Page 51 of Duke of Diamonds
As they settled near the hearth, a footman entered and laid out the tea service, the delicate clink of porcelain filling the quiet.
Elaine busied herself with the teapot, pouring with a graceful hand honed by countless similar afternoons.
Fiona lifted her cup, inhaling the familiar, rich scent that wafted toward her.
She took a sip and smiled faintly.
“Pomegranate,” she murmured. “Reminiscent of Turkish brews.”
Elaine looked up with interest.
“Oh? Have you been to the Ottoman region?” she asked, curiosity lighting her features.
“Oh, no,” Fiona said with a soft laugh. “I have never stepped beyond English soil, I am afraid.”
She set her teacup down with careful precision and folded her hands in her lap.
“But I have a great fondness for tea and herbs,” she continued. “I enjoy experimenting with different flavours and brewing methods.”
Elaine leaned forward with a conspiratorial gleam.
Fiona smiled, encouraged. “I once obtained a pomegranate blend from a merchant who traded with Turkey. This tea reminds me very much of that,” she added.
Elaine’s eyes widened with genuine delight.
“My, what an exciting endeavor,” she said. “And you are quite correct. This is indeed pomegranate tea. It was a gift to the Duke from a Turkish business partner.”
They sipped companionably, the fine china clinking softly as Elaine poured another round.
Between sips and laughter, Elaine asked more questions, and Fiona found herself speaking freely of her modest herb garden—the lavender and mint she coaxed each spring, the rare Chinese teas she managed to collect through her friends’ kind connections.
“You are full of pleasantly surprising treasures, Fiona,” Elaine said, setting her cup aside with a warm smile.
Her gaze flicked toward the clock on the mantelpiece, something unreadable passing across her features. She glanced briefly toward the door, almost expectantly, before returning her attention to Fiona.
“I am so very glad to welcome you as my sister,” she said.
Fiona returned her smile, feeling a curious warmth settle within her.
As she lifted her cup once more, her gaze wandered and landed on a magnificent pianoforte tucked elegantly into the far corner of the room. The carved wood gleamed under the afternoon light, and delicate gold filigree danced across its surface.
Fiona could not help but stare, admiration softening her features.
Elaine followed her gaze and laughed lightly. “Oh, that? I had it crafted and shipped all the way from Russia.”
“Would you like to take a closer look?” Elaine offered, her eyes alight with a sparkle that bespoke both pride and mischief.
Fiona smiled and allowed herself to be led across the room to the magnificent pianoforte.
As they approached, Fiona noticed several stacks of parchment scattered across the cushion before the instrument. Elaine let out a sheepish chuckle and hastily gathered them into a neat pile.
“Never mind all these,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I was working rather late last night.”
Fiona’s gaze lingered on the parchments—sheet music, she realised. Some pages bore careful notations, while others were littered with cancellations and splatters of ink, as though the creator had wrestled fiercely with the muse.
It is as if I have stumbled into a composer’s private domain.
“Never say you write music too?” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes widening in genuine astonishment.
