Dora smiled at her. “Thank you very kindly,” she said. “Could you tell me which way it is to Berkeley Square?”
Many streets and many strange conversations later, Dora found herself wandering a more mercantile part of London, with shops on every side. She meandered through a few of them, appreciating the sheer spectacle of so many fine goods in one place. More than once, she lost track of her original intent, and had to ask directions again. By the time she made it to Berkeley Square, however, a dangerous rumble had started up in the sky, and cold raindrops had begun to pitter-patter against her skin.
Dora spent a few extra moments looking up at the clouds, shielding her eyes from the rain. Those clouds were dark and roiling, and she found herself staring at them with an awed fascination.
Nearby, a young lady squealed beneath her bonnet, rushing through the rain for the nearest overhang. Dora looked after her and remembered belatedly that she was trying to act as normal as possible while in London, in order to help Vanessa’s chances of finding a suitor.
Slowly, she backed her way beneath the closest overhang, and through the door of a nearby shop.
A bell rang softly as the door opened, announcing her presence. Dora glanced around curiously, taking in her surroundings. The shop was small but prestigious—many bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with expensive-looking leather tomes. All of the books had the look of something handwritten, rather than cheaply printed. A wood and glass counter showed a handful of illuminated scrolls on display. An ancient silvered mirror hung behind that counter. In it, Dora saw a beautiful ballroom alight with hundreds of candles. The distant sound of violins played in her ears, and she leaned across the counter to take a closer look.
There was a Dora in the mirror as well—but this Dora was wearing the pink muslin gown that Vanessa had given her, and her hair was coiled up into a rusted red bun. There was a string of very fine pearls wound about her neck that she didn’t immediately recognize. An ominous crimson stain had spread across the front of the gown, beneath the pearls. As Dora lifted her hand to her own chest, she saw dark red dripping down the tips of her fingers.
As she watched, a tall man stepped up behind her. His messy, white-blond hair and pale skin flickered in the unearthly candlelight; his eyes were a peculiar molten reddish-gold that danced along with the flames. He was dressed in full evening attire, in a fine white jacket and a silver waistcoat. His neck cloth was subtly loosened, however, and the smile on his handsome face held a faintly devilish edge to it.
“Don’t drip on the books, dear,” he said in her ear. His voice was soft and low. He drawled his words with the slightest bit of a Northern accent, so that they curled down faintly at the end. Dora found herself so entranced by the sight and sound of him that it took her a spare moment to process his words.
The mirror Dora wasn’t the only one dripping everywhere. As Dora glanced down, she saw that she was soaked in very real water from the rain outside.
“Oh my,” she said, turning around to face him. “I haven’t dripped on any books, have I?”
The man behind her was not wearing evening attire—he was wearing a casually-buttoned brown jacket and a white neckcloth in a simple knot—but in all other respects, he looked quite like the man in the mirror. His eyes were even stranger and more arresting up-close, so that she ended up staring up into them, appreciating the way that they danced with some faint inner light.
He blinked very slowly and languidly as she looked up at him. “I don’t believe you have,” he said. If Dora wasn’t mistaken, in fact, he was briefly put-out by the fact that she hadn’t jumped into the air and screamed when he’d snuck up on her.
Dora glanced back towards the mirror—but the image of the ballroom was gone. The mirror had gone dull and black now, and it reflected absolutely nothing.
“Did you see something of interest in there?” asked the man next to her.
“I suppose I did, now that I think on it,” Dora mused. The sight of the ballroom hadn’t struck her as particularly unusual at the time, but now that she’d been asked to consider it directly, she could see where it wasn’t the sort of thing one normally saw in mirrors.
Presently, however, Dora became aware that there was another patron behind one of the freestanding bookshelves, watching them intently. Brown-haired and slightly shorter than the man in front of her, he would have been quite handsome in a more normal manner, were it not for the speckling of scars along his right cheek. Still, he was neatly dressed for the day in a stiff coat and sturdy Hessians, and he had a smile that seemed to make those scars disappear beneath its warmth.
“Now where did this young lady appear from?” the brown-haired man chuckled. “You didn’t summon her, did you, Elias?”
The fair-haired man, Elias, shot the other man the sort of withering look that only good friends could manage without risking a duel. “If I were going to bother with a summoning, I’m quite sure I could think of better things to call upon than some half-drenched maid, Albert,” he said.
The brown-haired man, Albert, only gave him another rueful smile. “If you were a gentleman, Elias, you would offer her your coat. I’m sure the lady must be quite chilled.”
Elias glanced away from both Dora and his friend Albert, his inquiry about the mirror suddenly forgotten. “You are perhaps the only man who might accuse me of being a gentleman without being turned into a frog,” he told Albert acidly. “Take back that awful insult, before I think of an alternative animal.”
Albert ignored him, and shrugged off his own coat, offering it out to Dora. “On my friend’s behalf,” he told her politely. “Since he is grumpy today.”
Dora took the coat from him, more out of automatic politeness than anything else. But as she did, her eyes caught on his hand. What she had at first taken for some sort of glove on his right hand was in fact nothing of the sort. It was instead a hand made entirely of silver, which moved with all the fluidity of a normal human appendage. A momentary glance was enough to assure her that Albert’s left hand was quite normal by comparison. Dora returned her gaze to the silver right hand with an openly curious look, forgetting about the coat that she still clutched.
Albert looked down at his hand and shot her a half-smile. “The Lord Sorcier’s work,” he explained. “I lost my real hand to shrapnel, I’m afraid. But this one is quite something, isn’t it?”
The Lord Sorcier. Elias Wilder. Dora flicked her eyes back towards the fair-haired man. If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed mildly embarrassed by the subject of conversation, though he quickly hid the emotion behind a bored affectation.
“I’m quite sure it’s impolite to stare at cripples,” Elias told Dora in a droll tone.
“I don’t mind,” Albert said cheerfully. “Besides which, I’m quite sure it’s even worse to call a man a cripple, Elias.”
The Lord Sorcier scoffed at this, but soon fell silent. A moment later, a short and wiry man bustled out from the back room, carrying a full stack of books. “Just as you asked!” said the shorter man, as he set the books down on the counter. “Everything I could find on the various humours. Some of these were quite difficult to track down.”
The Lord Sorcier reached out to open the front cover of the book on top of the stack. Inside, Dora saw a set of diagrams, marked up with scribbled, handwritten notes. She leaned curiously around the man’s elbow, conscious not to let her hair drip onto the pages. The notes, she saw, were all in some very formal sort of French which she couldn’t immediately puzzle out. Given time, she was certain she could put together a translation—
“You know,” Elias said conversationally, “the last woman to come so close to me caught her hair on fire. It was a dreadful mess. I’m quite sure she still has a scar.”
Dora glanced up at him. He was watching her with an arched eyebrow, which confused her. His tone suggested that he was trying to be friendly, but if she wasn’t mistaken, his expression was one of faint disgust—oh.
I’m acting strangely again, Dora thought.
She backed away from him quickly.
“My apologies,” Dora said. “I was very curious about your book.”
“You were very curious?” Elias repeated, in that low, sonorous voice. He added a soft laugh, which also seemed friendly, but now Dora wasn’t quite sure whether she ought to take it as such. “Well then. That makes it all better. Was there anything else you were curious about, while we’re at it? Shall I take off my trousers and let you take my measure?”
Dora knitted her brow. “Take your measure?” she asked. “What ought I to be measuring, sir?”
Albert sighed heavily and reached out to snatch the jacket that still dangled from Dora’s fingers. He tucked it around her shoulders. “Do ignore him,” he said. “I always do, when he gets this way.”
The man behind the counter groaned, and Dora saw that his face had gone red. “Oh, please don’t do this in my shop, Lord Sorcier,” he begged Elias. “Perhaps your reputation can’t possibly get any worse, but you know I have a business to run!”
Dora considered the fair-haired man next to her more closely, exerting herself so that she might focus on him. This was indeed the Lord Sorcier, then? The man she’d heard so much about? The one that Dora had accidentally inspired Vanessa to go chasing after for a fleeting glimpse?
He was indeed quite handsome, she had to admit. Even in half dress, the Lord Sorcier was resplendently wild, with his wind-tossed hair and his arresting golden eyes. Only once before had Dora seen such an ethereal visage—and that had belonged to a cruel and noble faerie.
It was a shame, she thought, that so many beautiful things were also so ugly on the inside.
The Lord Sorcier straightened, looking down upon Dora with an expression that she did know very well. It was the same one her aunt had used on her many times before—the one that said she was too foolish even to understand when she was being insulted. “It’s quite all right, John,” he addressed the man behind the counter. “The little chit is nearly as dull as a Sunday morning service. You can come and find me if she ever realises what I meant.”
“Elias,” Albert warned his friend reprovingly.
Dora tilted her head at Elias, considering. “I’m not certain what I did to insult you, my lord,” she said. “Have I offended you somehow, or am I simply conveniently-placed while you are otherwise upset?”
Her even, curious tone made the Lord Sorcier knit his brow again. Dora was certain that she had reacted incorrectly this time, but she didn’t care. She had little effort to spare for making unpleasant men more comfortable.
“...women who don’t understand personal boundaries always offend me,” Elias said finally. “Dim-witted people offend me even further.”
“Oh dear,” Dora said mildly. “That must be very difficult indeed.”
Already, the fair-haired man had begun to turn away from her—but he glanced back at that. “Pardon?” he asked. “What must be difficult, exactly?”
Dora smiled at him politely. “Being offended at yourself so very often,” she said. “That seems a sad way to live, my lord.”
Albert guffawed. “Oh,” he said. “She’s got you there, hasn’t she?”
Both of the Lord Sorcier’s eyebrows rose at Dora this time. For a moment, she wondered whether she had angered the man so much that he might turn her into a frog. But as the moment passed, he merely shook his head in irritation and turned to Albert.
“This first book is in some sort of confounding French,” Elias said to his friend. “You’ll have to read it for me.”
Albert stepped forward to glance at the book. “Medieval French, it seems,” he said. “It’s not all that different, Elias. Your French is just abominable.”
“Yes, well,” Elias muttered. “We weren’t all raised in a household with highbrow French tutors, Albert. My French expertise remains limited to asking after a warm meal or a whorehouse. I suppose my profanities are still quite sharp as well.”
Albert gave Elias another reproving look, but it was clear that the Lord Sorcier had no intention of censoring himself in front of Dora. Similarly, it was probably becoming clear that Dora was not prone to having vapours over the conversation. “Is this why you really brought me today?” Albert said. “I have offered more than once to teach you better French, Elias. One might realistically expect the Lord Sorcier to know the language of alchemy and sorcery.”
Elias waved his hand dismissively. “I haven’t the time to learn,” he said. “Besides which, I have you.”
Albert shook his head but said no more on the subject. He glanced towards Dora. “I’ve just realised, I quite forgot our introductions, on top of everything else. I am Mr Albert Lowe. This is Lord Elias Wilder. He’s charmed to meet you, I assure you.”
Dora smiled at Albert. “I am Theodora Ettings,” she said. “But you may call me Dora if you like, Mr Lowe. If we are being politely dishonest with one another, then you may assure the Lord Sorcier that I am charmed to meet him too. But in all truth, I am charmed to make your acquaintance.”
“You see, Albert?” Elias said. “That is exactly the problem. Now you have charmed the young lady, and you shall not be rid of her. You even gave her your jacket. Once her mama finds out, you’ll be before an altar before the week is through.”
“That is quite impossible,” Dora told Elias offhandedly. “My mama is dead. My father as well.” She said it only because she expected it might take him aback, and she was pleased to see that it did. “My aunt might perhaps pursue the poor gentleman, but only on my cousin’s behalf.” Dora smiled back towards Albert. “My cousin is quite pretty. But I shall only introduce her to you if it pleases you.”
Albert blinked at that. Perhaps, Dora thought, she was not supposed to be quite so direct about attempting to find her cousin a suitor? But he seemed very kind, and he was a mister, at the very least.
“I shall... take it into consideration,” Albert said finally, with a humorous glint in his eyes. “My mother, Lady Carroway, will be hosting a birthday ball for my older brother. I would be pleased to have her send you and your cousin an invitation. I have insisted that Elias attend, you see, and I cannot think of any other woman who might converse with him at length without fleeing the premises.”
“I am not coming,” Elias interjected crossly—but Albert ignored him.
Aha, Dora thought, dimly pleased by this development. Albert must have been one of Lady Carroway’s quite suitable sons. This meant that the countess would approve of him, which only made the whole idea even better.
“I believe that my cousin will be coming to Lady Carroway’s ball already,” Dora said. “But if I am to be frank, you may need to ensure I have an invitation as well. Our hostess has been quite determined to forget me.” Albert raised his eyebrows at that, and Dora frowned. “Perhaps I should not have said that aloud. You will be kind enough not to repeat it, Mr Lowe? I would hate to cause a scandal, for the sake of my cousin.”
Albert pressed his silver hand to his chest. “I do so swear it,” he said solemnly. “And I shall insist that Mother send you your very own invitation, Dora.”
“I am not coming, Albert,” Elias repeated emphatically. “You shall be stuck entertaining the two ladies on your own, I warn you.”
When Albert ignored him again, he let out a sharp breath and snapped his fingers in the air. The books on the counter floated up next to him.
“You may put the books on the Treasury’s account,” Elias informed the shopkeeper, who had been politely trying to ignore their conversation so far. “As they are necessary to my duties.”
The shopkeeper nodded with only the slightest wince. The Lord Regent was not particularly well-known for paying his bills on-time.
Elias turned for the shop’s exit, and the floating books trailed along behind him as he left. Rain parted neatly around him and his books, as though it had run into the surface of a perfectly invisible parasol.
Albert shot Dora a rueful glance. “I expect that is meant to be my cue to leave,” he said. “I suppose
I must go translate another magical book, for the sake of king and country.” He frowned at the jacket around her shoulders. “You may keep that until the ball, if you like. I would hate for you to catch a chill.”
Dora shook her head and slid the jacket off her shoulders, offering it back out to him. She had a hunch that it would cause her trouble to go home with it. “Thank you for the offer,” she said, “but please do take it back. I barely feel the cold, in any case.”
Albert took the jacket back reluctantly and gave her a bow. “Until the ball then,” he said. “It was a pleasure.”
Dora watched after Albert as he headed out to rejoin the Lord Sorcier. I do hope Vanessa doesn’t intend to try and marry the Lord Sorcier, she thought. Albert seems much kinder. I shall have to dissuade her, as soon as I am able.
“You have my deepest apologies, miss,” the man behind the counter said with a sigh, interrupting her thoughts. “A man in my business really cannot turn away the Lord Sorcier, you understand, however abhorrent his behaviour.”
“Oh yes,” Dora said distractedly. “Of course, I understand.”
“Please, allow me to help you,” he said, by way of changing the subject. “Was there something in particular for which you were looking?”
Dora turned back towards him, pursing her lips. I do believe this is a magic shop, she thought. How fortunate. “Perhaps there is,” she said. “I’m afraid I only have a bit of pin money. But if you happened to have a book of faerie peerage on your shelves, I would be most obliged.”
Chapter 3
Dora returned to the countess’ townhouse shortly afterwards, well before dark. If anyone had noticed her strange departure, no one thought it relevant enough to mention. The next day, however, she was budged from bed by a maid, who told her that she was expected at breakfast with the family.
“Dora, my dear,” Auntie Frances said, as she entered the room. “The countess has received a most peculiar letter. Lady Carroway has personally begged your presence at her ball, along with that of your cousin. I’m quite certain that she must have mixed you up with someone else, given that you have no connection of which I’m aware, but I thought I might ask if you knew anything about this.”
Half a Soul Page 3