The Duchess's Descendants (Jordinia Book 3)

by C. K. Brooke

  Passing guests had stopped to listen. Although not the best-looking of the Cosmith brothers, with his unkempt wavy hair and rather prominent crooked nose, Andrew still had that effect on people, every time. His charisma alone drew all the attention he wanted. Which was usually dangerous.

  The young man removed a stack of slips from his breast pocket. “You still want to pass up that bet, sir?”

  “Give it here, Cosmith,” slurred the nobleman, while the man’s friends reached for slips of their own. “I’m betting Pogue Manor that the next wedding shall be Lady Raphaela’s. Just to prove how stupid your betting is.”

  His companion nudged him. “Well, don’t bet the whole manor, Klaus. What if he knows something you don’t?”

  Drew was handing out slips left and right under the open sky. “That’s six already for little Lady Benedicta. Just two for Lady Raphaela. Oh, Raph, they’re losing faith in you, darling! Apparently, none of you are so sure of yourselves, after all.” He collected another handful, then raised his head to call out to the next wave of tentatively approaching guests. “Come on, place your bets, courtesy of the Brothers Cosmith. Don’t be shy; your mother wasn’t!”

  Ludwig wanted no part in this. “Andrew,” he tried again. “L-l-last time, Felix warned us not to do anything disres…pectful.”

  “Twelve!” shouted Andrew, flailing his slips overhead, and Ludwig flinched. “That many of you think wee Nedi will marry before her sister?” He laughed. “Oh, you daring brood! Who’s going to stand up for poor Raph? Ooh, thank you, Lord Franklin….”

  “Drew,” hissed Ludwig.

  “I heard you the first time,” his brother snapped under his breath. “And your point?”

  Ludwig was perspiring now. Speaking was not his strong suit. “Don’t you think…brokering bets at our cousin’s wedding…falls under the umb—umbrella of disrespect?”

  “What’s this talk of umbrellas?” Drew muttered. “Don’t rain on my parade, old boy. Can’t you see we’re making money?”

  Ludwig gave up. It was almost time for his solo, anyhow. He stepped away from the guests and went to the garden bench to retrieve his violin case. Cradling it, he headed indoors, leaving his brother talking fast at the center of a sea of reaching hands and clamoring voices outside.

  The ballroom was even busier and more overwhelming than the scene Drew was creating outdoors. But, Ludwig assured himself, he’d be caught in the rapture of his instrument soon enough. It was his comfort, his sole companion and lover. Though words never flowed smoothly from his mouth the way they did from his brother’s, Ludwig’s bow on the strings produced sounds no man could. Beautiful sounds. Music that brought royalty to their feet, and reduced grown men to tears.

  He trailed the perimeter of the ballroom, keeping to himself. Felix, his eldest brother and heir to their uncle’s throne, danced with his wife. Sasha was nearby, not surprisingly alone and inebriated; while Wolfgang, the poet, held his usual captive audience of youthful girls.

  Ludwig stopped behind the orchestra to open his case. A cloud of periwinkle caught his periphery, glittering like pixie dust, and he looked up. The empress approached, simply floating across the dance floor, her white-blonde hair shimmering down her shoulders like the moon over glass. A coronet of silver leaves adorned her brow. If only she had wings, Ludwig reckoned the vision would be complete.

  She held out her arms to him. “Vigo.”

  Her embrace was always startlingly strong. “Aunt Nina,” he coughed, patting her on the back.

  She pulled away and stroked his cheek as though he were still a boy. “What an honor that you are to play at my daughter’s wedding.”

  “Th-th-th….” Damn it. He gathered a deep breath. “The honor is entirely mine, Your Majesty,” he managed.

  She beamed at him. “And where is your sidekick? I’ve yet to see Drew tonight.”

  Ludwig’s face fell. “Fielding bets, I’m af…raid.”

  If this upset Aunt Nina, he couldn’t tell. She remained poised. “The lad needs a hobby. Wolf’s got his poems, and you have your violin. The others have wives.”

  Even if Ludwig could get the words out, it would be in poor taste to remind his aunt that Sasha’s wife had left his brother some time ago. He only smiled politely.

  The empress gave his cheek a final pat. “I’ll leave you to your performance. I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Nina. And con….” He blushed. “Congratulations.”

  With a smile, she moved on, her perfume lingering behind her. Ludwig wiped his brow. Soon there would be no speaking. Just playing.

  Carefully, he lifted his instrument and bow, awaiting his cue to come forth.

  The ROYAL SERVERS carried out custard after parfait after pie on sterling trays. Johanna helped herself to a second glass of chocolate mousse. She was eating for two, she supposed. But the last bite somehow left her feeling emptier than before, and she set the glass down, examining her feet. How long until she wouldn’t be able to see them? And how long until she could no longer hide what she’d done?

  “Good evening, my lady.”

  She turned. Her uncle’s grin was buried somewhere in his beard, but was evident in the crinkle of his hazel eyes. “I haven’t yet danced with my favorite niece.”

  She took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the floor. She would make an exception for the emperor. “I’m your only niece, Uncle Mac,” she reminded him.

  He placed his other hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason to favor you.”

  Johanna laughed, for a moment losing her sorrows. She’d forgotten how comforting her uncle was, how much like Mama he looked, and how similar his grin was to Papa’s. He was brother to both of them; although, of course, Johanna’s parents weren’t related.

  It was a rather long story.

  He seemed to read her thoughts. “How I wish your parents could be here for this.” He regarded the spectacle around them and grew misty-eyed. Endless boughs of white roses hung from the ceiling, illumined by hundreds of paper lanterns. As the night outside darkened, eerie shadows moved over the guests, giving the ballroom a ghostly ambiance.

  “Me too,” she admitted, stepping in time with him. “I miss the clunky way Papa used to dance with me. His prosthesis was always so noisy.”

  “Yet, he still managed to dance more gracefully than your mother,” her uncle recalled, and they both chortled irreverently.

  The palace guards were stationed at attention along the wall. Johanna caught a glimpse of the enormous Captain of the Guard, Sir Bos, who gave them a friendly nod as they danced.

  Several paces down, a tall young man stood at the end of the ranks, his posture painfully erect, the violet sheen of his cropped black hair blending with his royal purple jacket. “Your Majesty.” Abram Visigoth, the captain’s son, inclined his chin as they glided in his direction. “And always a pleasure to see you, Lady Johanna.”

  “You know ‘lady’ isn’t necessary,” she smiled. “How’s it going, Bram?”

  He grinned. “It’s going.”

  She passed under her uncle’s arm. “So, Maggie and Carmen are finally married,” she addressed the emperor. “You and Aunt Nina have two more weddings to plan.”

  “Three.” He scrutinized her. “Aren’t you ripe for a celebration such as this?”

  Johanna flushed. The song ended, saving her from having to respond. Collectively, the dancers stopped to await the soloist taking center stage. She relaxed to see Ludwig looking so peaceful up there with his treasured violin.

  Her brother lifted the bow, and the room hushed. Slowly, he began to play, the strains wandering through the air, a tune that sounded traditional but wasn’t.

  It took Johanna a moment to understand why her nose suddenly felt tight, and why Uncle Mac was squeezing her hand. It was one of Papa’s ballads. As a child, she’d often fallen asleep to
it. Somehow, Ludwig had not only taught himself to play the melody, but he captured the emotion and every inflection of her late father’s voice. It was as though the man were alive and singing to her again, holding her beneath the soft gaze of his one working eye, with a tender hook in the part of his mouth that could still smile.

  Though she longed to strike Vigo for selecting the piece, she couldn’t resent him for it. He did it such justice. When he was through, the ballroom erupted into applause.

  Johanna was grateful when the next song wasn’t anything she recognized. She and her uncle were about to resume dancing when a broad figure brushed by, his face set in a scowl.

  “What is it, Felix?” Uncle Mac asked him.

  Her eldest brother, the Marquis of Jordinia, stalled. In the peculiar lighting, his pale complexion was a stark contrast beneath his dark hair. “It’s nothing, sire. Just my brother.”

  “Which one?”

  “Same as always—Andrew.” Felix’s jaw clenched. Johanna could practically taste his irritation. “Betting. Drinking. And now, apparently, brawling.”

  To her surprise, Uncle Mac chuckled. “Like father, like son.”

  Johanna blinked. “Without any disrespect, Your Majesty, I don’t see any resemblance between Papa and Drew at all.”

  Uncle Mac appraised her, as though determining how much to tell her. “You didn’t know your father at that age,” was all he said.

  “I hate to be rude,” Felix apologized, “but I’d better get out there before both of his eyes turn black and he loses a kidney.”

  “Of course, go on,” Uncle Mac beckoned him off. Once Felix had moved past, the man raised a hand to scratch his beard. “I wonder….”

  Johanna gently let go of his hand. “Uncle Mac?”

  “I wonder,” he repeated, gazing after the marquis’s back, “if it wouldn’t be terribly intrusive of me to follow him.”

  “You are the emperor,” she pointed out.

  “I am,” he said thoughtfully.

  With that, Johanna watched him go. Perhaps she was ignorant, but whatever her father had been like in his youth, she seriously doubted anyone could be as deplorable as Andrew.

  “…DISHONORABLE AND DESPICABLE.”

  Drew massaged his brow. He was only half-listening. Between the mead and the blow to his head, his brother’s words were coming out garbled.

  “…don’t know why anyone continues to tolerate your pathetic nonsense.” Felix’s nostrils flared. “No one finds you charming.”

  “Sorry, but are you still speaking to me?” Drew rubbed his eyes. “Feels like I smoked the wrong pipe and drifted into the most boring hallucination ever.”

  Footfalls interrupted Felix’s diatribe as Ludwig approached with his violin case.

  “Oh, thank God. Felix is in need of an audience for his monologue tonight.” Drew straightened, ignoring his smarting head. “I’ll leave you both to it,” he chirped.

  Felix stood in his way. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  At last, Drew held out his hands. “Look, it was all meant in innocent fun! Vigo will vouch for me, won’t you, Vigo?”

  “Leave me…out of this,” muttered Ludwig.

  Felix closed his mouth, finally relenting. Matching his gaze to the terrace, Drew realized why.

  “Good evening,” their uncle greeted them uncertainly. He looked between his nephews, moonlight bouncing over the medals on his jacket.

  Felix lowered his head. “Your Majesty. I’ve never been more ashamed.”

  Drew seriously doubted that.

  “It’s your daughter’s wedding and here we are, grown men squabbling like schoolboys. Please, forg—”

  Uncle Mac waved him down. “No need for apologies. Something far more pressing is on my mind.” He looked at Drew, and the young man met his eyes, curious. “My thoughts won’t rest. I need a word with you.” He beckoned them to the garden trail. “Walk with me?”

  They joined him, their pace leisurely. Drew tried to be discreet as he licked his hand and smoothed a curl over the welt on his temple. The scrappy count who’d hit him had been wearing a damned ring.

  “My wife would be most displeased to know I’m discussing this tonight…but the last signature on the treaty was acquired this morning.” Though the emperor kept his voice low, his steps quickened, his eyes aglow. “It’s official. The archipelago is ours.”

  Felix’s eyes grew round. “We own the North Islands?”

  “More land for you to lord over someday, Felix,” drawled Drew. “Oh, bully.”

  Their uncle spoke again. “Indeed! East Halvea doesn’t have the economy to settle new territory. We persuaded the Halvean nations that Jordinia possesses the wealth and the strongest infrastructure to spread abroad.”

  “In terms of our c-c-col?” inquired Ludwig.

  The emperor nodded. “Not to mention, the work your father and I accomplished with the world’s first railways. And with our prosperity from the North Islands, we can help East Halvea build their own.” His face was alight. “Imagine: untouched waters bluer than the skies, a new parcel of the world to conquer, just waiting for us. We’ll build the first cities. Our locomotives will course through virgin wilderness.”

  “Nice work, Uncle Mac.” Drew’s congratulations were sincere. “A smashing legacy to leave for your country.”

  His uncle stopped. “Oh, but Andrew, it won’t be my legacy.” Drew was confused by the overzealous sheen in his uncle’s eyes as the man gripped his shoulder. “It ought to be yours.”

  “Say what?”

  “Before we can colonize, the islands need to be thoroughly explored and charted. An expedition,” his uncle practically laughed the word, shaking him. “And I need someone young, energetic and trustworthy to spearhead it.”

  “Oh, well,” Drew tugged his collar, “I suppose ‘trustworthy’ rules me out.”

  “Not at all.” Uncle Mac grinned at him. “I think you’re just the man for the job. Dauntless, fearless….”

  “Reckless,” Felix supplied disdainfully.

  “Perfect qualities,” Uncle Mac insisted, “for this venture.”

  “Trying to get rid of him, are you, sire?” Felix smirked at their uncle. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

  “It isn’t like that.” The emperor beamed at them. “I don’t think you all realize what this undertaking means.” He squeezed Drew’s shoulder more tightly still, and brought his other hand over Ludwig’s. “This will be your mission. You explore the islands, you make the map. Name every last mountain, river and valley whatever you’d like. Name them after yourselves! And it will be you, evermore coupled with their founding, your names in the tomes of history.

  “And maybe, in the center of every village, statues of your likenesses.” His voice had dropped to a murmur, though his enthusiasm was far from quiet. “Immortality, as it were.” The emperor finally released them. “Your legacy, boys.”

  Drew’s pulse thumped. This time, he suspected it wasn’t due to his throbbing head.

  “I wish I could venture out myself.” His uncle glanced down, and it was plain that he sorely meant it. “But Jordinia needs me here. And my stamina these days,” he looked suddenly weary, “isn’t what it once was.”

  He resumed walking, his nephews hanging close at his side. “But for you lads, the world is your oyster. If you agree to serve me in this way, I’ll equip you with everything you should need. Ships, supplies, an entourage of royal guards. This,” he cast a significant glance at Drew, “could be how the Brothers Cosmith make their mark.”

  Drew heightened his pace, his head spinning with inspiration. Or maybe it was still the mead. “How long of an expedition are we talking, Your Majesty?”

  “I’m not certain. A year? The islands aren’t enormous, but your travel will be old-fashioned.”

  Drew’s breaths c
ame clipped with eagerness. He could envision it all. The opportunity his uncle presented was grander than anything he could have conceptualized. Living in the shadow of a brother who would one day become emperor, he’d always known there was little he could do to surpass him. But this? It was brilliant.

  “You’ve persuaded us,” declared Drew. “Once you make the arrangements, Vigo and I vow to see it through.”

  “Me?” Ludwig frowned. “Wait a mo…ment. I never s-s-said….”

  “Because we don’t have all day to hear you say it.”

  “Drew,” Felix warned him.

  Drew pointed a finger at the marquis. “You don’t know our brother like I do. The last thing he wants is to be coddled over his impediment.” He turned to Ludwig, heated. “Ludwig Cosmith, you avoid anything under the sun that doesn’t involve fondling that violin of yours like it’s some busty maiden, and I’m sick of it. Wake up! Life is short.”

  “I can s-speak for my…self.”

  “Really? That’s news to me.”

  “Andrew, shut it,” Felix growled.

  “Gentlemen.” Their uncle stepped between them. “I didn’t mean to cause another row. Felix, your hands are as full as mine. Your wife and children have need of you, and there’s still much I must teach you. I think it wise you remain here with your family, and to apprentice me.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” The heir looked relieved.

  “Drew, Ludwig…you two ought to sleep on it. Mull it over. Let me know how you feel in the morning. Meanwhile,” their uncle indicated the palace walls, “I’d better get back in there.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Drew bowed as the emperor departed them, Felix swift at his side.

  He and his brother fell silent. Cricket songs rang in the night while a toad bellowed from the small fishpond nearby. Down the hill, lamplight from the city twinkled up at them.

  Ludwig’s fingers clenched over the handle of his case. His shoulder-length hair curtained his face, concealing his expression. “I really wish you wouldn’t…p-p-push me into this, An…drew.” He gulped a breath as if the sentence had caused him great exertion. It probably had.