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Authors: The Magic of Love
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end o’ your nose.”
Pa paid her no mind. “What the fellows’ll say when I tell ‘em our Martha’s to be her Grace! I’m off to the Pig.”
“That you’re not!” said Mam sharply. “Not but what they’d only think ‘twas more o’ your braggery, but look where your tongue nearly got us—out on the street if we was lucky, or mebbe in gaol.”
Pa sobered. “Oh, ar,” he said with a sheepish look.
“‘Tis thanks to Lord Tarnholm we’re not left wi’out a roof over our heads, him and our Martha. And you swore to her you’d not tell a soul.”
“Eh, then, your mam’s right, I did that, our Martha. I just forgot a bit, but your pa don’t break his promises. I won’t breathe a word till the banns be read.”
“Course you won’t, Pa.” Martha kissed him and Mam, then spent the rest of the day helping with all the chores left undone because of her absence.
As she worked, the question nagged at her brain: What was Lord Tarnholm’s faerie name?
And what would the duke do if Lady Tarnholm refused to tell Martha, and she failed to guess, and she had to give up his son and heir to his cousin?
Chapter VII
On the third day, early in the morning, Martha set out for Lady Tarnholm’s lake.
She knew roughly where to find it, though no one ever went there. It was tucked away in an isolated corner of the Tarnholm Manor park, surrounded by overgrown woods full of brambles and bracken.
Though the sun shone in a cloudless pale blue sky, frosted leaves crunched underfoot as she made her way beneath the bare birches. She came to the end of the trees. Pushing between green laurels and leafless hazel bushes hung with swelling catkins, she came out on the bank of the lake. Only a bed of withered reeds separated her from the silent, enigmatic waters where dwelt the nixie.
“Lady Tarnholm?” she called uncertainly, feeling foolish. “My lady? Are you there?”
A plop startled her. A growing circle of ripples showed where a fish had jumped or a small water beast had dived. Martha hoped she would not have to follow it into the depths to speak to the baroness.
At the far end of the lake, mallards were scavenging head down in the shallows while a moorhen bobbed along nearby. Watching them, Martha was taken by surprise when a voice quite close to her said, “Oh, it’s you, Martha dear.”
“M-my lady,” she stammered, curtsying as she stared, her fears banished by fascination.
The head emerging from the water looked much too young to be Lord Tarnholm’s mother. The nixie’s sleek green-gold hair was bound with a fillet of gold set with aquamarines that sparkled in the sun, no more brilliant than her slanted green eyes. Her smooth white shoulders were bare, the extreme décolleté of her watered-silk gown displaying a superb necklace of aquamarines and pearls.
“Oh dear, I do feel overdressed,” she said with a friendly smile. “But why did you call me Lady... Oops, I’ve got in a muddle over time again. Never mind all that nonsense, then, we shall start afresh. Do tell me, pray, what I can do for you, young lady?”
“You are Lady Tarnholm?” Martha enquired doubtfully. “Edward’s...his lordship’s mama?”
“I am indeed. You think it odd of me, I daresay, to reside in the lake when there is a perfectly good house. I find it quite comfortable, I assure you, though it is a bit cramped after the Norfolk Broads—that’s where I met James, Edward’s father. I could go back to the Broads now. The queen confined me to the estate only for James’s lifetime. But as you can imagine, I stay on because I prefer to be near Edward.”
“Surely not Queen Charlotte? No, of course not. Does your ladyship mean Queen Titania?”
“That’s what she calls herself,” said Lady Tarnholm tartly. “Plain Mab it was till she was elected queen, back around 1550. And to make sure everyone realizes how superior she is now, she gives her courtiers perfectly
Pa paid her no mind. “What the fellows’ll say when I tell ‘em our Martha’s to be her Grace! I’m off to the Pig.”
“That you’re not!” said Mam sharply. “Not but what they’d only think ‘twas more o’ your braggery, but look where your tongue nearly got us—out on the street if we was lucky, or mebbe in gaol.”
Pa sobered. “Oh, ar,” he said with a sheepish look.
“‘Tis thanks to Lord Tarnholm we’re not left wi’out a roof over our heads, him and our Martha. And you swore to her you’d not tell a soul.”
“Eh, then, your mam’s right, I did that, our Martha. I just forgot a bit, but your pa don’t break his promises. I won’t breathe a word till the banns be read.”
“Course you won’t, Pa.” Martha kissed him and Mam, then spent the rest of the day helping with all the chores left undone because of her absence.
As she worked, the question nagged at her brain: What was Lord Tarnholm’s faerie name?
And what would the duke do if Lady Tarnholm refused to tell Martha, and she failed to guess, and she had to give up his son and heir to his cousin?
Chapter VII
On the third day, early in the morning, Martha set out for Lady Tarnholm’s lake.
She knew roughly where to find it, though no one ever went there. It was tucked away in an isolated corner of the Tarnholm Manor park, surrounded by overgrown woods full of brambles and bracken.
Though the sun shone in a cloudless pale blue sky, frosted leaves crunched underfoot as she made her way beneath the bare birches. She came to the end of the trees. Pushing between green laurels and leafless hazel bushes hung with swelling catkins, she came out on the bank of the lake. Only a bed of withered reeds separated her from the silent, enigmatic waters where dwelt the nixie.
“Lady Tarnholm?” she called uncertainly, feeling foolish. “My lady? Are you there?”
A plop startled her. A growing circle of ripples showed where a fish had jumped or a small water beast had dived. Martha hoped she would not have to follow it into the depths to speak to the baroness.
At the far end of the lake, mallards were scavenging head down in the shallows while a moorhen bobbed along nearby. Watching them, Martha was taken by surprise when a voice quite close to her said, “Oh, it’s you, Martha dear.”
“M-my lady,” she stammered, curtsying as she stared, her fears banished by fascination.
The head emerging from the water looked much too young to be Lord Tarnholm’s mother. The nixie’s sleek green-gold hair was bound with a fillet of gold set with aquamarines that sparkled in the sun, no more brilliant than her slanted green eyes. Her smooth white shoulders were bare, the extreme décolleté of her watered-silk gown displaying a superb necklace of aquamarines and pearls.
“Oh dear, I do feel overdressed,” she said with a friendly smile. “But why did you call me Lady... Oops, I’ve got in a muddle over time again. Never mind all that nonsense, then, we shall start afresh. Do tell me, pray, what I can do for you, young lady?”
“You are Lady Tarnholm?” Martha enquired doubtfully. “Edward’s...his lordship’s mama?”
“I am indeed. You think it odd of me, I daresay, to reside in the lake when there is a perfectly good house. I find it quite comfortable, I assure you, though it is a bit cramped after the Norfolk Broads—that’s where I met James, Edward’s father. I could go back to the Broads now. The queen confined me to the estate only for James’s lifetime. But as you can imagine, I stay on because I prefer to be near Edward.”
“Surely not Queen Charlotte? No, of course not. Does your ladyship mean Queen Titania?”
“That’s what she calls herself,” said Lady Tarnholm tartly. “Plain Mab it was till she was elected queen, back around 1550. And to make sure everyone realizes how superior she is now, she gives her courtiers perfectly
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