by Crook, Amy
“Blood oranges are used in several magical contexts,” said Alex idly, taking a sip of the aromatic white wine that came with the course.
The other suitors gave him the sort of look he’d always gotten when he began to spout boring technical or academic nonsense, but Julian looked interested. “Really, why?”
Alex smiled at him. “They’ve got a special connection to people, with their rich red insides that don’t show on the outside, but in a different way from, say, mandrake root,” said Alex. “Do you know any magical theory?”
“Shouldn’t you have asked that first?” said Willoughby, sounding a bit snide.
Alex shrugged. “I assumed Julian was intelligent enough to understand the basic idea, even without much context,” he said, his tone implying the Willoughby was perhaps not. He took a bite of his salad to keep from saying so outright, which he would have done in most other situations, instead concentrating on the flavours of the various greens, from bitter dandelion to a spicy arugula, and a sweeter, more delicate leaf he wasn’t sure he could identify. There were fresh herbs mixed in as well, a bit of dill and parsley, which helped keep the rich cheese from overwhelming the greens.
“Did you gather the salad greens as well?” asked Chudleigh, from a few seats farther down the table, stuck in the middle and unable to really talk to Julian or his sister unless the room grew quiet.
It was Emmeline who chose to answer, much to Chudleigh’s disappointment. “No, though they were grown on the property. There are extensive vegetable and herb gardens on one side of the house.”
The man next to her asked a related question, and the conversation swirled closed again, rising up to swallow her answer.
“Do you grow your own ingredients, Benedict?” asked O’Connor, sounding almost genuinely curious.
Alex shook his head. “I’ve got a few small potted plants, but nothing I’d rely on living long enough to use magically. I buy what I need and keep it in stasis cubes if I need it to stay especially fresh.”
“Those are pretty expensive, aren’t they?” asked Julian, sounding unflatteringly surprised that Alex could afford such a thing.
Alex shrugged. “So are the things I make,” he said. He’d funded his own collection of those cubes from a couple of very lucrative fertility charms, which could only be created by a mage who was not only fertile but had never had children.
“So you do more than conjure butterflies and catch murderers after all?” said Pembroke, his tone politely inquiring.
Alex took a sip of his wine, testing phrases in his head before he answered. “I do create magical objects, though I don’t sell luck charms at the fair.”
Julian chuckled and said, “I don’t think you’d sell very many, you’re far too imposing.”
“Hexes and curses, perhaps,” said Willoughby, which made them all laugh, even Alex, though not for the same reason.
Alex ate more salad with a wry little smile on his face, thinking of the very few such spells he’d created in his time, all of them while still at school.
“I dare say you’ve amused him,” said Pembroke, making Alex glance up from his food curiously.
“Perhaps I just like the salad,” he said, eating a candied walnut and a strawberry together with great relish.
“It is a very good salad,” said Julian in a teasing tone. Alex made a mental note to keep being droll rather than letting himself descend into the same sort of sniping as the other men, since it seemed the former amused their quarry far more than the latter impressed him.
That seemed to cue the other men into eating, themselves, though Alex knew that the food wasn’t really the point, merely another topic of conversation, another way to judge or impress.
“Have any of your tenants been affected by the recent storms?” asked Alex curiously. He’d spent a bit of time looking into the St. Albans assets, and even making Victor explain the source of their own fortunes, fleshing out Alex’s admittedly spotty memories of how it all fit together.
“I don’t think so,” said Julian shyly. “That’s more Emmy’s thing now, though of course my future husband would want to know,” he said, laughing softly as if chiding himself for not thinking to find out.
“How are the Benedict lands faring?” asked Pembroke, clearly expecting Alex to be equally ignorant.
“There’s been a little flooding, but nothing that couldn’t be handled,” said Alex, pleased that someone took his bait. He did hate to revise, only to find the subject wasn’t on the test. “No houses, just a few fields to the south that have always had problematic drainage.”
“So no big crop loss, then?” asked O’Connor, sounding genuinely interested.
Alex shook his head, taking another sip of water for a throat unused to so much talking. “I believe one had sheep that have been moved, and the other two were feed rather than cash crops, so though they might have to supplement winter stores if the fields don’t dry out, there’s not much financial loss.”
He and O’Connor discussed land ownership for a bit longer, Alex learning a lot about the O’Connor family in the bargain. Phineas was a second son, and it was obvious he’d learned the lessons of good stewardship at his brother’s side just as Henry had learned with Victor. Willoughby and Pembroke started another topic with Julian, who clearly had no interest in such mundane details.
Alex wondered if Emmeline Fitzhugh could be persuaded to stay on and run things, and then wondered why he cared. It wasn’t as if there was any chance he’d end up the lord of the house, after all.
The salads were whisked away and replaced with a palate-cleansing lime and mint sorbet, cool and sweet on the tongue. “No blood oranges this time,” quipped O’Connor.
Alex chuckled. “Mint’s useful in spells, too,” he said, “though mostly I use it for tea.”
“I’ve always liked mint tea,” said Julian, looking like a lost little boy as he poked at his sorbet, “but Cecil never did.”
Alex’s heart went out to him, though he had nothing useful he could say. He hated these situations the most, where he felt helpless for his inability with words, for being trapped in this farce of a Courtship with a young man whose entire future hung on such a slender balance.
Not to mention likely sharing a meal with a murderer.
“If lovers like all the same things, don’t you think it gets boring?” said Pembroke.
Julian chuckled. “I wouldn’t know, really, though I never did grow bored of Cecil. He was my only lover.”
“And then to marriage,” murmured Alex, too softly for anyone to really hear. He managed about half his ice before the cold and tart was too much for him, and then he sat back and watched for a moment, letting the conversation wash over him and join the background noise of the house’s magic.
A hand came to take his ice and Alex blinked, ears popping as his senses reversed themselves, magic becoming a hum and words gaining importance, and he wondered how much he’d missed and if anyone had noticed the lapse.
“…get your fill of variety after all the men take you for their dates,” Willoughby was saying, which meant they were still on the topic of Julian’s relative inexperience.
Julian chuckled wryly, taking a sip of water. “Well, I will admit I’m looking forward to some dates more than others, but I know that every family represented tonight has sent me their best, so I’m also hoping for some pleasant surprises.”
“Which form of Courtship have you chosen, if it’s not rude to ask?” said Alex curiously.
The men around him looked a bit shocked, which meant it probably was rude but no one was going to tell him. Ah, well.
Julian looked amused, at any rate, and he said, “Emmy and I chose one of the longest ones, I believe you’re all supposed to get letters about it tomorrow. I’ll have three dates with each of you before I have to make the first decisions, an afternoon tea here at the house and two dinners out.”
“So we’ll all have several chances to win your heart,” said Pembroke, somehow manag
ing to make it not sound cheesy.
Alex nodded. “I’m afraid I’m out of touch with the fashions in these things, as I hadn’t really intended to take part in one until I got your invitation.”
Julian seemed to take this as a compliment, and Alex heaved a sigh of relief that he’d censored the comment about catching Mandeville’s murder case. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be nearly so romantic a notion.
“Planning on bachelorhood, were you?” asked O’Connor, looking very pleased by Alex’s near blunder.
Alex shrugged. “Once you leave the upper echelons of society, it’s all so much simpler,” he said, then quickly added. “But yes, mostly I’d resigned myself to bachelorhood.” He wasn’t sure how much Julian romanticised what little he knew of Alex’s situation, and he didn’t really want to just announce that he was a terrible boyfriend and would make a worse husband.
It seemed impolitic, at the least.
More food arrived, this time a crispy-skinned quarter of a chicken resting on a bed of creamy polenta. The chicken had been flavoured with a delightful melange of exotic spices, and the meat beneath was moist and delicious. “Your chef is really quite good,” said Alex, glad that a sharp knife had been provided with the silver for this course, along with a full-bodied, spicy red wine that complemented the chicken perfectly.
“I’ll pass your compliments along,” said Julian, but there was pride in his voice. All down the table, men were tucking in with enthusiasm despite the first four courses already served, proving that Julian’s pride was warranted.
“This is quite a unique dish for a Courtship dinner,” said Pembroke. “Your chef has a bit of an Asian flair to some of his cooking.”
Julian ate a bite himself before answering, “Yes, he’s originally from Japan but he’s got an incredibly varied repertoire. He’s been with us for years, but he still keeps up with the latest trends.”
“Does he visit home often?” asked Alex curiously.
“Once a year he goes travelling for a month, but he’s got his staff well-trained,” said Julian. “We miss him, of course, but he always comes back with new ideas.”
“A forgivable absence, then,” said Willoughby, “if it allows him to create meals like this one.”
More compliments drifted toward both ends of the table, and for a while the talk was entirely of food with a slightly softer edge, or perhaps just a more hidden one. Alex was surprised to hear that Willoughby was a traditionalist when it came to food, despite his obvious appreciation for this meal, while Pembroke seemed like the riskiest of the bunch.
Alex mostly kept his mouth shut, as he normally ate whatever he could have delivered. His upbringing hadn’t prepared him to cook for himself, and he’d chosen not to explore that avenue much despite its supposed similarity to the brewing of potions. For one thing, cooking wouldn’t have magic behind it to guarantee that once-noxious ingredients blended together in a beneficial end product.
He rather thought it might go the other way, in fact.
Victor was quite the stodgy traditionalist, and so rare meals at home were full of exquisitely prepared sameness, without the delightful originality that the St. Albans chef was allowed to display.
Alex enjoyed the creamy polenta, finding it owed part of its texture to some tangy cheese, and had been lightly laced with garlic as well, making it an excellent companion to the rich bird and its crisp, spice-dusted skin. He even let himself drink most of the wine, figuring that there would be tea or coffee with the sweet course, though likely also more alcohol in the form of a dessert wine.
Soon enough his plate was taken away, though he’d only managed about half of what was there. The conversation still swirled and he was forced to participate, knowing that there was a good chance that, if the murderer was a suitor, he’d be in one of the coveted top four spots, where it was polite to engage Julian in conversation without having to talk through a line of people.
Of course, it could be someone with an inflated sense of their own importance, too, or even someone who’d arranged to be closer to the sister. Or even the sister. Alex mostly used magic, not people skills, so he felt a bit at a loss thinking that he was trying to winnow a killer out of thirteen people so used to polite deception that it was nearly a reflex, like breathing.
The next course was a single rack of herb-encrusted lamb chops, leaning against a pile of cooked greens, with a swirling pile of mashed something next to them. A taste proved it to be taro root, a very Asian delicacy indeed and a delicious one, both sweet and savoury at once. The lamb had its own sweetness, and was so tender it nearly fell from the bones, though a second steak knife was provided. The greens were flavoured with juices from the roasted lamb, as well as garlic and other spices, and the bitterness had been cooked out of them, leaving them with a tangy sourness that helped keep the plate balanced.
Alex thought he might have to marry Julian just for the food.
CHAPTER 7
In Which Dinner is Concluded, and Drinks are Shared
The sixth course, while delicious, didn’t go down as smoothly as the last one, because the conversation grew more dangerous as the suitors became aware that the meal was nearly done.
“Have you ever had lamb so tender?” asked Pembroke, as if of the room, though his eyes were on Alex.
“Victor is very fond of lamb,” said Alex, taking a sip of wine, “as was Father. I believe Victor still has tenants who keep sheep just for the main house, in fact.”
That had not been the answer Pembroke was looking for, but Willoughby was the one who picked up the thread of conversation. “I’ve always greatly enjoyed veal, myself,” he said, voice silky.
“You don’t think it’s cruel?” asked Julian, though his voice was curious rather than judgmental.
Willoughby shrugged. “I’m not some college student, protesting for the sake of outrage,” he said. “Our cattle are treated well enough, it’s quite a small herd so the culling keeps them from overgrazing their allotted land.”
“Culling is an important step,” said O’Connor, his tone reminding them that they were all in danger of the chopping block, at least metaphorically.
The question was, would it become more than a metaphor, if the killer was among them, but eliminated early? That was Alex’s real fear, that he’d be too slow to assemble the social cues along with the magical, and someone else would die.
He wished Lapointe was there.
“But it’s also best if one has an eye toward the stock that’s worth keeping,” said Alex.
Julian stayed silent, just watching the verbal fencing with an impassive expression.
Pembroke nodded. “Of course,” he said, then took another sip of wine. “But all this talk of animal husbandry must be boring young Julian. I had heard that you used to enjoy the theatre, is that still true?”
“This is practically theatre all on its own,” muttered O’Connor, so that only Alex could hear him.
Alex had to suppress a smirk.
“I do still love to see plays, though of course I’ve missed the start of the season this year. We’ve got box seats at many of the major theatres, though I’ve never been a fan of opera,” said Julian, doling out another tidbit for his admirers to act on or not, as the case might be.
“I find opera too much for my delicate ears,” said Alex. “Good music is a magic all its own, you know.”
“So, you operate by sound?” asked Willoughby shrewdly.
Alex inclined his head, cursing himself. “Yes, I’ve always been one of those who hears rather than sees magic.”
“That’s quite rare, isn’t it?” asked Julian curiously.
“Not really,” said Alex. “About seven in ten mages operate by sight, two by sound, and the last ten percent are the really obscure ones, who feel or smell or otherwise sense it in a more abstract manner.”
“I bet you’re glad you don’t have to go tasting everything, given your line of work,” said Willoughby, his expression blandly amused though his t
one was at odds with it, almost hungry.
Alex shuddered delicately. “I expect I’d have gone into a different line of work, were that the case.” Rather than allow that to put them off their wonderful food, Alex forced himself to smile. “Of course, not everything I’ve heard was awful, either, even at crime scenes.”
“Really?” asked Julian, subdued but curious. “Like what?”
Alex smiled, glad the boy had taken his bait. “I got to hear your personal magic.”
Julian blushed quite fetchingly at that, which made the other suitors look less than pleased.
Before Julian could ask more questions on a topic that only made Alex look good, Pembroke jumped in. “I hear your orchards are doing very well this year.”
“Oh, yes! The summer fruit trees are doing so well, we have plums and peaches and nectarines,” said Julian, and Alex made a note that this was a subject of stewardship that seemed to interest Julian despite his protests to the contrary.
From the look on Pembroke’s face, someone had already known, which was also worth noting. A servant willing to gossip about the young master’s preferences was a valuable ally, especially since Alex had already alienated Godfrey. For that matter, Godfrey could be the one talking to Pembroke; he seemed like just the sort of man that would appeal to the stuffy butler.
Alex forced himself to stay alert and participate in this conversation, eating his lamb as an excuse not to talk too much. He also made a mental note to call Victor’s man and see who he could go to for a tour of their own orchards. He was dreading the idea that he might have to ask Victor for a crash course in all of it.
He seemed to be dreading a lot of things lately.
They talked about orchards and the upcoming apple crops all the way through the rest of the course, which turned out to be prophetic when the final offering of sweets, coffee and port came. The meal ended as it had begun, with three items on a long plate, but these were exquisite sweet creations flavoured with the fruits of St. Albans lands.