“I’ve fumbled things again, haven’t I?” Dora asked her softly. A distant pang of distress clenched at her heart. Acute problems rarely seemed to trouble her the way that they should, but emotions born of longer, wearier issues still hung upon her like a shroud. Vanessa should be married by now. She would be married, if not for me. It was an old thought, and it never failed to sadden her.
“Oh no, you haven’t at all!” Vanessa reassured her, as they slipped inside the house. “You’ve saved me again, Dora. Perhaps you were a bit pert, but I don’t know if I could have stood to listen to him say that word even one more time!”
“What, purebred?” Dora asked, with a faint curve of her lips.
Vanessa shuddered. “Oh, please don’t, it’s just awful. I’ll never be able to hear anyone talk about horses again without hearing it that way.”
Dora smiled gently back at her. Though her soul was numb and distant, her cousin’s presence remained a warm and steady light beside her. Vanessa was like a glowing lantern in the dark, or a comforting fire in the hearth. Dora had no joy of her own—though she knew the sense of contentment, or a kind of pleasant peace. But when Vanessa was happy, Dora sometimes swore she could feel it rubbing off on her, seeping into the holes where her own happiness had once been torn away and lighting a little lantern of her own.
“I don’t think you would have enjoyed marrying him anyway,” Dora told her. “Though I’ll be sad if I’ve scared away some other man you would have liked more.”
Vanessa sighed heavily. “I don’t intend to marry and leave you all alone, Dora,” she said quietly. “I really worry that Mother might turn you out entirely if I wasn’t there to insist otherwise.” Her lips turned down into a troubled frown that was still somehow prettier than any smile had ever looked on Dora’s face. “But if I must marry, I should hope that it would be a man who didn’t mind you coming to live with me.”
“That is a very difficult thing to ask,” Dora chided her, though the words touched gently at that warm, ember glow within her. “Few men will wish to share their new wife with some mad cousin who wears embroidery scissors around her neck.”
Vanessa’s eyes glanced towards the top of Dora’s dress. They both knew of the little leather sheath that pressed against her breast, still carrying those iron scissors. It had been Vanessa’s idea. Lord Hollowvale fears those scissors, she had said. So you should have them on you always, in case he comes for you and I am not around to stab him in his other leg.
Dora’s cousin pursed her lips. “Well!” she said. “I suppose I shall have to be difficult, then. For the only way I shall ever be parted from you, Dora, is if you become mad with love and desert me for some wonderful husband of your own.” Her eyes brightened at the thought. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we fell in love at the same time? I could go to your wedding then, and you could come to mine!”
Dora smiled placidly at her. No one is ever going to marry me, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. The thought was barely a nuisance—rather like that fly in the corner—but Vanessa was always so horrified when Dora said common sense things like that. She didn’t like upsetting Vanessa, so she kept the thought to herself. “That would be very nice,” she said instead.
Vanessa chewed at her lower lip, and Dora wondered whether her cousin had somehow guessed her thoughts.
“...either way,” Vanessa said finally. “Neither of us shall find a proper husband in the country, I think. Mother has been bothering me to go to London for the Season, you know. I believe I want to go, Dora—but only if you swear you will come with me.”
Dora blinked at her slowly. Auntie Frances will not like that at all, she thought. But Vanessa, for all of her lovely grace and charm and good behaviour, always did seem to get her way with her stern-eyed mother.
On the one hand, Dora thought, she was quite certain that she would be just as much a hindrance to Vanessa’s marriage prospects in London as she was here in the country. But on the other hand, there were bound to be any number of Sir Albuses hunting about London’s ballrooms as well, just waiting to pounce on her poor, good-natured cousin. And as much of a terror as Vanessa was to faerie gentry, she really was as meek as a mouse when it came to normal human beings.
“I suppose I must come with you, then,” Dora agreed. “If only so you needn’t talk of horses ever again.”
Vanessa smiled winsomely at her. “You are my hero, Dora,” she said.
That lantern light within Dora glowed a tiny bit brighter at the words. “But you were mine first,” she replied. “So I must certainly repay the debt.”
Vanessa took her by the arm again—and soon, Dora’s thoughts had wandered well away from London, and far afield from things like purebred horses and impossible court magicians.
Auntie Frances was not pleased at the idea of Dora accompanying her cousin to London. “She’ll require dresses!” was the woman’s very first protest, as they discussed the matter over tea. “It will be far too expensive to dress two of you! I am sure that Lord Lockheed will not approve the money.”
“She can wear my old dresses,” Vanessa replied cheerfully, as though she’d already thought this through. “You always did like the pink muslin, didn’t you, Dora?” Dora, for her part, merely nodded along obligingly and sipped at her teacup.
“She’ll drive away your suitors!” Auntie Frances sputtered next. “What with her strangeness—”
“Mother!” Vanessa protested, with a glance at Dora. “Must you speak so awfully? And right in front of her, as well!”
Auntie Frances frowned darkly. “She doesn’t care, Vanessa,” she said shortly. “Look at her. Getting that girl to feel anything at all is an exercise in futility. She may as well be a doll you carry around with you for comfort.”
Dora sipped at her tea again, unfazed. The words failed to prick at her in the way that they should have. She wasn’t upset or offended or tempted to weep. There was a small part of her, however—very deep down—that added the comment to a longstanding pile of other, similar comments. That pile gave her a faint sinking feeling which she never could quite shake. Sometimes, she would find herself taking it out and examining it in the middle of the night, for no particular reason she could discern.
Vanessa, however, was quite visibly crushed. Her eyes filled up with tears. “You can’t mean that, Mother,” she said. “Oh, please take it back! I shan’t be able to forgive you if you won’t!”
Auntie Frances stiffened her posture at her daughter’s obvious misery. A weary resignation flickered across her features. “Yes, fine,” she sighed, though she didn’t look at Dora as she said it. “That comment was somewhat over the line.” She pulled out her lace handkerchief and handed it over to her daughter. “Do you really wish to go to London, Dora?” she asked. It was clear from her tone that she expected to hear some vague, noncommittal answer.
“I do,” Dora told her serenely. Auntie Frances frowned sharply at that and glanced towards her.
Because Vanessa wants me there, Dora thought. And I don’t want to leave her. But she thought that this elaboration might complicate the point, and so she kept it to herself.
Auntie Frances said that she would think on the matter. Dora suspected that this was her way of delaying the conversation and hoping that Vanessa would change her mind.
But Vanessa Ettings always did get her way eventually.
Thus it was that they soon took off for London, all three of them. Lord Lockheed, always distant and more consumed with his affairs than with his daughter, did not deign to accompany them—but Auntie Frances had pulled strings through her sister’s husband to secure them a place to stay with the Countess of Hayworth, who was possessed of a residence within London and only too pleased to have guests. Since Vanessa had declared her interest so belatedly, they had to wait for the roads to clear of mud—by the time they left Lockheed for London, it was already late March, with only a month or two left in the Season.
After so much fuss, the carriage into London was
not at all how Dora might have imagined it. Even in her usual, detached state, she couldn’t help but notice the stench as they entered the city proper. It was a rude mixture of sweat, urine, and other things, all packed together in too-close a space. Auntie Frances and Vanessa reacted much more visibly; Auntie Frances pulled her handkerchief and pressed it over her mouth, while Vanessa knitted her brow and craned her head to look outside the carriage. Dora followed Vanessa’s lead, glancing over her cousin’s shoulder to see out the window.
There were so very many people. It was one thing to be told that London was well-populated, and another thing entirely to see it with one’s own eyes. All those people running back and forth in the street got into each other’s way, and they all seemed somewhat cross with one another. Often, their driver had to yell at someone crossing in front of their carriage, shaking his fist and threatening to run them down.
The noise would have been startling, if Dora were capable of being startled. It settled into her bones more readily than anything else had ever done, however—the biggest fly yet in the corner of the room. Dora found herself frowning at the chaos.
Thankfully, both the hubbub and the awful scents died down as their carriage crossed further into the city, onto wider, calmer avenues. The jumble of buildings that passed them slowly became more elegant and refined, and the suffocating press of people thinned out. Eventually, their carriage driver stopped them in front of a tall, terraced townhouse and stepped down to open the doors for them.
The front door of the townhouse opened just as Dora was stepping down after her cousin and her aunt. A maid and a footman both exited, followed by a thin, steel-haired woman in a dignified rose and beige gown. The two servants swept past, already helping to unload their things, while the older woman stepped out with a smile and took Auntie Frances’ hands in hers.
“My dear Lady Lockheed!” the older woman declared. “What a pleasure it is to host you and your daughter. It has been an age since my last daughter was married off, you know, and I’ve had little excuse to make the rounds since then. I cannot wait to show you all around London!”
Auntie Frances smiled back with unexpected warmth, though there was a hint of nervousness behind the expression. “The pleasure is all ours, of course, Lady Hayworth. It’s ever-so-gracious of you to allow us your time and attention.” She turned back towards Vanessa, who had already dropped into a polite curtsy—this, despite the fact that they were all certainly stiff and miserable from the journey. “This is my daughter, Vanessa.”
“It’s so delightful to meet you, Lady Hayworth,” Vanessa said, with the utmost sincerity in her tone. It was one of Vanessa’s charms, Dora thought, that she was always able to find something to be truly delighted about.
“Oh, how lovely you are, my dear!” the countess cried. “You remind me already of my youngest. You can be sure, we shall be fighting off more suitors than we can handle in no time!” Her eyes swept briefly over Dora, but then continued past her. She was wearing a dark, sturdy dress which must have made her appear as a very fine lady’s maid, rather than as a member of the family. Lady Hayworth turned back towards the townhouse, beckoning them forward. “You must be awfully tired from the road,” she said. “Please come inside, and we shall set a table—”
“This is my cousin, Theodora!” Vanessa blurted out. She reached out to grab Dora’s arm, as though to make sure no one could mistake the subject of her introduction. The countess turned with a slight frown. Her gaze settled back upon Dora—and then upon her eyes. Lady Hayworth’s warm manner cooled to a faint wariness as she took in the mismatched colours there.
“I see,” the countess said. “My apologies. Lady Lockheed did mention that you might be bringing another cousin, but I fear that I quite forgot.”
Dora suspected that Auntie Frances might have downplayed the possibility, in the hopes that Vanessa might change her mind before they left. But Lady Hayworth was quick to adjust, even if she didn’t quite pause to finish the formal introduction.
Still, Lady Hayworth led them into a comfortable sitting room, where a maid brought them biscuits and hot tea while they waited for supper to finish being prepared. The countess and Auntie Frances talked for quite some time, gossiping about upcoming parties and the eligible bachelors who were known to be attending them. Dora found herself distracted by the sight of a tiny ladybird crawling across the knee of her gown. She was just thinking that she ought to sneak it outside before one of the maids noticed it, when Vanessa spoke and broke her out of her musings.
“And which parties will the Lord Sorcier be attending?” Dora’s cousin asked the countess.
Lady Hayworth blinked, caught off-guard by the inquiry. “The Lord Sorcier?” she asked, as though she wasn’t certain she’d heard Vanessa correctly. When Vanessa nodded emphatically, the countess frowned. “I admit, I do not know offhand,” she said. “But whatever romantic notions you may have taken up about him, I fear that he will not be a suitable match for you, my dear.”
“Why ever not?” Vanessa asked innocently, over her tea. “He’s quite young for the position of court magician, I hear, and very handsome as well. And is he not a hero of the war?” Dora heard a subtle, misleading note in her cousin’s voice, however, and she knitted her brow, trying to pick apart what she was up to.
“That much is true,” Lady Hayworth admitted. “But Lord Elias Wilder is really barely a lord. The Prince Regent insisted on giving him the French courtesy title, of course, with all those silly privileges that the French give their own court magicians. Technically, the Lord Sorcier may even sit in on the House of Lords. But his blood is common, and his manners are exceptionally uncouth. I have had the misfortune of encountering him on several occasions now. He has the face of an angel, and the tongue of some foul... dockworker.”
Dora found it amusing that the countess apparently considered dockworkers to be an appropriate foil for angels. She was briefly distracted by the notion that hell might be full of legions and legions of dockworkers, rather than devils.
“He does sound terribly unsuitable,” Vanessa said reluctantly, regaining Dora’s attention. “But please, if you don’t mind—I would love to meet him at least once. I’ve heard such stories about him, and I would be crushed to leave London without even seeing him.”
The countess tutted mildly. “I suppose we shall see,” she said. “But for the very first thing, I have a wish to see you at Lady Carroway’s ball. She has many fine and suitable sons, and you could do worse than entering London society at one of her parties...”
The subject meandered once again, until they were brought into dinner. They met the Lord Hayworth that evening in passing, though he seemed quite busy with his own affairs, and less than interested in his wife’s social doings. Once or twice, Dora thought to ask Vanessa about her interest in the Lord Sorcier, but her cousin kept demurring and changing the subject of conversation, and she eventually decided it was best to drop the matter while they were in current company.
Dora next thought that she would wait until they were off to bed... but directly after dinner, she was swept away by a maid and given a hot bath, then bundled into a very lovely feather-down bed a few rooms down from her cousin.
Tomorrow, Dora thought distantly, while she stared at the foreign ceiling with interest. I’m sure we’ll speak tomorrow.
Quietly, she pulled the iron scissors from the sheath around her neck and tucked them beneath her pillow. As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamt of angels on the London docks, filing up and down the pier and hustling crates of tea onto ships.
Chapter 2
For many days, Dora had no opportunity at all to speak with her cousin.
In fact, when she woke in her room the next day, she had to search out a maid to be told that Lady Hayworth and Auntie Frances had gone out shopping for accessories with Vanessa. Partway through the day, someone sent word that they would be unaccountably delayed, as they had been invited to dinner at the residence of one of Lady Hayworth’s friends
. After a day of ambling uncertainly about the townhouse, Dora finally went back to bed early, hoping that the next day might offer more fortuitous circumstances.
When Dora next woke, she was advised that Vanessa was getting her gown adjusted at the last moment, on Lady Hayworth’s recommendation. This being the second day in a growing pattern, Dora did not waste any more time sitting at windows drinking tea. Instead, she asked where she might find something to read. She was directed towards a single bookcase within a small library, where were the sorts of books that ladies ought to read. Here she found a tattered, type-printed novel tucked away in the corner—perhaps a guilty pleasure for one of Lady Hayworth’s absent daughters—and spent a few hours reading. The subject matter would have been quite shocking, if she had been the sort to shock, but it was an entertaining novel all the same.
The third day, Dora decided that it was time she went outside—and so she did. She put on her most reasonable dress and walked right out the front door and into the street. If the servants thought there was something odd about her walking out alone, they must have been convinced that there were some mitigating circumstances to which they were not privy, because no one tried to stop her. Then again, since Dora had no sense of fear, she was quite good at projecting a mild, distracted sort of confidence.
There were a few servants coming and going along the street. Dora picked out a distracted-looking maid who was currently carrying freshly-laundered sheets. She sped up her pace and plucked at the woman’s sleeve.
“Excuse me,” Dora said. “There are iced desserts in London, aren’t there?”
The maid turned towards her with a blink. “Er,” she said. “Yes.” She frowned at Dora’s attire, clearly attempting to suss out whether she was someone to be respected. She must have decided to err on the side of caution, because she added: “The ladies like to eat fruit ices at Gunter’s, on Berkeley Square.”
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