The Drop of the Dice (Will You Love Me in September?) by Philippa Carr

eaten cold bacon with bread and cheese at an inn shortly before we reached the castle.
    ‘Then Aimee will take you to your room. You can explain to Clarissa who you are, Aimée. You two are going to have a great deal in common. When you are ready you and I will have a long talk, too. But first things first. I know how you ladies feel after a long journey and our climate up here is less benign than yours in the south.’
    I thought he was charming. He resembled my father slightly but the first thing that always struck one about Hessenfield was his towering height. To see his brother, my Uncle Paul, in a chair had been a great surprise to me.
    Aimée flashed a smile at me. ‘I am so glad you have come,’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine how we’ve been longing to see you. Come along. Let’s get you comfortable and then we can talk.’
    She led me out of the room and we seemed to go through a maze of corridors and up several staircases until we came to a room in one of the turrets. I went to the narrow window. I could see for miles over the moorland and in the distance the sea.
    Aimée came and stood beside me. She smelt faintly of some perfume—rather musky and vaguely seductive. I glanced at her. She had dark—almost black—hair and beautiful long dark brown eyes with black lashes. Her skin was pale, her lips faintly carmined. I did not know then that she augmented her beauty with certain aids. I found her rather fascinating in a slightly disturbing way and I was very curious to know who she was and whether she was related to me.
    ‘Uncle Paul selected this room for you,’ she said. ‘He thought you would like the view.’ I noticed that she had a slightly French accent and intonation which added to her exotic aura. ‘The wind screeches across the moors when it blows from the east. Ugh.’ She shivered. ‘It creeps into the castle,’ she went on,’ and then it is so difficult to keep warm. It is very cold… here in the north.’ I noticed how she stressed her r’s, and was reminded of Jeanne.
    ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘are you my cousin… or are we related in some other way?’
    She came a step nearer to me and regarded me with something like amusement.
    ‘Not cousin,’ she said. ‘Closer… much closer… Can you guess?’
    ‘No,’ I said and began to wonder whether Uncle Paul had married a young wife.
    Her next words so startled me that I thought I must be dreaming. ‘We are sisters,’ she said.
    ‘Sisters! But… how…’
    She was smiling. ‘How do you call it? Demi-soeur. What I tell you is this. Your father… he was my father too.’
    ‘Hessenfield!’
    ‘Ah, yes,’ she said with a great effort to pronounce the H, ‘Yes, Hessenfield.’
    ‘But how…?’
    ‘Very simple. In the usual way. You understand?’
    I flushed and she went on, ‘Ah, I see you do. Our father was a very loving man. He loved my mother… very much. He loved me too… very much. He was a very loving man.’
    ‘You mean you are his illegitimate daughter?’
    ‘It is an honour we both share. He was never married to your mother… nor to mine. Your mother was married already. Mine…’ She lifted her shoulders in an entirely Gallic gesture. ‘Well, he was not a man to marry. But we came… you and I… all the same. We are bâtards, eh? Bâtards who share the same loving father.’
    ‘My sister,’ I murmured.
    She put her hands on my shoulders and, drawing me to her, kissed me on both cheeks. I was conscious of a certain revulsion. My mother had been known as Lady Hessenfield; she had lived with my father in his hôtel and all the time there had been this girl who must be some four or five years older than I. Perhaps that explained it. He had known her mother before he had known mine.
    I was learning. The King had brought his German mistresses with him. Hessenfield had been like a king; he had had mistresses. My mother had been one of them; Aimée’s mother another.
    ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘how does it feel to