by Laura Briggs
"Save it, Nathan," I said, grinning. "I know about you two. You don't have to pretend." I gave them each a knowing look before I departed. The blushes of both Kitty and the event promoter were dead giveaways that things had progressed since what happened between them this past summer.
Everyone knew it was true. The fact that they had been seen together several times that fall and winter only confirmed it — not that either of them actually used the word relationship, of course, as if their dating was a covert operation. Uncertainty, undeclared feelings — was all too familiar from my own past, and I wondered how long until the two of them admitted the truth to each other about how serious they were.
I knew I could probably twist Kitty into admitting details on its seriousness later. But now, I had something more important, and more personal, to do. I followed the sound of voices, and a repeated soft thud not in the direction of Lady Amanda's office, but to the long hall upstairs that served as a portrait gallery for Lord William's long line of ancestors who occupied Cliffs House before him.
Despite the dour-looking expression of great-great-and-so-on-grandfather Edward, little Edwin picked this spot as his favorite place for playing fetch. Of course, his mum did most of the fetching for him, since five-month-old Edwin could only sit up — but as Lord William, inventor of this particular baby game, had pointed out, it might be the arm of a future cricket champion which hurled that red ball an impressive distance of three feet.
His name was a last minute choice in a compromise between Lady Amanda and Lord William, since the baby name dilemma had stretched on until the mystery was revealed with his birth. The rest of him definitely favored his mother, all except his newly-growing hair, which was Lord William's bristly brown thatch instead of Lady Amanda's ginger color.
"Who's a little bowler? Yes, he is!" Lady Amanda's baby talk voice produced giggles from the future heir of Cliffs House, who was seated on a blanket knitted by his grandmother, wearing a pair of ducky overalls that Gemma herself had picked out as a gift, and a pair of tiny red boots. He clapped his small hands, which were momentarily not occupied with either his favorite red ball or with mussing up his hair.
From the gleam in Edwin's eye as he watched my approach, I knew that it wouldn't be too many months before he gained mastery of his tiny feet; it would be his destiny to walk early and lead his mother into many panicked scenarios involving disassembled bouquets and upset biscuit trays.
"Lady Amanda," I said. "Can I have a word with you?"
"Of course," she said. "Would you mind terribly retrieving that ball from behind the podium for Lady Mulgrove's bust? Honestly, it's the second time this morning the silly thing has rolled there."
She was seated cross-legged for the moment, a binder from her huge shoulder tote bag now open on her lap to a list of local boat charters — despite being wife, mother, and lady of the manor, Lady Amanda's tireless efforts at small business growth and public relations in the village took a back seat to nothing, not even Nathan Menton's efforts to put us on the map.
"What is it, Julianne?" she asked. "If it's about the wine competition, I have a complete inventory list on my desk — the master of ceremonies emailed me by mistake." She pretended to make the red ball disappear — on Edwin's face, a momentary look of astonishment as his toy disappeared up the sleeve of Lady Amanda's flowing blouse. "Where did it go?" she asked him, making her eyes as wide as his own.
"Actually, it's something more serious," I said. "Sort of a problem." I sat down beside her.
"Do tell," she said. The red ball reappeared, and all was right in Edwin's world for the moment.
"My friend Aimee in Seattle has an emergency and needs my help," I said. "Specifically, she needs me to run her business for a few months while she recovers from a medical procedure. She doesn't have any parents or siblings to do it for her, and there's no one else she can trust." I swallowed. "And I told her that I would do it."
A moment of silence. Lady Amanda looked surprised. "I see," she said, at last.
"I don't want to quit," I said. My face had begun to burn hot; my hands tingled horribly, the circulation gone from my fingers in my anxiousness. "But I understand that you can't possibly hold this job for me while I'm gone. I mean, we're not talking about a normal holiday, are we?" I laughed, although it felt very fake to do so. "So what I'm saying is ... I understand if you have to replace me."
"Replace you?" said Lady Amanda.
"You need an event planner, a coordinator," I said. "Now more than ever, since you've got little Edwin on top of your own business to run. And I know that you're probably not ready to trust Kitty to do it."
Kitty had come a long ways in a short time, but even I didn't know if she was ready for the pressure of handling Cliffs House on her own. The chaos, the difficult clients who were sometimes picky about their hors d'oeuvres, or angry about a last-minute change — would Kitty revert back to her old self, the opinionated hothead who thought nothing of challenging or insulting her antagonist?
As if sensing this was a serious moment for his mother, Edwin handed me his red ball, his tiny face suddenly solemn. I accepted it, turning it over in my hands as I spoke, as if it were a Magic 8 Ball that would predict the outcome of all this.
"I was going to hand you a formal resignation in a few weeks, but I wanted to talk to you first, so it doesn't come out of the blue," I continued. "I thought I would help you choose a successor, if you needed help doing it."
"I don't see why you should resign for good," said Lady Amanda. "Not if you're planning to return."
"But for months?" I said. "What will you do?" I pictured her hiring a nanny for Edwin, letting her own business affairs fall slack to tie up loose ends for the public side of manor life. It was hardly fair.
"We'll do what you suggested," she said. "We'll give Kitty a chance. After all, she's proven herself quite competent the last six months or so. She deserves a chance ... and, anyway, we'd probably be leaning on her skills until we found someone to replace you, wouldn't we? And it's not as if you're asking us for a paid extended holiday, are you?"
"No," I admitted. "But it's too much to ask, having you hold the position for me." And if I don't come back, I could add, even though it didn't seem possible in my mind. But if I didn't, then Cliffs House's affairs could, well, go 'over the cliff' as they say ... unless Kitty proved herself worthy enough to take my place on a permanent basis.
"Nonsense," said Lady Amanda. "It's my decision, you know, more than William's, even. And I wouldn't choose someone to take your place unless your decision to stay in America was absolute. Besides which, I must admit that I've grown rather fond of Kitty these past few months — she's really quite good with Edwin, you know. He positively adores her."
I thought of Kitty's protests that she was terrible with kids, and hid my smile. "If you want to give her a trial period, I would support you," I said. "We both know she's gifted at this work, whether she admits it or not."
"I had been thinking she might handle the wine competition on her own," said Lady Amanda, whose tone was decidedly thoughtful with this reply. "It would be a good test, really, now that I consider it from all angles. If she can handle that crowd, then we'll know she's practically ready."
"Ag gug goo!" proclaimed Edwin. I handed him the red ball and watched as his throw landed it a disappointing two feet away from his own.
The 'had been thinking' of Lady Amanda's speech caught my ear. "Really?" I said. "You wanted Kitty to be in charge of the event?"
Don't get me wrong — it wasn't professional pride that made me ask, but genuine surprise. This particular competition involved a rather posh and serious subset in the wine community — a group we had dealt with before, who were now hosting a few English winemakers and a few small French vineyards for a blind tasting. The sort of clients who made Lady Amanda nervous, due to the list of pet peeves and preferences that accompanied their booking.
"She wouldn't want to budge from the manor this summer, anyway," continued
Lady Amanda. "Not with the players staging a new production, of course. She and Michael get on swimmingly, so the menu for the brunch and the hors d'oeuvres would be simple for the two of them."
"Of course," I said. "But what do you mean by 'budge'?" Was Kitty planning to go somewhere, and I had been clueless about it?
"Yes, well...I had rather a favor in mind from you." Lady Amanda hesitated. "I suppose I've been putting off asking for it — but since you've confided in me, and you're not leaving immediately, I believe that I'll take advantage of your skills while they are still at my disposal. You are here for the summer, I trust?"
"Of course," I said. "And I'm happy to help with anything." Nevertheless, I felt puzzled. There wasn't another major event on Cliffs House's calendar for the summer — unless there was one I didn't know about —
"I don't suppose you've had any experience with royal weddings, have you?" said Lady Amanda.
My eyes widened. "What?" I said.
"Ga-ga woo!" declared Edwin, clapping.
***
Azure Castle, home to the Honorable Samuel and Marjorie Ridgeford, stood at the top of a hill in the village of Aval Towan, or 'sand apple,' as it means in Cornish, named for a once-famous orchard which stood close to the sea. The tongue-in-cheek nickname of the castle locally was 'Towan Castle,' Lady Amanda explained — even with only a smattering of Cornish at my disposal, I was quick to get the point, since 'towan' means 'sand.'
"Marjorie's ever so grateful for this," said Lady Amanda. "You can't imagine, really. She was almost in tears after Helen rang her and positively begged to use the place for the wedding. 'Bullied' would be the proper word for it. Helen's one of those women who always has her way, whether it's by the pressure of tears or words. And ever since the scandal with her husband, she's had a positive fear of the press, her London house practically a cloister since he left."
Helen was Lady Helen Lewison — and somehow closely related to William's cousin Marjorie, it seemed, although Lady Amanda had yet to explain how close. Enough so that she couldn't refuse to let her family's home be used for a family wedding, it seemed.
"Honestly, I don't know how her daughter endured it, short of being at school most of the time — then again, I don't know how Marjorie let herself be persuaded to leave her flat behind for weeks, merely so Helen and the others can avoid a few photographers."
Lady Amanda was at the wheel of her car as we drove to Aval Towan, passing road signs for Land's End and other villages along the Cornish Riviera's coast. I was in the seat beside her, while Gemma and Pippa were squeezed into the rear seat beside a snoozing baby Edwin. Yes, our very own Pippa, who wouldn't miss an opportunity to be part of a royal wedding — even if the royalty involved was as distantly removed from the crown as these two lovers.
"Isn't he a prince, though?" piped up Gemma. "That means he's probably really famous in his country — the entertainment reporters will be mobbing the family for all sorts of juicy details."
"Imagine marrying a prince," sighed Pippa. "It's so romantic. Like the movie where the girl finds out she's a princess, but was living like an ordinary nerd in some American city. Remember the one?" she looked at Gemma. "With Anne Hathaway?"
"He's in the line of succession," answered Lady Amanda, "but very distantly in line for actually inheriting a Scandinavian throne, I assure you. I believe several uncles and their descendants would have to die first." Her lips cracked a rather wicked smile as she caught my eye. "Josephine won't be crowned anytime soon."
"Josephine?" echoed Pippa, dismayed. "What sort of name is that for a princess-to-be?" She wrinkled her nose with distaste, although I couldn't see anything wrong with it.
“But well suited to an empress, I suppose?” Lady Amanda winked at me. "Magnus's choice," she explained to Pippa, referring to Helen's former husband. "It was popular in whatever part of Canada his shipping line was headquartered once — the island where Anne of Green Gables was written, I think."
"Josephine Barry," I said. "The unlikely 'kindred spirit' to Anne."
"Who?" said Pippa. "I've never heard of her. Was she some sort of psychic?" But the only reply was a sleepy gurgle from Edwin, who was beginning to wake up for his lunch.
"How much farther?" I asked Lady Amanda.
"A little longer. Aval Towan is above Penzance on the coast. Not quite part of the Cornish Riviera per say ... the village faces the sea to the west," she said. "I'll show you on the map — where is it?"
"Here's one for the Newquay township," I said. "There's one for the inland roads —" I sifted through the glove compartment's assorted objects, finding mostly extra brochures from the businesses Lady Amanda represented, a bottle of hand cream, and a spare pacifier.
"Is the prince at the castle already?" ventured Gemma.
"Everyone's at the castle," said Lady Amanda, abandoning our search for the map after several sample brochures landed on the car floor. "Even Josephine's grandmother, the antiquated Lady Astoria, who has deigned to leave Paris just to bestow her blessing on the girl ... or stop the wedding, whichever decision her sharp mind entertains upon arriving. And Kristofer's branch of the royal family is there, of course..."
I heard Gemma issue a contented sigh. "There's not a chance there's a few royal brothers, I suppose?" she asked.
"Afraid not. At twenty-two, Kristofer is the oldest and only child of Prince Gustaf," said Lady Amanda. "I'm afraid any younger siblings that might unexpectedly be added to his family would be more eligible as playmates for Edwin than suitors for either of you."
"She didn't say that the royal cousins wouldn't be there," pointed out Pippa. Edwin gave a louder burble of concern.
"I agree, lambikin," said Lady Amanda to him, in a soothing voice. "I believe it's time to luncheon, dear ladies," she said. "Then on to Azure Castle." She turned at the sign indicating Penzance, the nearest sizeable village to the apparently quiet-and-rustic Aval Towan. Our future destination sounded a little like Ceffylgwyn — only perhaps even sleepier, as hard as that would be to imagine, as it wrapped itself around its resident castle on the hill.
Above that sleepy village of whitewash and granite was indeed a hill that looked like a gently-sloping mound, heavily blanketed in timber, with towers of stone rising above the tree tops like sentinels watching over the world below. It was not the gentle slope it appeared, when Lady Amanda's car rumbled up the winding, mile-long wooded lane that curved suddenly to reveal the courtyards, gravel car park, and gardens that formed the grounds of Azure Castle.
"Here we are," she said. I drew a deep breath, unprepared for this first encounter with a true Cornish castle, its appearance as far removed from Cliffs House's stately grandeur as an ancient Norman cathedral is from Windsor Palace — two distinctly breathtaking sites which share the common grounds only of being historical buildings.
Like sand, Azure's newer towers seemed pale and tawny, almost white in the bright sunlight above its wooded glens. Turrets and fortress walkways abounded in its square portions and the serpentine curve of its original structure, especially on the oldest part which now faced us — a darker granite which did seem almost blue in the shadows, as if the trick of the sea's colors on a stormy day had been imparted to it. The whole construct was married together like puzzle's sections harmoniously joined at the corners, with impressive windows surveying us from three floors.
Its sleeping self seemed to awaken as the sun broke from behind its clouds once more, bathing the high walls and the bright shades of flowers in the massive carved urns placed along its facade. It could be a Mediterranean palace overlooking the sea — if only the sea was visible as more than a pigeon's view from the back gardens, as I would later learn. It could be the home where Sleeping Beauty lay for a hundred years, so peaceful and beautiful it stood in the garden's clearing.
"Wow," I said, softly. Nobody heard me, since they were busy taking notice of a second arrival, a rental car parking a short distance away, which was the only thing which drew my attention from the castle b
efore us. From the driver's seat, Dinah emerged.
"Dinah!" Pippa's scream was echoed by the rest of us — as a group, we launched ourselves at Cliffs House's former cook, who almost dropped the box of pots and pans in her arms as a result.
"Heavens!" she said. "You would think it's been thirty years instead of a couple of months! Pippa, mind that decanter, child, it's fragile!"
Among the many favors that Marjorie had called on Lady Amanda to fulfill was the search for an exemplary baker whose prestigious bakery wouldn't try to cash in on the chance to make a royal wedding cake, as cousin Helen evidently feared. And there was nobody as talented or discreet as Dinah Barrington, winner of the southern counties' Grand Baking Extravaganza and owner of the newly-opened Sponge & Scone bakery — whose cakes had formerly graced the receptions of celebrities ranging from footballers to artists.
"It's been longer than that for me," said Pippa, giving Dinah a pouting look. "Aren't you the least bit glad to see me?" Pip had only been at Cliffs House once since her marriage to Gavin a year ago. The former kitchen assistant, along with Gemma, had always been wont to drive Dinah crazy with gossip about celebrities and speculations on the romantic status of Ceffylgwyn's natives ... although I always suspected Dinah enjoyed their company more than she admitted.
"Of course I am." Dinah's customary scolding, but softened, as usual. "And not the least bit surprised you're here, given the grand occasion." She shifted her box of supplies into a more comfortable position. "I only hope that my sponge doesn't fall flat — this filling is rather tricky, and in practice the whole thing is wont to lean."
"It will be brilliant," said Gemma. "You've never had it fail when it's a necessity to pull it off."
"Just like in the baking extravaganza," said Pippa. "Only your soufflé was a bit wonky, come to think of it. And when Pierre pointed out —"
"Enough of this chitchat," said Dinah, before Pippa could detail the exacting sting of judge Pierre Dupine's critique. "Where is the kitchen?" she inquired of the caretaker, who was helping unload our luggage.
