Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles)

by Gloria Harchar

  "Isn't it marvelous the way he fights? He's teaching me how."

  Unease rippled down her spine. She didn't like the awe she heard in Ramsey's tone. "Do you think you should be learning such things? What about your studies?"

  Ramsey snorted. "Any method of fighting is beneficial. Some things aren't taught in a book. You should know. You're a fast study yourself."

  "What do you mean?" She was in no mood to jest.

  "Snaring him in that manner." Ramsey winked at her. "You didn't learn what kind of bait to use by perusing books."

  Nicola's cheeks warmed and she glanced at Falcon. He returned her stare, his eyes intent. How could he have won over Ramsey so quickly? Why, just mere days ago, her cousin had loathed the man. Was this camaraderie, this manly roughhousing, such a potent elixir? Had Ramsey missed the presence of a father or an older brother, thus his weakness toward the Earl showing him attention like this?

  Ramsey chuckled. "I see the way of it now. You've been enamored of Falcon. No wonder you defended him when I tried to bash his loom. I'll wager you were setting your cap for him even then."

  Falcon stepped close and, despite everything, she still experienced needles of attraction under her skin. "Who is to say who caught whom?"

  A knowing smile curved the corners of Ramsey's lips. "Ah, so it's like that."

  This whole conversation had gotten out of hand, she decided. She scowled at him, angry. "I don't like the gleam in your eye. Whatever conclusions you have come to are wrong."

  Although Nicola knew Falcon caressed her cheek for her cousin's benefit, she still felt the gentle touch clear to her soul. His eyes gleamed a bright silver in the afternoon sun. "Let us just say we each have something the other wants."

  Ramsey grinned. "And I'm too much the gentleman to suggest what that may be."

  "The problem with you," Nicola snapped after pulling away from Falcon, "is that you simplify situations too much. Just like all men." She glanced at the man who caused her no end of turmoil. "May I please visit privately with Ramsey for a few moments?"

  "As you wish." With a slightly mocking bow, Falcoln left them. She suspected he knew just what she was going to discuss with Ramsey, and that he was confident enough to allow it to happen. As she watched him saunter toward the nearby gardens, a cat jumped out of wisteria bush. It rubbed against Falcon's trousers before he gently picked it up. His long fingers rubbed the tawny-colored fur, causing the cat to arch and push its head against his hand. Oh, how she wished they had met under different circumstances.

  "You've got it bad, cousin."

  Ramsey's comment brought her back to her untenable situation. "So do you. What happened to the Ramsey who thought the Earl despicable? I came to make plans to get you out of here, only to find you and Falcon cavorting like long-lost friends."

  Her cousin puffed out his chest. "Pardon me, but I don't see any harm in making amends with him. After all, you're the one who's going wed him by the end of the week. He'll be family. Isn't this what you want—for your future husband to be one of my best friends? Or is there something else going on that I don't understand?"

  What was happening? How could Ramsey change so much in so short a time? Suddenly, she wasn't certain of her position in life—of her purpose. "I—I'm just surprised, that's all."

  "I freely admit I was wrong about him." He frowned, his newfound confidence wavering. "From the very start you always defended him. Why didn't you tell me you were forming an attachment to him?"

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but froze when she saw his hurt frown.

  The corners of his mouth drooped. "You probably wanted to, but I never gave you a chance, disparaging him from the start. But I turned a corner, I think, over these last few days. Now I'm mature enough to realize I made a mistake. You've always badgered me about becoming a man, to show responsibility, and your words have finally hit home. Cogs, I never should have wrecked his loom like that—and I've already apologized to him. See? I've turned over a new leaf, so to speak. You don't have to lecture me about my reckless ways anymore. In fact, the day after your wedding, I plan to leave for Oxford and really delve into my studies of law."

  Clearly Falcon had exerted a profound influence. Had he missed having an older brother? Was there some need she hadn't anticipated? Hadn't she been enough? She couldn't worry about it at the moment—no, she couldn't wallow in her own self-doubt, just as she couldn't burst the fragile bubble of confidence she saw in his eyes. She gave him a fierce hug. "I'm glad, Ramsey—and I'm very proud of you."

  With a timid smile, he returned the embrace, then glanced toward Falcon who was openly observing them. Awkwardly, Ramsey held her at arm's length, the withdrawal as potent as a douse of winter rain. "Thank you. Now, don't you think you should invite Malcolm to rejoin us?"

  Malcolm. Ramsey even called him by his familiar name, something to which she had yet to succumb.

  Her cousin raised his hand to beckon her fiancé-by-force. When her nemesis had sauntered back, Ramsey cuffed him on the shoulder as if they had known each other for years. "We've settled a little private family matter—no great deal. Do you want to go another round? I want to try a different technique."

  Off-center came to mind to describe how she felt. How had things become so tangled? She didn't know, but she did know she couldn't bear to see the two of them sparring again, like comrades from school. "There will be no more fighting while I'm here."

  "Ah," Ramsey said with a shrug. "Then I'm going to take the easy way out. I'll leave fiancé to deal with you." He turned and headed off toward the stables.

  "Jealous?" Falcon murmured.

  With a start, she wondered if he'd hit the nail on the head. Did she begrudge the camaraderie that had developed between them? The idea didn't set well with her because she didn't want to believe she was so petty. But she sensed that Falcon somehow... enjoyed the attention Ramsey gave him. Had Falcon missed companionship with his brother? A sudden memory of a young Malcolm with the slightly older William as they raced across the meadow flashed through her mind. Malcolm's black hair had gleamed in the sun, matching his Arabian's dark coat, while William's fairness matched the cream color of the Palomino he rode. Both brothers were totally different, yet their jibing and affection could be heard even where she'd stood in the woods. Another time she'd chanced upon them, they had been wrestling near the bank of the Nene, and when William had ended the tussle by dunking his brother, they had both laughed boisterously. With Ramsey, did Malcolm sense a friendship that might fill the dark hole left inside of him by William's death? Her eyes stung with emotion as she considered the possibility. Who was she to begrudge his friendship with her cousin?

  With a smug smile, Malcolm crossed his arms. "The noose is getting tighter, Nicola, with your loved ones approving of me. You will have no choice but to include me in your circle."

  "Do you want me to love you as a wife should love her husband?"

  For a moment he stared, and she thought she saw yearning in the dark depths of his eyes before he shuddered. "No. Don't ever mistake my true reason for marrying you—that way you won't be hurt."

  Angry at herself for thinking even for a moment that he could be sincere, she gritted her teeth against the surge of disappointment. "I don't worry about myself as much as I do Ramsey. You worked your machinations on him. He's like clay in your hands, and I'll not see him crushed by your indifference."

  His mouth tightened. "Don't worry—he'll be at Oxford, away from me."

  She shook her head, marveling. "How do you manipulate people so effectively?"

  "It's all a matter of understanding a person's utmost desires."

  "And you use those against them?"

  "When it proves beneficial to me." He gave her an enigmatic and surprisingly gentle smile.

  His response reminded her of their upcoming marriage and stirred sadness deep inside. It took little effort to imagine the coming sunset of her freedom, and she mourned her dreams as they slipped behind the distant horizon. T
he chance for true love slipped away, too. She would be forced to spend her life with a man who didn't want her, a man who was determined to abandon her in the country.

  Chapter 11

  "Glissando... Glissando," Nicola called.

  Unsure whether she was asleep or awake, or whether or not she'd actually said his name, she snuggled deeper into her silken bedclothes. She was vaguely aware of having a strange dream about a place in the clouds where she sat on the silvery haze and gazed at the British Isles, a vast panorama in relief. London seemed a hawk's flight away, as was Nottinghamshire. England appeared no bigger than her slipper.

  A round shape floated over London. Squinting, she tried to see the object better. It was Glissando in his hot-air balloon. He hovered over Astley's Circus. A woman high in the air hung from a rope between her teeth, twirling so fast that she was a blur. Glissando clapped, laughing wildly as he tipped the mouth of a jug against his lips. The strong urge to talk to him caused her to cry out across the foggy distance.

  "Glissando!"

  Her dream state shattered, her shout causing her to jerk to a sitting position. The suddenness of her move made her dizzy.

  "What's the matter with me?" she asked, rubbing her temple. Then she remembered.

  Her wedding day had arrived.

  "You need me, lass?" Glissando whispered in her ear, startling her. "You're jumpy, but not to worry now that Uncle Glissando is with you."

  "So you've been here all along," she said. The relief flowing over her was surprising. With a start, she realized she had missed the pixies these past few days. Now here was Glissando. He puttered nearby. His balloon floated behind him, hovering idly over her chest of drawers. She held out her hand as a perch for him.

  He plopped down on her palm with a sigh. "Not until you called me across the nether regions."

  "You expect me to believe that you could hear me clear from Astley's?" She didn't like the implication she could see events occurring a two-days' ride away. The notion, truth be told, scared her.

  With a sigh, he shook his head. "Lass, lass. I thought by now you would believe in your extraordinary sense."

  "I obviously don't have any of the common ones."

  "You have plenty. That's why you are able to communicate so well with us. And I know why you need me." He patted her thumb.

  "Of course you do. So? What about the letter? Is Mr. Hamilton coming?"

  "I didn't deliver it," he replied, his wings drooping, his shoulders hunched. Then he straightened and bit into a scone that had suddenly appeared from his sleeve. His eyes closed with such sheer delight, she wondered if she had imagined the regret.

  She stared at him, incredulous. "What? Why? And how can you eat at a time like this? I'll be forced to marry in about four hours."

  "'Tis my comfort food."

  "It's a wonder you aren't fat," she muttered. "So why didn't you deliver the letter?"

  Glissando stopped chewing. A shadow darkened his wings. Then he shook his vapor-like feathers, causing them to return to their natural shades of pastels. He munched and the scent of cinnamon filled the room. "Because that tutor of yours is a complete chaw bacon. Did you know he eats boiled mutton for all his meals? He doesn't season it at all, no salt, nothing. It ain't natural." He licked his fingers, savoring each one. "And he never drinks any spirits. The man's a dull fellow, and I couldn't force Ramsey into that slow death."

  She dropped her chin to her chest, despondent. "Oh, Glissando, how could you do this? I was depending on you."

  "Lass? Please, don't be sad! I know I didn't postpone the wedding, and I'm sorry for it. But don't worry your pretty little head. Dear Uncle Glissando has taken care of everything. Your husband will not be able to abandon you now."

  "What?" Still cupping her hand while Glissando stood on her palm, she took him to the chest of drawers. He hopped onto the wooden surface without hesitation. "Why would you think I wouldn't want Falcon to abandon me? I will enjoy being able to do what I want at the estate, right here in Nottingham, without Falcon to interfere." Even as she said it, a hollow darkness filled her soul. Nettles prickled under her skin, making her want to pace.

  "Lass," Glissando replied, shaking his head. "You might fool yourself, but you don't fool me."

  She stopped and gripped the edge of the chest of drawers to look Glissando in the eyes. "Can't you make me disappear or something?"

  "No, nothing so dramatic, but something infinitely more exciting." He put on a bright smile.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Everything will be marvelous. I've fixed what Allegro messed up by making your skirts flare up at the ball. Your new husband may get angry with you at first, but then he'll come to appreciate you."

  A sliver of dread pricked her. "What have you done?" He cocked his green head, his eyes focused on something far away. "Farewell, lass. If I go now, I can catch the last act at Astley's." With a lumbering run, he lifted off her hand and flew to his balloon, landing in the suspended basket.

  "You can't leave!" She watched in dismay as the small balloon sparkled, then blinked into nothingness. Glissando had been her last hope. She had thought he had changed and was fighting for her cause, but the fickle pixie was gone and now her fate was sealed.

  After a knock on the door, Betsy, her Abigail, peeped around the comer. "Miss Nicola? May I be of service?"

  "Come in," Nicola said with a sigh.

  A ghost of a smile flitted across Betsy's thin lips. "I've come to prepare you for your special day."

  Nicola tried to reassure the maid with a smile, but she knew it wasn't heartfelt. In a stupor, she sat at her vanity feeling strange—a feeling magnified by the normal activities of the maid who carefully laid out underclothing as she did every day. She waited in a haze of despair, barely aware of Betsy's furtive glances. Mindlessly, she stared out the window as the maid scooped up her hair and threaded delicate, pale yellow ribbons through it. Soon she was dressed in her wedding gown. The creamy-colored gauze flowed around her and she thought of the fable Cinderella. Perhaps the clock would strike twelve—then she could run away and hide in her rags and Falcon would never find her.

  "You look beautiful, Miss Nicola," Betsy said, her brown eyes bright with adoration and anxiety mixed.

  "What a nice thing to say," Nicola murmured, wishing it were so.

  With a heavy heart, she turned toward the mirror and stilled, shocked at the image there. Stepping closer, she studied the reflection. She still wasn't exactly beautiful, but she looked delicate, almost ethereal. Her straw-colored, blonde hair curled around her face like a cloud. She could still see the unsightly freckles on the bridge of her nose, but the glow to her skin seemed to fade them into nothing but magical pixie dust. How ironic. She wasn't in love with Falcon and yet there seemed to be something about a wedding that transformed a woman into an object of beauty, no matter what was in store for her afterward.

  "You're lovely." Betsy motioned toward her plaited locks. "And I adore all that hair, such a nice color. Why, y-you simply shine." She suddenly burst into tears. "And I'm so afraid for you!"

  "Why, Betsy!" Nicola turned in surprise. "What has gotten you all upset?"

  "Don't marry the Black Falcon, miss. Please," Betsy said, covering her face with her hands. "I fear for you."

  "Now, now, Betsy," Nicola replied, giving the servant a reassuring rub on the shoulder. "Not as bad as all that."

  She lowered her hand from her face and stared with pale blue eyes wide with anxiety. "Please, miss! He's evil! He killed his brother and ever since he's returned, his tenants' crops have been doing poorly. If he doesn't kill you outright, he'll suck the life out of you, like he has the land."

  "Nonsense. The Earl isn't evil. Those are all rumors, Betsy."

  "How do you know for sure, miss?"

  "Do you remember when everyone thought old Mrs. Poore had been set upon by demons because the neighbors saw something white and shimmering flying in the trees? And it was only her rooster caught in the sheets?"<
br />
  "Yes," Betsy said, glancing at Nicola uncertainly.

  "This is the same. The Earl's brother died in a tragic hunting accident and the crops are suffering because of lousy farming techniques, something I'm certain that the Earl will fix. Now, smile for me. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life." Giving Betsy a reassuring pat, she picked up the hat she'd been working on and carefully placed it on her head.

  "Miss Nicola?" Betsy stared at the bonnet. "The hat is … well, interesting, but—"