She was humming quietly in excitement as she hurried down the back stairs towards her father’s small workshop behind the kitchens. All the Oliphant Lands—and a good portion of their section of the Highlands—had been buzzing with news of the ball. Mr. DeVille had been raised to a level of aristocracy, despite being American, because of his newfound association with Laird Oliphant. As the new manager of Oliphant Engraving, he would direct the future of the clan. He must be a wealthy, sophisticated man indeed, to be given such responsibility and honor.
Tonight’s ball might be to welcome him officially to the clan, but as far as Ember was concerned, it was a chance for her to havesome much-needed fun. A chance to smile and dance andenjoyherself for once.
She patted her hair tucked under the unsightly cap the baroness insisted she wear to cover the “scandalous” hair she’d been named for. Tonight, at the ball, Ember planned to wear her deep red curls down, flowing around her shoulders, certain in the knowledge no one would recognize her. She could be someone else, even if only but a few hours.
She’d been looking forward to it for weeks.
But when she stepped into the workshop, she took a moment to simply inhale the sharp scents of oiled metal and old leather and forget the demands on her time. For just a moment, here in her—and her father’s former—sanctuary, she was at peace. Exhaling, she rolled her shoulders and smiled.
This room used to be part of the old kitchens before her stepmother’s first husband expanded the inn. After that, it had become storage.
But when the baron had died and Machara began courting Da—who’d been an important man in the clan—he was happy to clean out this room and convert it into his own private space. He’d spent his days at Oliphant Engraving overseeing the process by which metal was poured and shaped and filed into firearm components, then engraved with delicate commissioned designs sent all the way from the Prince Armory in America.
But in the evenings, Da would settle in here to tinker with his latest machine.
And Ember would join him, engraving her artwork into metal trinkets to be sold at market or special commissions from Oliphant Engraving. She still visited there frequently—theyknew her as their old boss’s daughter—butherewas where she hid whenever she had a break from the demands of the inn…and her stepmother.
Thiswas where she’d worked on “The Shoes.”
She’d been a young girl when she’d had the idea of engraving footwear. After all, Oliphants had been wearing engraved jewelry for generations, had they not? So why couldn’t they find a way to incorporate the art into the rest of their fashion? She’d engraved her share of buckles over the years, but why not the heels of boots?
Because it was damned impractical, as it turned out.
Men couldn’t wear boots with metal heels because the noise was outrageous and the sparks alarming.
But…everyone knewwomen’sfashion trended toward the impractical. That was when Ember began experimenting with engraving the heels of women’s fancy dress slippers. Many had been discarded before she’d settled into a design which worked well.
Tonight would be their debut.
She, Tiffany, and Bonnie would be wearing engraved heeled shoes she’d created in this very workshop, and she hoped they’d draw notice. If they did, she might be able to convince Mr. DeVille to begin taking commissions for them.
And she’d be able to leave the inn and go back to Oliphant Engraving full-time, doing what she loved to do: creating art with her hands.
But for now, she had work to do.
With a slight sigh, she crossed to the cabinet where the shoes were stacked, grabbing a satchel along the way. When she opened the door, the three sets of shoes glinted merrily in the light of the lantern.
First into the satchel wenthershoes: a perfect pair of red slippers. The heels were bronze, engraved with gears, reminding her of what she loved. The geometric patterns had always been soothing to her, and after she’d burnished the heels to a bright shine, she’d covered the rest of the shoe in silk to match.
Next were Bonnie’s shoes, the gold of the brass in the heel was engraved with an image of a single open book. At the top of the satchel, Ember slid in Tiffany’s slippers, a pair of stunningly bright silver shoes. The heels were steel, engraved with twining flowering vines, and Ember’s stepsister had chosen the shining silk which covered the rest of the shoe herself.
They would certainly attract plenty of attention.
As she backed out of her father’s workshop—now her own—Ember was struck with a suspicion. Frowning, she darted back inside to scoop up herotherproject, the one she’d been working on in secret these last weeks.
She slid the mask into the satchel, beneath the shoes, and reached for the skeleton key which hung on a ribbon by the door. She slid it over her head and tucked it under her blouse, having a bad feeling she might need it if she wanted to have the evening’s respite at the ball she’d been dreaming of.
Tonight was her only chance to meet Mr. DeVille and see his response to the shoes she’d crafted.
Speaking of shoes, Ember needed to get them upstairs to her sisters, but first, she’d do as her stepmother had suggested—orderedactually—and ensure the supper guests were provided for.
With the bag slung over her shoulder, she slipped into the kitchens. Mrs. Oliphant, the cook, was a large, implacable sort of woman who didn’t allow anything to frazzle her. This evening, she was sweating as she lifted a big pot from the modern stove and plopped it on the counter with a grunt.
“Good evening, Mrs. Oliphant. I am on my way upstairs, but thought I would check to see if you needed any help?”
The round woman knew, as well as the rest of the inn’s servants—of which there certainly weren’t enough—the only difference between them and Ember was that Ember wasn’t paid a wage. So she wasn’t surprised when the cook shook her head immediately.
“Och, nay, lassie. Ye best run to do herladyship’sbidding, eh?”
