by Emma Newman
“But what about the one I need to know?” She moved towards him and he prepared himself for a blow, but she stopped and lifted his chin instead, reminding him of Iris. “Tell me the secret!”
“I cannot,” Will said, forcing himself to stop quivering. He thought of Sophia again, armouring himself. “You would have to pull it from me, and that would break the rules of our game. You said we must both accept the result.”
She screeched with frustration, her fingernail digging into the skin below his chin so sharply he was sure he was bleeding. “Then I will have a forfeit from you.”
Pointing out that he had won, and therefore owed nothing to her whatsoever, would not go well for him, he suspected. Will caught himself before he protested, knowing her wrath had to run its course.
As quickly as it had descended, the stormcloud frown lifted and her lips curved enough to make Will genuinely frightened. “I know what it will be! As you are so fond of games, let this be your forfeit. The next time you enter Exilium, you will come straight to the palace. You must try to find me there, without my brother seeing you. And when you find me, you must kiss me. If you can do that without falling in love with me, you may leave again.” Her look of complete satisfaction told him it was an impossible task. Would his resolve be enough to resist her there?
“Your desire for my affection fills my heart with gratitude,” he said, and she laughed.
“That silver tongue can’t mask your true feelings.” She leaned closer until she was all he could see. “You are wise to fear me, little man,” she whispered. “Enjoy your minor victory. Once you love me, I will torment you until you beg me to let you speak that secret. You’ll regret guarding it so closely.”
She went back through the mirror and in moments he saw himself reflected in it once more, pale-faced, the white collar of his shirt stained red with his own blood from the wound beneath his chin. He let himself lean against the back of the sofa, exhausted, scrabbling to feel anything other than despair.
No. All was not lost. He knew his patron’s love was a woman who was still alive and hidden from Iris with his mortal enemy. All he had to do was work out who that was, find her, and then bargain for Sophia’s return. How could something so difficult be summarised so simply? As for Cathy… He sighed. One crisis at a time.
15
Edwin prodded the crumpet. “What’s this thing called again?”
“A crumpet. It’s nice. Try it.”
He took a bite and Lucy laughed at his confused expression as he chewed. “What the hell is that made of? I mean, that texture…it’s bizarre.”
“I don’t know. Probably some sort of butter and flour combination. Practically everything has butter in it and then you have to spread more on, it’s like a rule or something. The butter here is dark yellow and tastes so good on toast.”
“Aww, man, you’ve really gone native. We gotta get you home and back on pancakes and coffee, stat!”
Lucy laughed and kissed him on the cheek. It was the first time she’d relaxed since that awful night they got the news and she felt guilty for leaving Tom. She couldn’t expect Edwin to tiptoe around a grief-filled house, though, and Tom was barely keeping himself together, let alone able to entertain a guest. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around as much as I would normally be,” she said.
“It’s not your fault. How’s he holdin’ up?”
Lucy rested her elbows on the table, her cup of tea held in both hands, making the most of being able to relax. “He’s taken it hard. And there’s other stuff going on too. This is gonna sound terrible, but I think it might actually do him some good. Charles Papaver was a scary guy. He used to beat Tom’s sister and I’m like ninety per cent certain he is the reason why Tom tries so damn hard all the time. A chance to live out of his shadow is a good thing. I could never tell him that, of course.”
Edwin nodded. “Must be tough, losing a parent. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in Mundanus and watch your parents grow old and die.” He shook his head. “I guess that only sucks if you like your parents.”
Lucy nodded. “I guess they all gave you a pep talk before you came over, right? Something about making sure I’m on track, that I haven’t forgotten why I’m here, blah, blah, blah?”
“My parents wanted to know if you need anything to help get things moving.” He shrugged. “Not that any of us could think of anything. We don’t know enough about the Patroon to figure out some leverage.”
Lucy poured more tea. “If you’re not gonna finish that crumpet, I will.”
“Knock yourself out,” he said, pushing his plate over. “I’ll stick to the bread and butter.”
“I think the Patroon is a bust,” Lucy said. “We were all hoping that something of Mundanus would have seeped through to them here, but they’ll never let the Colonies go. Not willingly, anyway.”
“Yeah, but, we never really believed they would, right?”
Lucy shrugged. “Some things have started to change. Thing is, the one who was spearheading it all has left the Nether, just when things were starting to get interesting.” She told Edwin about the educational pamphlets, about the young ladies who’d come to the last ball of the Aquae Sulis season dressed as men and about how Cathy had spoken out in the Londinium Court. “I even heard a couple of rumours at that ball that there are feminist groups springing up all over Albion.”
“You gonna get involved?”
“I thought about it, but I need to keep my eyes on the prize, right? I don’t think I’ve got a chance of achieving anything with the Patroon; I’m just a colonial married into Albion. He probably thinks I’m grateful to be brought into the fold.”
Edwin rolled his eyes. “Jeez. Okay, so it’s Poppy himself. We could just…call for him.”
Lucy gawped at him. “Are you kidding? No, we need to impress him first, then ask for independence. And it’s gonna be tough. I have the beginning of a plan…”
“Which is?”
“Destroy the Irises.”
Edwin sat up straight, pretended to hold a teacup with his pinky finger stuck out. “Destroy the Irises, no big deal,” he said in a mock British accent. “Cuz, you need to back up a bit.”
“The Irises have taken Aquae Sulis, stealing all the properties my father-in-law left to Tom. George Iris sent a letter to Tom yesterday that I intercepted and it gave me an idea.” A knock on the door made her pause. “Come in.”
Grayson entered with a silver tray. “Two visitors have arrived, ma’am.” Lucy took the calling cards from the tray, both with the top left corner folded over. It took her a moment to recall that it meant they were here in person.
The Lady Censor,
Claudia Angustifolia-Lavandula
Aquae Sulis
The Master of Ceremonies,
Richard Angustifolia-Lavandula
Aquae Sulis
Lucy took a deep breath, recalling her mother’s words when she’d kissed her goodbye at the port. “They’re gonna think that they’re better than you. They’re gonna act like that’s true and they’re gonna try and make you feel small so they feel bigger. Now you remember this, honey: you are smart, and brave, and you have made a sacrifice that few people would. I am proud of you. Now go get ’em. You show them what us ‘colonials’ are made of.”
“Want me to go do the tourist thing for a while?” Edwin offered.
“No, I’d like you to stay so I can introduce you.”
Edwin peered over at the calling cards and scratched his chin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t you want to get a sense of what we’re up against?”
He nodded. “I do…I just…” He shrugged. “You’ve got a plan and you know how to talk politics with these people. They’re too high up for me to screw things up for you.” He held up a hand when she took a breath to protest. “I’ve got some stuff I wanna do anyway. It’s cool.”
She frowned. It wasn’t like Edwin to avoid people. “Only if you’re sure.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’m sure.”
Lucy dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. “We’ll meet them in the drawing room, Grayson.” Lucy stood, smoothing down the skirt of her day dress, and waited for Grayson to leave before hugging Edwin. “Wish me luck.”
“You can buy eggs for that, you know.” He grinned. “Good luck, cuz.”
The Censor was wearing a powder-blue silk travelling gown with panniers that made her shape utterly bizarre to Lucy. It was trimmed in a darker blue satin which also covered the buttons and formed the ruffled trim on the gown. Her hat was a large brimmed affair with three dramatic ostrich feathers. How she’d managed to fit it into the carriage along with her brother, Lucy had no idea. The Master of Ceremonies wore pale pink silk breeches and a long powder-blue jacket with remarkably big cuffs, cut to reveal an exquisitely embroidered waistcoat decorated with stylised lavender and pink humming birds. Both wore white powdered wigs and makeup. Lucy felt distinctly underdressed.
She curtsied deeply to them both, earning a broad smile from him and a satisfied nod from her. “It’s such a pleasure to see you both,” Lucy said.
“Dear Lucy,” Richard said, scooping her hand up to kiss it lightly. “Tell me, how is my nephew?”
“I think he’s past the initial shock,” Lucy said, “but he’s still very shaken.” She gestured to the two large sofas positioned opposite the one she planned to sit in. The Censor would need one to herself in that outfit.
“It’s utterly dreadful,” Claudia said, manoeuvring around the sofa with a grace Lucy was certain she wouldn’t have with such undergarments. “I have no doubt that my disgusting sister was responsible for Charles’s distress.” Richard frowned at that, but didn’t challenge her.
Lucy wondered how to navigate that landmine as she sat down. “Have you heard from Isabella?”
Both of them shook their heads. “We don’t even know if she’s aware of what’s happened,” Richard said. “Though I suspect that it wouldn’t make any difference. She knows she can never show her face in Society again.”
“I can only hope that her patron devises a suitable punishment for her,” Claudia said, pulling off her gloves with dainty precision. “No wonder Catherine turned out the way she did. Isabella tried to blame it on the governess, but now the truth is out. I haven’t seen Catherine in Aquae Sulis. Did she simply neglect to pay her respects to us?”
Lucy didn’t want to get sidetracked, especially when she hadn’t quite decided what to do with the knowledge she had. “Catherine hasn’t visited Aquae Sulis, as far as I know, Lady Censor. She wrote a beautiful letter to Thomas, though.”
The Censor pursed her lips as Richard said, “I heard tell that she has been absent from the Court.”
“As have I, sir,” Lucy said. “I cannot confirm or deny her presence, I’m afraid. I’ve been devoting all my time to Thomas.”
“And rightly so,” the Censor said. “Perhaps William has finally come to his senses and realised that she is a liability in public.”
Lucy could have kissed Grayson for choosing that moment to appear with the refreshments. There was the distraction of serving tea, and delighted comments from Richard about the macaroons—just enough for her to gather her thoughts and courage for what she was about to do.
The Censor was looking at her expectantly over the rim of her teacup. Richard seemed more interested in the macaroon held delicately between his fingers. It was time.
“Thank you for taking the trouble to come and see me in Londinium, I do appreciate it,” she said. With these two, it was always important to pay them in gratitude first, at a level vastly outweighing the effort they’d actually made. “I need to speak with you about a delicate matter and I felt it was very important that I discussed it with you before Thomas becomes aware of it. He has so much to deal with at the moment, and I fear this would be too much.” It was a lie, but she felt it was worth it. She knew they’d pay more attention now she’d said that.
Richard was sufficiently intrigued to only take one bite of the macaroon before pausing to hear the rest. Claudia leaned forward the slightest amount, indicating that she was interested but not yet convinced this was worth her trouble.
“I’ve been dealing with the correspondence relating to the bereavement. Thomas has so much to arrange, he asked me to do so. A letter arrived yesterday that I haven’t shown him. I was so shocked by it. I thought it would be wiser to show you first and ask for your advice.” Lucy hoped she sounded sincere. She’d known exactly what to do when she saw it, but the Lavandulas were the sort of people who needed to have their egos fed—and besides, there was no better way to get them in the right frame of mind for her to steer them. What did the Brits call it? “Buttering up”; that was it. Like a crumpet! The phrase suddenly made sense.
Richard placed the remaining macaroon on his plate and set it down, wiping his fingers on his napkin. “Why do I have the feeling this letter was sent by George Iris?”
Lucy nodded. “I’m afraid so.” She glanced at the Censor, whose lips were pressed into a thin line. “It isn’t just the fact that he has increased the rent on our house and that of Thomas’s parents that’s offensive, not even considering the insensitivity of the timing. It’s how he signed it.”
Richard frowned. “What do you mean?”
Lucy folded her hands on her lap. “He signed it, ‘George Reticulata-Iris, Duke of Aquae Sulis.’”
“Duke!” the Censor shrieked. “Duke? There has never been a Duke of Aquae Sulis in the history of the city!”
Richard’s mouth had fallen open. “Do you have the letter?” he asked after a few moments.
“The Irises have gone too far!” the Censor said as Lucy went to her desk and unlocked the drawer. “What a cowardly, underhanded way to state his intentions.”
“I believe signing a letter with a title is further down the road than merely stating his intentions, dear sister,” Richard said. “It’s clear he already considers himself to be so.”
“How many other letters has he signed so?” Claudia scowled into her tea. “This is simply unacceptable.”
“This is a coup,” Richard said quietly. “A coup d’état au lettre.”
Lucy handed the letter to him, which he read silently and then passed to his sister, who snatched it from his hand and read in moments. “I will destroy him,” she whispered beneath her breath. “I will expel him from the city immediately, and—”
“Claudia,” Richard reached across and touched her arm. “Darling, it’s too late for that. Don’t you see? He must have sent a similar letter to all of his tenants. Not one of them has brought it to our attention. They see which way the wind blows. First Londinium, then Oxenford and now Aquae Sulis. They probably think Jorvic will have an Iris Duke before the month is out. None of them have told us because they already consider our authority to have been removed.”
“But he told us we would remain Censor and Master!” Claudia said. “You were there, Richard!”
“He obviously changed his mind,” Richard said.
Claudia threw the letter at him with a frustrated cry. “How can you be so calm? This is an outrage! I have a mind to go to Lady Lavender and petition for—”
“No,” Richard said as Lucy returned to her seat. “Not yet.”
Lucy marvelled at how still he was. For a man who fussed and cooed and giggled at parties, a preternatural calm seemed to fill him now his power was threatened. She watched his eyes as he stared at the teacup, so intensely focused on his thoughts that it was as if he were alone in the room.
In contrast, the Censor fidgeted and unfurled her fan that had been dangling from a bracelet. She waved it with such ferocity that the curls of her wig twitched and the feathers of her hat looked like they were clinging on in a gale. “I simply cannot believe this is happening. And to think I was upset that Cecilia Peonia danced with a servant at the ball!” She looked at Lucy. “Did you see that?”
Lucy shook her head. “I did not, Lady Cen
sor. Was it one of the forfeits?”
The Censor wrinkled her nose. “It was not. The Peonias are well aware of my displeasure. Perhaps I should have another wartime bomb discovered in the grounds of the Royal Crescent…”
“Claudia,” Richard said sternly. “This is not the time. We need a better solution than causing them a petty inconvenience.”
As Claudia stared at her brother in shock, Lucy poured more tea. “If I may be so bold,” she began, having observed the effect the phrase had had in several delicate conversations, “I have given this considerable thought since receiving the letter and I would like to make a humble suggestion.”
The look on Claudia’s face expressed so much in silence. It was clear the Censor didn’t believe a colonial like her would have anything intelligent to contribute on the matter. Richard, however, was looking at her with interest.
“George Iris has stolen my husband’s inheritance, of that I have no doubt whatsoever. Thomas is so certain his father left the properties to him that I suspect there may have been a letter saying as much, but he hasn’t told me about it. It’s probably too painful. Now George Iris has stolen the city from you. He is a thief and a bully and must be stopped. But”—she paused to pour some milk into her cup, wishing it was a strong black coffee—“it must be done in such a way that not even his patron will be able to defend him.”
She stirred the tea, taking a moment to enjoy how Claudia’s disdainful expression had been replaced by one of interest.
“There are two objectives,” Lucy continued. “One is to prove, irrefutably, that George Iris has no rightful claim to my husband’s inheritance and the second is to restore your power in Aquae Sulis. I believe that one leads to the other.”
“As I said to your husband, dear girl, I saw the deeds. Charles transferred the ownership the day he died.”
“Has a signature never been forged in Albion?” Lucy asked.