everything.”
Servants were seeing to everything indeed, a veritable army of footmen in black with gold piping carrying luggage or simply standing at duty as Serena led Viola across the three-story entry hall to a sweeping staircase. The floor was tiled with gray and white marble, the stairs carpeted in Oriental luxury, the banister gleaming wood, all lit with dozens of candles. On the wall of the balconied landing above, a portrait hung of Viola’s sister. With an infant.
She stared. In the picture Serena wore an opulent gown of gold, diamonds hanging on her neck and ears and in her hair. She cradled in her arms a tiny child garbed in white. The mother’s gaze rested on her sleeping babe with quiet tenderness.
“Oh, don’t look at that silly thing. Alex insisted. He is an overly proud papa. But I loathed every moment of the sitting, and Maria did as well. She fussed throughout.”
“You have a daughter,” Viola whispered.
Serena squeezed her waist. “Your niece.”
“You named her Maria.”
“After Mama.” She took Viola’s hand. “Now come. Mrs. Tubbs has made up for you the very best chamber, and tea and a hot hip bath both await. Then dinner once you are dressed, if you are able. I cannot complain, but I haven’t a notion as to why Jinan insisted you make that entire journey in a single day. It is sixty miles to Exmouth, if only that, and over hills. You must be exhausted.”
“Not very,” she barely managed. Her eyes were wide as a child’s. The corridor went on and on, turning corners and going up and down stairs before Serena finally halted before a beautifully fashioned oaken door.
The chamber within was not quite as large as the
“Is this your bedchamber?” Viola uttered.
“No, silly. It is yours. There is your bath, and a maid will be here momentarily to assist, although I would like to remain while you settle in, if you will allow me.”
Viola turned back toward the corridor. “I think Jane is-”
Serena took her arm and drew her again into the room, closing the door behind them.
“Mrs. Tubbs-that is my housekeeper, a very excellent person-will see that your maid has dinner and ample rest before she returns to your service tomorrow. For tonight my own maid will be yours.” Her brow puckered. “Will that suit you? I am terribly sorry. I should have asked first, but I assumed that after your long journey…” She bit her lower lip, an action so thoroughly familiar, as though from a dream, but in fact from memory. “Viola?”
“Hm?”
“You are unwell, of course.” Serena’s voice wobbled. “Exhausted, no doubt.” She crossed to the dressing table where a silver tray with a delicate porcelain pot and cups were arranged about a plate of sugar-coated biscuits. “You must have a spot of tea. It will put you to rights, I am certain. Oh, dear.” The china clinked in her hands. “My nerves are a disaster. You would think I have never before reunited with my sister whom all except me presumed dead for a decade and a half.” She turned her face away, the cup and pot suspended. Her shoulders shook.
“Oh, Ser.” Viola’s eyes overflowed.
Serena turned her head, her cheeks streaked with tears. She set down the dishes, and they walked to each other and enfolded each other in their arms. They remained like that for a very long time.
Serena sent their apologies to the gentlemen, and ordered a light supper to be delivered to Viola’s chamber instead. Viola bathed, changed into her usual shirt and drawers, and saw quite clearly Serena’s thoughts on her lovely face. That she had always been able to read her elder sister’s thoughts even when they were children did not dissipate the twisting in her stomach.
“You don’t like my nightclothes.”
“Nightclothes? Oh, I
Viola cracked a laugh. Then she remembered her state of undress when Jin had visited her cabin seeking the sextant, and her amusement disintegrated.
“Forgive me, sister.” Serena came to her and touched her on the cheek, a gesture of feminine intimacy their mother used to make that Viola had never forgotten. “I haven’t any notion of how you have been living. I fear I will be very stupid about it all.” Little creases appeared between her brows, her gaze traveling over Viola’s face. “Jinan says you have been at sea for some time.”
Viola put her palm up to her face. “I am very brown, I know.”
“No. I mean to say, you are not brown. But your skin always glowed so beautifully like this when we were girls.”
“So did yours.”
“Not like yours. You were so full of life. Are you still full of life after all these years?”
Viola blinked. “I-I expect so.”
Serena grasped her hands, but Viola could not withhold it any longer.
“Ser, why didn’t you reply to my letters?”
Her sister’s eyes went wide. “What letters?”
“The letters I wrote in those first years.”
She shook her golden head. “There were no letters. I received nothing.”
Viola’s stomach lurched. “No letters?”
Serena gripped her fingers tighter. “You wrote to me?” she whispered.
Viola’s throat seemed filled with pitch. “She must not have mailed them.”
“She?”
“My aunt. I lived with her and her children. I took care of them.” She fought for breath, but Serena cradled her hands to her cheek.
“Vi,” she whispered, “tell me everything. From the beginning.”
She began with Fionn, comparing her story to Serena’s. Her father had learned the truth of it; everyone thought her dead except Serena, the dreaming girl prone to invent stories of fairies and knights in shining armor and to whom no one listened. But their mother waited on the cliff side all night in the rain. A fortnight later, without ever mentioning Fionn, she died of fever taken that night.
Serena told her of the baron’s second wife, now gone, and the daughters she had left behind-sixteen-year-old Diantha and little Faith-who still lived at Glenhaven Hall. Charity, the eldest of Serena’s stepsisters, had married, and Serena’s stepbrother, Sir Tracy Lucas, held an estate in Essex. Clearly Serena cherished her three stepsiblings and her half sister Faith, but as she related her tale she grasped Viola’s hands even tighter.
In turn, Viola narrated her story, including Aidan’s part in it. In the safety of her sister’s affectionate interest she again felt the comfort of his affection that had borne her through the worst times when Fionn fell ill and slowly slipped away.
“You care very much for Mr. Castle, don’t you?” Serena asked softly.
“I do.” For she did. It was silly to cast away their past together in blame or disappointment when she had never really pressed him to wed. Instead she had pursued her life aboard ship single-mindedly.
“Where is he now?”
“Didn’t Mr. Seton tell you?”
“I have barely seen him to tell me anything.”
“Mr. Castle traveled with us from the West Indies to Exmouth. He has gone to Dorset to be reunited with his family after many years. He said he wished to make a visit here, if you wouldn’t mind it.”
Serena set down her teacup and grasped Viola’s hand. “Of course I won’t.” She squeezed her fingers. “Vi, what do you say to delaying meeting our father and stepsisters for several days while you and I have a holiday here together? Before Alex returns. Only the two of us.”
“What of Mr. Yale and Mr. Seton?”
“Mr. Yale will be perfectly happy entertaining himself, and Jinan will likely be leaving tomorrow anyway. He never remains long here, or anywhere I daresay.” She smiled conspiratorially. “We shall have the house nearly to
