“Has he been governor for long?” I asked, studying a painting. It was by Morel, a famed Lorandian artist, and Warren had acquired it while studying in that country for a year. I wondered if Cedric’s agent had considered the Doyles as potential buyers for my painting.
“Fifteen years.” It was obviously a matter of pride for Warren. “Lord Howard Davis was the governor originally appointed by the king. My father was lieutenant governor, and together, they helped establish Denham and drive out the Icori. When my father took over, he continued that legacy—making this a safe and prosperous place.”
“He’s done an excellent job,” I admitted. “Everyone knows Denham’s the most successful colony. Money and trade flow back and forth between it and Osfrid.”
Warren made a slight face. “Well, Osfrid seems to get more of the money, but—”
“Warren, dear?”
Mistress Doyle entered the room, gliding beautifully in a cream-colored satin dress. “You’ve monopolized this poor girl from the moment she entered, and there are two others to entertain. Let me take a turn and give her a break from your declarations of love.”
Both Warren and I blushed at that, but he didn’t deny it. He kissed my hand and obeyed his mother with obvious reluctance. She shook her head and gave me an indulgent smile as she linked arms with me.
“I apologize if he comes on strong,” she said.
“Not at all, Mistress Doyle,” I replied, even though it was exactly what I’d told him the night of the gala. “He’s very charming.”
“You must call me Viola. And thank you. He is charming, not that you’d know it from the scattered way he’s conducted this courtship!” We strolled back out to the main party in the drawing room, but she kept us far enough away to speak in private. “But you must understand that he’s been very anxious to wed. We had our sights set on one of the Glittering Court’s girls, but it was unclear if your ship would arrive in time.”
“When does he go to Hadisen?”
“In a little over a month.”
“That’s not a lot of time to contract a marriage.”
Viola gave me a knowing look. “Isn’t it? I hear one of you has already accepted an offer.” She smiled when I didn’t answer. “I understand your hesitation. It’s wise on your part. Marriage is binding—you want to ensure you’re making the right decision.”
“Exactly,” I said. A servant came by with champagne, but I shook my head. It was obvious both Warren and his mother had an agenda, and I didn’t want to get tipsy and accidentally agree to something. “And I’m very flattered by your son’s attentions. I just want to make sure this is good for him too—it seems like he would’ve arranged the marriage without ever meeting me.”
She gave a small laugh. “No, he’s not that far gone. If you’d seemed incompatible at your first meeting, he’d have resisted. And if I’d found anything amiss upon meeting you—I haven’t, by the way—I’d have made my objections clear.”
“Thank you.”
“But let’s be straightforward,” she continued. That apparently was a shared trait in the Doyle family. “Marriages are rarely made for love—though certainly, love can follow. Why, I’d barely laid eyes on Thaddeus before we wed. And I could scarcely believe my parents would arrange such a thing—me, a noblewoman, married to a barrister bound for the New World. But, you see, he was a rich barrister. And my family was out of money.”
“Ah,” I said neutrally. “That must have been very difficult.” I remembered suggesting a union with the nouveau riche to Grandmama on the day I’d met Lionel, ages ago. If she’d been more open to it, both of our lives would be very, very different now. “It was,” she admitted. “But I’ve done my best to bring what I could of that noble lifestyle here. Just because many here in the colonies have humble roots, just because our towns are still rough-and-tumble . . . well, it doesn’t mean we can’t aspire to the great legacy of our mother country. That sort of transformation is really what your Glittering Court is about, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. Ced—Mister Cedric Thorn and his father call us the ‘new nobility.’”
“Quaint.” Her eyes fell upon Warren, who was chatting with Mira. She looked far more animated than I’d seen her around any other suitors, but Warren appeared distracted and kept glancing at us. Viola turned back to me. “I’m proud of what I’ve established here, and even though my husband is a good man, well . . . I can’t forget the great dignity of those ancient bloodlines of Osfrid. I’m glad I was able to pass on some of my exalted heritage to my son, even if my old title means little here. And I’d like to see my grandchildren carry on a similar legacy. That, of course, is where you come in, my dear.”
She looked at me expectantly, but I was thrown into complete confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“My grandchildren, like my son, will become leaders in this land. Many—my husband included—will tell you hard work and character earn that position. And that is part of it. But blood is critical. And when you and Warren wed, I can rest easy that two noble bloodlines will be passed down to my descendants.”
A strange, chilled feeling began to spread through me. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean, Mistress Doyle.”
“I told you—you must call me Viola. No need for titles among us, not even a countess’s.”