Catalina knew she should try do something fun in her life again, something interesting. Not just another position, but something real , like when she had been nursing in Spain.
Catalina almost laughed aloud at herself. What else was there she could do but keep working? Keep taking each day as it came? That was her life now, and she was content with it. At least it didn’t hurt as it had when she lost Jamie. When she lost her husband.
‘I do want them to like me,’ Lydia said as she smoothed her white satin sash again.
‘They cannot help but like you,’ Catalina answered. ‘They are your family, are they not?’
Lydia glanced at her with wide eyes. ‘I suppose they are, though I hardly know them. I think I never really had a family. Just my guardian, and he’s only my father’s grumpy old great-uncle, you know.’
‘Well, now you do have a family. And it’s a large one, if all the portraits we’ve seen today are any indication.’
Lydia was silent for a moment. ‘Do you miss your family greatly, Mrs Moreno?’
Catalina looked away. Aside from talking in a general way about Spanish history and literature, she had never spoken of her old life to Lydia. It seemed better to keep that all in the past, hidden away. It must be this house, with all its history and memories that made them both feel so wistful.
‘I do miss them sometimes,’ she said. ‘But my parents and my poor brother have been gone now for many years. And they would have been terribly unhappy about what has happened to our country if they could see it.’
‘What of your husband? Do you miss him?’
For one startled instant, Catalina thought she meant Jamie. Her throat tightened and she could only stare at Lydia in silence.
‘Do you not miss Mr Moreno?’ Lydia asked.
Of course. Her first husband. As far as anyone knew, her only husband, and it would have to stay that way. The opulent history of Castonbury, the weight of family and tradition, seemed to press in around her, and she realised again how foolish she and Jamie had been to ever think they could make a future together. She could not have belonged here. They would have made each other unhappy and their passion would have faded. She would have remembered his work in Spain, and he would remember how she opposed him.
‘He has also been gone a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘He was much older than me, and we were not married long. Our families had wanted an alliance for many years.’ And when her brother died opposing the king, that alliance had seemed even more important.
‘How dreadful,’ Lydia declared. ‘I shall not marry like that. I shall only marry someone I love.’
Catalina smiled at her. ‘I do hope so, my dear. Only you must fall in love with someone who can also take proper care of you.’
They reached the main hall, and a balding man with protuberant eyes and a black coat stepped out of the shadows to bow to them.
‘Miss Westman, Mrs Moreno—I am Lumsden, butler here at Castonbury,’ he said in a stentorious, deeply important voice. ‘The others are gathered in the drawing room, if I may show you the way.’
‘Thank you, Lumsden,’ Catalina answered. Lydia seemed struck silent again.
Lumsden bowed again and led them down another series of grand corridors. Castonbury seemed full of such spaces, lined with fine objets d’art and paintings, with jewel-like carpets on the floors and a few old tapestries on the walls. But Catalina couldn’t help noticing that here and there were empty spaces, as if whatever had sat there for years and years had been taken away. Some of the draperies and upholsteries were worn, and a few patches of plaster on the moulded ceilings needed to be repaired.
She glanced at another faded square on the wallpaper where a painting had once hung. It could just have been taken down for repair or restoration, of course, but—was Castonbury in some kind of trouble after losing its heir?
Catalina looked at the girl beside her. Lydia
Catalina almost laughed aloud at herself. What else was there she could do but keep working? Keep taking each day as it came? That was her life now, and she was content with it. At least it didn’t hurt as it had when she lost Jamie. When she lost her husband.
‘I do want them to like me,’ Lydia said as she smoothed her white satin sash again.
‘They cannot help but like you,’ Catalina answered. ‘They are your family, are they not?’
Lydia glanced at her with wide eyes. ‘I suppose they are, though I hardly know them. I think I never really had a family. Just my guardian, and he’s only my father’s grumpy old great-uncle, you know.’
‘Well, now you do have a family. And it’s a large one, if all the portraits we’ve seen today are any indication.’
Lydia was silent for a moment. ‘Do you miss your family greatly, Mrs Moreno?’
Catalina looked away. Aside from talking in a general way about Spanish history and literature, she had never spoken of her old life to Lydia. It seemed better to keep that all in the past, hidden away. It must be this house, with all its history and memories that made them both feel so wistful.
‘I do miss them sometimes,’ she said. ‘But my parents and my poor brother have been gone now for many years. And they would have been terribly unhappy about what has happened to our country if they could see it.’
‘What of your husband? Do you miss him?’
For one startled instant, Catalina thought she meant Jamie. Her throat tightened and she could only stare at Lydia in silence.
‘Do you not miss Mr Moreno?’ Lydia asked.
Of course. Her first husband. As far as anyone knew, her only husband, and it would have to stay that way. The opulent history of Castonbury, the weight of family and tradition, seemed to press in around her, and she realised again how foolish she and Jamie had been to ever think they could make a future together. She could not have belonged here. They would have made each other unhappy and their passion would have faded. She would have remembered his work in Spain, and he would remember how she opposed him.
‘He has also been gone a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘He was much older than me, and we were not married long. Our families had wanted an alliance for many years.’ And when her brother died opposing the king, that alliance had seemed even more important.
‘How dreadful,’ Lydia declared. ‘I shall not marry like that. I shall only marry someone I love.’
Catalina smiled at her. ‘I do hope so, my dear. Only you must fall in love with someone who can also take proper care of you.’
They reached the main hall, and a balding man with protuberant eyes and a black coat stepped out of the shadows to bow to them.
‘Miss Westman, Mrs Moreno—I am Lumsden, butler here at Castonbury,’ he said in a stentorious, deeply important voice. ‘The others are gathered in the drawing room, if I may show you the way.’
‘Thank you, Lumsden,’ Catalina answered. Lydia seemed struck silent again.
Lumsden bowed again and led them down another series of grand corridors. Castonbury seemed full of such spaces, lined with fine objets d’art and paintings, with jewel-like carpets on the floors and a few old tapestries on the walls. But Catalina couldn’t help noticing that here and there were empty spaces, as if whatever had sat there for years and years had been taken away. Some of the draperies and upholsteries were worn, and a few patches of plaster on the moulded ceilings needed to be repaired.
She glanced at another faded square on the wallpaper where a painting had once hung. It could just have been taken down for repair or restoration, of course, but—was Castonbury in some kind of trouble after losing its heir?
Catalina looked at the girl beside her. Lydia
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