by Crook, Amy
The first dish was a miniature peach cobbler, fragrant and sticky-sweet in its fluted ramekin. In the middle there was a petit gateau in the shape of a heart, made of layers of chocolate and summer berry mousse, with a tiny wild strawberry perched on top, stem and all. The final sweet was a shot glass full of the first press of cider, mulled and then chilled, with a thin layer of whipped cream on top supporting a swirl of slowly-sinking caramel.
“I almost feel as though you’re wooing us,” said Alex, picking up a spoon and preparing to dig into the cobbler, “by showing us all the bounty of your lands.”
Julian chuckled. “Perhaps I just want you to work extra hard for me,” he said, preening just a bit.
Alex boldly took Julian’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “You’ve always been a prize worth winning,” he said, wondering where the smoothness came from until he remembered the story he’d read it in. He let his smile at the memory come to the surface and soften the look he was giving Julian.
Julian’s laugh this time was surprisingly wry. “If one is to be a prize, it’s best to be a good one, I suppose.”
There didn’t seem anything to say to that, so Alex ate his bite of cobbler, letting the delightful sweetness distract him from wondering just how Julian St. Albans really felt about his own Courtship.
~ ~ ~
After dinner they went back to the parlour to mingle over drinks. Ms. Fitzhugh decided to join them this time, and Alex made sure to drift over to her when he got the opportunity. “Julian tells me you’ve been keeping things running around here for the past year,” he said, after they were introduced.
“Yes, I have,” she said, her voice politely blank, as if she wasn’t sure how she ought to react to him yet.
Alex smiled and tried to remember if he knew how to be charming after all the wine and barbed conversation over dinner. “He’s lucky to have you in his life, I can tell he’s got little interest in that side of things.”
She nodded, her face going a bit softer as she spoke. “Julian never did have much of a head for business. I’d just started teaching Cecil about things when… Well, you’d know better than most what happened, wouldn’t you?”
“Despite how it seems, we’re all working hard to solve it,” said Alex, his own voice going a bit hard. It bothered him more than he’d admit to think that someone here had done this, but no one else truly had motive, and it had taken means and motive both to create this plot.
She looked surprised at his reaction, but nodded. “It’s good they’ve hired you,” she said, her tone suggesting that she hadn’t been sure of that, up until this moment.
Alex’s smile wasn’t particularly pleasant, but he knew she would understand. “Not good for the killer.”
Her own answering smile was just as humourless. “No, not for him.”
Alex wanted to ask why she would say ‘him’ but of course if it wasn’t a him, it was likely Emmeline herself, so he kept silent, instead changing the subject as O’Connor drifted over to them. “Julian seems very fond of the orchards.”
“Yes, he likes the trees very much, whether it’s mushroom-hunting in the forest or picking apples in the orchard like a common worker. We always teased him that no one would believe he was the young man of the house if he was always tromping around getting his hands dirty,” she said fondly.
O’Connor stepped up, and it took Alex a moment to realise he was waiting to be introduced. “Ms. Emmeline Fitzhugh, this is Phineas O’Connor, he sat next to me at dinner,” said Alex, hoping he was doing it right.
Right enough, it seemed, as they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. “So Julian picks fruit himself?” asked O’Connor, with an amused disbelief in his voice that made Alex’s hackles rise.
Emmeline raised herself up, face blank and polite just as it had been with Alex, though her eyes were colder. “Is that a problem?” she asked.
“No, no, it’s just unusual, the, well, the gossip makes him out to be rather soft, but I can see he keeps active,” said O’Connor.
Alex rolled his eyes where Emmeline could see, but O’Connor could not, and he could see her trying not to smile. He used to bait Flora and Fauna this way when they were being lectured for tormenting him. He felt it was only fair to try to get them laughing and in even deeper trouble.
“At least he doesn’t climb trees like a monkey, looking for just the right bit of mistletoe or the perfect acorn for a spell,” said Alex dryly.
That got her, and she chuckled. “Not anymore, though for him it was always the perfectly ripe peach for his afternoon snack, still warm from the sun.”
“And what is making my darling sister laugh?” asked Julian, stepping into their little group from behind Alex. He pressed a soft kiss to Emmeline’s cheek before taking his place beside her, looking happier than Alex had yet see him.
“Your charming suitors, of course,” she said, giving Alex the eye. “It’s too bad they’re only here for you, and not me.”
Julian gave her an affectionate look. “But then they’d take you away from me, and I couldn’t have that,” he said.
“Will you do a Widow’s Courtship, once your brother is settled?” asked Alex politely. They were less common, but since she’d had no children before her husband died, it would be in keeping with the tradition.
She smiled shyly. “I had been thinking of it, yes, once the estate’s in good hands.”
“And Julian, of course,” said O’Connor slyly.
Julian chuckled. “I’ll have already made sure of that,” he said.
Alex’s mouth opened without his brain’s consent and he asked, “And just how do you prefer to be handled?”
His cheeks flamed red when they all stared, and he tried to think if there was any possible way to backtrack.
“I think that’s a question you should ask again when you’re in more private circumstances,” said Emmeline, but her eyes were full of mischief. “Assuming Julian allows such things during his very proper Courtship.”
“Emmy!” protested Julian with a laugh, and Alex shot her a grateful glance for taking the attention off of himself.
“Well, it is part of the tradition, to try them out before you buy,” she said, looking from one man to the other.
Alex schooled his face and said, “Not every Courtship follows that part of the tradition, perhaps Julian wants to sleep in peace.”
Julian put on an expression of mock dignity and said, “Perhaps I’m planning on protecting my virtue.”
“Oh, Julian, it doesn’t grow back,” said Emmeline, and Alex was amused to see O’Connor looking quite shocked at the bawdy turn the conversation had taken.
It made him like Emmeline more, which was a dangerous thing, but watching Julian smiling and joking with his sister, he thought he’d take the risk.
~ ~ ~
Soon after that, Julian retired to a small alcove off of the larger parlour, one of several available, though this was the only one with the heavy curtains pulled back. Alex could feel the hum of privacy spells around each one, and he guessed this room had been Julian’s father’s, used for the sort of gatherings where businessmen would strike deals behind the curtains that they didn’t want made public too soon, if at all.
There was a full bar available to them, and many of the men circulated the room with a glass of very fine Scotch or a martini in hand. Alex chose to stick to sparkling water with a bit of lime and mint, reminiscent of the ice from earlier.
Alex drifted from conversation to conversation, though he mostly refrained from participating unless Emmeline was involved. One by one, a discreet servant would find each man and take him to sit with Julian; the last spots were the most coveted here, implying that Julian wanted to sleep with you in his thoughts rather than those who had gone before. No decisions would be made tonight, or for many days yet, but it would be interesting to see if anyone had risen or fallen in favour since the seating arrangements at dinner.
First into the intimately arranged little niche
was George Entwistle, who had also been down near Emmeline at dinner. There was a pause as they all watched the pantomime of Julian with his first suitor, and then conversation resumed, though in truth everyone had at least one eye on the prize, such as he was.
“I saw you getting chummy with young Julian at dinner,” said Chudleigh, catching Alex at the bar waiting for his refill.
Alex gave him a wolfish grin that was only mostly faked. “Wouldn’t you have?”
Chudleigh laughed. “At any possible opportunity, mate, he’s a lovely little slip of a thing, just the sort I like. Though I hadn’t figured you for the masterly sort, to go a-Courting.”
“As you say, he’s a lovely young man, and his invitation was too intriguing to pass up,” said Alex with a shrug, trying for nonchalantly confident and hoping he didn’t look like too much of an arse.
The bartender handed Alex his drink, and Alex had to resist the urge to tip; the man was a servant in the St. Albans home, and would be given a bonus by the household if they deemed it fitting. Alex saluted the bartender, and then Chudleigh, and made his winding way toward Emmeline, who seemed to be trapped by Willoughby.
“Ms. Fitzhugh, your drink is nearly empty,” said Alex, stepping into the conversation.
Willoughby looked annoyed, but took his cue like a proper gentleman. “Let me refill that for you,” he said, not bothering to ask what it was before stalking off. If the bartender couldn’t remember what his employer was drinking tonight, he wasn’t doing his job.
“And so to my rescue once again,” she said with a wry chuckle. “At this rate, Julian will think I’m trying to steal you.”
Alex laughed. “I’m afraid your charms, while charming in an abstract sense, aren’t enough to distract me from my main quarry.” He wiggled his eyebrows toward Julian, who seemed to be nearly done talking to Entwistle, and glad to see the poor man go.
Emmeline laughed as she’d been meant to, then followed his gaze with a sigh. “So much of this first round is about inviting and charming the people that society thinks he ought.”
“But soon enough he’ll be allowed to keep only those with whom he’s made a real connection,” said Alex, then he asked quietly. “Are you worried he’ll choose obligation over affection because he’s still in mourning?”
“It had occurred to me,” she said, then chuckled. “I can tell he’s enjoyed favouring his black sheep, though.”
Alex inclined his head in acknowledgment of the apt nickname. “At least I’m not one to butt heads,” he said, watching as Willoughby made his way back over to them.
She chuckled wryly. “That’s not what I’ve heard,” she teased, making it sound flirtatious, though Alex suspected that was just to annoy Willoughby. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink from him with a polite smile.
“Getting the inside track on the next St. Albans Courtship, Benedict?” asked Willoughby.
“Nonsense,” said Alex. “I’ve already got the inside track on this one.” This time he didn’t bother looking nonchalant, just confident, and he rather thought Emmeline would forgive him for looking like a bit of an arse.
“I’d heard you were all for the blokes, anyway,” said Chilcott, stepping into the conversation with a knowing smirk.
Alex just shrugged. “It’s true, not even Ms. Fitzhugh’s wit and charm could sway me.”
“I take it you gentlemen are both more open in your preferences?” asked Emmeline, expression politely interested, though her eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Julian is very keen on monogamy, you know.”
“As he should be,” said Chilcott stuffily. “I would never tolerate a spouse who strayed, especially not a consort.”
“I believe she was referring to the master’s fidelity,” said Willoughby. “Which of course is also traditional and expected.”
“Do they really still call them that, masters to the consort?” asked Alex. “I’d thought husband would be the more modern term.” He took a healthy swig of his water, watching the men look thoughtful. The fun of sparkling water was people often assumed it had other things in it, but he wanted to clear his head after the wine-rich dinner, not muddle it with further alcohol.
Chilcott looked faintly appalled and said, “A consort’s Courtship is not a particularly modern undertaking.”
“I believe Julian intends to invoke the traditional vows,” said Emmeline with a sigh. “Or, at least he did with Cecil. Who knows, now.”
“I’m sure whoever he chooses will be worthy of the honour,” said Willoughby, with a tone that suggested that he of course meant himself.
Entwistle finally gave up his place, and a servant leaned in, then went to fetch the next candidate, this time a nervous-looking man named Grover Barnes whom Alex privately thought was more suited to being a consort than having one.
The whole room seemed to share a breath, and then talk started up once again. “This part’s a bit like seeing who’ll be picked for sports teams in school, except that we all want to be left for last,” said Alex, amused.
George Entwistle collected a drink from the bartender and downed a great deal of it before making his way over to their little group. “I wanted to thank you for the delightful conversation at dinner, Ms. Fitzhugh.”
“It’s quite rare that I meet another person as interested in hand-painted porcelain as I am,” she said with a genuine smile.
That was the cue for Chilcott and Willoughby to drift away, and after a few minutes of listening to them discuss the various ways to preserve such antiques, Alex allowed himself to slip away as well.
The next hour passed much the same way, with half a dozen suitors having conversations of varying lengths with poor Julian, who looked more trapped with each one. Julian took a break after the first seven, disappearing through a door somewhere and reminding Alex that he’d had a lot to eat and drink in the past few hours. Once Julian was back in place with the eighth suitor, none other than Phineas O’Connor, Alex got a servant to direct him to the facilities.
He couldn’t linger long and risk missing his own cue, but once he’d taken care of things and made sure he was all straightened up, Alex slipped a tiny tuning fork out of his pocket and sat on the plush loveseat this bathroom boasted. He pulled out the watch fob as well, laying it in the curl of his palm and feeling his senses begin to sharpen, opened up by the charm’s deep magic. He struck the tuning fork against his palm and then laid the end against the meat of his thumb, which never failed to ground him and open up his magical senses.
Alex let himself drift aimlessly through the house’s background noise, recognising several of the larger wards as he picked them out of the cacophony as ones he’d already heard when he was here before. The room he was in had a number of little charms on it, for cleanliness and to gently discourage guests from lingering — that one sounded to his inner ear like tin cups jangling against each other. There was a phial of potion in the medicine cupboard, a cheap but effective sobering solution that seemed to be nearing its expiration date. That one had a faint, bright melody, like a brass band to wake the senses from their stupor.
There was a faint memory of the cleaning staff amongst the other music, no one Alex had met but definitely people, all the same. At least one of the other suitors had been in here as well, someone with a lot of magic on his person, and those traces, too, added to the din. As Alex catalogued each thread of music or dissonance, he could dismiss them from his attention and go deeper, finding the subtler, more pervasive spells lurking beneath.
The whole house had been given a gentle blessing for luck and prosperity some time ago, and the glow of it was nearly faded. Alex made a note to arrange for it to be renewed as a wedding present, should Julian still be speaking to him after he solved his mystery and dropped out of the Courtship.
Beneath that there was the spell he’d been looking for, a thin, buzzing sound that reminded him of bees, ordered but not in any way his human mind could normally process. What bothered him most was how familiar it seemed
, once he got past the feel of it that raised hairs on the back of his neck. It was like a face he couldn’t quite remember, or having a word on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn’t quite call forth. He hummed along for a few moments, but that only made the feeling worse, so he let it go, stilling the tuning fork and whistling a quick little mind-clearing cantrip.
He stood and glanced around the room, made sure everything on his person was in order from watch to waistcoat, then let the jangling tin-can spell urge him back out to the party. Another suitor had taken O’Connor’s place, Leslie Winston-Smythe, who’d been seated on Willoughby’s other side. “Poor Julian’s got to be just about exhausted after all of this,” said Alex idly.
The bartender looked surprised to be spoken to as something other than a vending machine. “Master Julian will appreciate the three days’ grace before the first date, I’m sure.”
Alex smiled to himself and nodded. “Is he not much of a party boy, then?”
The bartender chuckled fondly. “Nah, our Julian always was a homebody, picking apples and eating them in the library.”
“I always liked the window seat up on the third floor, where no one went but me and the maids,” said Alex, amused, “though I filched my snacks from the kitchen.”
The bartender chuckled. “I bet you charmed ‘em, you’ve got that way about you,” he said, and Alex glanced back to find the man was looking him over. Subtly, but the admiration was there, and Alex blushed a little.
“Sometimes, though the head chef never liked me much,” admitted Alex. He might have said more, but it was time for another suitor. Every eye watched the remaining four men as the servant made his way to Auggie Duckworth, and Winston-Smythe made his way to the bar for another drink, which seemed to be an unspoken tradition.
Alex winked at the bartender and took his leave, but he had plenty of food for thought — it was clear that Julian was much loved among the long-time staff, and not much more for high society than Alex himself. That cut down on the number of people who might have known Julian well enough to believe that their chances of winning him were good enough to kill for.