Nory snuck back into the castle via the trade’s entrance, with ruddy cheeks, mussed hair, and the back of her jacket green with moss juice. It was lucky that she had thought to bring her smart fitted woolen coat with her, as she didn’t think her soiled jacket would cut the mustard at Braddon-Hartmead. She was getting through jackets at a rate of knots this week. She had pulled off her boots and was consulting with Andy—who was beginning to feel like her personal handyman—in the laundry room about how best to get moss stains out of Gore-Tex, when a howling like a werewolf struck by a silver bullet rang out through the castle.

Andy, in his usual unharried fashion, raised one eyebrow and said, “The bride, I presume.”

“I’d better go!” said Nory.

“Leave the jacket with me,” he said, taking it from her. “I’ll have it sent up to your room.”

“Thanks, Andy, I owe you one,” she said, before scooting off in search of Jenna, skidding along the stone floors in her haste.

From making out beneath the mistletoe to bride taming in under an hour. This week had felt like Nory was living two parallel lives. One steeped in old memories and allegiances, their historical tapestries tightly interwoven. The other new and uncharted, with needles threaded and canvas ready, but the design not yet fixed. Nory was no stranger to navigating more than one world at a time. The struggle was keeping true to herself as she slipped between them.

Twenty-six

Jenna was standing at the top of the stairs, hair wrapped in a muslin turban and a towel around her naked torso. She was hyperventilating while a group of women—one of them Prue and none of them Pippa—clucked around her ineffectually. Even from halfway up the stairs, Nory could see that Jenna was a most peculiar color. When she reached her friend, Jenna’s eyes were so round that if she hadn’t known better, she would have said she was on drugs.

“I’m the color of a pumpkin!” Jenna wailed before collapsing into Nory’s arms. The other women saw their chance and made a quick exit, almost tripping over one another on the stairs in their haste to be gone.

Nory held her friend tightly as the sobs ripped through her.

“Okay, okay,” Nory soothed. “Let’s get you back into the bedroom, and we’ll sort this out.” Although she wasn’t quite sure how.

Inside the bedroom, with the light spilling in through the large windows, the spray tan didn’t look any better. If anything, it was worse—less pumpkin and more cheesy Wotsits.

Jenna collapsed onto the bed and sobbed into her pillow while a woman who looked as though she herself favored the tangerine shades on the color chart was feverishly stuffing a pop-up spray tent into its bag.