by Emily Larkin
Pip hesitated. “I shouldn’t.”
“I’ll stay with the girls until you return,” Newingham said. “Take your time. There’s no hurry. I’m terribly slow at writing letters. It’ll be an hour at least before I’m done.” And then he winked at her.
Pip was so startled by that wink that for a moment she could only stare. Was the viscount assisting in an assignation between herself and Lord Octavius?
It appeared that he was, because he winked again, and said, “Run along, Miss Toogood.”
It was almost an order, and Pip decided to take it as such. She left the schoolroom and headed for the stairs.
The rose garden, Lord Newingham had said.
Very well, she’d find the viscount’s friends in the rose garden, and no doubt Mr. Pryor would smirk and swagger off, leaving her alone with Lord Octavius.
And they would talk, and she would tell him that she couldn’t leave the girls yet . . . and he would either be angry or he wouldn’t.
Pip paused at the bottom of the stairs and tapped the banister three times for good luck. Then she took a deep breath and set out for the rose garden.
Chapter Seventeen
Octavius strolled in the shrubbery with Dex, waiting for Miss Toogood to join them. The stream burbled and the beech trees rustled their leaves and gravel crunched quietly beneath his feet. Ten minutes passed, then twenty.
“I don’t think she’s coming,” Octavius said finally, kicking a lump of gravel into the bushes.
“Doesn’t look like it. Sorry, old chap.”
Octavius shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but it did. He’d hoped Miss Toogood would join them but, obviously, perfect governesses didn’t leave their charges, even when those charges were in the company of an uncle.
He suppressed a sigh.
Dex didn’t tease him, which Octavius appreciated. In fact, there was a lot about his cousin that he’d come to appreciate in the past few days. Dex could be damned annoying, but he was also a good ally.
Octavius kicked another piece of gravel into the shrubbery. He owed Dex more than a coin purse for his help. Perhaps a pair of pistols by Manton?
But he’d give Dex a coin purse, too, just to see him laugh. Something pink. With tassels.
“Shall we try for Rumpole tonight?” Dex asked.
Octavius redirected his thoughts with effort. “We don’t have a plan yet.”
“So, let’s make one.”
He didn’t want to think about Rumpole now. Not when he was waiting for an opportunity to propose to Miss Toogood.
But he was doing this for her, wasn’t he? And not just for her, but for every female employed in Baron Rumpole’s household.
He needed to think of a plan and then execute it. The sooner, the better. Tonight, if possible.
“It’s a shame you can’t be a harpy,” Dex said. “Can you imagine that? An avenging harpy would scare Rumpole witless.”
Octavius kicked another piece of gravel—and then halted. “I could be a lion first and then a person.” He swung to face Dex. “That’s how we’ll do it: I’ll be a lion first, to scare him, and then I’ll change into a woman to deliver the message. And not just any woman; I’ll be Justice!”
“What about your clothes?” Dex asked reasonably. “If you go from a lion to a person, you’ll be naked.”
Octavius deflated. “Damn.” A lion would have been perfect. Then he had a thought. “What if you do the speaking? You’ll need to be hidden nearby anyway, to lift him in the air. You can hide in a cupboard, and I’ll be a lion and snarl and lash my tail, and you can tell him he’ll go to Hades if he molests another woman.” He paused. “Could you speak and hold him off the ground at the same time?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to.”
“But—”
“He’ll recognize my voice.”
“You could make it deeper, or—”
“No, I couldn’t. I’m not an actor. I’ll hold him up for you, but you need to do the talking.”
Octavius tried not to feel annoyed, but it was difficult not to.
They strolled for several minutes in silence, along paths dappled with sunlight and shade, then Dex said, “Are we going to punish him out of the blue, or wait until he tries to swive you?”
“Wait,” Octavius said, without hesitation. “The punishment will be a direct consequence of his actions.”
Dex nodded. “When, then? Daytime? Night-time?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Octavius said. He halted, then ticked the points off on his fingers: “Rumpole needs to be alone—doesn’t matter where or when, just that he’s alone. I approach him as a housemaid. He accosts me. You lift him off the floor and hold him there. I turn into Justice and deliver the message.”
“How will he know you’re Justice?”
Damn. Dex was right. He needed to be someone the baron would instantly recognize.
An idea leapt into being. He considered it for a moment, and decided it might work. He imagined a man in his mind’s eye—a man with his body and someone else’s head and neck and vocal cords—and wished for it. Magic prickled over his cheeks and jaw, over his scalp and down his throat. His neckcloth was suddenly too tight. “How about this?”
Dex recoiled violently, flinging up his hands as if warding off an attack.
Octavius laughed. It wasn’t his laugh; it was Baron Rumpole’s.
Dex lowered his hands and glared at him. “Dash it, Otto. Warn a fellow before you do that!”
“Scary?” Octavius asked, in the baron’s voice.
“Horrifying,” Dex said, averting his gaze. “Change back, for God’s sake.”
Octavius did. “You think that would frighten him enough? If an invisible force picked him up and he was then confronted by himself?”
“Yes,” Dex said. “But remember, you’ll be dressed as a housemaid.”
“We don’t have to start with me being a housemaid.”
“Then he’s not going to want to swive you, is he?”
Octavius scowled. Dex could be dashed annoying sometimes.
He kicked a piece of gravel, and then another, and thought.
Female.
Recognizable.
Scary.
Boadicea was no good, and neither was Joan of Arc, because he’d have to tell the baron who he was. He needed to be someone Rumpole would recognize immediately.
“How about a hag?” Dex suggested.
“A hag?”
“You know, an old crone. Withered and toothless.”
“Which crone?”
“Any crone.”
“Why would I want to be a crone?” Octavius asked, exasperated.
“Because you’d be female and scary.”
Octavius frowned.
“If you change from a young woman into an old crone in front of the baron, that’ll scare him. And then if I lift him off the ground and you tell him his testicles will fall off if he ever forces himself on a woman again . . .”
“It could work,” Octavius said grudgingly. He envisaged the head he wanted: an old crone’s, with wispy hair and skin pleated into a thousand wrinkles, sunken cheeks, a toothless mouth, deep-set and hooded eyes.
The magic failed to come—as happened whenever he overstepped the bounds of his gift, because of course a crone’s head on the body of the man wasn’t natural.
Octavius tried again, picturing not just an ancient face but a scrawny body, too. Magic crawled across his skin and through his bones. He was suddenly a great deal shorter and his clothes were voluminously large.
Dex recoiled even more violently than he had before. His hands came up in an instinctive stay-away-from-me gesture.
Octavius pointed an accusing finger at his cousin. “If you force yourself on another woman, your testicles will shrivel and turn to dust,” he said in a fierce, quavering, old woman’s voice.
Dex winced and took a step back, his hands still held up defensively. “That’s scary, Otto. Trust me.” And then he looked past Octavius and sa
id, “Uh, oh.”
Octavius turned his head. There, on the path behind him, stood Miss Toogood. Her eyes were wide with horror. He had an instant’s flash of how he must look: a gnarled old crone wearing a man’s clothing.
He changed back into himself.
Miss Toogood recoiled even more violently than Dex had done. She turned and fled.
Chapter Eighteen
“Miss Toogood,” Octavius cried, running after her. “Wait! I can explain!”
Miss Toogood didn’t stop. She darted down one of the paths, heading for the house.
“Miss Toogood!” he cried, skidding wildly in the gravel, almost crashing into a camellia bush. “Wait!”
Dex shoved past him.
Octavius lost his balance and fell into the camellia’s embrace. Branches scratched and poked at him. He fought his way free and launched himself after Miss Toogood—and almost bowled his cousin over.
Dex stood quite still in the middle of the path. Half a dozen yards distant, Miss Toogood also stood quite still—no, she wasn’t standing, she was floating, a foot off the ground, her arms outstretched for balance, her hands clutching futilely at the air, her hem swirling gently around her ankles.
“Dex, what the devil?”
Dex rotated Miss Toogood until she faced them.
Her eyes were very wide. Her chest rose and fell in fast, shallow breaths. Her throat worked, as if she was holding back a scream.
“Put her down!” Octavius said.
“But—”
“Put her down!”
Dex set Miss Toogood on the ground.
“Miss Toogood,” Octavius said urgently. “I can explain it all! Please don’t run.”
She took a wary step back, and he knew she was going to flee again. She’d just seen an old woman turn into a man. She’d been lifted off her feet and held prisoner in the air. And even though neither of those things was happening right now, she was still confronted by two men who were larger and stronger than she was.
Of course she was going to run.
Octavius awkwardly lowered himself to kneel on the path. He held his hands down by his side, palm-out, trying to look as harmless as possible. “Miss Toogood,” he said quietly, but no less urgently. “Please, don’t run. Let us explain. It’s not what you think.”
She took another step back. “You’re demons,” she said in a choked voice. He saw fear in her eyes, saw fear on her face.
“We’re not,” he said, even more urgently. “I promise you we’re not! We’re just men. Ordinary men—who have a Faerie godmother.”
She shook her head, and took another wary, backwards step, gravel crunching softly beneath her shoes.
“It’s true,” Octavius said desperately. “We have a Faerie godmother and she gave us each a wish. I can change my shape and Dex can levitate anything. That’s all. Nothing else. Nothing evil. We’re not demons. I swear it.”
Miss Toogood took two more cautious steps back. She was preparing to turn and run again.
“It was me!” he said. “In London! The housemaid with the blood on her apron. That was me.”
Miss Toogood halted.
“I told you my name was Lucy, and you asked if I needed help. Remember?”
Miss Toogood eyed him, still fearful, still tense, but she didn’t take another step back.
“It started at Vauxhall Gardens,” Octavius told her. “I lost a race to my cousin, Ned, and the forfeit was that I had to go to Vauxhall as a female, and Baron Rumpole was there, and he tried to force me to have relations with him, and I wanted to teach him a lesson, so I went to his house and pretended to be a housemaid and he did it again, and I hit him and then I ran upstairs and met you.”
He was speaking fast, almost babbling, desperate to make her understand.
“And you saw the blood on my apron and asked if I needed help, and you told me your name was Miss Toogood and I said mine was Lucy. Remember?”
He held his breath. After a moment, Miss Toogood nodded, a small, stiff, wary movement.
Octavius released the breath he was holding. “I came here for you,” he told. “To Hampshire. I came to keep you safe, because the baron’s dangerous and someone has to stop him and I think we can do it—Dex and I. I think we can put the fear of God in him. That’s what we were practicing: how to scare him enough to make him stop. I promise you we’re not evil. We’re not demons. We’re just trying to find a way to stop Rumpole preying on women.”
He was aware of gravel digging painfully into his knees, aware of Dex standing silently alongside him.
“Please, Miss Toogood, don’t run. Stay. Stay and talk with us. Let us explain.”
She shook her head, doubt and suspicion on her face, but she didn’t take another step back.
“We won’t touch you,” Octavius promised. “And Dex won’t levitate you again, will you, Dex?”
“You have my word that I won’t, Miss Toogood,” Dex said.
“We’ll stay where we are and you can stay where you are and we’ll just talk. You must have questions. You must want to know why we have a Faerie godmother and how it works and . . . everything.”
He held his breath again, and waited.
Miss Toogood didn’t look quite as frightened as she had before. Still wary, still mistrustful, but not completely and utterly terrified. She wasn’t panicking as she stared at them; she was thinking.
“How do I know you’re not evil?” she said finally. “How do I know you’re not demons?”
“I give you my word of honor we’re not,” Octavius said. “We’ll swear it on the Bible.”
Miss Toogood looked unimpressed by these reassurances, as well she might, because they were just words, words anyone could utter whether they meant them or not.
Octavius looked at his cousin, helplessly.
Dex shrugged.
“We’re not evil,” Octavius said again. “We might be able to do things no one else can do, but we’re not evil, I swear. I hope you can trust us enough to believe that.”
Miss Toogood frowned faintly, but she didn’t run.
“Grandfather made us give our words of honor that we’d never harm anyone with our magic, and he can hear lies, so he knows we told the truth.” He paused, and then said hopefully, “Would you like to meet him? Grandfather?”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Do you remember I told you he has strong opinions on hubris? Well, he also has strong views on how we use our magic, because his mother was more than a little mad and she wanted him to use his magic to rule England, and he refused, and he made our fathers promise that they’d never harm anyone with their magic, or aggrandize themselves, and he made us promise, too, so you see, we couldn’t be evil even if we wanted to—which we don’t—because we promised Grandfather and he can hear lies and he’d know.”
Octavius paused, aware that he was babbling again, and also that he wasn’t presenting his case very well. He took a deep breath, looked Miss Toogood in the eye, and said, very firmly, “We’re not evil, any more than you’re evil. But I can’t prove it to you, except by telling you that the housemaid you met in London was me, and that I hit Rumpole because he wanted master’s rights, and we came here to Hampshire to protect you—you and every female in his household—and to teach him that he doesn’t have the right to force himself on his housemaids. Or on any other women.”
He paused again, and waited for Miss Toogood to speak, but she didn’t. She was still frowning, but she looked thoughtful, not angry.
“Would you like to meet Grandfather?” he said again. “He’d like to meet you, I’m sure of it, and I’d like you to meet him.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Why?”
“Because I want to marry you,” Octavius said, and felt himself blush a little.
Miss Toogood stopped looking at him and directed her gaze at the toes of her shoes, instead.
“If you can bring yourself to marry a man who has a Faerie godmother,” Octavius said.
She glan
ced at him, but said nothing.
“And I do think that talking with Grandfather would help, regardless of whether you accept my offer or not. He’s very moral. He holds strong views on what’s right and wrong. If you talked to him you’d see that even though we can do magic, it doesn’t make us evil.”
She studied him for a long moment, but still said nothing.
“Let’s sit down,” Dex suggested. “There’s a bench over there, and I’m sure you have more questions, Miss Toogood. This all must seem rather peculiar to you.”
Miss Toogood looked at Dex and then, after a beat, said, “Peculiar?”
Octavius could tell from her voice that she thought it a great more than merely peculiar. “Extraordinary?” he suggested. “Fantastical?”
“All of those things,” Miss Toogood said, and his ears delighted in the dryness of her tone. See? he wanted to say to Dex. She has a sense of humor even when she’s afraid. Isn’t she amazing?
“It’s more implausible than a gothic novel,” Octavius said, relieved that she was speaking instead of running. “Isn’t it?”
“Or a Faerie tale,” Dex said, not to be outdone.
“It is a Faerie tale,” Octavius said. “Our Faerie tale. And we should tell it to Miss Toogood before she makes up her mind about us.”
Miss Toogood’s eyes narrowed for a thoughtful moment. Her lips pursed slightly, then she nodded. “Very well.”
Chapter Nineteen
Octavius expelled a huge sigh of relief. He climbed to his feet and brushed the gravel from his breeches.
Dex walked to the bench and sat at one end. Octavius sat next to him, so close that their shoulders touched, leaving as much space for Miss Toogood as he possibly could.
After a moment, she followed them and perched at the opposite end of the bench. Three feet separated them.
Octavius kneaded his hands together nervously, realized he was doing it, and made himself stop. “What would you like to know?”
Miss Toogood eyed him, and then said, “How is it that you have a Faerie godmother? How are Faeries even real?”
“Truthfully? We don’t know.”