Before her husband could answer, a little boy came bounding into the room. He was a bold creature, dark-haired with eyes that one could describe as sad for how large they were, but this child was a jolly little fellow, and quite brave.

“My father doesn’t tell lies, my lady! The dealer saw the pirate himself! He said the pirate wore a funny hat, and even sold him those gold boot buckles on that tray! And you wouldn’t believe what else he had—”

The shopkeeper stepped in.

“That’s enough, son. Go back upstairs. The lord and lady don’t have time to hear about pirates,” he said as he watched his son go through the curtain and upstairs in a huff, looking back every few steps to see if they would call him to rejoin the conversation.

“I’m sorry about that. He gets very excited. I’m happy he takes an interest, because one day this business will be his, and one day his son’s. It will be my legacy.”

Lord Tremaine sighed. “It’s a fine thing to have a son to leave your legacy to, and what a brave young lad he is to stand up for his father that way.” Then he laughed, adding, “Well, if you both say the dealer bought these items from a pirate, who am I to say he didn’t.” He saw Lady Tremaine was running her fingers across the brooch. “My darling, you do like the brooch, don’t you?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but feel that he had brought her here specifically to get this brooch. “I do like it, my husband,” she said, taking it in her hands. “I love it, in fact.”

Lord Tremaine clapped his hands together, laughing. “Ah! See that! She likes it, my good man! Then we shall take it!”

Lady Tremaine had never seen him in such a jovial mood. It wasn’t like him to act so gregariously in public, or to go into poky little shops for that matter. But it didn’t matter; he seemed well again and that made her heart happy.

Lady Tremaine looked up from the brooch as the memory faded, and she found herself back in the Fairy Room at Lady Hackle’s home. It was such a fond memory, going into that little shop with her husband, one of the last lovely days they’d had together. Soon after, she had lost her husband to the illness she thought he was recovering from on that outing. She found herself having to banish the images of him on his deathbed and choke down the memory of their last words to each other, trying to root herself instead in the present, doing her best to replace the sad images of her departed husband with lovely ones of a bright and beautiful future, perhaps even with Sir Richard.