CHAPTER 1
“Ember? Go to the ball? Have you all gone daft?” Baroness Machara Oliphant, proprietress of The Oliphant Inn, threw her head back and laughed that shrill twitter of hers, which made her sound like a breathless tropical bird.
Not that Ember had everhearda parrot, but she’d read about them—and their ridiculous sounds—in one of Bonnie’s books and often thought her stepmother resembled the birds, from the careful way she picked up each foot and put it down, to the colorful plumage of silks she insisted on draping herself in.
Desperation is not a kind look, Stepmother.
But Ember pressed her lips together, refusing to be baited by the old witch as she focused on making the large bed, and placing each of the forty-five pillowsjust so, to avoid her stepmother’s wrath.
“Mother.” Tiffany pretended to sigh heavily, although her gaze never wavered from her reflection in the mirror where she wasvery carefully applying powder to her jawline. “Everyone in the clan is invited. It will be a grand party.”
“It is aball,” her mother snapped in return, waving the hairbrush dismissively, before returning her attention to Bonnie’s coiffure. “The Duke of Cashard should be there, searching for a wife.”
“Hismotheris searching for his wife,” Bonnie said so quietly, Ember doubted her mother overheard it, especially with the way Tiffany squealed happily.
“I will catch his eye,” Ember’s beautiful stepsister announced proudly. “How could I not? We have conversed at the Dumpkins house party, and I believe we will suit.”
“How could you not, my pretty?” her mother crooned in agreement. “The Duke will take one look at you in your finery, and whisk you away.”
“Everyone will be in masks, Mother,” Bonnie pointed out sensibly. “He will not recognize Tiffany’s beauty, and she will not know which one is the Duke.”
Tiffany smirked at the challenge. “I will know, and I will find him. Bonnie is right, Mother, everyonewillbe in masks. Ember could go?—”
It was sweet of Tiffany to try again, but Ember should have known it wouldn’t work.
“A Societyball!” Machara huffed, turning her attention back to Bonnie’s coiffure. “It is bad enoughIam forced to attend to my daughters’ toilette myself because Ember is too busy to do so. I willnothave our little guttersnipe embarrassing me in front of the local gentry!”
In the mirror, Ember caught Tiffany’s gaze, before bending to pick up the discarded undergarments and afternoon gowns Machara had tossed about as she’d helped her daughters prepare for the evening. Her stepsister gave a little shrug, as if to say,We expected this.
They had, and they were prepared. Her sister’s blue eyes cut to the wardrobe, where a simple tangerine-colored gown hung. Tiffany had worn it during her trip to Edinburgh last season, and Ember knew it would fit her, thanks to the slight adjustments she and her stepsisters had made.
But, as if guessing her mother would expect a fight, quiet Bonnie spoke up. “Mother, Ember has been working hard and deserves an evening to enjoy herself like the rest of the clan.”
“And leave the inn unstaffed?” Machara sniffed. “I think not. Hand me those pins, darling,” she commanded, using her chin to gesture to the pearl-tipped hair accessories on the table before Bonnie, as she held the younger woman’s dark blonde locks in both hands.
“Mother, Auld Ben will be behind the bar,” Tiffany reminded her flippantly. “And most of the guests will be at the ball, will they not? Ember can?—”
“Girls!” It was as if her own shriek startled Machara as much as the three younger women, because she dropped Bonnie’s hair as her hands fluttered, and then clucked her tongue in frustration. “Nowlook what you have made me do!”
Pressing a shaking hand to her forehead, Ember’s stepmother sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. Ember ducked her head and made short work of hanging up thediscarded clothing, wanting to do nothing which would hint at her plans for the evening.
“Girls,” Machara began again, speaking slowly but loudly, as if they were all hard of understanding, “this is really quite simple. Lady Dumpkins’s house party is in full swing—thank goodness you have been able to attend so many of the events! But her annual Midsummer Masquerade is open toeveryonewho isanyone, and this year it is in honor of the newest Oliphant son, Mr. Deville.”
“How remarkable,” sighed Bonnie dreamily, “that he came to the Highlands to run Oliphant Engraving, only to discover his connection to the family. It is like something from a fairy tale.”
“Do not be stupid,” her mother snapped. “Clearly he wasgivensuch a lofty positionbecauseof his connection. That is how the real world works. Mr. DeVille is about to become a very important man in the Highlands.”
Ember kept her head bent over her task, but her ears pricked toward her stepmother, hoping for more hints about the enigmatic man she was desperate to meet. Her stepsister Tiffany knew this, and made another attempt to draw information from her mother.
“I know you want me to impress Mr. DeVille, Mother, and?—”
“Iwantyou to catch the eye of the Duke of Cashard,” the older woman bit out, interrupting Tiffany. “Just imagine! A house party right in our neighborhood, with aDukeattending…and you have not managed to pin him down.”
Bonnie tried to soothe her mother. “The Duke has been busy with his own affairs for most of the party, Mother. I heard hedid not even want to attend Lady Dumpkins’s event. There are plenty of other lords for Tiffany to win over.”
The Baroness huffed, then rolled her head and straightened her shoulders. Her tone was calmer when she addressed Tiffany once more. “It is possible the Duke has his eye set on marrying a lass of higher standing than a baron’s daughter, no matter how stunningly beautiful you are. In that case, I wantyouto be the next Lady Oliphant. Youwillmarry a laird, Tiffany!”
Ember could tell from the way Tiffany’s gaze dropped to the powders and cosmetics in front of her that her stepsister didn’t completely love the idea.
