“No, my lord. There’s nothing.”
Morcar smiled, his spirits lifted as nothing else could have done. “Yes, Fulham. There is. A flower. I can see it very clearly.”
Fulham looked again, only to get his face even more thoroughly wet than it already was. Still there was nothing. But he had learned that it was impossible to naysay the Earl of Llew, even when one wished to.
“A flower, my lord? As you say, my lord.”
Morcar laughed aloud and along with his delight knew a deep sense of relief. It was the first sign, and he’d wager that he’d been given it even before the Dewin Mawr.
“Let’s get to London,” he said, laughing once more and looking at his befuddled servant. “I want to be there by tomorrow, and no later. We’ve a great deal to do before the Season starts.”
“Can you read it, Malachi? The symbols are ill written, I fear.”
Malachi frowned at the thick paper in his hand, far more displeased by the knowledge of where it had come from than he was cheered by the message it related.
“Yes, I can read it,” he replied somberly. “There are two lines. The first says, ‘This is not the place.’ The second is ‘All become one or all will fail.’ ”
Professor Seabolt leaned nearer, peering at the paper more closely. “ ‘This is not the place’?” he repeated curiously. “Whatever can that mean?”
“It’s a sign regarding the cythraul,” Malachi told him. “I believe it means that it will not be arriving at Glain Tarran. Which only leaves the rest of England.”
“Oh, surely it’s more specific than that,” the professor said. “I can’t believe the Guardians would go to the trouble to send a useless sign. What do you think the second part means?”
“It sounds like an exhortation of sorts, doesn’t it?” Malachi said thoughtfully. “ ‘All become one or all will fail.’ ”
“Or that all of the clues must be put together else you’ll fail to find the cythraul,” Professor Seabolt suggested. “Why would they appear in Miss Tamony’s journal? How could the Guardians have known that the page would find its way to you?”
The Earl of Graymar had been wondering the same thing. Aye, the Guardians were having a fine time toying with him by way of the confounding Miss Sarah Tamony.
“The spirit world is mysterious,” he said. “And Sarah Tamony understands magic. I’m sure they knew she would seek out the advice of someone more knowledgeable. Perhaps they even caused her to do so. I’m more astonished that you managed to persuade her to part with a page of her journal. I’m sure she wished to bring it herself.”
“She did, my lord,” Professor Seabolt said, straightening. “But I assured her it would be impossible to gain entrance to Mervaille without your permission, and considering that you’ve been so decidedly set against her proposed book, I was able to convince her that it would be best for me to bring the page.”
“Ha,” Malachi retorted. “That wouldn’t have stopped her. She would have found scaling the walls a marvelous adventure, I’ve no doubt.” And if she had, he realized with dismay, he would have been glad, so long as she wasn’t harmed. He had wondered, in the past several days, whether she would display as much delight in Mervaille as she had in Glain Tarran.
He shook the thought aside. “Thank you, Harris, for bringing me this so quickly. The meaning of the words will make itself clear to me very shortly, especially as additional clues arrive.” He began to fold the page with the intention of pocketing it. “I’ll take care of returning this to Miss Tamony, and to thank her for the loan of it.”
“I apologize, my lord,” the professor said at once, lifting a hand to stop him from secreting the page away. “I gave Miss Tamony my word as a gentleman that I would return the page to her personally. I fear I cannot do otherwise.” With a delicate tug and a reddened face he pulled the paper from Malachi’s grip.
Malachi smiled, wanting to ease his friend’s discomfort.
“Of course,” he said mildly, greatly at odds with the disappointment he felt at not having an excuse to visit the Tamony residence. “I’m sure that would be best.” He waved a hand dismissively as he moved to pour each of them a drink. “Miss Tamony doubtless is quite angry with me at the moment. I shouldn’t want to overset her. But do thank her for me, will you? Tell her that I … I am in her debt.” Oh, gad, he thought with an inward grimace. That sounded mawkish.
Turning, a glass in each hand, he changed the subject.
“Tell me about the brother.” He offered Professor Seabolt a glass. “He’s something of a scholar, is he not, as his father is? Celtic history, rather than Roman, I understand. He must have found your collection of artifacts intriguing.”
Professor Seabolt, thus diverted, plunged into a detailed and enthusiastic account of the Tamony siblings’ visit. Malachi listened politely, nodding and murmuring when appropriate. His mind, however, was far from the conversation. It was occupied, as it had so often been since that night at Glain Tarran, with visions of a lovely, smiling face and bright green eyes, bent spectacles, and deliriously unkempt red hair. He wondered what she looked like in a day dress, all prim and proper, gloved and hatted. Or a silk ball gown, with her glorious hair piled in some fashionable arrangement, her throat and shoulders bare, and dancing. With him. Just as they had danced in the cold night sky, whirling around and around and … he brought himself back to reality just in time to give another nod and murmur.
Soon he must see her. Speak with her. And find a way to conquer the spell she had placed him under.
Chapter Eleven
It amused Sarah to think that her first encounter in London with the Earl of Graymar was to be at her Aunt Speakley’s modest town house. But she was deeply pleased, as well, for he had clearly remembered what she’d said at Glain Tarran about her aunt’s ardent desire to be able to claim him as a guest and must have decided that this would be a fitting way in which to repay her for giving him the page in her journal.
Aunt Speakley had arrived unexpectedly at the Tamony household three days ago in a state of near hysteria, declaring that she’d had the most astonishing day of her life.
It had begun with an invitation from Mrs. Niclas Seymour to go driving in the park at the fashionable hour—an honor of no small significance, for it was well-known that Julia Seymour rarely took acquaintances up in her private phaeton during her daily drive—most especially not acquaintances of such a passing nature as she and Aunt Speakley were. That boon alone would have been sufficient to keep Aunt Speakley in raptures for a month, but something even more remarkable had taken place.
They had met Mrs. Seymour’s cousin by marriage, the Earl of Graymar, during their drive, and Mrs. Seymour had actually made an introduction. It had been more than Aunt Speakley could bear, for she’d lost her senses entirely and found herself inviting Lord Graymar to a small gathering at her home … and His Lordship had accepted. With delight!
Aunt Speakley had grown short of breath just relating the tale. In the hours since, she had been a whirlwind of activity, desperate to make certain that, first, all her acquaintances knew that the Earl of Graymar was to honor her with his presence and, second, everything was absolutely perfect for his coming. Lady Tamony, Sarah, and Philistia had helped, and Sir Alberic had insisted that Aunt Speakley accept the loan of some of their servants for the great event. Aunt Speakley’s house had been cleaned and organized from rafters to cellar, the dinner prepared with the finest ingredients, and the wines, again thanks to Sir Alberic, were the best that could be found.
Yes, it was all rather amusing, Sarah thought as she watched her aunt nervously converse with the first guests to arrive. She tried to tell herself that all this fuss was Lord Graymar’s due as a high-ranking nobleman, also as one of the wealthiest and most politically powerful men in England. But when Sarah thought of him, all she could see in her mind’s eye was an alarmingly handsome, alternately irate and charming gentleman, rather unkempt, with windswept hair and brilliant blue eyes. Who also happened t
o be a powerful wizard.
She couldn’t fix him in her imagination as merely the Earl of Graymar. He was the man who’d turned her world upside down, then taken her up into the air and out of the world entirely. And he was also the man who, once they’d come back to earth, had set himself up as her adversary. Sarah had anticipated seeing him again from the moment they’d parted ways; now she wondered what he would see when they met—the woman he’d called beautiful or the troublesome scribbler who’d trespassed on his lands.
Apart from the Tamonys, several of Aunt Speakley’s particular friends were present: Major John Skutley, late of His Majesty’s army, Sir Timothy Wilbay and his wife, Lady Wilbay, the widowed Lady Bawstone, and her gentleman friend, Mr. Charles Winston. An even number of guests to make up sets for cards after dinner—if Lord Graymar ever made his appearance.
“I’m certain the earl is merely arriving fashionably late,” Sarah assured her aunt later as they sat side by side in the parlor, where drinks were served. Aunt Speakley cast a glance at her guests, all of whom had disbelieved her insistence that such a lofty individual as the Earl of Graymar had truly deigned to attend such a modest event. Lady Bawstone and Lady Wilbay had even wagered Aunt Speakley that despite what he’d told her in the park, Lord Graymar would not appear. Those two ladies, at the moment, were exchanging satisfied looks.
Sarah patted her aunt’s hand. “You told me yourself that Lord Graymar is famed for making a grand entrance, which necessitates a late arrival. And he’s a gentleman as well as a nobleman. If he accepted your invitation, he’ll come.”
Philistia, who was sitting nearby, leaned close to whisper, “But do you really think so, Sarah? It’s almost too incredible to believe that he’d want to have dinner with our family, especially after refusing your appeals for a meeting. Julius said it’s all a complete farce, for His Lordship would likely far rather be at the end of the earth than in a room with you.”
Sarah frowned darkly at her brother from across the parlor, where he was conversing with Major Skutley, and declared to her cousin, “Julius is a fool.” To her aunt, who had made a sound of despair at Philistia’s words, she repeated, “He’ll come.”
Aunt Speakley looked as if she’d rather be at the other end of the earth, at the moment, but just then the sound of carriage wheels and many horses drifted up from the street below. Everyone in the room fell silent, and Philistia, unable to contain herself, stood and hurried to the nearest window.
“It’s him!” she cried, pressing her hands together. “Oh, my heavens, such a grand carriage! And so many horses—and the footmen in elegant costume—you never saw such a sight.”
“Philistia,” Lady Tamony murmured disapprovingly. Philistia came away from the window at once.
Aunt Speakley, who had looked so miserable only moments earlier, now appeared ready to faint. Sarah gave her hand a brief squeeze and helped her rise from the settee—no small task, as Aunt Speakley was a short woman of formidable proportions, very different from her younger sister, Sarah’s mother, who in middle age was slender and still stood straight and tall.
Everyone in the room rose and stared at the door, waiting, so that when it was opened a few moments later and Lord Graymar was announced, he stepped into a parlor of pale, fixed, gaping faces. With the exception of Sarah and her mother. Sarah was trying hard not to smile at Lord Graymar’s expression—he looked as if he were entering a torture chamber—and her mother was the sort of person who was seldom perturbed by anything or anyone.
If the Earl of Graymar had looked handsome to Sarah on that wild night at Glain Tarran, then he was equally so now, save in a far more refined manner. He looked every part the Earl of Graymar, with his overlong hair tied back in a neat tail at his neck and his elegant evening clothes in the deep black and gleaming white colors that she had heard he preferred. He was far more beautifully and expensively attired than any other person in the room, and knew it. Rhys must have been exceedingly pleased with his master’s appearance on this particular evening.
The earl’s gaze swept the parlor, stopping and lingering on Sarah long enough to return her amused smile with a flash of stern reproach, then took in the remainder of those assembled. He bowed with perfected elegance at Aunt Speakley’s approach.
“My lord,” she greeted in ecstatic tones. “Welcome to my home. It’s so kind of you to grace us with your company.”
“Mrs. Speakley,” he replied as solemnly as if he were addressing the queen, a detail that Sarah was certain thrilled Aunt Speakley no end. He accepted her hand and bowed over it. “I’m delighted. I’ve looked forward to this evening since we last spoke in the park. It was very good of you to invite me.”
Introductions were made. The earl lingered for a few brief moments with each guest, pausing when he came to Sir Alberic.
“Sir Alberic, what a special pleasure it is to make your acquaintance,” the earl said. “I am a great admirer of your work, and have been since my days at university. One of my professors taught extensively from your first few publications. I often thought that you should have been lecturing in his place, instead. And wished it, as well.”
Sir Alberic had spent the better part of his life being feted and admired by the most powerful and noble figures in Europe, but even so he was not proof against such praise. Sarah could see a faint flush spread over her father’s face.
Lord Graymar continued down the line of guests, declaring himself charmed by Lady Tamony and Philistia and sending Julius into nearly speechless rapture by telling him how greatly he was looking forward to reading his soon-to-be published manifest, for as he said, “It should make excellent reading, considering the influence your father has likely had upon you, and the topic of Celtic history is of particular interest to me.” He cast a brief glance at Sarah, who stood at the end of the line, and she could almost feel the Celtic amulet on its chain growing warm beneath the satin of her gown.
Sarah waited, striving for patience, as His Lordship made his way, greeting each guest in a formal but genial manner. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he stepped in front of her. Sarah discovered that her smile had suddenly deserted her.
“And this is my niece, Lord Graymar,” Aunt Speakley said warmly. “Miss Sarah Tamony. You may have heard of her before now, for she’s another writer in the family, and her books have been very popular.”
Sarah gazed up at him, into the piercing blue eyes and the unsmiling mouth. He gave no evidence of knowing her, but she’d not expected that he would. She had to be careful to play the same game, else her family would learn that she’d sneaked out of their inn in Pembrokeshire and trespassed at Glain Tarran. And then they’d want details.
Good breeding came to her rescue, and Sarah sank into a proper curtsy, bowing her head and murmuring, “My lord.”
“Well, well, Miss Sarah Tamony,” was his reply. “You do clean up nicely, I must say. I thought you might, but your appearance is even more greatly improved than what I expected.”
Sarah’s head snapped up.
“Not that there was anything wrong with your manner of dress when you visited with me at Glain Tarran, of course. I found your masculine attire to be quite … charming.” He smiled in a meaningful way. “But I did wonder what you might look like in something more feminine. I’m not in the least disappointed.”
She rose full height and looked back down the line of guests. They were all frozen in place, utterly still and silent, like statues. Even her parents.
“Good heavens,” she said, turning back to him with wide eyes. “You’ve put them beneath a spell. Without so much as saying a word or lifting a finger.”
“Only for a moment or two,” he admitted. “They’ll not be harmed. We must be careful not to move, however, for when I release them they’ll expect to see us exactly in the manner and place we were in. It can be disconcerting, or so I’ve been told, to come back into the moment and find something changed.”
Sarah looked at the others once more, discomfited by the s
ight. It was especially difficult to see her parents frozen in time, utterly helpless.
“They’ll be perfectly fine,” Lord Graymar repeated more gently, and reached for her hand. “I only wanted a moment to thank you properly for the page from your journal”—bowing, he brushed his lips against her bare knuckles, causing Sarah to draw in a sharp breath—“also to warn you not to smile at me as you did when I first arrived.” He straightened and released her. “If you do, I shall very likely lose my own composure and everyone present will wonder at us.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, flushing. “I shall strive to control myself. I don’t wish you to think my amusement a sign of ingratitude. I’m terribly thankful to you for making my Aunt Speakley so happy, especially as I’m certain this isn’t the sort of evening you care for. It’s very good of you to come.”
He tilted his head, considering her. “I was glad to do so. And I assure you, in all honesty, that there is no other place I would rather be tonight. Or any other company I would prefer to be with.”
“That is a pretty thing to say, my lord,” she told him, smiling. “I wish you could be so amenable at all times. Apart from your coming tonight, I’m vastly displeased with you.”
“I know,” he said. “But I did warn you how matters must stand between us regarding your book. We agreed, however, that it must not necessarily make us enemies.”
“Certainly not,” she agreed. “But it also doesn’t mean I have to pretend happiness at having my interviews and appointments canceled. Still, I shall find a way to write my book. You’ll see.”
“I’ll be watching very closely,” he promised. “In the meantime, can we agree to be civil in Society? I do not know why, but the spirits who guard over my kind have involved you in something of great importance to me, and I have no way of knowing whether they may choose to involve you further.”
“The message, do you mean?” she asked, her interest piqued. “Professor Seabolt told me what was written, but I could make no sense of either of the sentences, and he would tell me nothing else. And it’s disappeared since he returned it to me. The symbols faded away just as they appeared.”
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