Imprudence

by Gail Carriger

  Rue could not tolerate having to mediate between Percy and Quesnel again. While the rabbit stew was delicious, she opted to leave the rest and escape. She stood abruptly.

  Both men scrambled to stand as well.

  “I’m for bed. Sleep well, everyone. I’ll no doubt see you at supper. It’s likely my mother will be joining us. Perhaps we could all try to follow Prim’s example and behave in a polished manner for a change?”

  “Thank you, Rue.” Primrose sounded less like she wanted to cry.

  Rue left them to it. She was at the door to her quarters, imagining the glory of soft sheets and a puffy coverlet, when her mother’s voice stopped her.

  Somewhere, somehow, Rue found the reserves needed to turn around.

  “Mother.”

  “Infant. Report.” Lady Maccon was not happy about finding herself in transit.

  Rue took some satisfaction in that. Lady Maccon always autocratically arranged things for her daughter, like a squishy benevolent cyclone. It was somewhat pleasing for Rue to find herself in the position of tyrant for a change.

  “We’ve safely attained flotsam en route to Egypt. Quesnel says Paw is fine, in perfect preservation and seemingly untroubled by aetherosphere transition. I haven’t checked on him myself. You are welcome to do so. Although, please do not distract my crew.”

  Lady Maccon looked relieved. “You decided to transport us immediately?”

  “It seemed the best course of action given Paw’s deteriorating condition. And you were both already aboard.”

  “I should have liked to say goodbye to some friends. And there’s packing to consider.”

  “The clavigers sent over three massive trunks. Dama’s drones sent eight hatboxes, three jewellery rolls, a cravat case, and a large Spanish sausage. Your butler sent one very old and battered portmanteau. All appear to be stuffed to the gills and are located in the storage hold. I’ll have them brought to your quarters, if you like.”

  “It’s not about the objects.” Lady Maccon’s voice cracked a little.

  “Dama said to bid you farewell.”

  Her mother’s eyes went wide and shiny. But she would not cry in front of her daughter. Rue knew this because she hated crying in front of her mother.

  Rue felt a pang. Perhaps she had been too dictatorial. How would she like it if Lady Maccon unilaterally removed her from Primrose and Percy? But knowing Mother, she’d been prepared for this for months and already made her goodbyes.

  “I will never see Ivy again.”

  “Oh phooey, Mother, don’t be histrionic. Paw may be unable to leave Egypt for the rest of his life.” Rue choked a little but soldiered on. “You, however, are not equally trapped. You can leave him alone once he’s safely installed within the God-Breaker Plague. Or that’s the working theory. Nothing prevents you from returning to London for a visit.”

  Lady Maccon nodded. “Fair point.”

  “Speed is our priority, especially if Quesnel’s tank fails. Let’s concentrate on getting Paw to Egypt. Everything else can be sorted later.”

  “Quite right, quite right.”

  The fact that Mother was ceding ground to her floored Rue. She was determined to retire in possession of the field. Before Lady Maccon could find anything else to get annoyed about, she said, “There is food in the stateroom if you’re hungry. Cook’s laid on smelts, calf’s heart, and stewed rabbit with cauliflower, and Norfolk dumplings.”

  Lady Maccon was preempted. “How divine! Now that you mention it, I’m fading away for the lack. You’re napping?”

  “Mmm,” said Rue indistinctly.

  Rue’s mother didn’t require an answer. She was already heading down the hallway. Very little diverted Lady Maccon from partaking of a decent meal.

  EIGHT

  In Which There May, or May Not, Be French Lessons

  Rue dressed for supper with more care than normal. She told herself this was certainly nothing to do with her mother. She was quick about it, buttoning the appliqué front of her red travel dress with nimble fingers. The skirt was red, too, without embellishment except for three ruffles at the hem. Primrose had insisted Rue buy the dress. She felt like a tomato in it, but red was a commanding colour and she needed the confidence.

  Primrose was the only one at the table when Rue arrived. Prim felt it her sacred trust to hold court the entirety of any given mealtime. Sometimes when duty, lugubriousness, and sleep schedules aligned, she could be in the stateroom, pouring tea and sympathy, for something on the order of three hours. Loving every minute of it.

  Rue helped herself to a plate of kippers and eggs. Kippers were served at every meal, fish being Tasherit’s favourite. The werecat required fresh raw meat at full moon but the rest of the time smoked haddock and the occasional pickled herring seemed to keep the beast pacified.

  “Anyone else up?” Rue tucked in.

  “Percy ate faster than you would believe. I think perhaps him reading at the table was not so bad; otherwise he positively devours his food. It’s unseemly. Your mother has not been in, but she stayed awake longer than the rest of us.”

  “Was she horrible after I left?”

  “Perfectly civil, but you know I’ve always muddled along well with your mother.”

  “You are the practical organised daughter she always wanted.”

  “That’s not a very nice sentiment. Besides, you wouldn’t want my mother in exchange.”

  Rue shuddered. “Heavens, the very idea. And Quesnel?”

  “Are you asking because you want to see him, or don’t want to see him?”

  “Bit of both.” Rue began to chew happily, if slowly, mindful of Prim’s annoyance over Percy’s inhaling.

  “I’m worried about you two.” Prim’s eyes were grave.

  “There’s nothing serious between us.”

  “You’re not like me. You aren’t cold and indifferent.”

  “You’re not cold and indifferent!”

  “Yes, I am. But you’re all bubbly and enthusiastic. When you go charging into something, Rue, you go all in and that could be dangerous.” Prim sipped her tea and donned a concerned expression.

  “Oh, Prim, how sweet! Are you worried that Quesnel will break my heart?”

  Primrose looked into her teacup as though it held all the secrets of the universe. Which it might in some situations. “No. I’m worried that you’ll break his.”

  Rue scoffed. “That man is in no danger. He’s a horrible flirt and I’m a fluffy sort of person. He won’t think to care for me. I’m not the type men fall in love with. You are.”

  “Poor chap! That’s not—”

  The man in question stalked into the room. He was smudged from engineering. Just like Quesnel to check the boilers before seeking his repast.

  “Who’s a poor chap? Aren’t you two the jammiest bits of jam this evening?” Quesnel beamed at them before piling his plate with ham, eggs, and stewed tomato.

  Technically it was suppertime but since the Custard kept supernatural hours, the first meal after sunset was treated as breakfast. In consequence, the officers were not waited upon at table and did not stand on ceremony.

  Primrose said, “You are, actually.”

  “Of course I am. Can you not see me suffering?” He nibbled on a bit of toast while mixing together his eggs and tomatoes. It was as though the events of the past few nights were now nothing to him but mere boyish larks.

  “You look positively miserable.” Rue was deadpan.

  Primrose looked back and forth between them with suspiciously bright eyes.

  She wouldn’t dare!

  “I’ve just realised I must consult Cook about supplies. I neglected to include Lady Maccon’s enthusiasm for pudding in my calculations. I should do it now, before next meal’s preparations commence.”

  Apparently she would dare. Primrose pushed the tea tray in Rue’s direction. “You can play mother for a change. Pot’s full, milk is there, you pour like so.” She made a pouring gesture with her wrist. “Not too com
plicated for you?”

  Rue gave her a dour look.

  Quesnel stood to bow Prim out, still holding his toast.

  Primrose, grinning, made a show of closing the door, leaving Rue and Quesnel alone.

  Quesnel sat back down. “Was it something I said?”

  “You? Never. You seldom put a single word out of place. It’s exasperating.”

  “Here I thought you found me utterly charming.”

  “It would be nice if I could trust something charming you said to also be honest.”

  “Don’t talk gammon. You prefer frivolity.”

  No time like the present. Rue tried to stop her voice from trembling. “Quesnel.”

  Quesnel sliced off a bit of ham. “Mmm?”

  “I must apologise. I didn’t mean to call you thoughtless. I was annoyed with you for egging Percy on and I was upset about my father’s condition. I took it out on you, which was wrong of me.”

  The inventor swallowed his ham. “Apology accepted. You had quite the shock.”

  Rue took a shaky breath. “How long have you known?”

  “About your father’s predicament?”

  Rue nodded.

  “Since before you recruited me. Chérie, I never realised that you didn’t know. I assumed you simply didn’t want to talk about a private family matter.”

  “And you going off to Egypt?”

  “Had nothing to do with him. It was a favour to my mother. She asked me to visit an old friend.”

  Rue nodded. “It seemed suspicious, you must own, especially now we’re are headed there ourselves.”

  “My dearest girl, I assure you, it’s pure coincidence.”

  “And the tank?”

  “Is not being used for its intended purpose. I did not build it for your father. Werewolf aetherosphere transport is an exciting new application for the technology, but innovative. Neither my mother nor I had that kind of forethought. We are inventors, not seers.”

  “Very well. I believe you.” And Rue did. Partly because Quesnel would certainly take credit if it were due – he was no shrinking violet when praise of intellect was in the offing – and partly because she didn’t have a choice.

  “There’s nothing else I should know about Egypt? No other personal connections?”

  Quesnel stopped, arrested. “You think it was a woman? You think I flew leagues out of my way for a dalliance?”

  Rue blinked at him. Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to her but it was possible. He was the type to dash across continents in pursuit of a soprano or opera dancer – or something else prone to humming and gyrating about.

  “I assure you, my acquaintance in Egypt is quite grandfatherly.”

  “I wasn’t… that is… I didn’t…”

  Quesnel grinned, showing his dimples. “I like to think you might be a little jealous.”

  Rue sighed. She was terrible at playing the coquette. That was supposed to be one of the things he taught her. “Have I reason to be jealous?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Is that because you’ve not had the will or the opportunity?”

  Quesnel stopped smiling and put down his fork. He came around the table to kneel next to her chair.

  “Chérie, I am not so much a rake as I have been painted. Every experience of mine has been my sole focus at the time, to the exclusion of all others. Do you take my meaning?”

  Rue nodded. Thrilled a little by both his statement and his proximity. That meant she would get to keep him for herself, while it lasted.

  He continued, still un-Quesnel-like in his seriousness. “But you are.”

  “I’m what?” Rue was suddenly interested in crumbling her toast.

  “Innocent. You’re bold and brash and very attractive, so I sometimes forget how innocent you are. I do not want to hurt you, chérie.”

  This was getting too earnest for Rue. “No danger there. I assure you, my heart is not available.”

  Was that disappointment she saw flicker in his eyes? If so, it quickly changed to avarice.

  “But the rest of you is?”

  Rue grinned. “Most assuredly. I believe I was promised French lessons. You accepted the position and I should like to learn the details and activities, not to mention vocabulary.”

  “Shall we start with some terms, then?”

  Rue nearly choked in surprise. “Now? Over breakfast? Isn’t that rather daring?”

  “First lesson, chérie – nothing mixes better than food and French.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, yes.” He stood, trailing two fingers along her wrist, no doubt feeling exactly how her pulse fluttered.

  Rue reminded herself not to be scared of Quesnel’s lessons. Rather like breakfast, most of the population engaged in such things. Rue had confronted unknown beasts in Indian jungles and escaped airship battles. She wasn’t scared of a little French!

  He returned to his chair. “We should, perhaps, institute some rules of engagement?”

  Rue considered. “Flirting is established. I should like to continue kissing as well.”

  “And we already know that language lessons are involved.”

  Rue thought that had been euphemistic. Now she realised there might be proper terms for actions and even anatomy. “I’m afraid that’s part of the difficulty. I don’t know how to establish rules because I don’t know what to request. I won’t know until you tell me.” Rue took a big breath. “I think it likely that children would be an embarrassment for me and an inconvenience for you. We’d have to marry, you know, and I don’t believe either of us wishes that outcome.”

  If Quesnel was surprised by her directness, he didn’t show it. Although he did look… what? Wistful?

  “No, of course not. So I am safe in the assumption that you would like to experiment with the kinds of things that might cause children?”

  Rue considered his kisses and his gentle hands. “Yes, I would.” Her face felt hot.

  “Capital. Now, I’m capable of protecting you up to a point. Once we reach that point, I will explain the risks. But there are many things that can be done that are of no danger whatsoever. And great fun, I might add.” He finished his breakfast and pushed away the plate.

  “I thought there might be, or people wouldn’t make such a fuss over it.” Rue refilled his tea. “All those Roman poets.” Rue’s hand wasn’t entirely steady but she managed to pour in a manner that Primrose would deem acceptable.

  Quesnel took his cup with a chuckle. “Have you been reading Catullus?”

  “A little. Kissing is awfully nice. Although we ought to stop doing it in public, especially with my mother around. And I don’t want to corrupt decklings.”

  “If we allow ourselves regular kissing in private, we should be better able to resist traumatising the masses.” His tone said he was humouring her.

  “Is that so? You see, I’m learning already.”

  “Shall we try it and see?”

  Quesnel set down his teacup, stood, and rounded the table towards her.

  Rue pushed back her chair; luckily it didn’t tip in her eagerness. He gave her a hand up, pulling her smoothly into his arms.

  “Now, let us see. If I put my hands there, you could put yours there.” He grabbed her shoulders, sliding one hand to her upper back while placing her fingers at his waist.

  Rue was never daunted for long. She slid them immediately to the tight stretch of trousers over his posterior. “Not here?”

  “That works, too.”

  She tried a squeeze.

  He yipped.

  Interesting reaction.

  “Are you trying to skip ahead, Miss Prudence?”

  Rue stopped squeezing and widened her eyes, attempting one of Prim’s innocent expressions.

  “How did I not know you would be trouble?” Quesnel asked, but did not let her answer, leaning in to press his mouth to hers.

  He tasted of tea, which was no bad thing. Rue adored tea. His lips were warm and gentle at first. It wa
s nice, but nothing new. They had done this before.

  He drew back. “So, kissing.”

  Rue nodded. “I feel as if I have got the way of that particular lesson.”

  “Oh, do you?”

  Rue went up on her toes and kissed him. She imitated his actions, nibbled a little, delighted by the way his breathing changed slightly.

  “Well?”

  He nodded, looking like a professor assessing exams. “Very good. But there is more than one kind of kissing.”

  “Show me,” Rue commanded.

  “This is the French variation.”

  It started the same but then there was a flick of tongue against the seam of her mouth. Rue found this, frankly, unseemly. How am I expected to react? His thumb came up to lightly press her chin down. Her mouth opened. His tongue took instant advantage, tasting her with a slow exploration.

  He drew back. “Well?”

  Was that a hint of nervousness?

  Rue considered. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Some parts of her body liked it, for she felt warm and languid, as if after a hot bath, but intellectually she wasn’t convinced.

  “The French really are centred on taste, aren’t they?”

  Quesnel laughed.

  Rue was game. “May I try, or is it a thing that gentlemen do to ladies?”

  Quesnel grinned. “I should have said at the start. Anything I do to you, you are more than welcome to do to me.”

  “Anything at all?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  Rue’s mind raced. “Right, then, let’s see.”

  She leaned forward and took over the kiss again. He opened his mouth willingly at the first hesitant touch of her tongue. She swept it in. She didn’t want to be sloppy, but that appeared challenging when tongues were involved.

  Halfway through, she decided she liked it, despite the sloppiness. So, she thought, did he. He shifted against her, the whole length of his body in contact with hers. His seemed to be changing shape in a rather indelicate area.

  Rue drew back. “What’s… ?”

  Quesnel blushed scarlet. If he was going to blush, surely he’d have done so before now?

  Rue wasn’t completely ignorant. Hoping to relieve his distress, she said, “Isn’t that supposed to happen?”