LITMIR.BIZ

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hounds—at least three feet at the shoulder—followed at his heels, their eyes firmly fixed on Varanus and Ekaterine. They kept sniffing the air and looking at their master, perhaps wondering if the newcomers were friend or food.

      “Cousin Babette,” Robert said warmly, taking Varanus’s tiny hand in both of his. “I am so pleased to see you. And doubly pleased that you are out of mourning.”

      “Indeed,” Varanus said, “it is wonderful to see you as well, Cousin Robert.”

      Varanus was not entirely clear on protocol, but if he was going to avoid calling her Princess Shashavani, she would be damned if she would call him Earl Blackmoor.

      “Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Princess Ekaterine Shashavani,” she continued, motioning to Ekaterine.

      “A pleasure to meet you,” Robert said, bowing his head ever so slightly.

      “And you,” Ekaterine answered, smiling.

      “Shall I call you cousin?” Robert asked, his voice betraying the teasing tone of a man who knew that he was the master, regardless of the rank of his subjects.

      “Oh, I should like that very much,” Ekaterine said, evading the provocation. “I already feel part of the family.”

      Robert’s smile never wavered. Without a word, he snapped his fingers twice. The hounds whined softly and scurried off to their kennels at the side of the courtyard.

      “Allow me to introduce the staff,” Robert said. He extended his arm and indicated each in turn.

      “Harris, the butler.”

      A broad-shouldered man of advancing years, cleanly shaven and slightly balding. His bearing was sturdy and dignified, and his person was well maintained, though his tie was crooked and his cuffs were slightly dirty. Still, he surely knew his business if Cousin Robert kept him despite a degree of disorder.

      “My housekeeper, Mrs Wilkie.”

      Tallish, narrow, sharp in the face. And sharp in the eyes. Varanus saw cunning and determination there, before Mrs Wilkie obediently looked down.

      “The footman, Peter.”

      A young lad, very energetic, but polite and exceedingly servile. Varanus could almost smell the obedience on him. A good quality in a servant, no doubt, but still.…

      “The head housemaid, Gladys, and the chambermaid, Lucy.”

      Pleasant girls, very pretty. Fair-haired. Almost identical. Quite possibly sisters. It was a point worth noting, whatever it entailed.

      “And in addition,” Robert continued, “as your own maids are not with you, my wife and my eldest daughter’s lady’s maids shall be attending to you in that capacity. Miss Hudson for Cousin Babette and Miss Finch for Cousin Ekaterine.”

      It would be a bother having maids intrude upon her privacy, but Varanus could expect nothing else. This was the wider world, where the servants would not understand her wish to attend to herself unaided. It was not like being at home among the Shashavani. She and Ekaterine had assisted one another for so long that servants were not necessary. And she had not become accustomed to the ones she had hired to dote over them in London. At least Cousin Robert did not take offense at their arriving without maids; indeed, he had all but suggested that they come unattended in the letter. Varanus suspected it was a plot to isolate her from anything familiar when the time came for negotiations.

      “And you have already met Barnabas,” Robert finished. “Should you require transportation during your stay—into town perhaps, or to see the sights on the moor—he will be at your service.”

      “Splendid,” Varanus said. “I am beginning to feel at home already.”

      “It is the ancestral home of the Varanuses,” Robert said, his smile a little too wide. “Now come inside and meet the family.”

      * * * *

      Robert led Varanus and Ekaterine into the front hall, a spacious two-story chamber floored and paneled in ebony and adorned with portraits and landscape paintings. Above the doorway Varanus saw a pair of swords crossed beneath a shield bearing the arms of the Blackmoors: two wolves rampant in sable upon a gules field beneath an argent star. There were suits of armor standing in rows along the walls like men-at-arms ready for duty. Upstairs galleries overlooked the entryway on all four sides, and it did not escape Varanus’s attention that anterooms opened out into the hall to both left and right. In older, less civilized times real men-at-arms had probably waited there, ready to repulse any enemy who managed to breach the door.

      Beyond the front hall stood a grand chamber with a high arched ceiling. Private balconies and a minstrel’s gallery overlooked the room from the second floor, and at the highest level a series of broad windows let in the last rays of the dying sunlight. Great chandeliers suspended from the ceiling on iron chains and tiered candelabra standing near the walls gave the chamber plenty of light. There were shields on the walls, banners signifying glories past draped along the side, and a grand dais at the far end of the room that suggested this had once been the great hall of a medieval castle.

      All that was in the past of course. Now the harsh stone of the walls and floor had been softened by wooden floorboards, by curtains and tapestries, by carpets, sofas, and upholstered chairs. What once must have been the seat of the Blackmoor county had been transformed into a polite family parlor.

      A company of people were waiting for them when they arrived—four women, one man, and a boy just on the verge of his teens. They were seated, pleasantly engaged in conversation, but they quickly stood and smiled in greeting as Varanus entered the room. They were all dressed conservatively, with long sleeves and high collars, somber colors, and precious little lace or accoutrements—save for the youngest woman, who wore pastels. It was what Varanus would have expected for country aristocracy so far removed from civilization. But the clothes were deceptive. After a moment, Varanus’s keen eyes caught sight of fine details and intricate lines. The eldest of the group—a woman of about fifty—wore what appeared to be a plain gray dress that matched perfectly the shade and style of Robert’s suit. But as Varanus approached, she saw that the dress was decked in lines of narrow braid and covered in tiny beads. Such delicate work, and all for the purpose of looking invisible?

      “And at long last, our French cousin has returned,” Robert said. “Everyone, I am pleased to introduce Lady Babette Shashavani, the granddaughter of my dear great uncle, William Varanus, rest his soul. And with her is her sister-in-law, Lady Ekaterine Shashavani. This is a great honor for all of us,” he added, speaking in part to Varanus, “but they have kindly invited us to call them Cousin Babette and Cousin Ekaterine.”

      Varanus’s eyebrow twitched. Again, Robert had endeavored to avoid stating her specific title—one dramatically above his—and he had given the family leave to address her in familiar terms without first asking her permission. Was it simple rustic exuberance or a deliberate effort to undermine her position?

      The oldest woman clasped her hands together and smiled in delight. “That is splendid,” she said. “And you are most welcome here Cousin Babette. We are delighted to have you at long last in our home.”

      “Cousin Babette, allow me to introduce my dear wife Maud,” Robert said, motioning to her.

      Babette smiled and nodded. Maud’s poise and smile were flawless and remarkably sincere. In Varanus’s experience, the least sincere of people gave the most sincere smiles. But no matter. Perhaps she was being paranoid. The bleakness of the moor was enough to put anyone on edge.

      “A pleasure, Cousin Maud,” Ekaterine said, matching her smile.

      “Yes, delightful,” Varanus agreed.

      Robert motioned to the next woman, a lady of about thirty with the rich black hair of Robert and the practiced poise of Maud.

      “Our eldest daughter, Elizabeth,” he said, “and our youngest, Mary.”

      Mary looked to be in her late teens, just the right age to be married.

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