She didn’t tell him how an inimical Agave watched her, either.
Saille had, one wintry afternoon, requested she take a formalSabbat meal with his Family. It had caused her much dampness of palms until Arbusca had welcomed her with warm smiles and offered her timer for Dufleur to set. After that, it was easier, and oddly soothing to be in the midst of so many interesting and cheerful women, fulfilling a need in Dufleur that she hadn’t realized she had. All of them must have known she was Saille’s HeartMate, but only the keen excitementin their gazes pressured her. By the time she left, after catching several significant looks among them, she had the nervous feeling that they were going to plan an Imbolic wedding,too.
The thought both tempted and scared her. With the success of the last experiment behind her, one she’d meticulously recorded with an expensive memorysphere, it was time to make a decision on how to proceed.
She wanted to talk with Saille about it. She wanted more than just sex and affection and passion.
“Dufleur, dear,” Passiflora D’Holly said, in a tone that told Dufleur the GreatLady had tried to get her attention more than once.
“Yes?” She looked at D’Holly, who had stress deepening the lines around her eyes. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming.”
Passiflora’s mouth quirked. “It’s nice to know you can daydream.”
Heat rose to Dufleur’s cheeks.
“I was saying,” Passiflora continued, “that I believe the Birches’ ball tonight will be the crucial event.”
Dufleur’s mind went blank.
Continuing, Passiflora explained, “My Family will be at the ball, even Genista. She’s becoming slightly more social. T’Hawthorn will be at the Birches, too.” She shifted. “I think the matter of the Captain of the Council will be settled.”
Staring, Dufleur said, “In the Birches’ ballroom?”
A long ripple of laughter came from Passiflora. “Yes, indeed.All the FirstFamilies will be there, so we can see the shifts in the groupings—a straw poll, as it were.”
“Oh.” Dufleur drew her cloak closer. “I’m glad it’s you who needs to do all this.”
“Yes, I know,” Passiflora mocked gently. “You hate the socialscene.”
“T’Ash will be there, too?” Dufleur had come to think of him as an indication of those events that were absolutely necessary.He wouldn’t attend otherwise.
“Everyone.” Passiflora smiled. “T’Ash is formally allied with us for three generations. My dear Holm called to remind him and D’Ash of the gathering.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, you will be more on your own tonight. I just wanted to let you know.”
“I’ve been doing all right,” Dufleur said stiffly.
Passiflora squeezed Dufleur’s hand. “Yes, you have.”
Then the glider pulled to a stop and the footman lifted the door. Passiflora slid out, and Dufleur followed, smiling at the Holly who held the door.
He winked at her.
So Dufleur entered the ballroom with a dignified step.
As usual, she danced with all the younger men and Saille. His body was more tense than usual, and she saw him watching T’Yew and the more conservative set.
The energetic country dance ended, and she began, “Saille—”
He flashed her a practiced smile. “We’re parched. I’ll get us something to drink.”
Well, that was true. He read her well physically, and emotionally,and she was learning to do the same, she just wasn’t sure how to interpret her knowledge or act upon it.
A feeling still lurked inside her that she was going to wreck this somehow.
While Saille crossed to the snack table, she observed the flow of people around her.
Passiflora was taking a break from her gentle persuasion to lead the small orchestra in another dance.
Near Dufleur’s corner, T’Holly and T’Hawthorn drifted together.
Everyone seemed fascinated to see the old archenemies in conversation. Power and great Flair radiated from them.
T’Hawthorn swirled brandy in his glass and glanced at T’Holly with a mild expression. “Well, Holm, do you intendto put your token forward to become Captain of the Councils?”
With equal mildness, T’Holly said, “Yes.”
A rare smile graced T’Hawthorn’s lips. “Then I will leave it to you.” He shook his head slightly. “The Captaincy was a heavier burden than I’d anticipated, especially with those murders a couple of months ago.” He frowned, and lines dug into his face. “Filthy business.”
“You handled it well, Huathe.”
T’Hawthorn shrugged. “I much prefer my business, cinnamontrading. At least people do as I say when I request it.”
The man was formidable, Dufleur couldn’t imagine anyone with two brain cells to rub together going against him.
“You’ll have an easier time of it, Holm. More diplomatic.” A rare smile softened T’Hawthorn’s face. “My Son’sSon has passed his apprenticeship and will be studying as a journeyman with me.”
T’Holly smiled, too, genuinely. “A blessing for you.”
“Indeed.”
The two men separated, because grief shadowed their Flair. T’Hawthorn had lost his son in the feud he’d started with T’Holly, killed by one of T’Holly’s son’s, a bitter blow. T’Holly had lost his first Son’sChild in the womb because of his pride . . . all stemming from the Hawthorn-Holly antagonism.
Now the men were on an even footing and linked by a HeartMatemarriage of their children, but Dufleur sensed they would never be more than distant acquaintances. Too much past and grief and Flair for each.
Passiflora had been right. This was a decisive moment. T’Hawthorn would not oppose T’Holly’s bid to become Captainof the Councils. Probably none of T’Hawthorn’s allies would do so, either. Dufleur hadn’t heard of any other FirstFamilyLord or Lady who wanted the job.
When the FirstFamilies Council voted, T’Holly would be Captain of all the Celtan Councils, the most powerful man on Celta.
Dufleur’s purpose in providing a front for Passiflora was no longer necessary, but the pretense would have to remain. She would be expected to finish the social season.
"GrandMistrys Thyme?”
Blinking, Dufleur smiled in the direction of the thin man who’d addressed her. It took her only three seconds to identify him as one of the Examiners in the Winterberry case. She was getting better at this social business.
“May I have this dance?”
She sent a discreet glance in Saille’s direction. He was watching T’Yew, T’WhitePoplar, and the Birches who were scowling at T’Holly. Those were the ones who’d vote against T’Holly.
But she didn’t want to think of politics, so she offered her hand to the man. “Thank you.” They made up the last couple of a set, and a fast tune and the need to watch her steps whirled her mind away.
When the dance ended, her partner bowed, glanced at his timer. “I need to move on to my brother’s soiree.” He pulled a face. “Vocal music, not dancing. I like to dance, and may I say that you are a wonderful partner.”
“Thank you. I like to dance, too.” That was the truth, she realized.A gift this forced social season had brought her, the knowledgethat she loved dancing, would always love it, especially with Saille.
Stepping closer and keeping his voice low, the Examiner said, “We have made a decision in the Winterberry case and will announce it tomorrow. I’m sorry.” With a brief nod of his head, he disappeared into the crowd.
Dufleur’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t know the full details,of course, but just that sentence from the Examiner was enough to understand her mother would not be pleased. Ructionsahead.
At that moment, thirteen-year-old Antenn Blackthorn bowed in front of her, wiggling his brows. “Help, that Arcta Uva Ursi is after me.” He took Dufleur’s hand with little short of a snatch, and placed it on his arm.
Sure enough, a girl not quite grown into her height was watching them with narrowed
eyes.
“Antenn—”
“I’ve already danced with her, I swear. But this one is a waltz, and that means we’re together the whole time, and she talks too much.”
One more check of Saille. He lingered in the shadows close to T’Yew, ear cocked. Yew, his heir, and the Birches seemed to be having a quiet disagreement.
Dufleur looked down at Antenn and smiled. She definitely liked this option better. Antenn led her out on the floor and waltzed a little faster than the correct beat, turning often. Dufleur was proud that she kept up with him and neither of them trod on each other’s feet.
They ended a little out of breath near the door. A table with full water goblets was within easy reach. Both Antenn and Dufleur took one and gratefully sipped the icy water. Antenn bobblingthe drink a little. Right on D’Birch.
“My apologies,” Antenn said, bowing, and spilling more.
“You!”
“Antenn Blackthorn,” he said.
“I know who you are. That common Moss boy.”
"GreatLady, you’re overheated.” Dufleur nabbed a goblet and offered it to D’Birch, whose face and décolletage were certainlyflushed, though probably from anger instead of dancing. Dufleur shifted a little in front of the young man.
“I don’t want water. As for that Moss boy, he’s the brother of a murderer. I won’t have him in my house.” D’Birch’s penetratingvoice carried through the ballroom.
Dufleur flinched. Slick nausea coated her stomach, her throat, as she thought of those who’d tried to kill her. As far as she knew, all the relatives of the cult murderers had left Druida in shame. Several broken Family members had visited her, begging for forgiveness for their relatives. It had been hideous.
Behind her, she felt Antenn hunched as if petrified. He wasn’t associated with the cult at all. Then she recollected that Antenn’s brother had killed several people in a FirstFamilies council meeting. Of course only the FirstFamilies murders years ago would concern D’Birch, not the killing of children of lesser nobility a couple of months before.
D’Birch raised a hand to summon a footman. To show Antennout? How humiliating. Dufleur would not have been able to stand it. But here she was, in the middle of the scene. And where was Straif Blackthorn or Mitchella Blackthorn?
This time, she stepped back, forcing Antenn back, too, then placed the goblets down and moved to his side. She put her arm around the young man’s shoulders. She knew Antenn to be painfully honorable.
“D’Birch, please,” she said, not knowing where to go after that.
Mouth pinching, D’Birch glared at Dufleur. "GrandMistrys Thyme.”
There were two seconds of silence before D’Birch opened her mouth again and Dufleur rushed into speech herself, hoping the notion that came to her would work. “Thank you for inviting me,” Dufleur said. “But I must go now. I’ve realized I’m behind on my embroidery commissions and am certainly unaccustomed to the social season. Please give my compliments to T’Birch. Oh, and since my schedule is so full, I’m afraid I must tell you that I won’t be able to fulfill your commission.” It was a tapestry featuring the birch grove seen from the center of the great labyrinth.
Greed warred with insult on D’Birch’s face. “I promised the hanging to my husband as a Nameday gift.”
Dufleur shrugged. “I’m sorry. My schedule is too full,” Dufleur repeated. This was taking all her meager social skills, fancy phrasing was impossible.
“I’ll see you never sell another piece,” D’Birch hissed.
“You’ll have to speak to Quert Apple about that.”
“I’ll do that.” But caution appeared in her gaze. She glanced around at people observing the scene or studiously pretending not to. Apparently D’Birch didn’t mind circulating rumor but didn’t like to be the object herself.
“Shall we go, Antenn?” Dufleur said, dropping her arm from his shoulders and turning toward the room that held the teleportationarea. She thought he could teleport.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, ducked his head at D’Birch. “Merry meet,” he started the formal greeting, caught himself and flushed painfully.
Passiflora swept up to them with a bright smile. “I’m sorry we must leave so soon, D’Birch.” She turned to Dufleur and Antenn.“I’ve ordered the glider around.”
Dufleur stared, hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open.
We do have a bond, Dufleur, and you’re my protégée. I wouldn’t abandon you, Passiflora chided gently.
“You’re not leaving, Passiflora?” D’Birch sputtered.
Raising her eyebrows, Passiflora said, “You don’t seem to understand that you insulted my nephew.”
Dufleur blinked, looked at Antenn who lifted and dropped a shoulder. She couldn’t recall the connection, but all the FirstFamileswere a tangled mess of interrelatedness anyway.
“Your husband’s nephew’s wife’s ward,” D’Birch said tightly.
“My HeartMate’s nephew’s adopted son,” Passiflora corrected.She put her hand on Antenn’s shoulder.
D’Birch swallowed. “Stay.” She glared at Antenn. “You, too.” Then she switched her stare to Dufleur. “I’ll expect that tapestry on time.” She turned on her heel and walked away as cheerful, louder-than-usual dance music swelled from the musician’s platform.
“I’d like another dance, Antenn,” Dufleur raised her voice to be heard.
He nodded, grabbed her hand, and took her to the end of the line, which soon became the middle. She glanced at Trif Winterberrywho led the musicians.
“Trif Winterberry is my cuz,” Antenn said, as he made the opening bow and Dufleur curtsied. That’s right. Mitchella Clover Blackthorn, Antenn’s mother, was cuz to Trif Winterberry.Who was married to Dufleur’s cuz Ilex. Connections and connections.
“Mine, too,” Dufleur said. “On the other side. Small world.”
Antenn rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Especially among the FirstFamilies, and they’re weird, too.”
Then they separated and went down the line of dancers. When the music stopped, Antenn bowed again, grinning. “Thanks, Dufleur.” He buffeted her on the shoulder.
“You’re welcome.”
He walked jauntily to the snack table, and Dufleur stared afterhim. He’d fight the stigma of his brother’s crime for the rest of his life. As she would never be able to shake the gossip that her father had blown up T’Thyme Residence. Not much they could do about their circumstances except hold their heads high.
“Very well done,” Passiflora murmured, handing Dufleur a glass of cold water.
“Thank you,” Dufleur said. She met Passiflora’s eyes. “I would have left.”
“I know.”
“It wouldn’t have been running away.”
“No.” Passiflora smiled, waved to a friend. “Your leaving would have been a statement, and the right thing to do.”
Dufleur tilted her head. “You would have left, too.”
“Yes.” Passiflora let out a little sigh. “D’Birch lives for gossip.She’s a bored, dissatisfied woman who likes to stir up trouble.I doubt Holm will get the Birch vote for Captain.” She shrugged.
“How’s that going?” Dufleur asked, suddenly curious.
Passiflora chuckled, patted Dufleur’s arm. “Very well. I’ve watched everyone tonight. I think we’ll only have two or three against, an excellent majority. Ah, here’s Saille.”
Saille bowed to them. He held no drinks and looked chagrined.“I’m sorry I was derelict in my duty.”
Dufleur was, too. He would have stood by her. But she hadn’t needed him to rescue her or Antenn, and that sent a spurt of satisfaction through her. “You’re going to vote for T’Holly to be Captain, aren’t you?”
Passiflora’s eyes widened at the blunt question.
Putting his hand over his heart, Saille sent Dufleur an amused look then said, “Passiflora has only to smile at me, and I would do whatever she said.”
With a shake of her head, Passiflora said, “Flatterer.”
�
��That wasn’t an answer,” Dufleur pointed out.
“Yes,” Saille said. “I will be voting for Holm Holly Sr.”
“Good.” Dufleur nodded.
“Speaking of smiles,” Passiflora said, “you each have the most charming I’ve ever seen, male and female.”
They stared at her as she glided away. Then they stared at each other.
Smiled.
Dufleur sighed. “She’s right, your smile has impact.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. “And your smile is just one of the reasons why I am so very attracted to you.” His voice was low.
Dufleur let him pull her close for the lilting waltz. She let a contented breath escape, then said, “I wanted to ask you to dance tonight.” Murmuring into her ear, she said, “Seduce you tonight.”
“You have. You do.”
“Later,” she whispered. “Let’s make love in your conservatory.”
Their bodies moved to the music, their gazes locked, and the distance that had come between them, that would undoubtedly return, was banished for the moment. As it was every night.
Even as prickles of desire slipped through her blood, Dufleur felt the fine tension of passion imbue his muscles.
“Let’s leave early,” he said, breathing a little roughly.
“Yes.”
Twenty-nine
Dufleur,” Saille whispered in her ear.
“I agreed.”
“I need you.” His yearning, through words and their connection,went straight to her core. And with a wide, sweeping turn, he danced them out of the door, across the hall to the teleportationarea. The small room was empty.
She was still moving in his arms when he teleported them to the conservatory. Dufleur stumbled, was hauled close. They stopped.
“A little awkward,” Saille said. “I need to make room.”
“Awkward to dance,” Dufleur said, sliding a hand down his shirt and opening the buttons with a spellword, “not to love.”
Heart Dance Page 29