The Wraith and the Rose

by C. J. Brightley

  “There is nothing you can do.” She put all the coldness of her anger, all the hatred for her own helplessness, into her voice.

  The silence that followed grew chill, and she looked up to the mirror to see his eyes shuttered.

  He gave her a slight bow that felt as distant and cold as that of a stranger. “I am ever at your service,” he murmured.

  Then he turned away.

  She kept her eyes down, then glanced up to peek at him as he stepped out of the room. He stopped in the doorway and turned, as if to look back at her, and she looked down, playing with the necklace in her hands as if it consumed her attention. She looked up cautiously as he turned away again, and there was a strange weariness in his shoulders that caught at her heart. She had wounded him, and the guilt layered atop the other heart pain so for a moment she could scarcely breathe.

  He didn’t deserve her coldness. He was foolish and shallow, and he cared too much for trivial things, but he was not unkind. He would at least have comforted her with pretty words, even if he would have been as helpless as she was.

  Theo met her at the bottom of the stairs. “You are beautiful as always,” he murmured. He smiled at her, and it was cool and distant.

  “Thank you.” Her voice shook. Did he know how frightened she was?

  He slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her to the coach.

  “You’re trembling, my love.” The words were nearly inaudible.

  “I’m just cold,” she whispered. He made a soft, unconvinced sound and helped her up the steps.

  Anselm burst from the door and hurried toward them. Theo waited until the servant drew close enough to speak into his ear. After a moment, Theo nodded gravely and stepped into the coach with her.

  His fair skin looked wan in the dim light, and for a moment the shadows seemed deeper beneath his brows.

  The coach started briskly, and he switched seats to squeeze beside her. He lifted the opposite seat and pulled out a soft blanket.

  “If you lean against me, I will warm you.” The simple, kind words brought tears to her eyes. She leaned forward, and he wrapped the fabric around her, careful not to disturb her hair. Almost tentatively, he let his arm settle around her, drawing her gently against the warmth of his body.

  She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Into the rattling darkness, she said, “Are you ever afraid, Theo?”

  He drew in a quiet breath, then let it out without speaking.

  She shifted, wishing he would answer, wishing he would say something.

  Finally, he murmured, “It would not be gentlemanly to admit to it. If you are troubled, I pray you confide in me.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and she wiped them away surreptitiously.

  “I would be of service, if you would let me.” The words hung in the air, soft and gentle and kind.

  She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t think you can help. I don’t think anyone can help.” Only the Wraith could, and who knew if he would? No, of course he would, because he was heroic and courageous enough to face the Fair Folk. But for a man, not a child? It was much to ask.

  She wiped tears from her eyes again and settled into her despair. There was no way to tell the Wraith of her brother’s plight, no way to beg the hero for succor, even if he would give it.

  Yet her mind worked furiously, unwilling to completely give up hope, no matter how hopeless the situation.

  Theo said nothing else. His arm was warm around her, but he was distant. His heart must be a thousand miles away, and it grieved her, but there was no use asking such a simple mind, however kind, to undertake such an overwhelming threat. Even to think of it would be too much for him; it was certainly too much for her, and she had had two days to ponder the problem.

  When the coach stopped at the palace, Theo rose and stepped out first, then helped her down with excruciatingly correct gallantry. Despite his courtliness, she felt his withdrawal, his cool distance, and it grieved her. But there was no time for grief over her marriage. Theo’s chivalry was limited to manners and beautiful clothes, and his refinement was not what she needed. She needed courage and action.

  She needed the Wraith. She would throw himself at his feet and beg for help. Surely someone at the ball would know how to contact him. He had allies in the court; she was sure of it. There must be a way to speak with him tonight, if only she were clever enough to find it.

  Chapter 33

  A Desperate Plea

  She placed her hand on Theo’s arm and walked up the long steps at his side. Everything about him was perfectly, lavishly elegant. His jacket was cut in the newest, most extravagant style, and his trousers showed off his trim, athletic frame. It really was remarkable that a man of such leisure should so effortlessly maintain such an enviable figure. She ought to be grateful, she told herself fiercely. He was unstintingly generous with her; she wore the diamond and emerald necklace he had given her, and more diamonds sparkled in her ears. Her dress was made of the finest silk, cut and sewn by the most popular dressmaker, with a new wrap of lace that cost more than she wanted to imagine.

  The footman welcomed them and escorted them to the ballroom. She glanced up at Theo’s face surreptitiously as they walked. His jaw was tight, and his mouth was set in a hard expression she had never seen before. Then he must have perceived her attention, because he glanced down at her and his expression softened.

  But he said nothing, only looked ahead again and raised his chin. He greeted the next footman with his habitual smile, and his cheerfulness seemed, even to her eyes, to be entirely unfeigned. Either he could not hold a thought in his head long enough to be serious even now, or he did not care as much as his sympathetic words earlier had implied.

  She forced a smile, and they entered the ballroom together, heads held high.

  He danced with her, and his smile was as kind and loving as always, his arm around her as strong, though his eyes were shuttered and distant. He looked at her as if he had lost her and were grieving the loss, but she felt it was he who had left her. Or perhaps it was merely that she had grown out of the first love, when his pretty words and generous gifts and cheerful equanimity were enough.

  She needed what he could not be.

  Maybe the distance between them was her fault after all; she needed him to be greater than he was, and her disappointment was inevitable. Was it not her own fault for expecting something of him so beyond reason?

  Desperate for the Wraith’s aid, she felt herself drawn to him as if in love, though she knew that was ridiculous. She loved his tender heart for children, she loved his intrepid heroism, and she loved his brilliant mind that conceived all the many disguises and plans he used. She could not lament valuing these things, but guilt twisted within her that she suddenly desired them so desperately, as if Theo were not enough for her. If she ever did manage to find the Wraith, she owed it to Theo to keep this hint of unrequited love to herself.

  Foolish he might be, but Theo did not deserve that betrayal.

  Lily resolutely focused on the warmth of Theo’s eyes, the elegant, masculine beauty of his cheekbones and jaw, and the sweetness of his faint smile. Despite the distance between them, he was unfailingly kind to her. He loved her generously and well, despite whatever troubled him. There was character in it, a determination to love without counting the cost, and she clung to that.

  When the dance ended, he held her for a moment, his eyes still on hers with an odd intensity. Then he turned to greet Lord Selby.

  “Good evening, Lord Selby. I trust your mother is well?” Theo’s smile seemed as cheerful and carefree as always.

  Lord Selby met Theo’s smile with an answering warmth. “Indeed. Are you free for a private luncheon next week?” His look made it clear that he included Lily in this invitation.

  Theo beamed. “Of course! We are delighted to accept.”

  Lord Selby continued, “I must prevail upon your good nature and ask for the next dance with your wife. Mrs. Overton, would yo
u so honor me?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As Lord Selby took her hand, Theo leaned in to murmur something into his friend’s ear.

  Lord Selby nodded.

  He led her to the dance floor as the music began.

  The music was slow and the dance might have been intimate, if she had been paired with Theo, and if things had been well between them, but with Lord Selby it felt like an excruciating reminder of what she had lost.

  Neither of them spoke for the first two passes. Finally, during the third pass, Lord Selby murmured almost inaudibly, “You are troubled, Mrs. Overton.”

  “I am,” she admitted.

  “What troubles you?”

  She should not have admitted it to a man who was not her husband. It was folly, and she knew it was folly, but her nerves were wrung out and raw, and for an instant all good sense fled. “I have need of the Wraith, and no way to contact him.” The words were nearly a gasp, pure emotion wrought into words, so quiet she marveled later that he had heard her at all over the music.

  Only the rigidity of his hand when he took hers for the next graceful turn betrayed his surprise and dismay.

  “Why?” he said under his breath.

  “I cannot admit it. It is too terrible!” Tears swam in her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  “Go to the library after the next dance. If he is to be found, it is likely to be there.” Lord Selby’s voice was dismissive, as if he had no idea whether such a miracle were likely at all, but she grasped desperately at the thin thread of hope.

  “Thank you.”

  He bowed over her hand, all proper respect and courtesy.

  She watched him walk away, wondering if she would see him speak to the elusive Wraith. Who would he speak to next? Would that person be the Wraith, or another go-between? Would the Wraith already be at the library, or would Lord Selby ask him to meet her? Did Lord Selby know the Wraith himself? Was Lord Selby himself the Wraith? Would Lord Selby betray them?

  Her heart pounded, and she grew faint with the sudden terror that she had somehow betrayed the Wraith already, and both he and Oliver were lost. No! She would not believe it; she would not despair yet. Lord Selby had always been kind to her, and he was friends with Theo. Whatever other faults Theo had, he did seem to have good taste in friends. Lord Selby would not betray them to Lord Willowvale.

  Where was Lord Willowvale?

  The Fair envoy had cornered Theo and seemed furious, snarling like some sort of pale wolf. Lord Selby stood at Theo’s shoulder, and young Radclyffe was just a step behind, with several others she knew close by. Everyone seemed frozen in the unbearable discomfort of watching someone else violate all rules of good breeding and manners.

  Lord Willowvale growled something Lily could not hear, but she could tell it must have been horrible, for Lord Selby flinched, his hands clenching at his sides.

  Theo laughed, clear and careless and light. “Surely you do not mean to so violate the treaty between our peoples, Lord Willowvale! I know you to be a patriot above all, and I would hate to sully your good name by accepting. Let us go in peace, my friend.”

  “You are a coward and an imbecile, Overton. Prove your worth with your sword, and I’ll retract the first insult, at least.” Willowvale straightened.

  Theo smiled with gentle humor and ducked his head. “As you say, my Lord Willowvale. Nevertheless,” he stepped forward and straightened the fairy’s cravat with both hands, “I do know how to tie a cravat.” His smiled widened and gave the fairy an elaborate, mocking bow. “Good evening, my lord.”

  Lord Selby gave Lord Willowvale a flat, unfriendly look as he, too, bowed, and followed Theo through the crowd.

  The fairy stood in trembling fury, hands clenching spasmodically at his sides, before he stalked toward the prince, apparently intent on provoking another fight.

  The library! Lily remembered and hurried away. The short hall between the ballroom and the darkened library was empty but for the exquisite furniture, and she slipped into the library carefully, closing the door behind her.

  The room was shadowed, lit only by the moonlight streaming in the row of windows. To her left and right tall bookshelves loomed; a couch stood to one side, while several chairs and a low table clustered near the fireplace to her left. There were several other doors to the spacious room; she presumed they opened to hallways or a study or sitting room.

  She was alone, and she caught her breath in fear and hope. Maybe he would come.

  She pressed her hand to her heart, feeling it beat desperately, and closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. She strode to the window and looked out upon the moonlight-silvered garden. The rose bushes were carefully trimmed and dark, and the tall spiraled topiaries seemed alien in the strange light.

  “Do not turn around,” said a rough voice behind her.

  Lily gasped. The voice was unfamiliar, though there was something in it that seemed not entirely unknown.

  “You came!” She put every desperate hope into those words, every prayer she had breathed in recent days.

  “What do you ask of me?”

  “My brother!” She caught her breath on a sob. “He was caught in the Fair Lands. It’s my fault! Oh, I wish I could take his place! Lord Willowvale probably thinks he’s the Wraith and will kill him! Or maybe he never even made it through the veil!”

  There was only silence, and she shuddered. She almost turned and threw himself at his feet, but she imagined he would not want that.

  “How did he get into the veil?” he said at last.

  “I helped him open a door.” The immensity of what she asked pressed upon her, and she buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me. I… I shouldn’t have…”

  She felt the movement of air as he took a step closer.

  “Are you real?” she whispered. “I’ve prayed for you so long, wished so desperately that you would come tonight, and now I fear it’s only a dream.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, and she trembled. The hand was gloved, and even through the fabric, she felt she ought to recognize him. He was a man of flesh and blood, and she had danced with nearly every man at court more than once over the last months. But only Theo had touched her shoulder, and never with gloves. She put her hand over his, and for an instant she imagined he trembled as well. Then he drew back, and the chill air on her skin gave her a sense of desolation and inevitable tragedy.

  “I will bring him back to you. I swear on my life.”

  The relief and terror welled up in a rush too great for tears, and her convulsive sob was dry and broken.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his tension in the air behind her, but she did not look, though everything in her wished to see the face of the hero.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  There was the soft, almost inaudible rustle of fabric, and she imagined him bowing to her. Then the door clicked quietly, and she was alone.

  For several minutes she stared blindly out at the gardens. Was the light more beautiful now that she had hope?

  At last she gathered the tatters of her courage and straightened. She patted at her eyes, drying the last of the tears, and pulled the wrap around her shoulders.

  She entered the ballroom again and looked for Theo. She felt wrung out and exhausted, and she wondered if it were too soon to depart. It was Lord Hastings’ ball, after all, and it would not do to be discourteous.

  For several minutes she could not find Theo among the many dancers; only when she looked again along the wall to her left did she finally see him. He was apparently deep in conversation with Lord Selby.

  He looked up, apparently noticing her gaze upon him, and smiled at her across the room. Then he turned back to Lord Selby for a moment more. The young lord nodded several times.

  Then Theo began to make his way toward her, exchanging cheerful pleasantries with several people along the way.

  “You seem less troubled, my love. Have tonight’s festivities lifted your spirits?” Hi
s hazel eyes on her face were unexpectedly serious.

  She took a tremulous breath. “Yes, thank you.”

  Theo hesitated, then said quietly, “If you wouldn’t mind, I would prefer to leave soon.”

  Lily looked up at him surprise. He never wanted to leave early from a ball; he enjoyed dancing and music, and the card games that would follow.

  “Is something wrong?” Now that she actually looked at him, he was more pale than usual, and he looked tired. Perhaps he was ill. “Are you quite well?”

  He smiled with something like his usual warmth, but there was something in it that worried her. Distance, or fatigue, or something she had not seen before. “To tell you the truth, I have had a touch of headache today, and the music seems to be decidedly unhelpful.” He bowed over her hand, an unnecessary courtesy, but it always seemed to please him to do so. There were shadows under his eyes, she was sure of it, though it was easy to miss in the shifting light of the chandeliers and lanterns.

  “I wouldn’t mind leaving,” she said.

  He offered his arm, which seemed another unnecessary courtesy, and she felt a rush of shame that she wanted him to be different when he was already so kind and gallant.

  Since no one realized they were leaving, no one stopped them to exchange pleasantries as they departed.

  Theo helped her into the carriage, then climbed in after her. He opened the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then settled against the back of the seat, gently pulling her to sit resting against him.

  The simple comfort of his warmth and kindness was enough to bring tears to her eyes again.

  He bid her goodnight at the door to her suite; he kissed her fingertips, and, in what seemed an impulsive move, stepped closer to press a kiss to her forehead.

  She looked up at him, startled, and he looked down.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Your beauty overcame me.”

  She took in a tremulous breath and let it out.