As for the odious Lord Krogan and his equally repulsive crony, Mr. Hakluyt, they were certainly staring in Sera's direction. She favored the pair of them with a toss of her head and a glance so explosive that both men blenched and sidled out of the room.
Sera doubted that any suitable partner would appear, nor would it matter if one did. She was not about to stand up to be laughed at in her made-over gown. She found a seat on a sofa by an open window, and sat there for the next hour and a half, while one partner after another asked Elsie to dance.
"Oh, Sera, the gentlemen are all so agreeable, and I vow I've not spent such an enjoyable evening in all my life," said Elsie, during a pause between dances, as she sank down beside Sera on the black velvet cushions. "For in general, you know, I am always too ill to really enjoy a party."
Perhaps, thought Sera, the attentions of these other men, which she seems to enjoy, will convince Elsie to wait a little longer before accepting the odious Jarl. "You look flushed, my dear," she said aloud. "Do not tell me that you have been drinking wine. You know that it always makes your head ache."
Elsie shook out her fan. "Only a little cherry ratafia, which Lord Vizbeck was so kind as to bring me. Now, Sera, do not scold me, for I only had a sip or two."
"What a charming tableau the two of you do make," said a bell-like voice, and Sera looked up to see a dainty figure in shades of rose and cream. It was the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen, arriving fashionably late, leaning on Francis Skelbrooke's arm.
Lord Skelbrooke bowed deeply. He looked especially fine this evening, in an exquisite coat of sea-green satin trimmed with silver braid, with a fall of shimmering lace at his throat and drooping at his wrists, and a pattern of pearls and silver threads worked into the design of his embroidered waistcoat. But Sera's attention was immediately engaged by his shoes, which had crimson heels and were adorned with large satin bows the color of his coat.
"The Misses Vorder: as ravishing as ever, and a perfect study in dark and light," said Skelbrooke.
Sera tore her gaze away from the satin bows and gave him a puzzled frown; if he meant a compliment, it was an awkward one at best.
"Lord Skelbrooke—'' she began, but proceeded no further, as Elsie made a tiny, inarticulate sound of protest and clutched her hand convulsively. Her attention immediately on Elsie, Sera saw that her cousin had lost all color and was trembling violently. "What is it, my darling, are you feeling ill?"
Elsie shook her head. "N-not ill . . . no, no, not ill . . . but I see such terrible things crawling on the floor, and I believe that I am going to scream if I stay here much longer."
Sera sprang to her feet, looking for the nearest exit. Spotting an open door twenty feet away, she helped Elsie to stand and move in that direction. "You have nothing to fear," Sera said soothingly. "Truly, Elsie, there is nothing on the floor, not anything at all. But I will take you into the next room, which appears to be a delightful library."
They headed toward the door, Elsie supported on Sera’s arm. Elsie's breathing was so swift and shallow, Sera feared she was about to swoon. Yet they made it into the library without any mishap, and Sera found a high-backed leather chair for Elsie to collapse into.
She knelt on the floor at her cousin's feet. "There, now, you see, there is nothing so dreadful in here. And if you would only try to regulate your breathing, I feel certain you would feel better, almost immediately."
"Sera," whispered Elsie, in tones of horror. "I can feel my skin withering and falling off the bones. It is . . . the most terrible . . . sensation."
"No, no, your skin is just as it was," Sera protested helplessly. For once in her life, she had no idea what she might do or say to make things better. She felt an unexpected surge of relief when Jarl Skogsrå strode into the library and fell to his knees on the floor beside her.
"My darling, I am with you, and nothing will harm you," said the Jarl. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Elsie ceased to tremble, and her color began to return. As Skogsrå continued to speak in reassuring tones, she even managed a wan smile.
"Haakon, yes," she said faintly. "How very strange . . . I was terrified nearly to death only a few moments ago, but I feel quite safe now."
Sera thought it rather more than strange. She could not, for the life of her, detect anything in the Jarl's speech or in his manner to account for the sudden, almost magical change in his patient. Within minutes, Elsie's color was entirely restored, and she was laughing shyly at something the Jarl said to her.
Sera rose to her feet and dusted off her skirts. "I congratulate you, my lord, she said bitterly. "You have accomplished the miraculous."
"That being so, I make bold to claim my reward: will you not dance with me, Elsie my heart?" Skogsrå rose gracefully and offered her his arm.
To Sera's surprise and consternation, Elsie stood up and placed her hand in his. "Yes, Haakon, I believe that I will."
"But this is madness!" exclaimed Sera. "You cannot dance when—when you have recently been so very unwell."
"But I am entirely recovered now. Indeed, I feel remarkably refreshed. And I was having such a lovely time, before that foolish attack of mine, it seems a shame to spoil it." And Elsie allowed the Jarl to lead her out of the library and onto the dance floor.
Fighting back tears—of frustration? of disappointment?—Sera collapsed into the chair her cousin had so recently vacated. She will have him now . . . oh, she will certainly marry him now. And I shall have to let her, for it is obvious he can take better care of her than I can. But what will become of me, after she marries him?
"But the Jarl has the most amazing powers of healing in his voice!" exclaimed the Duchess. "It really was a privilege to observe him."
Sera started violently. She was uncertain just when the Duchess and Lord Skelbrooke had entered the library, or how much they had seen and heard.
"Miss Vorder," said Skelbrooke, "if you are not feeling too fatigued after your recent ordeal, I was about to ask you for the honor of a dance."
Sera stared up at him, wondering what had prompted him to make such an outrageous proposal. Surely he must know how poorly her made-over gown would contrast with the delicate pastels of the other ladies on the dance floor—how dark and ugly it would look beside his own sea-green satin and silver lace."I make it a practice, sir, never to dance at such large gatherings."
"Your accustomed good sense, Miss Vorder," he replied gravely. "For I can think of a few things more tedious than to stand up in an overheated and overcrowded chamber and attempt to dance. Were it not for the hope of the pleasure of your company I would never have contemplated that folly myself.
"But if you will not dance, perhaps you will allow me to escort you into the long gallery? The wax statues there are said to be extremely fine."
Sera opened her mouth to refuse him, but Skelbrooke forestalled her. "I was recently so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of an old friend of yours, Miss Vorder: a Mr. Jedidiah Braun. And he charged me with an important message."
"Jedidiah!" Sera was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to conceal her surprise. "You are acquainted with Jed, Lord Skelbrooke?"
Lord Skelbrooke bowed, indicating that he was. "I have that honor, Miss Vorder."
Sera took a long breath. "Then by all means, my lord," she said, "escort me to the long gallery."
CHAPTER 19
Which is largely Confidential.
The long gallery was situated in another, older wing of the Xebo mansion. To reach it, Sera and Lord Skelbrooke ascended a twisting stair and walked down a long candle-lit hallway. As they strolled along the corridor, they passed many other couples, in attitudes either confidential or amorous.
Sera blushed as they passed a particularly ardent pair wrapped in a passionate embrace. She was uncomfortably aware of Skelbrooke's arm supporting her own, of the light, firm grip of his other hand covering hers. To make matters worse, they were much of a height, and consequently, whenever he turned to speak to her, she had either
to look away or else meet his gaze directly, at alarmingly close quarters.
"I dined with your friend at Master Ule's a fortnight ago," said Skelbrooke. "You will be pleased to know that he was in excellent health and spirits and that his prospects for advancement continue to improve."
"I am more than pleased, I am enormously relieved," said Sera, marveling at the steadiness of her own voice. "I have been endeavoring for some time now to communicate with Jed. But I continually find obstacles thrown in my way. I wrote and received no answer—I called at his lodgings only to learn that he had moved and left no direction. When I spoke to his uncle last week at my grandfather's, he refused to tell me Jed's present lodging, saying it wasn't 'fitting' to call on him—a boy I have known all of my life. It is very frustrating!"
Skelbrooke nodded solemnly. "Mr. Braun informed me that you had expressed some concern—had doubts about the wisdom of some project your grandfather had undertaken along with Caleb Braun. Jedidiah wished me to tell you that he, too, is increasingly concerned, though he is very far from learning the nature of their endeavor."
"Yes." Sera released a sigh of profound exasperation. "I thought as much. I believe there is a conspiracy of sorts, to keep Jed and me from communicating, lest we compare what we know and somehow discover what those two dear, stubborn old men are doing!"
Skelbrooke cleared his throat apologetically, hesitated a moment before speaking. "I would not wish to accuse anyone in the Vorder household unjustly; but it would seem this conspiracy extends farther than you think. Mr. Braun informs me that he wrote several letters to you, yet he sincerely doubts that any were delivered."
Sera did not conceal her annoyance. "That, I believe, is another conspiracy of longer standing. Cousin Clothilde does not approve of my friendship with Jed, so naturally her servants will have orders not to deliver his messages. How vexing that is—especially now, when it is so important for Jed and me to communicate!"
Again, his lordship cleared his throat. "I am going into the country tomorrow, and expect to be out of town for a week or more, but—You frown, madam. Will you tell me why that is?"
"It is only," said Sera, "that you are so seldom in town."
Skelbrooke made a half bow. "It is true that I visit the country a good deal. How charming of you to notice, Miss Vorder." Sera felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She had not meant to sound flirtatious.
"But as I was about to say," he continued. "When I return, Mr. Braun and I may cross paths again. Should that happen, I will of course be happy to deliver any message you might care to send."
"You are very kind," said Sera. "I should have thought . . ." And then she stopped to wonder what he must think of her.
His lordship inclined his head politely. "You would have thought?"
"It is no matter. I only wondered that you were so—so tolerant of a friendship which everyone else seems to disapprove. I hope, sir, that you do not imagine you are assisting the parties in a—a thwarted romance?"
"I imagine nothing of the sort," said Skelbrooke. "If that were so, you would have told me as much at the very beginning, and not made any pretense about it."
As he spoke, they finally reached their destination; they passed through an open set of doors, into the high-ceilinged gallery where the Count displayed his collection of wax statues.
The figures nearest the door were those which first established the Count's reputation as a collector of wax. Their fame extended far beyond the borders of Marstadtt, and indeed, they drew scores of art lovers and critics from throughout the principality of Waldermark to view them each year. Sera, however, had never been privileged to observe the collection before.
"But these are exquisite, incredible," she exclaimed, pausing before a group of statues in antique costume arranged in a tableau of dramatic power, depicting the last Emperor of Panterra and his court. "How realistic they are—how charmingly lifelike the color!"
"I had thought you might appreciate them," replied Skelbrooke, with evident satisfaction. After a few minutes, he led her on to the next group.
The next were even better; Sera looked, exclaimed, and expressed her obligation to Lord Skelbrooke.
"Miss Vorder," he said, leaning so close that now she could feel his breath warm on her cheek, "I have a confession to make. I did not bring you here merely to view the statues—nor to pass on a message from Jedidiah Braun."
Sera was suddenly acutely aware that the two of them were alone in the gallery. This late in the evening it was unlikely that the collection would draw more viewers. Had she allowed his soft manners and his gentle speech to mislead her?
She forced herself to look him directly in the face. His grey eyes were fringed with dark lashes; undoubtedly it was to accent those fine eyes that he always wore the little black satin star high on his cheek; just as a second patch which he wore this evening, a tiny crimson heart, emphasized the beautiful shape of his mouth. Yet for all his fashionable affectations, he did not strike her as a dissolute young man.
"You did not, Lord Skelbrooke?" she asked frostily. "Then why did you bring me here?"
"I asked to speak to you alone, primarily on your cousin's behalf," he said, and smiled at Sera's audible sigh of relief.
"You may remember that I was one of the party when you called on Dr. Mirabolo. Moreover, I have been back to his establishment since—and I was also a witness, a week or two past when Jarl Skogsrå magnetized Miss Elsie. What I saw then, and what I have seen this evening, convinces me that Dr. Mirabolo is a quack, and Skogsrå a rascal and an adventurer!"
For a moment, Sera was speechless, flabbergasted by such plain speaking. Indeed, she hardly knew what to think, much less how to reply.
"Lord Skelbrooke . . ." she said at last. "The Jarl is an intimate friend of the Duchess. I suppose that you are trying to tell me that Skogsrå is imposing on her?"
"It is possible," said Skelbrooke. "A woman of the Duchess's wealth and rank is apt to be imposed on from time to time."
They continued to stroll through the gallery, pausing to view each group of statues before they passed on. When Skelbrooke leaned close to speak to her, Sera's heart gave another treacherous bound. She wondered, as she had often wondered before, what there was about this dapper little man that invariably rattled her composure.
"You might not think it to look at me, Miss Vorder," his lordship was saying, "but when I attended the University of Lundy, I had some ambition to become a doctor."
Sera opened her eyes wide in surprise. She tried to imagine Skelbrooke, his poetic affectations put aside, in the role of a physician. The exercise was not so difficult as she had supposed. "But what caused you, Lord Skelbrooke, to set that ambition aside? No, there is no need for you to say, for the answer to that question is obvious. You considered the occupation of poet more worthy of a man of your rank and position."
As she lowered her eyes, her gaze chanced to fall again on those ridiculous satin bows. The sight of them served to steady her, allowing her to collect herself and return his gaze with a tolerable imitation of well-bred disinterest.
"On the contrary," said Skelbrooke. "At that time, my uncle was still alive and I had little expectation of becoming Baron Skelbrooke or succeeding to the family estate. It was a sense of my own inadequacy that caused me to abandon my hopes. I had a burning interest in the science of medicine, but not the aptitude necessary to become a good physician."
He smiled, a small disparaging smile at his own expense. "You may not approve of my poetry, Miss Vorder—any more than (as I perceive) you approve of my footwear—but even you must concede that I had better by far have inflicted myself upon Society as a bad poet than as an incompetent physician."
"But I think you would have made a very good physician," Sera protested. Then she blushed at her own vehemence. "That is to say, you have a gentle manner which I should imagine that sick people would find soothing, and I believe you would be sensitive to the needs of your patients."
He placed his hand on his he
art and bowed his head, as one overcome by a deep emotion. She had the impression that perhaps he was laughing at her—or at himself. "You overwhelm me, Miss Vorder. I had no idea you thought so well of me as that. As I have the greatest respect for your sagacity, I rise in my own estimation. I am vastly obliged to you!"
Sera sniffed loudly at this piece of play-acting—which did a great deal to restore her equanimity—and Lord Skelbrooke immediately grew sober. "But as I was about to say . . . having observed Miss Elsie's recent discomfiture. I feel I ought to tell you that this kind of attack could have been brought about by no disease of the blood that I know of—nor would any medication used by a reputable physician affect her in that way."
"The Duchess believes that Elsie's fits are brought on by a weakening of the nerves," said Sera. "Though to be sure, she also said that we might prevent these attacks by making certain that Elsie is never alone." For just a moment, she wondered if the Duchess had made that suggestion only to gain her confidence—then she dismissed the suspicion as unworthy.
"Miss Vorder," said Skelbrooke, "considering all that Elsie has endured at the hands of her physicians, the morbid fancies which her mother encourages, and the fact that your cousin has not yet been reduced to a permanent state of raving insanity . . . I am convinced that Miss Elsie's nerves must be nearly as strong as your own!"
"Yes," said Sera. She was amazed to hear her own opinions echoed so precisely. "I have often felt that Elsie must be far stronger in all ways than anyone supposes, or how could she endure even a small part of all she has suffered?"
They arrived before the statues of the Nine Seasons or Powers, which were arranged in a semicircle on a low dais. Neither Skelbrooke nor Sera could speak for a moment, standing side by side in rapt contemplation of the beauty of the figures.
On the far left stood Mother Snow, a regal but somehow gentle-looking old dame in a gown of white feathers and a light blue cloak fastened with a crystal brooch. A snowy owl perched on her shoulder and she carried an iron staff in one hand. Her other hand she extended in a benevolent gesture. It was easy for Sera to imagine her gathering the whole world into one great grandmotherly embrace.
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