A House of Cards

by Douglas Bornemann

  “Hmm, I see your point,” Laslo said. “You there.”

  Several militiamen snapped to attention.

  “See to it His Ordinence makes it to the Primal safely—and nowhere else.”

  The men nodded and boarded the carriage.

  “Since they’re all going to be seeing the Primal,” the Monsignor said, “I think a note of introduction is in order. This will only take a moment.” He scribbled on a piece of parchment, while Laslo finalized arrangements with the carriage driver. Once the Monsignor passed the document to the driver, Laslo said the word, and the carriage rolled out of sight.

  Verone peeped out of the restaurant. “Is it safe to come out yet? Oh my heavens, is that Mrs. Temrich?”

  Cartier shook his head sadly. “It looks like there will be another funeral this week. I’m afraid we may have to postpone the wedding.”

  Verone stopped short. “You mean a day or so?”

  Cartier shook his head. “After all this, and with two funerals, I probably won’t be able to get to it until next week.”

  “But…I can’t wait until then.”

  “Verone, you know if there were any way I could possibly fit it in for you, I would, but there’s really no way I can put off a funeral.”

  “But the invitations—all the hours of planning—”

  “Pardon me,” the Monsignor said. “I couldn’t help but overhear. It seems Father Cartier has his hands full. Could I perhaps be of assistance?”

  Verone gave him an appraising look. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Miss Verone Nevinander,” Cartier said, “let me present Monsignor Goodkin. He’s the Primal’s brother.”

  She extended a flawlessly manicured hand. “A pleasure. I wasn’t aware the Primal’s brother did weddings.”

  “It’s the least I can do under the circumstances. I was planning to return to the Holy City as soon as the situation here stabilized, but now that my brother seems to be recovering, my reasons for going back are no longer pressing. So long as I still have work to do here, I’m happy to help.”

  Verone turned to Cartier. “You wouldn’t be insulted, would you?”

  He smiled. “Not provided I get an invitation. If it goes late enough, I might even be able to catch the reception.”

  “Very well then, Monsignor. I accept your gracious offer. Here’s an invitation. It should have all the information you need. And while I’m at it, here’s yours too, Father. Oh, and Miss Merinne, here’s yours as well. So glad you happened by—you know how difficult you can be to track down. Now, let’s see about tending to the injured, shall we? I propose we move them out of the cold and into the church. The ladies and I will make sure they have a place to sleep and are well fed. Constable, if you would be so kind as to send for the Sisters, we can get those with only minor injuries treated and released. By morning we can come up with a way of transporting anyone who might have more serious injuries wherever the Sisters think is best.”

  Count Laslo hopped on his horse. “Since matters seem to be in good hands, I have a report to make. Send word if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency,” the Constable said.

  Laslo saluted. “My thanks to you and your daughter for the heads up.” With a nod, he was off.

  Dona marveled at her luck as she broke the seal on her invitation. Finally, she had some sort of address for the elusive Miss Nevinander. Even better, she didn’t need to resort to subterfuge to get it.

  She marveled even more once she opened it. “What an amazing coincidence. Your fiancé has the same name as my uncle.”

  Verone spared a glance in her direction. “Dona dear, do try not to be so dense. He is your uncle.”

  . . . . .

  “Oh great,” Miranda said. “As if the cart wasn’t bad enough.”

  Dona was about to ask what she was talking about when a large wet droplet pelted her forehead.

  Gregory gave the reins a shake. “Don’t blame me. It’s not my fault Morissant was already off somewhere with his carriage. Besides, it’s not like you gave me any warning. I know this oxcart isn’t much, but it’s better than walking, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Dona said. “And I’m sure Miranda feels the same way. She’s just worried about her new dress getting wet.”

  “I’ve never even had a chance to wash it,” Miranda said. “What am I going to do if the colors run? Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

  Dona stifled a chuckle at the mental image, which sent Miranda into even a deeper funk.

  “We should be almost there,” Gregory said. “At this point it would be farther to turn around.”

  “But it might be pouring later,” Miranda said. “If we turn around now, we might make it back before the worst of it starts.”

  Dona shook her head. “I promised Miss Nevinander I’d stop there tonight and let her mother know where she is. Not only that, but my mother is probably worried sick. The last time she saw me was up at the University when Isrulian was taking you hostage. She shouldn’t have to wait another day to find out I’m all right.”

  Miranda lapsed into a sullen pout.

  “Wait, I never heard about this,” Gregory said. “Someone took her hostage?” Was it that same guy who ran off with our carriage after the opera?”

  “No,” Dona said. “This was an Ordinal.”

  “A real Ordinal,” Gregory asked. “Or just someone dressed like one?”

  “This one was real.”

  “What’s this about someone running off with your carriage?” Miranda asked.

  Dona sighed. “It was probably the same person who broke into my hope chest. You two must promise me you won’t mention any of this stuff to anyone else. I still don’t know what I’m up against.”

  “If someone was willing to go to such lengths,” Miranda said, “shouldn’t Daddy know?”

  “Maybe. I’ll give that some thought, but in the meantime, tell no one. Promise?”

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  Gregory drew back on the reins. “Here we are.”

  “They have a gate guard?” Miranda asked. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  As Gregory shrugged, Dona was already off the cart and presenting her credentials to the sleepy guard.

  “Well?” Miranda asked.

  “He will let them know we are here.”

  “They aren’t going to make us wait here in the rain, are they?”

  “It’s only sprinkling. You’ll live.”

  Miranda hooked a finger in her sleeve and eyed her wrist for any sign of leaching cranberry. “But it’s got to be half a mile up to that house.”

  “I said you’d live—I didn’t say you wouldn’t dye.”

  Miranda tried to make a show of harrumphing, but an involuntary smile broke through. “I’ll never know why I keep bothering to save your skin when you clearly have so little regard for mine.”

  It was only a short time before the gate swung open to admit them, but by the time the rickety cart pulled up in front of the Nevindander villa, Dona had to admit she was getting uncomfortably damp. She found herself stealing furtive glances in Miranda’s direction for signs of unnatural redness, but the sputtering lantern light was too dim to reveal anything conclusive. The light was sufficient, however, for her to make out the profiles of her mother, her uncle, and Verone’s mother Nathalie waiting on the veranda to greet them.

  Amanda embraced her daughter. “Thank heavens you’re safe. I’ve been so worried. What happened up there? Why weren’t you with us when we left the University?”

  “There were some complications. Ma, you remember my roommate, Miranda, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Amanda said. “What a lovely dress.”

  Miranda beamed and curtseyed.

  “And this is my good friend, Gregory Delauren.”

  “A pleasure,” Amanda said. “Aren’t you the singer?”

  Gregory nodded. “I can carry a tune in a pinch.” />
  “Carry a tune?” Dona said. “He’s just being modest. Actually, he’s the most transcendent voice in a generation.”

  “They don’t really say that, do they? Honestly, I never bother to read those rags.”

  Dona winked. “Right—of course you don’t. And Uncle Rayen, you’re looking dapper.”

  “Your mother takes good care of me.”

  She gave him an expansive hug. “Looks like it’s paid off. What’s this I hear about a wedding?”

  “Why does everyone always seem so surprised? It’s not like I’ve kept it a secret.”

  “No offense, but sometimes there’s a wide gulf between a gentleman’s intentions and a lady’s acceptance.”

  “I’ll say,” Nathalie said. “Why don’t we move this out of the evening damp and inside next to a nice warm fire? I’ll have Eloise make us something warm to drink.”

  Dona’s jaw dropped as they entered the villa. Never had she seen such opulence. Massive black pillars topped by ornate gold-leaf capitals held aloft the foyer ceiling, itself a showcase of vibrant cherubic frescoes. The space housed a vast round table sporting a tableau of bronzes engaged in the hunt. Fresh florals were arranged about them to convey the impression of a forest. The table was embraced by a grand stairway, its two great arms gently curving around behind them on their way up to the second floor. Ahead was a bank of stained-glass panels that could be thrown wide for access to the courtyard beyond. As they moved on to the great room, Dona beheld new wonders wherever she looked. Even Gregory, who’d had more exposure to wealth on a grand scale, seemed a little awestruck.

  Alistair Nevinander presided over the great room from a wingback chair near the gaping maw of an enormous fireplace, his slippered feet resting on an antique ottoman. He set aside his book as they entered, adjusted his smoking jacket, and peered at his guests over the tops of his reading glasses. Across the fireplace from him, Nathalie’s sister Olivia was seated at a broad table amidst towering stacks of stationery. She frowned as they entered.

  “Verone isn’t back yet? The girl left hours ago. Weddings don’t plan themselves—if she doesn’t trouble herself to lend a hand, we’re never going to get all this done in time.”

  “She sent us,” Dona said. “She’s been held up by a mishap at Saint Sophia’s. She said to tell you she’d be back as soon as she could.”

  “The fire you mean? Why would that keep her?”

  “No, there’s been another incident.” She described the confrontation between Ordinal Isrulian and Count Laslo.

  “My word,” Nathalie said. “Is my daughter all right?”

  Verone chose that moment to stride in. “She is just fine. The Sisters arrived quite promptly, and I left the matter in their capable hands.”

  “Poor Mrs. Temrich,” Nathalie said.

  Verone shook her head. “Unfortunately, the circumstances necessitate a slight change of plan. Since Father Cartier will be occupied with two funerals this week, he had to decline to officiate at the wedding. Now, before you panic, Monsignor Goodkin has agreed to do the honors.”

  Alistair finally pulled himself up out of the chair. “Well, that’s going to necessitate another change of plans, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Verone said. “Why should it?”

  “What do you mean, dear?” Nathalie said.

  “While I am in charge, Inquisitors General are not welcome in this house. If he’s officiating, the wedding isn’t happening here.”

  “But where else could we possibly have it on such short notice?”

  “Now you’re just being obstructionist,” Verone snapped.

  “A common complaint of the reckless and the irresponsible,” Alistair said. “If that’s any example of your executive decision-making skills, then I’d be foolish to be any other way. My decision stands—your Monsignor is not welcome here. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s getting late.”

  Nathalie pecked him on the cheek. “Good night, dear.”

  Once Alistair left, the room fell silent for several minutes.

  Finally, Olivia spoke up. “Well, if neither Cartier nor this Monsignor can do it, then who?”

  “I have no intention of replacing the Monsignor,” Verone said.

  Nathalie shrugged. “I think your father’s mind is made up.”

  “So is mine. If that means we can’t have the wedding here, then so be it.”

  Olivia shook her head. “What other venue could possibly accommodate all these guests on such short notice? I don’t think you have a choice.”

  “What about Ranselard Keep?”

  Olivia grimaced. “The prison? I know we all appreciate a little symbolism at a wedding, but normally we sacrifice honesty in favor of at least the illusion of romance. You might as well forget the rings and just exchange shackles.”

  “I was just there recently. It’s been completely made-over since the prison days. It’s really very nice, now. I think it would be perfect.”

  “There’s just one small problem,” Nathalie said. “The whole island is under interdict—the Church won’t perform a wedding there, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be valid.”

  Verone waved dismissively. “A minor concern at most, particularly if the Primal’s brother is on your side. The more I think about it, the more I like it. I have some arranging to do, but the new plan is to hold the ceremony at Ranselard. Time is short—I'd best get started right away if I’m going to pull this off. I’ll try to be back tomorrow sometime.”

  She was gone as quickly as she’d appeared.

  Olivia grumbled as she slid stack after stack of completed invitations off the table and into the trash. “Nevinanders.”

  With Alistair’s and Verone’s departures, the evening settled into something more comfortable—indeed, almost festive. Eloise appeared with steaming mugs of cider, Dona’s mother offered to assist with the invitations, and a lively discussion ensued about ceremony particulars. Nathalie’s enthusiasm for her only daughter’s wedding was contagious, and soon the three women were laughing and chatting like old friends. Rayen took a seat in Alistair’s chair, while Dona, Miranda, and Gregory gathered round on the ottoman near the fire’s warmth. To everyone’s delight, Dona eventually cajoled Gregory into singing for them. He started off with a wedding song, but somewhere along the way it took a ribald turn and ended up a drinking song. Dona was initially mortified, but Nathalie sprayed cider across the invitation she was working on, and Olivia laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes.

  His next piece was a well-known sing-a-long, and Gregory played the room like the expert he was, serenading the ladies until they joined in the melody, and then delighting them by switching to harmony. He was on the fourth chorus when Dona felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “Do you think you could convince him to sing at the wedding?” Rayen asked.

  “I can ask. Are you sure you shouldn’t run it past Verone first?”

  Rayen shook his head. “I would really like to contribute something. So far I haven’t had a say in anything but the proposal.”

  “That’s a pretty major contribution.”

  “I know, but I’d like the ceremony to include something from our family, too. He’s your friend, and he’d be fantastic. If he’ll do it, I’ll feel like we really brought something of value to the table.”

  Dona squeezed his hand. “They’re already getting something pretty valuable, but I’ll ask. Just don’t spring it on Verone at the last minute. Brides and wedding surprises are a volatile combination.”

  Gregory continued to take them on a tour of his repertoire for another hour or so before Olivia crumpled an invitation and tossed it in the trash.

  “Looks like I’ve had one too many ciders for detailed work. I’m better off calling it a night and getting an early start. Young man, you’ve got quite a talent. Thank you so much for sharing it with us old ladies.”

  Gregory bowed theatrically. “It was an honor and a pleasure.”

  “We really should think ab
out getting back up to the college, too,” Dona said.

  “In the rain?” Nathalie protested. “On an open cart? I won’t hear of it. You’d all catch your deaths. Eloise, would you be so kind as to make up some additional guest rooms.”

  “I’ve already seen to it, ma’am.”

  “There, it’s been decided.”

  Dona looked to her compatriots. Gregory shrugged and Miranda nodded subtly, with perhaps a hint of desperation. “That’s very kind of you. We’d be delighted.”

  “Splendid. Eloise will show you up to your rooms. We’ll breakfast at nine.”

  Dona hugged her mother goodnight. “Sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused lately.”

  “It’s a mother’s job to worry. Just do me a favor and try not to get lost on your way to bed.”

  Dona eyed her surroundings. “In this place? No guarantees.”

  With Eloise to lead them, they arrived at their appointed rooms without difficulty. Dona’s bed was magnificent—four-poster, covered with a stark white comforter, and stacked with emerald and burgundy feather pillows. A white cotton nightgown with red and green ribbon accents lay neatly folded next to the pillows. The walnut vanity was backed with the most ornate mirror Dona had ever seen. The vanity held a complicated array of the latest implements deemed essential for assisting the modern woman to look her best. Dona didn’t even recognize most of them. She had a seat and sorted through them, trying to imagine their uses. Finally, she seized a brush and pulled it through her hair, resolving with all the earnest naïveté of youth that if beauty ever truly became as complicated as all that, she would simply settle for ugly and be done with it.

  She caught her reflection’s eye. “Well, this is a fine situation you’ve gotten me into, isn’t it?”

  The Dona in the mirror stared accusingly but said nothing.

  “So, Miss Smarty Pants, now that I’m here, do I search for the book to fulfill an obligation to my professor, or do I refrain out of deference to my future aunt?”

  Reflected Dona looked suddenly puzzled and a little disturbed.

  “And why is she, of all people, going to be my aunt? You don’t suppose she’s just using Uncle Rayen to get to me? But if she already has Reston’s book, why would she need to get to me at all? What if she set this up before she got the book and now has no intention of going through with it?”