by C. J. Archer
"But the duke has a lot of influence too," Lincoln said. "We can't ignore him or his opinions. He seems to have some sway with the Prince of Wales."
"Do the palace have the authority to shut down the ministry?" Alice asked.
"A good question, Alice," Seth said. "A very good question. They don't, as it happens. The ministry is above politics and royal decrees."
"Their displeasure would only force us to go underground," I told her. "The ministry has been in hiding before, and we can do it again if necessary. But we will always exist."
I waited for Lincoln to chime in with an assurance, but he did not. "The letter blames Ballantine for the murder, in conjunction with Franklin," he said. "His Highness calls Ballantine a social climber who tried to trap his son into an unfavorable marriage."
"That's quite true," Lady Vickers said, reaching for another sandwich on the platter near her. "I don't blame the royal family for being upset. Surely he's not going to let Ballantine get away with it."
"He's not," I said. "He's having Ballantine sent to India as a special envoy."
"India!" several voices exclaimed.
"The pack will be split up," Seth said. "Swinburn won't like that."
"Swinburn may yet wield enough influence with both the prince and duke to stop it," Lincoln said. "The position won't be finalized for some weeks, giving him plenty of time to convince his royal friends not to go through with it."
"I don't think he'll win," I said. "The prince was furious with the Ballantines for manipulating his son."
"He was just as furious with Prince Eddy," Lincoln reminded me. "He is not without blame."
We ate in silence for a few minutes, with a heavy air enveloping us. Every now and again I felt Lincoln's gaze on me, but whenever I looked up, he was concentrating on his food. I sighed and tried to swallow my sandwich but I'd lost my appetite. With the pack going unpunished for their crime, it felt like our business wasn't finished.
"This ain't right," Gus finally announced, pushing his empty plate away. "Charlie's getting married in a few weeks. We should be happy."
"So true," Alice piped up. "Let's discuss something to do with the wedding. Not the dress," she said with a smile. "Mr. Fitzroy mustn't know anything about it until the big day."
"How 'bout we talk about the food," Cook suggested. "I want your opinion on what to serve for dessert."
"Jelly." Gus sat back and licked his lips. "And custard."
"Not for the most prominent London wedding of the season," Seth said. "The food must be grand."
"I can make jelly grand," Cook told him.
"See!" Gus patted his stomach. "Love me a big wobbly jelly drowned in custard."
Seth rolled his eyes. "We can do better than that."
"It ought to be French," Lady Vickers announced. "Everything a la mode is from France nowadays, and I know Cook has the culinary skills to pull it off."
Cook's whole head blushed.
Seth frowned first at his mother then at Cook. "God help me," he muttered under his breath.
"Speaking of the wedding," Gus said, "I've decided you can walk on Charlie's left, Seth."
Seth's gaze narrowed. "What do you expect in return?"
"Can't a fellow be generous to his friend without expecting something back?"
Seth's gaze narrowed further. "You're up to something."
"I ain't! I just think you're more like a brother to her than me. I'm like a friend."
"I suppose."
"So that leaves me to be best man for Fitzroy.
"Ah. Right. Forgot he needed a best man." Seth reached across the table and shook Gus's hand. "That sounds fair. You be best man and I'll walk Charlie down the aisle. You in accord, Fitzroy?"
"Do I have a choice?" Lincoln asked.
Gus smiled. "Right-o. It's settled. You walk with Charlie and I'll stand with Fitzroy. It will be my pleasure to sit beside Miss Everheart at the wedding breakfast."
Seth's smile froze.
Lady Vickers lifted her glass of lemon water. "It's settled."
"And without bloodshed too," Cook said, chuckling.
"To Charlie and Lincoln. June can't come fast enough for either of them, I'm sure."
Lincoln joined in the toast, and I swear one side of his mouth lifted in a small smile. It was a good sign that he wasn't as tense as I thought. Unfortunately, the smile and his good mood didn't last. His gruffness returned and, even worse, so did his silence. He avoided me most of the day but I managed to corner him in the evening. He hadn't dined with us, preferring to eat at his desk as he worked.
"You can't avoid me forever," I told him as I let myself into his rooms.
He looked up from his paperwork. "I'm not avoiding you. If I wanted to avoid you I would have locked the door, or left the house altogether."
I leaned back against the door, uncertain if he wanted me to approach. Keeping our distance seemed to be the safer option of late, particularly when we were alone and our kisses became heated. With his arms crossed and his eyes shadowed, I guessed he preferred having the vast space of his study and sitting room between us. But it wasn't easy to stay away. He looked roguishly dashing with his hair loose, wearing no tie or waistcoat, just a shirt with the top button undone.
"Why the smile?" he asked.
"I'm smiling because I can't believe you're mine."
"I see. And is that why you came? To look at me?"
"Is that not a good reason?"
"It's valid enough. I admit to seeking you out on numerous occasions to do just that. And yet I suspect there's something more to this visit."
I crossed my arms too. He knew me well, but that's one of the things I loved about him. "Can't I simply want to see you without an ulterior motive?" I said.
He considered this a moment. "Come here then." He met me half way and folded me into his arms. He smelled of the nutmeg and cloves in Cook's pudding and that unique scent that was his alone. His small sigh ruffled my hair. "But on this occasion you have an ulterior motive." He lifted my chin to look at me properly. "Go on. Out with it."
I suddenly found I couldn't be frank with him. He hated reminders of the time he'd sent me away, and he always cut me off whenever I brought the topic up. The memory of the man he'd been then was painful for him, but I disagreed with his opinion that it shouldn't be discussed. He may have come a long way, but I wasn't so blindly in love with him to think he'd changed and thoughts of sending me away never occurred to him now.
"It may be nothing," I hedged. "I could be seeing a problem where there is none."
He settled his arms around me, linking his hands at my back. "But?"
I blew out a breath. "If you try to send me away again, I won't go."
I felt the shock ripple through him, saw the disbelief in his eyes. Disbelief that I could think he'd do such a thing? He released me and returned to his desk. He perched on it and gripped the edge with both hands. "Why do you think I'm going to send you away?"
I lifted one shoulder. "Because you're worried about my safety with Swinburn and his pack going unpunished."
He winced as if my accusation had hurt him physically. Or perhaps hit its mark. "I promised never to send you away again, and I intend to keep that promise."
"Yes, you're right." I threw my arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, Lincoln," I whispered in his ear. "Truly, I am."
I tried to move away but he pinned me against him. He buried a hand in my hair and pressed his forehead to mine. I suspected he wanted to say something so I didn't try to break apart, but it was an awfully long time before he finally spoke. "Your concern is not entirely unfounded," he finally said.
I jerked back to see his face better. "You can't say that and then leave it there for me to fill in the blanks. You know I'll fill them in with the worst possible scenario."
He raked his fingers through his hair and peered back at me through lowered lashes. "There are so many things that are out of my control now. Things that can go wrong. Badly wrong. Swinburn's pack is
still roaming freely, and he ostensibly has the protection of the palace. He's more powerful than I realized. Indeed, he's untouchable. Even more of a concern is that Swinburn knows all about the ministry, my origins, and the people who live here. He knows that you're my weakness, Charlie."
"Not just me," I said. "Your mother too. Don't deny it, Lincoln. You care enough about them to want to keep them safe."
"As safe as I want to keep any member of the public. And pointing that out doesn't help."
I touched his jaw. "Sorry."
"I'm worried he'll use you to get to me, to weaken me."
I folded him into my arms, as he'd done me, and held him. I stroked his hair back and kissed the top of his head. "There is that concern. There will always be that concern, even after we diminish Swinburn's power. It's something you have to come to terms with. We both do."
He nodded and pulled back. "There's more. Eva's vision about a threat from the queen is troubling, and Alice's problem has the potential to become our problem. A rabbit is one thing, but an army is entirely another."
"I know."
"Do you? Do you know what it's like for me to feel powerless to keep you safe? It's not a feeling I'm used to, Charlie, and not one I like."
I stroked his face then cupped his cheek. "I know," I said again. "But this is what it means to be in love and to care about someone. It means there is the possibility we'll lose one another. I'm afraid too, Lincoln. You're the one who is always putting himself in dangerous situations. If anything is going to happen to one of us, it will likely happen to you. But I love you and I want to be with you, and that means watching you put your life at risk and praying you come back to me in one piece."
"At least you can communicate with me after I am dead."
"Lincoln!"
He gave an apologetic shrug.
I hugged him again, and he circled his arms around me. We were of a height, with him sitting on the desk and me standing, and I was able to speak to him face to face. "While it would be safer if we never had to confront shape changers or mad scientists, life would be too quiet without the ministry in it. I don't want to hide away here, and I don't think you want to, either."
He searched my face, a small frown line connecting his brows. "I would step away from the ministry if it meant keeping you safe, Charlie. You're more important to me than anything. Do not forget that."
I toyed with a lock of hair skimming my shoulder, running it through my fingers, twisting the end. "I do know it. We'll simply take one day at a time, face one problem at a time, and we'll do it together. That's how we'll get through."
He met my gaze with his and nodded. It was all I needed. It was enough.
Then his lips twitched. "My fierce little warrior."
I laughed and thumped his arm. "Try saying that without smirking next time."
He grinned and pulled me closer for a heart-stopping, heat-inducing, very inappropriate kiss.
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Many of you already know that Jack Langley of Frakingham House (mentioned earlier in this book) is a character from my Freak House series. If you haven't yet read the Freak House books, now is a good time to start. I've included an excerpt of the first novel, THE WRONG GIRL, so turn the page to read it.
Coming Soon:
VOW OF DECEPTION
The 9th Ministry of Curiosities Novel
by C.J. Archer
When Swinburn’s pack breaks the uneasy truce, the ministry’s very existence is threatened. Charlie and Lincoln must risk everything to save one another and have their happily ever after.
Sign up to C.J.'s newsletter via her website to be notified when she releases the next Ministry of Curiosities novel plus get access to exclusive content.
Excerpt of THE WRONG GIRL (Book #1 of the Freak House series)
Windamere Manor, Hertfordshire, November 1888
To say I'd been kept prisoner my entire life in an attic wasn't quite true. It was only fifteen years out of eighteen, and I was allowed to walk in the gardens for a half-hour some days. Besides, the attic rooms of Windamere Manor covered the top-most floor of the entire west wing, and Violet and I had the run of them.
Nor did we want for anything. As little girls, we had every doll and toy we could desire. As young women, we had music and books, embroidery and sewing, and an education from the finest tutors. Lord Wade was generous in all things, except, of course, his love and attention toward Vi, his daughter.
She tried to pretend that it didn't matter, but I knew better. She couldn't hide her melancholy from me, or her desire to be rid of the affliction that stopped her from taking her place as the eldest of Lord Wade's children in the outside world. I saw it in her watery eyes as she gazed out the window and the way she hugged herself upon seeing the fresh burns in the Oriental rug. The latter only came after one of her episodes. The trinkets and tutors couldn't replace her parents, and in many ways she and I were both orphans, although I, Hannah Smith, was the only true one.
As prisons go, the attic of Windamere was pleasant enough, and as the orphaned daughter of servants with a strange affliction of her own to endure, I was more fortunate than most in my situation. I'd read the stories by Mr. Dickens. I knew a child of my class could wind up in the cruel workhouses if they were lucky, and the friendless streets if they were not. I'd been given a roof over my head, food in my belly, an education to rival any lord's daughter and a dear friend in Vi. Indeed, she was more like a sister than friend. She cared for me when I awoke from my unpredictable slumbers, disoriented and sluggish with a gaping hole in my memory. She was always nearby and had been for as long as I could recall.
What more could I—dare I—want?
I had just woken from one of those deep, dense sleeps when Miss Levine, our governess, stalked into our attic parlor, her black woolen gown so heavy that the skirt didn't even ripple as she moved. Her lashless eyes narrowed as she took in Vi and me sitting on the floor, holding each other. Her nostrils, two small caves at the end of a beakish nose, flared wider as she sniffed the acrid, smoky air. At such moments she resembled a rat with her sharp face and equally sharp eyes. Vi and I used to giggle behind our hands when we were little and make jokes about her rattiness. It was an attempt to stave off our fear, both of Miss Levine and of what caused the scorch marks. But we hadn't made any jokes in a long time, not since Miss Levine overheard us once and struck me with a cane until I apologized. I'd been ten years old at the time.
"At least you spared the wall hangings," Miss Levine said, her tone brisk. "A small mercy for which Lady Wade will no doubt be thankful. She doesn't have time to be furnishing these rooms, you know. She has the rest of the house to consider."
I felt Vi tense. Lady Wade, her mother, never visited us in the attic—something for which we were both grateful. It was enough to have to put up with ratty Miss Levine's moods. At least our governess had enough passion in her to grow angry on occasion. Lady Wade was simply indifferent to our plight, and that indifference made her as bleak as a February night.
"I'm sorry, Miss Levine," Vi whispered, lowering her head so that her forehead touched mine. She tucked a strand of my curly red-gold hair behind my ear, but it sprang free again. "I couldn't stop it."
Her grip tightened around my shoulders, and I pulled her closer. It was difficult to tell who was comforting whom. Perhaps it was a little of both. As always, I soothed Vi after she almost set the attic on fire, and she soothed me as I fought my way out of the fog of my narcolepsy. Our twin afflictions, seemingly intertwined with one another's, were inexplicable as much as they were dangerous.
"Stop apologizing to her," I whispered. "You can't help what happened and she knows it." It was an old refrain, spoken over and over, but it was one I felt compelled to repeat. Perhaps one day Vi would listen and cease apologizing for something she couldn't control.
"Get up, Miss Smith," snapped Miss Levine. "You are not an invalid." She waved a hand at the black scorch mark near the edge of the
rug. "Attend to that."
"I'll do it," Vi said, rising. She held out her hand and I took it, although I already felt stronger and didn't need her assistance.
When I first woke from my strange slumbers, as I called my episodes, I felt vague, like I wasn't altogether there. It was as if I were drifting through a dream, and my head might as well have been stuffed full of cotton. After a few minutes, my head slowly cleared, and I could function normally again. Usually by then Vi had inadvertently set something alight. She claimed her episodes were brought on by her fear for me in my comatose state, but I'd never been quite convinced that was the case. It didn't make sense, although Vi certainly was afraid for me. That I didn't doubt. Poor, dear Vi was always afraid. It was why she needed me.
"No, I will." I squeezed her hand. "Go and rest on the settee, Lady Violet."
Her mouth twisted at my teasing. She didn't like me calling her by her full title. "You're too good to me, Hannah."
"She's lazy is what she is." Miss Levine wrapped her bony fingers around my arm so tightly I could feel my blood bank up in my veins. "Water, Miss Smith. Now."
I jerked free and set my feet apart to give myself a steadier stance. I might be slight in stature and Miss Levine tall, but I would not make it easy for her to push me about. I turned eighteen last month, and Vi a few months before that. We were no longer children. If anything, Miss Levine should be concerned that she'd lose her position now that neither of her charges needed her. I, on the other hand, was indispensable to Vi's happiness. For as long as she was confined to the attic, I would be with her.
"The fire's already out," I said. "There's no need for water."
"Nevertheless, I've asked you to fetch it," Miss Levine said.
"Actually, you didn't ask, you ordered."
"Do not test me, Miss Smith." Then Miss Levine did something I hadn't expected. She heaved a deep sigh. It caused her usually rod-straight back to curve, her shoulders to stoop. "We don't have time for your stubbornness. It's time for your walk. You don't want to miss that, do you? I know how you like to go out. Especially of late." Her lips curled back in what I suspected was an attempt at a smile, although I'd never actually seen her smile before, and I couldn't think what she found amusing about our walk on this particular day. "Fetch some water and make sure the fire is completely out. You know what'll happen if the floor beneath the rug is smoldering."
