Amethyst by Lauren Royal

timeworn tower rose majestically. "The original keep," he explained. "I believe it dates from 1138. Cainewood's been in our family, save during the Commonwealth, since 1243."
    "Oh…" Blinking, she turned and stared up at him, his bold features shadowed by the turreted curtain wall. An enormous castle's wall. Other than Whitehall Palace, it was the largest structure she'd ever seen.
    And his family lived here …
    The thought was amazing. Almost inconceivable. Back in her shop and at the inn, Colin had seemed almost ordinary.
    He shifted under her stare, and she glanced away, embarrassed.
    He pointed again. "Beyond the keep, that's the tilting yard. Obsolete, these centuries past. Jason doesn't bother caring for it." His wave indicated the vegetation, untamed and ankle high.
    Still, a tilting yard…she could picture knights of old, mounted on glittering steeds, jousting, their lances held aloft. She'd been reading a medieval history—she'd left it on her bedside table. It must have burned—
    "Come, Amy." His rich voice rescued her from those thoughts. "I know you're tired. Come inside and you can rest."
    He shooed the last of the children up the steps and motioned her after them, through the massive doors. The sun was setting, and she expected the entry would be dim. But a chandelier dangled from the vaulted ceiling, blazing with candles that flooded the cream-colored stone chamber with light.
    In awe she moved toward the slim columns that marched two-by-two down the center of the three-story hall. An intricate stone staircase loomed ahead. At intervals along the gray marble handrail, carved heraldic beasts held shields sporting different quarterings of…
    "The Chase family crest," Amy said softly.
    "How did you…?" Colin set down the trunk and blinked at her. "Oh, you carved those symbols on the sides of my ring."
    She smiled to herself, admiring the ornate iron treasure chests that sat against the stone walls, alternating with heavy chairs carved of walnut. Tapestries enriched and softened the effect.
    "It's…impressive, no?" Colin cleared his throat. "We, uh, used to have somewhat of a fortune," he said, rather sheepishly. "Before the war, that is."
    Amy looked up to the balcony that spanned the width of the hall. "I've never seen the likes of it," she admitted. "It's magnificent. The workmanship…"
    "My home, Greystone, is nothing like this; take my word for it."
    She didn't reply, mainly because her gaze had wandered back down the stairs and settled on Lady Kendra. From the top of her coiffed head, with her striking dark-red ringlets wired out on the sides, to the quilted slippers that peeked from beneath her mint-green satin skirts, Lady Kendra was the picture of perfection.
    Amy glanced down, mortified. Her own wrinkled, smoke-stained skirts had started out lavender on Monday, but now looked positively gray. She could only imagine what her face and hair looked like, all dirty and disheveled. She wanted to drop into the floor.
    "Kendra, you'll remember Mrs. Amethyst Goldsmith?" Colin's words prompted a small smile from Amy. Only harlots and pre-adolescent girls were called "Miss," and in light of her behavior last night, she considered herself lucky that Colin considered her neither.
    A frown wrinkled Lady Kendra's forehead. "I'm not certain…"
    "You met Mrs. Goldsmith last month in London," Colin reminded his sister. "She made your locket."
    "Oh, of course!" Lady Kendra's face lit up at the memory. She scrutinized Amy more closely, then smiled. "It's just that I didn't expect to see you here."
    Considering it was more likely that Colin's sister hadn't recognized her under all the filth, Amy warmed to her immediately. "That makes two of us, Lady Kendra. I didn't expect to be here myself."
    Lady Kendra's laughter tinkled through the hall. "I suppose you didn't, at that," she conceded. "And please, call me Kendra—just Kendra. May I call you Amethyst?"
    "My friends call me Amy," Amy returned hopefully. She badly