Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
She spoke in a sophisticated, catty, aristocratic drawl that reminded me of any of the actors who played the Royals on The Crown.
We sat around the low coffee table covered in a formal tea service and tiered trays filled with crustless sandwiches, pastries, biscuits (or to Americans, cookies), little cakes—and thank you, God (I’d had two)—scones filled with jam and clotted cream.
Chastity poured.
She also sat in one of the ice-blue Louis XV bergère chairs opposite the one Temperance sat in.
Prudence and I sat together in a curved-back settee that faced the fireplace.
I wasn’t sure Chastity knew I was there.
I wasn’t sure Temperance wanted me there.
But I was sure Prudence could talk for England.
“So I think Vivi’s book will span from Reign to Saint, or Bishop,” she was now saying after she’d pretty much outlined everything from my very first email to The Downs’s steward, to now, a history it was clear both her sisters already knew.
Though, curiously through this, she’d sometimes suddenly go off on another tangent that had nothing to do with what she’d been saying. Or she’d trail off and stare into space for a second, like she was in a mini trance, before she’d shake herself and start right back up where she left off.
With the practiced way Temperance and Chastity reacted to this, that was to say, they didn’t react at all, I got the sense this was just a thing for Prudence.
She and I had never been able to schedule a FaceTime, what with the time difference and both of us being busy, so I’d only ever known her in written conversations.
Truthfully?
It might be curious, but it was also kind of cute.
Fortunately, her talking meant I could scarf down four sandwich triangles (two coronation chicken, one egg, the last prawn and avocado), a little cake and two scones.
And she was correct about the time period during which my book would take place.
I would be starting it around the turn of the twentieth century, when Reign Talyn was duke, through World War II, when Saint Talyn held that title, and just beyond, when Bishop Talyn was duke.
Duke Saint Talyn being the one who flatly refused to allow his daughter, Harmony, to marry the man she’d fallen in love with: an American soldier convalescing at The Downs.
My great-grandfather.
“And I think, as I’ve told you, from what Ravenna told me, if Harmony and Charlie’s story is shared, the curse will finally be broken,” Prudence declared.
Chastity gave no indication she even heard these words.
Temperance rolled her eyes.
I said nothing.
Though, through our email correspondence, Prudence had shared at length about what she considered The Curse of The Downs.
This, according to Prudence (which was according to Ravenna), started with Harmony losing her beloved Charlie (my great granddad).
And it affected every generation since, according to Prudence (read: Ravenna).
Prudence’s clairvoyant, the aforementioned Ravenna, I sensed, but only very carefully alluded to Prudence, had more of a bent toward charlatanism than being able to read the mystics.
And I’d just learned Temperance and I might be of the same mind about that.
“Don’t roll your eyes,” Prudence snapped at Temperance.
“Darling,” Temperance drawled. “There is not a curse on this house.”
“So how do you explain what happened to great-great-grandfather and great-great-grandmother?” Prudence demanded.
I sipped tea and listened hard, knowing she referred to Saint and his wife Marie.
Doing this wasn’t entirely nosy (though it was also nosy).
Learning things like this was why I was there.
Prudence was referring to the fact that Saint and Marie, who had seemed at one with all things The Duchy of Burleigh, suddenly found themselves with such irreconcilable differences, she spent most of her time in the studio in the garden, which was a waste of a big, beautiful house, because he spent all of his in their home in London.
Or, that was, he did when he wasn’t in his mistress’s bed.
“Marie did her duty,” Temperance replied. “She provided an heir, a spare, and a couple of girls they could use to advance their positions in society. In their case, lord those poor, wretched brood mares over others and grant permission for them to use our very blue blood to advance their positions. Once they were all raised and gone, Marie could stop pretending she liked her husband and spend her days painting and, I don’t know”—she fluttered a regal, scarlet fingernail-tipped hand off to the side—“fornicate with stable boys or something.”
“Tempie!” Prudence snapped.
I bit my lip to stop from laughing.
When I got control over that impulse, I took another sip of tea and kept listening.
Whisper-talk came from Chastity’s direction. “That doesn’t explain what happened to Bishop and Caroline.”
Bishop was Saint’s son and heir, Harmony’s older brother, and Battle, Temperance, Prudence and Chastity’s great-grandfather.
See what I mean about the names?
“Yes,” Prudence jumped on that. “Is it just coincidence he fell off his horse…and broke his neck? And she fell down the stairs…and broke hers?”