Caris was panting shallowly through her mouth. “Useless,” she whispered. And then she met Iris’s gaze in the hazy-looking glass. “Forgive me, Beryl. I fear I am at odds with myself today.”
Iris gave her a smile and continued brushing. “Surely it’s not the guests arriving that has upset you so—you are known for your generosity as a hostess.”
“But it is,” Caris admitted suddenly, and the intensity of her tone caused Iris to pause the hairbrush in midstroke. “Oh, I’m a fool!” She covered her mouth with one pale hand and then closed her eyes as if against tears.
“Milady.” Iris came around the stool to kneel at the woman’s side. “You must tell me so that I might help you bear this burden.”
Caris dropped her hand and turned to look down into Iris’s face. “I fear I’ve done something in haste that I now very much regret, and because of it I have perhaps jeopardized your position at Darlyrede. With me.”
Iris’s heartbeat stuttered. “Milady?”
“’Tis vanity’s consequence, is all I can say,” the woman muttered, fidgeting with a fold of her dressing gown. “Pride. I wanted to show you off, I suppose.”
“I don’t understand.”
Caris met her eyes again. “Lord and Lady Paget shall attend the hunt.”
Iris blinked as the name wandered around in her mind, looking for its familiar resting place. Paget, Paget…
Lady Paget!
She swallowed with some difficulty. “I see. Lady Paget, my…former mistress. She is coming to Darlyrede…tonight?”
“She’s already arrived.” Caris dropped her eyes again with a pained expression. “I wanted to, of course, thank her for sending you to me. You have been an answer to my prayers, Beryl. Truly, you have. But I admit that part of me wanted her to see how happy and well you are. And now I fear that when she sees you again, she will steal you away. You loved each other, did you not?” She glanced at Iris from the corner of her eye.
Iris’s heart no longer skipped but galloped in her chest. Perhaps the only person in the whole of England who could testify without doubt that Iris was not in fact Beryl was somewhere within Darlyrede House at this very moment. Iris could have already passed her in a corridor.
“Beryl?” Caris prompted. “Oh, I knew it. Already you dream of going away from here with her!”
“No!” Iris shook herself and grasped Lady Hargrave’s arm. “Milady, no! I would never forsake you for Lady Paget. She is not my mistress. You are. I have no wish to leave Darlyrede House.” Her mind was turning, racing, seeking a solution.
“She was very kind to you?”
“She…demanded I return to her in her letters, which you know I could not do.”
True.
“Poor lamb,” Caris cooed, reaching out a hand and stroking Iris’s face.
“I should sit elsewhere at the feasts and keep myself from your side beyond these rooms. If she asks of me, you might…you might tell her I am ill. With the excitement of the hunt, she will soon forget about me.”
“But she might see you about the hold, and what then?” Caris prompted. “I would rather you meet her at my side.”
“She won’t know me, surely,” Iris insisted. “It has been more than a pair of years since she has seen me last.”
“That is not so long as to forget a treasured servant. Nay, a friend,” Caris insisted, pressing Iris’s hand.
“Oh, but I have changed since France, milady,” Iris said. “Greatly. She will not know me, I swear it. I will…I will disguise myself if needs be.”
Caris Hargrave stared into Iris’s face, her expression slowly relaxing into one of pleased surprise. “You truly wish to stay at Darlyrede, don’t you, Beryl? You’re not only saying that to stay in my good graces?”
Iris smiled. “Of course I want to stay. Who else would look after you as I do?”
Caris’s eyes widened with almost childlike wonder. “Beryl, dare I believe that I have your love as well as your devotion?”
“Completely, milady,” Iris said.
“Oh, my dear!” Caris wrapped her arms around Iris’s shoulders. “Forgive me.”
“There is naught to forgive.” Iris smiled with her cheek pressed against the woman’s thin shoulder.
“I shall send at once for some of Euphemia’s old gowns to be brought out—you will be disguised so that none should know who you are, even if you must be pressed into the service of that Scottish savage.” Caris pulled away. “And yet we cannot be reckless. You will still avoid being overlong in Lady Paget’s presence, yes?”
“Milady, I swear, that is the very last thing I would seek.”
True.
* * * *
Padraig Boyd stood in the center of his chamber, his arms once more held away from his sides as Marta and Rynn scrutinized him with narrowed eyes and hands grasping their chins.
Marta twirled a forefinger at him.
Padraig turned in a slow circle, and before he had come back around to face the women, the chamber broke out in applause. Padraig was grinning as he looked at the clutch of servants gathered.
“Why, you look like a proper lord, Master Boyd,” Rynn said with a cheeky smile.
“Well done, Marta, Rynn.” Lucan stepped to the fore of the gathering. “How does it feel, Padraig?”
“Bloody good,” Padraig admitted with a nod. He was especially pleased that Marta had managed to incorporate Padraig’s Scots heritage in his new costume, cutting a square of the best portion of his da’s plaid and pleating it to be fastened to the breast of his tunic by the now oiled and polished wooden pin. He thought the burgundy color suited him, and his new boots made him feel properly outfitted to take on the whole of the English army himself, especially with the sword with which Ulric had gifted him.
“All right, everyone,” Lucan began, but his announcement was cut off as the chamber door opened. Padraig didn’t turn his head until he
