by Emma Newman
“He… he made me realise there’s no point fighting you or the family.” She looked down at the bandage, distant. “He’s not like Lord Poppy.”
“Cathy.” Will slid closer to her, took her hands and kissed the back of them. “Our marriage doesn’t have to be like a death sentence. I think we could be happy in Londinium. You said yourself you like the Tulipas. That’s a start, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“And I know there’s a book under the pillow,” he said and she started, then looked fearful. “Why are you hiding it?”
“I’m not supposed to read books like that.”
“Books like what?”
“Science-fiction,” she whispered, ashamed.
“Of course you can. You can read whatever you like, you’re the lady of the house. I’m not going to stop you. How absurd.”
She gawped at him. “Really? You’re not going to freak out and burn them if I have some in the house?”
“Burn books? What kind of savage do you take me for?” Then he realised why she said it and winced. “Did your father do that by any chance?”
She nodded. “All of them. He made me watch.”
He stroked her fingers with his thumbs, moved a bit closer. No wonder she was so guarded all the time with a father that destroyed what she loved, and beat her brutally… “Is that why you didn’t want to marry me? Did you think it would be beatings and censorship?”
“It was a big part of it. I thought all men in Society were like that, I thought you would be, and if not now, eventually. I thought the more you got to know me, the more likely you’d be to do the same.” She saw his horror. “Oh, I realised pretty quickly you’re not like that, really! You’ve been kind actually. Not what I expected at all.”
He wanted to kiss her and initiate something physical to build on this new intimacy. But there had been times in the past week when she’d started to talk openly with him and then closed up in seconds at any hint of his demonstrating his affection. So he held back, mindful of the potion waiting in the cooling milk, hoping the right moment would reveal itself.
“I’m glad you could tell me about what happened with our patron. Please don’t feel you have to hide things from me. We shouldn’t have secrets between us.”
“My mother once said to my aunt that a marriage was only as strong as the secrets kept from the husband,” Cathy replied.
“You’re trying to change the subject,” Will said, but she kept silent. “Secrets are poisonous things. I trust you to keep mine as much as I hope you could trust me.” He knew it was a gamble, but perhaps if he placed his trust in her first, she would let her guard down a little more. “I’m going to tell you something that is a secret in my family, one that could cause harm if it were to reach certain ears, to prove my trust in you. In the Iris family, there’s a tradition of having three children each generation.”
“Three?” She bit her lip.
“Lord Iris is fond of the number. I say it’s a tradition, but it’s more than that; it’s one of those unwritten rules. My mother had a fourth child whilst I was on my Grand Tour, and no one outside of my immediate family knows.”
“Not even the Patroon?”
“Especially not the Patroon. The poor girl doesn’t even have a proper nanny. She’s called Sophia and she’s a sweet little thing.”
“You miss her,” Cathy said softly.
“Yes,” he said. “Very much. My siblings refused to play with her so she got rather attached to me.”
“What would happen if the Patroon found out?”
“Nothing good.”
“I promise I won’t tell a soul about Sophia.”
He thought of the strange way she spoke sometimes, the accusation that Horatio made against her. “Is there anything you want to share with me?”
“Well… I was thinking about asking Margritte if she’d like to go to some of the museums and galleries in London with me. She loves art, we talk about it a lot, and–”
“That would be fine,” he said. “Just be careful how much time you spend out of the Nether. It adds up. Look at Freddy.”
“I’d rather not,” she said. “An afternoon is hardly going to turn me grey, is it?”
“No, but afternoons here and there over a few hundred years add up.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” she said. “And I was thinking about seeing if there are people in Londinium who might like to meet and talk about literature. And maybe other subjects too.”
“A book group?”
“Yes, do you know of any?”
“No, but I met someone on my Grand Tour who invited me to one. It was a very strange evening. I can’t see any harm in you making friends here. In fact, that can only be a good thing. It would never take off in Aquae Sulis, but they do seem to favour intellectual pursuits in Londinium. Perhaps you’ll start a trend.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“The Duchess of Londinium is one of the most influential people in Society, a natural trendsetter. It would be good for you to get a taste for it early.”
She frowned at that. “You’re still set on the throne then.”
“Of course, nothing has changed. In fact, I think my chances are better than I thought they’d be.”
“But don’t you think Bartholomew would be a good Duke?”
Her comment triggered a flash of jealousy, even though he knew she didn’t mean offence or anything more than truthfulness. “I think he would be an excellent Duke,” he finally said. “But that’s neither here nor there. Our patron demands I take the city. And you know how insistent he can be.”
She nodded, the brief brightness he’d rekindled ebbing away at the memory of the Fae. “Will… I appreciate you giving me time to… get used to you. And I know there’s pressure to consummate, as much upon you as there is me. I wanted to say thank you, for not pushing it. I know you must be worried.”
“If we’re to be truthful with each other then I have to say I am worried and, yes, I’m under pressure.” He searched her face for the impending barbed remark but there was no sign of it. “Is there something about it that you’re frightened of?”
She shook her head. “Not of the act, no.”
“Are you so repelled by me?”
“No,” she said, “you’re very handsome. And kind and, well, it’s just me.”
He could see she didn’t want to go into it any further. He could give her the drink now, talk to her for a while as it took effect… his duty could be done within hours and the pressure would be gone. But holding her hands – for the first time she hadn’t complained about it – and seeing her genuinely trying to find a way to live her new life, he simply couldn’t bear the thought of using magic to overpower her free will.
“I should let you get some sleep.” He kissed her hands again, whilst he could.
“Oh, I forgot about the milk.”
“It’ll be cold now. I can have Morgan bring a fresh cup if you wish.”
“No, thanks.” She settled, giving his fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I don’t really like warm milk, to be honest. I like cocoa more.”
“Goodnight then.” He kissed her on the forehead, deciding to give her another day or so. The inner struggle quietened now he’d decided not to go through with it, but he still noted her preference, should it be needed in the future.
17
Amelia sat at her dressing table, holding the atomiser up to the sprite globe. Less than a quarter of the perfume was left. She put it back, fingering the tassel as she remembered making the rosewater with her mother. They’d talked about Horatio and what it would be like to be Duchess. Amelia had said she hoped her sons wouldn’t inherit his large nose. Her mother commented that, large-nosed children or not, marrying him was the surest way to the Londinium throne and, besides, the contracts had already been prepared.
Now that contract would never be signed, and she would never be Horatio’s wife. Some days she feared
she was going mad, the number of times she replayed those last moments as Rosas, the sight of him frozen by a Doll Charm and carried out on the Collectors’ shoulders. When she remembered the Charms failing she’d thought that was the end of it. Not only had their plan failed catastrophically but they were going to be carried off to the Agency too. Every time she pulled herself out of the memory she was shaking. Each time she heard a thud downstairs or the front door close, she imagined Collectors running up the stairs. She’d taken to sleeping with a chair jammed under the door handle for the first few days but now William turned up at all hours she couldn’t do that anymore.
Amelia tried not to think about Horatio but it was impossible. Unlike many destined to be married, they knew each other well. Or as well as any man knew her, which admittedly was hardly at all. But they had shared games of cards and enjoyed secret meetings in the lead-up to the Aquae Sulis Season during which they ate Turkish delight and plotted how to destroy the Iris-Papaver alliance. The hardest thing about the weeks before that awful night was having to play nothing but the girlish coquette. She’d been homesick for Londinium and her own secret life. To be back at home and yet cut off from the things that truly enriched her life was a gentle torture. It was impossible to feel settled and safe, despite William’s promises, and the boredom was almost unbearable.
She’d known from a very young age that she would be married to the future Duke. As the families were agreed and relations good between the lines, it took the pressure off; the best match had already been made for her. It didn’t alter the fact that she liked to ensure as many men and women as possible in the Londinium Court were in love with her. That was just good planning. She knew when she became Duchess she would need every ally she could get in order to maintain their power. To think that the plain, awkward idiot Papaver was the one William planned to sit by his side drove Amelia insane with anger. The stupidity of it! The waste!
She pulled the bell cord. She wasn’t thirsty but tea would break up the interminable afternoon. She’d embroidered until her vision had blurred, had arranged her outfits into a dozen combinations that she would likely never wear and wept for her mother. That had drawn her to the table and the atomiser. At least they’d chosen a Charm derived from another source, purchased at the Emporium, rather than using one of the staples in her mother’s repertoire. They’d been worried the Irises would suspect her and be vigilant for Rose-based Charms. That one bit of planning meant she still had a means to control William. But what would she do when the perfume ran out?
The maid brought in the tea, set it down, asked if she required anything else and was sent away. They were used to her taking afternoon tea in her bedroom now; she spent most of her time there. She couldn’t bear the sight of the drawing room anymore; it reminded her of her mother too much. The empty places in the dining room made her think of the dinner parties they no longer had.
Amelia poured the tea, wondering whether William would still love her when free of the Charm’s influence. It wasn’t the first time she’d used it but the majority of the victims were mere mundanes. Once she’d taken everything she needed she tossed them out of her life without bothering to see if their infatuation continued without exposure. She regretted that now and wondered whether the mundane manager of her secret company was still infatuated with her. She couldn’t risk going to see him; even though the Agency wouldn’t expect her, as a lady, to hold business assets, they might still be watching her for signs of their father’s hiding place. After taking so many years to establish her business and working so hard to keep it safe from discovery by anyone in Society, she couldn’t allow it to fall into the Agency’s hands. And there was the artist she’d recently snatched from Neugent’s grip. Would he be as susceptible to suggestion now? Would Neugent be able to tempt him back?
Footsteps on the stairs made her jump but it sounded like Cornelius so she relaxed. His coded knock confirmed it and she called him in.
He looked serious, as he always did these days, but also purposeful. “Darling, I need to talk to you. Is this a good time?”
“The tea is still hot,” she said with a smile, setting aside her own preference to be alone in favour of ensuring he was at peace. She knew he was working hard in his own way to keep them safe, just as she was in hers.
She poured as he settled himself. “I can’t believe I’m getting used to taking tea in your bedroom, Amelia.”
“These are strange times we live in,” she said, passing him the cup and saucer. “Now, what is it?”
He drank first and set the saucer on his knee. They were almost savages these days. “I’ve just had a note from William. The Marquis of Westminster has declared the Court will convene in two weeks’ time.”
“And what of the new Duke?”
“Whoever believes himself to have a claim is to declare as much on the night.”
“So it’s as we thought – a complete mess.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not the most elegant way to acquire a Duke, but at least it will be over quickly. Only the most confident will put themselves forward and the chap with the most support takes the throne.”
“Only those confident of support or irretrievably arrogant will step forwards,” she corrected.
“That may be so, sister, but it still results in a new Duke.”
“Will must be disappointed. Two weeks isn’t enough time.”
“He’s been doing surprisingly well. He’s going to be sponsored into Black’s for one thing.”
“Darling.” Amelia shook her head at him. “I know you all like Black’s very much, but it’s not exactly a guarantee of power.”
“But it’s a sign he’s doing the right thing. You know how hard it is to get in there.”
“I know it’s much easier to be thrown out and forgotten.”
“What is it? You’re not usually so negative. Has something upset you?”
Her fingers twisted the pearls at her throat. “It just seems so hopeless. Will cannot possibly take the city in such a short period of time. The Tulipas will be on the throne by the end of the month and we’ll be charitable cases for the rest of our lives.”
“You’ve been spending too much time on your own, darling.” He moved his chair closer to hers. “You hardly leave this room… it’s not good for you.”
“Where else can I go?”
He looked down. “I’m sorry. I’m occupied with helping Will, I don’t miss our old life so much. You always thrived on the latest developments in the Ton. But that’s why I’m here. I’ve been thinking about Will’s promise to elevate us, should he become Duke, and it’s clear we have to act.”
“What’s the point? He’s feeding you false hope. You’ll never be Marquis of Westminster, darling.”
“That’s enough of that,” he said, putting the cup down so hard it tipped in its saucer. He pulled her to her feet and marched her over to the mirror. “Look,” he said.
She took in her face, her dress. Same as always.
“At what?”
“You are not destined to sit in this room and wait for William to call. You are the next Duchess of Londinium, you always were and you still will be.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed his forefinger against it gently, wrapping his other arm about her and holding her tight. “Listen,” he whispered. “If we play fair and act honourably, we’ll rot in this house whilst William and his wife enjoy a mediocre success in the Court. If we act decisively and with courage, we’ll not only put William on the throne, but you beside him.”
Her eyes widened. He didn’t remove his finger.
“I received a message from an old friend today, with some very interesting news. One of the Thorn brothers has escaped his prison in Exilium and I have a means to contact him. I’m certain I could use him to destroy the Tulipas and put William on the throne, widowed.”
She pushed his hand away from her mouth. “What are you talking about? Thorn will never want him on the throne.”
“It will o
nly be temporary. Once you’re established as Duchess we’ll be sure to tell Poppy his favourite was murdered thanks to Will’s neglect and–”
She clamped her hands over her ears. “Don’t tell me anymore, you fool! I don’t want to give anything away.”
“You won’t oppose me?”
“Of course not.” She turned and embraced him. “Do what you feel you must, you have my total support. Just don’t get it wrong. We’ve had the only second chance we’re ever going to get.”
Cathy sat at the desk in her study looking at the sketch and comparing it to the picture in the book. She’d asked one of the footmen, a young man called Coll, to go and buy her paints, pencils, paper and all the other trappings of an artist, including books purporting to teach people how to draw.
They lied.
She tossed the pencil onto the desk. She had less than three weeks to come up with a masterpiece. Now she had an Iris secret but wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to use it, after seeing the way Will spoke of his secret sister. Nothing about the commissioned Charm had arrived from the Shopkeeper and she was starting to panic.
She unlocked the drawer in her desk, pulled out one of the packets from the Emporium and rang for tea. Once she was alone again, she unstoppered the phial and sniffed at it tentatively. It didn’t smell of anything but she could hear it fizzing like mundane lemonade. She dumped the contents into her tea. She needed to make progress fast and it was one of the few days when she didn’t have anything in the diary.
She waited, listening to the clumping footfalls of the delivery men from the Agency. They were carrying hundreds of items into the house and filling the remaining receiving rooms with all of the furniture and ornaments that people seemed to think were important.
The Agency insisted her instructions for the previous day’s delivery had specified that the items be brought with today’s batch. She knew what she’d instructed, and it wasn’t what they said, but they were never going to admit the error. She wondered if Bennet was petty enough to alter the date to spite her, seeing as her brief calculations at their first meeting had deprived the Agency of a sizeable amount of money. She suspected Margritte had been checking her accounts and dealings with the Agency too. Cathy knew it would be weighing on Georgiana’s mind, though she’d never admit it. If other billing queries had flooded in after his meeting with her, Bennet would know she’d broken a cardinal rule of Society: never talk about money.
