“That’s lovely, Papa.” I pause to kiss his cheek and accept the usual pat on the head.
“Thank you, darling. And how are our guests? Settling in nicely?”
Initially, Papa resisted the idea of opening the estate for tourism, but framing the visitors as guests enjoying our royal hospitality won him over. That, and the steady income.
“They are. We’re hosting a group of American botanists this week. They’re looking forward to studying the early summer ferns.”
“The ferns are delightful,” Papa says, his gaze drifting back to the view. “I should paint them soon.”
“I’ll pick some for you on the hike this evening,” I promise, kissing his cheek again, comforted by the familiar scent of oil paint and turpentine clinging to his clothes. I pull in another deep breath, savoring the smell as I step through the open door into the Great Hall and make my way up the stairs to my sister’s tower studio.
He might be a little checked out, but Papa is always Papa, and there’s something comforting about that. If he’s excited about the royal wedding later this summer or sad that Lizzy will be leaving us, he hasn’t shown it.
Lizzy’s putting on a brave face, too—modeling her dresses for the engagement festivities for the family and helping Mother select gifts for her future mother-in-law—but I know better. I can feel her misery, a dark churning cloud that gets thicker and gloomier with every step I take.
By the time I mount the final stair, the sadness is oppressive.
So I’m not really surprised when I enter the room to find Lizzy lying spread eagle on the floor in the center of a circle of partially dressed mannequins with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” I say, my heart in my throat. “Just call it off. You don’t have to do this. You should only get married when you desperatelywantto be married, not to keep a promise made by your parents when you were too little to understand what it meant.”
“It’s not that.” Lizzy sniffs and drags a limp arm across her damp face. “It’s the collection. There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish by tomorrow. Not even if I work nonstop without eating or sleeping or peeing.”
“You do pee a lot,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
I pad deeper into the room, seeking a piece of furniture that isn’t covered in fabric or likely to be hiding a pin that will stick me in tender places when I sit down. My sister is a talented lingerie designer, but she’s also a messy artist who thrives in chaos and believes bloody pins help make the magic happen.
“It’s because I drink a lot of tea,” Lizzy says, her voice quivering. “But don’t make fun of me, Bree. Not now.”
“I’m not making fun, I promise. Just teasing.”
“Don’t tease. Help me,” she begs, before adding in a warning tone, “Don’t sit there. I spilled soup on the cushion at lunch.”
I abort my mission with a grunt, managing to reverse the bend of my knees seconds before my bottom hits the chair. “You should eat something other than soup.”
“I’m too busy for anything but soup.”
“You’re too skinny. You need more protein in your diet.”
“This isn’t helping, either.” She rolls her head my way, the rest of her body remaining limp on the floor. “I have to finish, Bree. I’m so close to landing a collection contract. I can feel it in my bones.”
I prop my hands on my hips and survey the room. “Well, it won’t be easy, but if we start now, we should be able to get everything packed and ready to ship tomorrow. Surely, they have a spare room in the castle for you to use as a studio. I mean, it’s going to be your home in a month, so—”
“And when will I have time to work?” Lizzy cuts in. “I’m booked solid with engagement obligations, and I’m sure Andrew will want to spend time together before the wedding.”
“He hasn’t bothered in the past twenty years. Why start now?” I mutter, not bothering to keep the disdain from my voice.
Lizzy knows how I feel about her fiancé’s lack of interest in her life aside from his obligatory monthly phone call and form thank-you note each year in acknowledgment of her thoughtfully crafted Christmas present.
“Because his mother will be there to make sure of it,” Lizzy replies. “And I do my best work in isolation, Bree. You know that. So there’s only one possible solution.”
“And that is?”
“You take my place,” Lizzy says, making me snort.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” she whispers.
I snap my head her way, eyes going wide as I realize that she is, indeed, serious.
Dead serious.