by C. J. Archer
"Mr. Faraday!" I waved, but he did not respond, despite looking directly at me with those slate gray eyes of his. How odd. Surely my appearance was familiar to him. We had become good friends on the long journey between Melbourne and England. At least, I thought we had.
"Mr. Faraday!" I called again. "Nathaniel!
He walked off, although I could still see his hat above the others in the crowd for several more seconds before he was finally swallowed up altogether.
"Handsome fellow," Sylvia said, following my gaze. We stood a little apart from Tommy and Quin as they divided the luggage between them. "Who is he?"
"A gentleman I would like to meet again. Come with me." I grabbed her hand and dragged her after me in the direction of Nathaniel Faraday. I wouldn't have bothered with most acquaintances, but Nathaniel was different. Before parting at the dock, he'd promised to write to me at Emily's and I had promised to respond. He had not kept up his end of the bargain, and that was the end of that.
Yet here he was in the flesh. It was the perfect opportunity to confront him. Perhaps a girl ought to take silence as a sign that a gentleman had no interest in her, but I didn't like to be slighted. It had happened more times that I cared to admit. Perhaps associating with a brown skinned woman at home in London wasn't acceptable, whereas striking up a friendship with one on board, where he knew no one, was. It was the sort of ill-mannered double standards that made my blood boil.
The more I pursued him along the crowded platform, however, the less I wanted to reconnect with him. Just the thought of it was tiring and made my head ache. My chest tightened too and I felt a little out of breath.
I slowed and watched Nathaniel disappear around a corner, my heart sinking at his disregard for me. I'd thought I was above caring about the opinions of others, but it would seem I wasn't.
I squeezed my stinging eyes shut, but a wave of dizziness had me reaching out my hand for the nearest solid object.
"Cara!" Sylvia caught my arm, steadying me. "Are you all right? You look rather ill and you were swaying, just now."
My skin prickled with heat and my vision blurred. I pressed my hand to my chest, but I couldn't suck in enough air to draw a full breath. "I think…I'm going to faint."
"Cara!"
As I fell against her, I had the fleeting thought that I'd done something very stupid. I'd left Quin's side. Did he know? Would he find me in time before the illness took hold?
I grappled with the questions in a bid to stay conscious. I tried to stand but couldn't, and Sylvia struggled with my weight.
"Tommy!" she cried. "Quin! Here!"
My heavy, burning eyelids closed. I could feel the bodies of concerned onlookers pressing all around us. Somebody called for a doctor, another suggested water, and a man with a thick northern accent thought loosening my corset would help.
Then suddenly they were gone and a pair of strong arms scooped me up. Quin. I recognized his scent and the crispness of his shirt beneath my cheek. I relaxed into him and drew in a strong, full breath.
I was alive and well, thanks to my warrior.
He carried me to a bench tucked into an alcove near the ticket office. A trail of passengers followed us, anxiety etched on their brows.
"She's all right now," Sylvia assured them. "Thank you for your concern."
I smiled and thanked them too and they departed, satisfied I was restored to good health. Quin set me gently down on the seat and knelt before me. His concerned gaze searched my face and he pressed the back of his hand to my cheek. Then his expression cleared, only to become darker, fiercer.
"Did you wish to test me?" he snarled through an unyielding jaw.
"No!"
He muttered something in French under his breath. "That was foolish, Cara. You cannot leave my side."
"I forgot."
He stood and peered down his nose at me; his hands balled into fists at his sides. At that moment, despite being dressed in a modern shirt and lacking a sword, he looked every bit the warrior about to charge into battle. If I were his enemy, I would quiver. As it was, I swallowed hard.
"Your studies have not made you smarter," he said.
I sat up straighter. "That is grossly unfair, not to mention uncalled for. I momentarily forgot about the curse in the excitement of seeing a friend I hadn't seen in some time."
Quin turned his back on me. The seams of his shirt stretched as he crossed his arms. I glared at him but he did not turn around. I sighed and rubbed my temples where the remnants of a headache lingered. I didn't feel like arguing with him. He was right and I had done something foolish by walking off. Not to mention I was feeling bruised after being snubbed by Nathaniel.
Sylvia's cool fingers clasped my hand. "Are you sure you're all right?"
I nodded.
"Who was that man?"
I was about to tell her all about Nathaniel Faraday and how much I'd enjoyed his company on the ship—and thought he had enjoyed mine—but suddenly lacked the energy. "Nobody important."
She looped her arm through mine and together we walked ahead of Tommy and Quin, who were carrying our luggage. My back smarted with the sharpness of Quin's glare drilling into it, but I refused to turn around. It was one thing for him to be right, it was quite another to call my intelligence into question.
I couldn't ignore him the entire way to Emily's house, squashed together as we were in the Beaufort coach—his broad shoulder butted against me every time we turned a corner—but we did not speak. Sylvia filled the silence with endless chatter, none of which I heard. Quin didn't seem to either, intent as he was on the streets of London outside the window.
"You've been here before?" Tommy asked him when we'd almost reached our destination.
Quin nodded.
"Is it very different?" I said.
"Aye. There are more people, and buildings too. I have never seen so many. The city is endless."
Sylvia laughed. "Of course it ends, silly."
"It was not this smoky last time, and the smell is different."
"It does have a distinctive odor," Tommy noted. "You get used to it. I used to live here. Cara too."
"And I am living here again," I said with a sigh. I was still unsure if I liked the idea of residing in London. As much as I wanted to be with Emily and her family again, there were too many unhappy childhood memories lurking around dark corners. And it was rather smelly with the thick smoky air and many horses depositing their excrement in the streets.
Quin didn't seem to hear me. His gaze was intent on a church passing by our window. It wasn't a particularly old church, so why did it hold so much interest? It wouldn't have existed in his lifetime. Some ten minutes later we passed another church and another—London suddenly seemed to be full of them. He stared at each much longer than any other building along the way.
Perhaps he missed the comfort churches offered and wished to pray. He must be Catholic, since the faith of the English didn't change until Henry VIII came to the throne and Quin was certainly gone from this realm by then. "Would you like to stop and go inside?" I asked him.
His lips tightened and he turned away from the window. "No."
"We're in no particular hurry."
"No."
Tommy, Sylvia and I exchanged glances. "We could find you a Catholic church," I suggested.
Sylvia pulled a face. "If we must."
He said nothing, and from the cold look on his face, he did not wish to discuss it further. I was about to change the topic and ask him if he wished to visit the older parts of the city for nostalgic reasons, but bit my tongue. He had made it very clear that he disliked my questions and I didn't want to upset him more than I already had. I was grateful to him for his presence and what it meant for my health. It was time I showed some respect for his privacy and kept my curiosity in check, no matter how difficult that would be.
We arrived at Emily and Jacob's house in Belgravia, overlooking Eaton Square. The street was lined with tall houses joined together to form an e
legant sweep of exclusivity and wealth. My niece's husband was well-to-do, although, to be fair, he was very generous with his wealth. Their house was a picture of quiet, calm authority, but it was all a façade as smooth as that of the building itself. Inside, a riot of noise greeted us in the form of a crying toddler and two older siblings needling each other. Emily was in the middle of dispensing judgment when the butler opened the door to us. As if we'd waved a magic wand, everyone suddenly fell silent. Momentarily.
"Aunt Cara!" squealed the two elder Beaufort children.
I caught them in hugs and was almost toppled over by their enthusiasm. I kissed both on their cheeks and held them out to look at them. "I am quite sure you've both grown while I was away."
But they weren't interested in my assessment of their sizes. "What was it like at Freak House?" Gabe, the eldest, asked.
"Did you see many ghosts?" Lizzy's huge blue eyes blinked back at me, all innocence, as if it were a normal question.
"One or two," I said looking past her to Emily. My niece raised one eyebrow at me. I would wait until the children were busy elsewhere before I told her one of those spirits had cursed me.
She hoisted her youngest onto her hip and pecked me on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're back. The children have missed you. We've missed you." She greeted both Sylvia and Tommy, not caring in the least that our footman had entered through the front door like a regular visitor and not gone belowstairs, as he ought. Then she turned her attention to Quin. "This would be the fourth member of your party you mentioned in your telegram."
Quin bowed. "Quintin St. Clair, at your service, Mistress Beaufort."
"Call me Emily," she said with a smile that did not waver from his face. I suspect she was trying very hard not to lower her gaze, so as not to make him feel self-conscious about his attire.
Gabe had no such qualms. "Why are you undressed?"
Emily grasped Gabe's arm and her smile turned harder. "That's not a very polite question, Gabe. Perhaps he was hot."
Quin bent down to Gabe's level and winked at him. "I find modern gentleman's clothing restrictive."
"So do I!" Gabe declared. "Last time I threw a ball, I pulled a seam and Nanny grew cross. She made me sit in the corner."
Quin nodded solemnly. "You ought to try swinging a sword. Nigh impossible."
Gabe nodded, equally solemn. "I imagine so. Mama, may I have a sword?"
"No! Run along to the nursery, children, and ask Nanny to come and fetch Mathew."
"I don't want to go," Gabe whined.
But Lizzy was already off, her black hair and yellow ribbons streaming behind her. "I'm going to beat you."
The challenge was enough to set Gabe racing after her up the stairs and out of sight.
"Come into the drawing room," Emily said, handing Mathew to me. I bounced the toddler on my hip and he giggled, his earlier tears forgotten. Emily beckoned the hovering butler. "Have the bags taken up to the guest rooms, please, Watkins. The ladies wish to share and Mr. Dawson will be sleeping in one of the guest rooms this time."
None of our party commented on this irregularity, since having Tommy sleep in a guest room would make it easier for him to sneak into our room and play protector after the servants were all asleep.
Watkins signaled to the footmen and they each carried two valises upstairs, passing the nanny on her way down. She took Mathew from me, bobbed a curtsey, and left as silently as she had arrived.
Tommy cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mrs. Beaufort. I'll make my way downstairs and see if I can be of service there."
"You will not," she retorted. "You are not a footman here."
"But I cannot possibly—"
"You can and you will."
"But Mr. Beaufort—"
"Jacob will not object. He'll be home shortly." Emily signaled for us to follow her into the adjoining drawing room. It wasn't the formal drawing room, but the cozier one she used for family gatherings. It was smaller and furnished with deep, solid armchairs rather than the spindly sofas of the one upstairs. "Sit, and tell me all about Mr. St. Clair. Is he a supernatural being?"
"Yes," I said. "How did you know?"
"A guess," she said without taking her gaze off him.
"I apologize for my attire," Quin said, standing by the unlit fireplace, one elbow on the mantel like the lord of the manor.
"There was time only to have the shirt made," Sylvia said, her face flushed with embarrassment. "It has been the most awkward journey from Harborough, let me tell you."
"You mean you've been parading about in nothing but those trousers until the shirt was ready?" She eyed Quin's leather pants. "And I use the term trousers loosely."
"You're quite right," I told her loftily. "Quin arrived wearing those and the boots only. Kindly do not make him feel awkward about it."
Emily flushed. "I am sorry, Mr. St. Clair."
"Quin," he said.
"Quin. Be sure that you do not mention your previous state of undress to my husband. Jacob is not quite as understanding as I am, and he is very protective of Cara."
"I will relinquish him of his duty. Cara is now my responsibility."
"My health is," I corrected him. "I am no one's responsibility."
Emily made a scoffing sound. "While you're here in England, you are mine and Jacob's. You may have been allowed your freedom when you were a child, and again in Melbourne, but you cannot run wild now that you're a young lady living in London. It's much too dangerous for one thing, and unseemly for another."
I sniffed. "You seem to have forgotten that Jacob once wore only a shirt and trousers in your presence before you were wed."
"That's different. He couldn't help his attire and nobody else could see him anyway. Now," she said, turning away so that she didn't see me roll my eyes. "Tell me about Quin. Your telegram told me nothing."
"It was too much of a risk to say more."
She eyed him up and down. "Is he a demon?"
"No!" I cried. "Can you not see that he isn't?"
"Not all demons are mindless, ravaging beasts, Cara. Those that come here on purpose can appear quite normal and blend into society easily. Only those that are summoned or wrenched out of their realm, as it were, are feral creatures."
"Jack is half-demon," Sylvia chimed in. "And he's normal. Almost."
I knew about her cousin Jack Langley's background of course, but I occasionally forgot. His mother had been a demon sent to our realm by her own people to retrieve a rogue demon that had escaped here. Since she was a shape-shifting demon, she'd taken on the likeness of a human when she arrived and passed herself off as a regular person for years. She'd conceived her son to a human father before dying shortly after Jack was born.
"Point taken," I said. "But Quin is not a demon."
Jacob entered and stopped short when he spotted the stranger, dressed in nothing but leather pants and a shirt, standing near the fireplace. Quin straightened to his full height and took a step closer. The two men sized one another up the way wild animals do.
Emily jumped to her feet and placed her hand on her husband's arm. "Jacob, this is Quin St. Clair. He's a supernatural something-or-other and has come to London with Cara and her friends. She was just about to tell me why."
"Yes," I said quickly. "But not until you sit down. Both of you," I said pointedly to Quin.
Without taking his gaze off Jacob, Quin sat on the edge of a wingback chair. He looked as if he would leap into action at any moment. Jacob settled next to Emily who had not let go of his arm. Her knuckles were white as she held onto him.
"Welcome," Jacob said tightly. "What sort of supernatural being are you?"
"A warrior," Quin said before I could get a word in.
"Indeed? And what does a warrior do?"
"Fight."
"Perhaps I should explain," I said quickly. I sighed and appealed to Tommy and Sylvia, but neither looked interested in taking over. "I've been ill with a supernatural curse."
After Emily and Jacob's concer
ned exclamations subsided, I told them how I'd become cursed and how to break it, and Quin's role in my ongoing health. I told them everything and finished with the fact that we could not be parted.
This was met with stunned silence that filled the room. Emily stared at me, but Jacob's darkening gaze didn't leave Quin's. The two stared one another down once again.
Tommy cleared his throat. "If I may say something here? Both Miss Langley and myself have remained with Mr. St. Clair and Miss Moreau the entire time. They have not been left alone. Not even at night."
"There was a screen erected at the foot of the bed," Sylvia added. "The situation is not ideal, but there is nothing that can be done about it. Cara needs Quin near her for survival."
"Has this been proven?" Jacob sounded doubtful.
"Is my word not enough?" Quin snarled.
"No."
Quin shot to his feet.
"Sit down, Mr. St. Clair."
"It has been proven," Sylvia said quickly. "Just now at the station, they were separated and Cara fainted."
"It's true," Tommy said. "They can't be apart or her fever returns."
Jacob gave a single nod, but Quin still looked as if he wanted to call him out over the insult.
"Quin." I stood in front of him and, thankfully, gained his attention. "Think of this from Jacob's point of view. I'm sure you would be equally horrified if your female relation spent the night with a strange man."
He considered this then tilted his chin at Jacob. "If she were my kinswoman, I would insist the man wed her. But I cannot marry Cara," he said over the top of my head.
Sylvia giggled, but Emily gasped. I sat and exchanged an exasperated look with Tommy. This encounter was not going as I had planned.
"That is a relief," Jacob muttered, "since I have no plans to marry her off to a warrior or any other supernatural creature."
I decided it wasn't the right time to remind him that Louis had stipulated I be allowed to marry whomever I chose. Emily and Jacob had gone out of their way to ensure that the man I chose was someone respectable, from a good family. So far none of their choices had inspired me to pursue the connections further.
