Raechel nodded and hurried to do as she was told.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“I was expecting a band,” Bruce said. He sounded slightly disappointed as they climbed off the train in New York. “Not ...”
He waved his hand at the station. It was almost empty, save for a handful of soldiers on guard duty and the ever-present porters. A hansom cab sat at the far end of the platform, driven by a man Gwen recognised from the Viceregal Palace. She could hear the sound of a newsboy shouting about an exclusive, and a great victory, in the distance, but otherwise the station was remarkably quiet.
She concealed her amusement with an effort. “Better for us to slip in unnoticed than have to pose in front of a band,” she said. She’d never liked taking part in parades, even though the Royal Sorcerers Corps was supposed to march in unison through London every year for the king’s birthday. “We need to talk to your father before we do anything else.”
Bruce nodded and almost reached for her hand before he thought better of it. They’d been alone in the coach for most of the trip, spending the time chatting about their lives and getting to know one another better. Gwen had to admit she felt comfortable in his presence, a comfort she found far more reassuring than any sparks of passion. But they had to remember not to be indiscreet until they told the Viceroy just what had happened. There were already far too many rumours flying around America.
But there are always rumours, she thought, as they walked towards the cab. The driver dropped to the ground and opened the hatch for them, allowing Bruce to help her into the vehicle. This time, there might be some truth in them.
The carriage rattled to life moments after the doors were firmly closed. Gwen watched Bruce carefully, sensing his nervousness despite his best efforts to hide it. He was going to face his father, a man who had every reason to be angry with him, both for hiding his magic and joining the Sons. She had no idea if Viceroy Rochester was disappointed in his son or not, but the poor man was in for a nasty fright. It would look very bad when the whole affair was reported to London.
They won’t know what to do about it, Gwen thought. She almost took Bruce’s hand herself, to offer what comfort she could, but she knew he’d reject it. Men didn't like admitting to emotional weakness. Lord Mycroft is going to have a heart attack.
“He’s not going to be pleased to see me,” Bruce said, quietly. “Even if we do have a working agreement ...”
His voice trailed off. Gwen nodded in understanding. She was technically emancipated, but her father’s disapproval could make life very difficult for her; Bruce would have problems, in the future, if his father disowned him for his ... double life. But then, he was a powerful magician. She rather doubted he’d have problems finding employment, even if he didn't stay with the Sons. No doubt the French, the Ottomans or whatever government emerged from the Russian Civil War would be glad to have him. Jack had advanced the French magic program by leaps and bounds.
And they managed to produce a great many magicians in a short space of time, Gwen thought. Now she had a moment to think about it, she was sure the French had deployed over fifty single-talent magicians to Britain and America. It was an impressive achievement, all the more so for having been done so quickly. Jack must have taught them a great deal.
The carriage came to a halt. Bruce opened the door and jumped down, calling for Gwen to follow him. They’d stopped outside the rear of the palace, as if they could avoid notice by sneaking in the back way. Gwen glanced around as they headed for the door, noting the large number of soldiers on patrol. The Viceroy was clearly worried for his safety, something that didn't surprise her in the slightest. He was, after all, the only thing keeping the American government together.
She picked up on Bruce’s growing agitation as they walked through the door and up a long flight of stairs. The palace was the centre of American government as well as the Viceroy’s residence, but it felt almost empty. Rochester had had plans, she reminded herself, to move as many of the civil servants elsewhere as possible. No doubt he’d taken advantage of the emergency situation to do just that, limiting the potential damage if the rogue magician attacked the palace. Killing the bureaucrats might just do as much damage as killing the Viceroy himself, if not more. Replacing the Viceroy would be easier.
“Lady Gwen,” Viceroy Rochester said, as they stepped into his office. He was sitting at his desk, reading a letter. “Bruce. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Gwen said. The Viceroy sounded tired, but she didn't blame him. God knew he would have been bombarded with demands for everything from more troops to government compensation for war damage. “It’s good to be back in New York.”
“The Royal Navy managed a landing near New Orleans, after a brutal battle with the French squadrons defending the river mouth,” the Viceroy said. “As of last report, New Orleans was under siege and the French were screaming for reinforcements from Mexico. General Paget is confident that the city’s defences can be reduced before reinforcements arrive.”
“That’s good,” Gwen said. The French had gambled heavily by attacking Amherst, gambled and lost. “The entire French position north of the Rio Grande might come undone.”
“One would certainly hope so,” the Viceroy said. He rang the bell on his desk. “Tea?”
Bruce swallowed. “Father,” he said. “I - we - have something to tell you.”
The Viceroy looked at him for a long moment. Gwen wondered if he already had some inkling of his son’s activities. God knew her father had supervised David closely, even though he’d insisted Gwen’s brother had to make his own mistakes. But then, her father hadn't been anything like as busy as the Viceroy. Bruce would have been left to his own devices for far too long.
“I understand that you worked out an agreement with the Sons,” the Viceroy said. A maid arrived, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. She placed them on the table, then retreated as quietly as she’d come. “London has quietly approved the deal.”
Gwen allowed herself a moment of relief. But Bruce wasn't finished.
“Father,” he said. “I'm a Son.”
The Viceroy stared at him in shock. He hadn't known, Gwen realised; he hadn't had a clue that his son had a double life. And now ... she watched, unsure what to say or do. The Viceroy was the head of his family. If he wanted to disown Bruce for rank treachery, it was well within his purview ...
“He’s also a magician,” she said, quickly. “And we’re courting.”
She disliked pouring tea - it was very much a feminine thing to do - but she made an exception and poured three cups while the Viceroy stared, glancing from her to Bruce and back again as if he didn’t believe his ears. She wasn't sure how Bruce had managed to keep his powers hidden, when she’d been unable to keep hers under wraps for long, but he’d clearly managed it. And yet, a male magician would be feted, rather than hidden in the attic ...
“You’re courting,” the Viceroy managed, finally. Gwen couldn't help feeling amused that that was what he chose to focus on. “You intend to marry my son?”
“Yes,” Gwen said, simply.
The Viceroy’s mouth worked incoherently for a long moment. “And what,” he asked, “do your parents think about this?”
“I’m effectively emancipated,” Gwen reminded him. She passed him his cup of tea, then offered the second to Bruce. “But I don’t think they would disapprove.”
She watched as the Viceroy sipped his tea, taking advantage of the pause to organise his thoughts. Bruce being a Son was a nasty shock, although he knew - thanks to Raechel and Irene - that there were quite a few Sons among the upper classes. And yet, a skilled politician could easily find a way to turn the whole affair to his advantage. Rochester already had ties to the American nobility, through his dead wife. Now, he had ties to the Sons too. London wouldn't be amused, she knew, but Lord Mycroft would see the potential advantages in leaving Rochester in office.
And in our marriage, Gw
en thought. Blood ties to the Sons would be very helpful.
“They might,” Rochester said, finally. “I won’t be Viceroy forever.”
“I believe you will be rewarded with lands and a greater title,” Gwen said. Viceroys were normally kicked up the social ladder, once they finished their term in office. Lady Mary would have no grounds to complain about Gwen’s match. “And there is no questioning your connections in high office.”
Rochester met her eyes. “And your superiors?”
Gwen took a breath. Love - or attraction - was all very well and good, but it wasn't the foundations of a good marriage. There had to be other advantages too, from huge tracts of land to titles and connections that might benefit both parties. And she’d spent the last five days reasoning it out with Bruce. They needed an excuse to marry quickly, if nothing else.
“Bruce is a very senior Son of Liberty,” she said, “and the Sons will be very important in governing America. My superiors will be pleased at having such a strong connection, rooted in marriage. Our match will underline the new unity between Britain and America after the American Parliament is firmly established.”
She took a breath. “And Bruce is a powerful magician,” she added. “My superiors will be delighted to think of what our children might be like.”
The Viceroy finished his tea, then leaned forward. “You do realise that marriage is a commitment? That you and Bruce will be together until death does you part?”
“I do,” Gwen said.
“I took the liberty of setting up rooms for you in the palace,” the Viceroy said. “I suggest” - his voice hardened just enough to tell her that it wasn't a suggestion - “that you take the time to freshen up before dinner and compose messages to your parents. Bruce and I will need to have a long talk.”
“I understand,” Gwen said. She finished her tea, then rose. “I also need to compose a report on the battle.”
“General Paget will be very interested, when he returns,” the Viceroy said. He looked from her to Bruce. “In order to avoid scandal, when news of your courtship spreads, you will be chaperoned by Arielle. I trust this will not be a problem?”
“Arielle is discreet,” Bruce said. “I don’t think she will be spreading rumours.”
“Irene will be happy to take over, once she returns,” Gwen said. “And she will probably escort us back to London, if we have to get married there.”
“Good,” the Viceroy said. He rang the bell for the maid. “I need to have a long talk with my son.”
Bruce didn't look happy, Gwen saw, but there was nothing she could do about it. If the Viceroy intended to give him the same talk as her father had given David, before his marriage, she doubted he was in for a very pleasant experience. Or perhaps he was going to demand to know just what Bruce had been thinking, when he’d joined the Sons. Or ... she knew the Viceroy’s career would survive, after the Sons helped save Amherst from the French, but his reputation would be tarnished. His Son, after all, would have been a traitor if things had been different.
She smiled at Bruce, then allowed the maid to lead her through another maze of corridors until they reached a large suite. Inside, a handful of dresses had already been placed in the wardrobe, along with her spare sorcerer’s outfit. She dismissed the maid, closed the door and walked over to the desk. Someone - she suspected the Viceroy - had already placed paper and ink on the table, along with a handful of dispatches from London. Lord Mycroft and Lord Liverpool already wanted answers.
Of course they do, she reminded herself. I was out of contact for five days.
She sat down and started to compose a reply, a bare-bones outline of what had happened since she’d arrived at Amherst. There was no way London would accept an outline without asking for more details - particularly the moment when she’d unmasked Bruce - but she had a feeling that could wait until she was back in London herself. Lord Mycroft would have no trouble filling in the blanks, when they talked face-to-face, yet she knew he’d keep the more sordid details to himself ...
Composing a message to her parents was harder, far harder. In truth, she’d always assumed she’d never marry. There had been no hope of a marriage agreement, once her powers had become common knowledge. No one had wanted to marry the Royal Sorceress - and, if they did, it would complicate her life beyond repair. Lady Mary, she suspected, had quietly assumed that her daughter would live and die a spinster. Now ... now she not only had to tell her parents she was getting married, but that she might be getting married in America, to a half-American who might be a traitor, depending on how one looked at it. Her mother was going to throw a fit.
Not because I’m getting married, she thought, but because I might not be inviting her to the wedding.
She smiled at the thought, even though she knew it was wrong of her. There were girls who’d found their weddings controlled, right down to the last detail, by their mothers. They had had no say at all in anything, from the wedding cake to the dress they’d wear when they walked down the aisle. Lady Mary would have done that, Gwen was sure, if she’d been a normal girl. God alone knew just how much of the family fortune would be spent on the dress alone. The thought of just getting married in America, without her parents, was very tempting. And yet, it all depended on how matters progressed. If she was pregnant ...
It was nearly an hour before she had something written out that satisfied her, although she knew it wouldn't satisfy her mother. But it would have to do. Bruce wasn't a complete unknown, after all, and the Rochester side of the family was a very old and honoured line. Lady Mary would be pleased by that, at least; the ties to the Franklins would probably please Gwen’s father. And Lord Mycroft would probably have a quiet word with him, if he raised objections. The match’s political advantages would not go unnoticed.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in!”
The door opened, revealing Bruce and Arielle. The latter looked excited, grinning from ear to ear, while Bruce looked as if he’d been torn apart and then put back together again. Gwen hoped - prayed - that his father hadn't asked too many questions, although she knew it was a futile hope. Her prospective father-in-law would have wanted to know everything, starting with how they’d started the courtship in the first place. She could only hope that Bruce hadn't been too detailed.
“Congratulations, Lady Gwen,” Arielle said. She hitched up her dress, ran forward and gave Gwen a tight hug. “Welcome to the family!”
“We’re not married yet,” Gwen said, awkwardly. She hadn't given any thought to acquiring other relatives. “But we will be.”
“I want to be one of the bridesmaids,” Arielle said. She twilled on her feet, her dress fanning around her. “Can I be one of the bridesmaids?”
“It depends on where we get married,” Bruce said. “Are you going to keep your side of the agreement?”
Arielle wagged her finger at him. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do,” she said. “And don’t do half the things I would do either.”
She leaned against the wall as Bruce beckoned Gwen to the other side of the room. If they spoke quietly, Arielle would have problems hearing them. Gwen made a mental note to practice Talking with him - they should be able to send messages to each other without opening their mouth - and followed him, keeping a wary eye on Arielle. The younger girl was doing a pretty good impression of someone who wasn't paying attention to them.
“Father was not pleased,” Bruce said. “But I think he’s relieved by how matters worked out in Amherst, and London has approved the idea of a Parliament, so he’s not complaining too loudly.”
“That’s good,” Gwen said. She was relieved herself. Bruce had made it clear that the Sons wouldn’t tolerate betrayal. “Is the Viceroy ready to make the announcement?”
“There will be a ball tomorrow night,” Bruce said. “He’ll be making the announcement there, once he’s finished laying the groundwork. You and I are, of course, invited.”
“I look forward to it,” Gw
en said. It was, she thought, the first time in her life that she’d said that and actually meant it. Maybe it was different when one was courting. “And the other announcement?”
“He wants to hear from your parents first,” Bruce said. He sighed. “Do you just want to run off and get married?”
Gwen smiled. “Don’t tempt me,” she said. “I have written them a message, but ...”
She shook her head slowly. “And I need to speak to a lawyer too,” she added. “My father won’t be writing the marriage contract.”
“Mine will,” Bruce said. “Just keep the money separate and we should be fine.”
Gwen nodded. “And a few other minor details too,” she said. Some of them, she knew, would be regarded as objectionable. How many men wanted their wives to have political freedom? “But we can discuss those later.”
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