dunnings is nothing but coal now. No sheep,” Aurora said to Odessa, determined to keep her mind free of such arousing thoughts while sipping tea with her sister. “And there is no such thing as a werewolf.”
Aurora adored Odessa, but her fascination with the macabre and other grotesque tales, mostly concerning criminals and their executions, took getting accustomed to. There had been a period of time when each household member including poor Holly and Mrs. Cherry, the cook, had to sit for a wax masque. A project of Odessa’s based on her love of the wax creations of Madame Tussaud. Mrs. Cherry had nearly quit after finding a wax head of one of the footmen in the larder. But since the birth of little Douglas, her tastes had veered to the more fantastical. Hell hounds. Ghosts. Winged things.
“There is. I read an eyewitness report. Apparently, the werewolf took up two sheep in its jaws,” Odessa opened her mouth wide, “snapped their necks and—”
“Good grief, Odessa.” Alyss laughed. “There isn’t a monster in Northumberland running about and eating sheep.”
“Says you who live in a house haunted by ghosts.” Odessa sat back with a small huff.
“Reputedto be haunted.” Alyss calmly sipped her tea. Very few things ruffled Alyss. Malcolm mostly, but little else.
“What about those things in the desert you are always going on about?”
“Djinn,” Alyss replied in a solemn tone. “I don’t joke about them. When I lived in the desert as a child, djinn were known to take the shape of a sandstorm. The sand would invade our tent, nearly drowning us. The djinn wanted our souls.”
“My mother believed in fairies,” Tamsin said before devouring the rest of her scones. “Aurora, hold a cup of tea to my lips. I can’t reach it.” The plate on her stomach listed to the side.
She dutifully picked up the teacup and placed it against Tamsin’s mouth so her sister could take a sip.
“So why not a werewolf?” Odessa countered. “If you believe in djinn or ghosts?”
“I never said I believed in ghosts, only that our home was reputed to have them.”
This is what tea had become at Emerson House. A strange discussion of imaginary beasts instead of ordinary gossip.
“A spirit that takes the shape of wind? You’ll agree to that but not a bloody werewolf?” Tamsin seemed determined to annoy Alyss today.
Alyss stroked her parasol.
