by Emma Newman
His family were clustered together down the road. Imogen was hysterical, sobbing in their carriage as their mother tried to console her. His father looked ill, leaning against the carriage as if he were about to keel over. Nathaniel’s hand was on his shoulder. He waved Will over.
“You’re all coming back to Oxenford with me,” he said.
“You’re the only Iris duke left,” Will said.
“For now.” Nathaniel’s confidence seemed as strong as ever. “Tom Papaver will regret his actions. And I don’t care what was said in there, Will. You’re my brother. You’ll always be an Iris. Our patron had to say something in there, in front of everyone. I’m sure he’ll summon you once it’s all over and—”
“Don’t bother,” Will said. “It’s over.”
“Will!”
Father straightened up. “This is a blow, Will, but we will rally.”
He wasn’t convincing. Did he say it for himself or his sons? Will had no idea. “Go back to Oxenford, if that’s what you wish,” he said. “I won’t join you.”
“But Will!” Nathaniel gripped his shoulders. “Come on now. You’re just shocked, that’s all. We’ll go back to my castle, have a drink, and plan our revenge. You can’t let the likes of bloody Tom Papaver be your downfall!”
“If anyone finds out you’re harbouring me, I could be yours,” Will said. He pulled himself free, took Nathaniel’s hand, and shook it with both of his. “Take care of them.”
“But where will you go, Will?”
Will walked away.
“Will! Where will you go?”
His brother’s calls went unanswered until they faded behind him. Will knew exactly where he was going. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t have to worry about what his family would think of it.
20
Lucy had been gripping Edwin’s hand so tightly as Tom saw justice done that her fingers had gone numb. When she turned her back on Will, along with the rest of the room, she couldn’t keep the grin from her face. This was for you, Cathy, Lucy thought. If only she’d been there, in the ballroom with them, to see it. They’d all agreed it was too much of a risk for her to witness the result.
“You’re shaking,” Edwin whispered. “Wanna sit down?”
She released his hand and tried to flex some feeling back into her fingers. “I’ll be okay.”
“Now, let us dance!” called the Censor after the doors closed behind Will, and the musicians struck up the opening chords of a country dance as people found their partners. Lucy was relieved that she could just stay with Edwin as her nerves settled. Being officially in mourning had its advantages.
She turned to look for Tom, wanting to have just a moment with him, but he was in close conference with the Censor and it looked very serious. Lord Poppy stood nearby, watching Tom too. Lord Iris stepped back into Exilium as if nothing of import had happened but moments before. She had expected him to defend his own; that was why she and the Censor had agreed it was important to make sure that Lady Lavender was involved. It seemed they had overprepared.
A glance at the mirror at the far end of the ballroom showed that the way to Exilium had closed. Did Lord Poppy intend to stay? Tom was oblivious of their patron’s interest in him. It was only then, with a sharp shiver that ran through her whole body, that Lucy realised this was her chance.
“C’mon, cuz, I think we both need a drink.” Edwin extended his arm to her.
“Lord Poppy is right there!” she whispered. “Should I…?”
“Drink first,” Edwin said. “I have something I need to talk to you about, now the drama’s over.”
Simply walking over to the punch table was a horrible experience when her patron was in the same room. It reminded her of a time back home when she was a child and a snake was in her bedroom. Everything else faded, her attention solely on the thing that could kill her. She’d been so paralysed with fear that she couldn’t call out for her nanny. It was only when the woman walked in and the snake had rattled its tail that she had started screaming.
Now, as she moved around the women lining up opposite their partners, Lucy felt the same urge to stare at the worst threat in the room, keeping it firmly in her sights so she could dart away if it chose to strike. But the Fae were harder to deal with than rattlesnakes and staring would only increase the threat. So she forced herself to keep her eyes focused on Edwin, who gave her an encouraging wink for her trouble.
Thankfully the dance had cleared the small crowd around the punch. “So what have you been up to for the last few days?” Lucy asked as Edwin filled her a glass. “You weren’t there every time I popped back to make sure you were okay.”
“I’ve been spending time with Princess Rani.”
“I heard she’d left Albion.”
His smile suggested there was far more to the story than she was aware of. “That’s what she wanted everyone to think. She had a few…delicate matters to attend to first, and I managed to catch up with her just before she left. I cut a deal. You are looking at the man who has single-handedly negotiated a preferential trade agreement with the newly independent Rajkot Court, cutting Albion out altogether. It’s fair, it’s going to make us more money, and it’s going to safeguard Rajkot’s income. Those guys have got some difficult times ahead.”
“I can’t believe we haven’t heard any gossip about their declaration.”
Edwin shrugged. “She wasn’t impressed with Cathy. She said that the Duchess was more beautiful than she expected, but far less quick-witted than she’d been led to believe.”
That sounded like the opposite of her sister-in-law. Lucy wondered why Cathy hadn’t said anything to her about it. Maybe it was so close to when she left Will, she’d forgotten. “Have the Patroons given a formal response?”
“Not yet. She’s leaving today, before they decide to use her as ammunition against her parents. I like her. A lot. I was thinking about maybe going out there for a visit. To…make sure all the contracts are sorted out. Ya know.”
She nodded. She knew, all right. “Just don’t let Oliver Peonia know your intentions. He was making eyes at her at the masked ball.”
“I ain’t worried about that guy. Look, this trade deal…do you think that would impress him?” Edwin asked with the slightest tilt of his head towards Poppy.
“It impresses me, but I don’t think the Fae care about things like international trade agreements,” Lucy replied. “I have to try something, though, Edwin; this might be my only chance.”
Lucy watched her patron laughing at one of the Buttercups. She hadn’t given up her home, her freedom, just to stand here quivering. Tom was still in deep conversation with the Censor, now joined by his uncle. Now was as good a time as ever.
Right after a glass of punch. Her mouth was horribly dry and she needed a moment to collect herself.
She knew that politics would bore Lord Poppy unless it involved dramatic showdowns like the one that had just happened, and only when it directly involved his family. She knew Edwin would say the wrong thing and get turned into a frog. She was likely to do the same herself. What could she say that would even get his attention?
“Ahhh! Thomas’s teeny tiny wife! There you are!”
She almost dropped the punch glass, sending half of the contents sloshing back into the bowl. She dumped it on the table, hastily wiped her wet fingertips on the tablecloth, and turned to face her patron. He stood about a metre away, cane held out at an elegant angle. She took in the white breeches and open-necked shirt worn without cravat, the blood-red frock coat and his long black hair, disturbed by how beautiful he was, before she dropped into a curtsy.
“I can’t imagine why,” he began, moving towards her, “but I had the most profound impression you wished to speak to me.”
Lucy straightened, reminding herself not to simper or fawn or giggle or do any of the things that the majority of the women here would. Cathy was his favourite, so she was the better role model. With a nod, she said, “I do indeed, Lord Po
ppy.” When he glanced away, already losing interest, she added, “I have a secret I thought you would like to know.” He looked back, head tilted like a bird who’d spotted a worm. “Perhaps we could sit at the table over there, away from the crowds?”
He inclined his head and waved a hand for her to lead the way. As Lucy crossed the room, Lord Poppy looked in the other direction and Edwin held up his fingers, crossed.
Poppy raced ahead of her at the last moment, pulling one of the chairs away from the table and gesturing for her to sit in it with exaggerated movements, as if he were performing a mime study of an eager gentleman. When she sat, he teased out a lock of her hair from its arrangement and let it play through his fingers. “Your hair is the colour of sunlight on water,” he sighed. “Perhaps I could keep it.”
Breathe, breathe! “Don’t you want to hear my secret?”
“Oh yes!” With a twirl of his cane, he sat in the seat next to hers. “I’m listening.”
“My family didn’t marry me to Thomas for the reason his family thought at the time,” she said, and was gratified to see him lean closer. “It was because I had a secret mission to achieve. One that involves you, my Lord.”
“I thought you were married into the Rhoeas line because they needed the money. That’s what the Patroon told me. Are you saying he’s a liar?”
“He is merely misinformed, my Lord.” Lucy tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I came here to persuade you to support a declaration of independence that my family, and others in America, would like to make, should you support us.”
Poppy wrinkled his nose. “Independence?”
“From the Patroons of Albion.” Poppy looked away, evidently seeking something more interesting. “The drama this evening only happened because of my actions, Lord Poppy. I alerted the Censor and Master of Ceremonies to the coup and I formulated the plan to obtain the proof of the theft of my husband’s inheritance, and for the Irises to be shamed here.” Poppy looked back at her, mildly interested once more. “I demonstrated initiative and cunning in regaining what was rightfully ours and I also orchestrated the defeat of the Irises.” She paused for breath, remembering what her mother told her at her coming of age. Honey, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. “I would like to think my actions demonstrate how much my people could achieve if we were freed from the yoke of Albion rule. If you were to declare us free, then…”
Lord Poppy sighed. “If I didn’t support this, what would you do?”
I’d fucking do it anyway, was her first thought, but it wasn’t one to be voiced to her patron. But she couldn’t lie. He would know. “I would find that very difficult, my Lord. I feel most passionately about this.”
He seemed interested again. “How passionately?”
This was it, the thing she feared the most. The moment of self-sacrifice she had always known would come. “I would be willing to…to go to extraordinary lengths to earn your support for our freedom, my Lord.”
“Would you be willing to have your soul forged into a little diamond pin I could wear on my cravat?”
Lucy clenched her teeth, fighting down the little squeak that threatened to emerge from her throat. Then she thought of Cathy, of that moment she must have had with Poppy that made her his favourite. Surely Cathy wouldn’t have given in to his outlandish demands. She didn’t seem the type. Not the woman who asked to go to university for her coming of age. Lucy fixed her most charming smile in place and leaned forwards slightly. “I think that would be a dreadful waste of my soul, my Lord.”
He laughed, eliciting a moment of pure triumph within her. “Perhaps it would,” he said. “You have fifteen minutes to impress me. If you succeed, I will tell the Patroon to release his control of your family’s affairs. If you delight me, I will persuade the Court to say the same to their Patroons. Of course, if you fail, I will put your soul to better use. Now fly, little golden bird. Time is against you!”
She stood, curtsied, and then hurried over to Edwin. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to impress him.”
“Holy shit.” Edwin looked around the ballroom, as if inspiration could leap out from anywhere. “Incoming,” he whispered.
“Lucy,” Tom said behind her. She turned to see him standing there with flushed cheeks, looking a strange mixture of shocked and excited. “I may have accidentally become the Duke of Londinium.”
“Huh?”
“The Censor said that Aquae Sulis will back me, and my uncle said that after seeing what I just did, the Londinium residents here tonight will be grateful to me, and…are you all right?”
It was the worst timing, but she managed an encouraging smile. “I’m fine. Darling. Do you want to be Duke?”
“I don’t know. It all seems rather sudden. What do you think about it? Would you like to be Duchess?”
I’d like to still be alive in twenty minutes, she thought. “I think that making a decision this important after everything that’s happened this evening isn’t a good idea. How about we get through the rest of this ball, go home, and talk it over after a good night’s sleep?”
Tom smiled. “You’re right. Of course.” He took her hand, kissed it. “That level-headedness would make you an excellent Duchess.” You don’t know the half of it, she thought.
“Thomas?” The Master of Ceremonies rested a hand on his shoulder. “Come and speak to Mr Digitalis. He’s very interested in becoming Marquis of Londinium once more. You’ll be needing one of those, after all.”
“But Uncle, I’m in mourning, I can’t—”
Lavandula patted his shoulder. “Come on, dear boy, your father wouldn’t mind. And while your filial loyalty is admirable, there’s nothing noble about a power vacuum.”
“Forgive me, dear,” Tom said, kissing her hand once more before allowing his uncle to steer him across the room.
Lucy’s gaze followed him until Lord Poppy stepped into her line of sight, looking pointedly at a pocket watch before giving her a wicked grin. She smiled and spun around to face Edwin. “Okay, we need to brainstorm.”
They stood there in silence as the next dance began. “I’m guessin’ that me doing that dance that got me thrown out of the New Orleans ball three years ago wouldn’t cut it,” Edwin said.
“Cathy ran away, then when she was found, Poppy decided she was his favourite,” Lucy said. “She’s like the opposite of what Society wants women to be like. And Poppy is contrary and mercurial. Maybe if we bucked a trend somehow…did something that Society would disapprove of.”
“Cuz, I got a million ways I could upset people here. Just watch me.”
She put a hand on his arm. “No, it has to be more than showing them up. It has to be something…something shocking but clever too.”
That moment, her eyes fell upon a corner of a grey pamphlet, hidden underneath Cecilia Peonia’s gloves and reticule. It was one of Cathy’s, the very same as the one Tom had thrown onto the fire when he’d found it in their house!
“I’ve got an idea. Let’s read something out that will really upset some people.”
“Let me do it,” Edwin said. “I know you want this, but if you do it, Tom will never forgive you.”
“This is more important than Tom! We’ve been fighting for this for so long!”
“Cuz, I know we always said you’d come home when you did this, but I’ve seen the way you look at him. What if you want to stay?”
Lucy bit her lip.
“And I am definitely going home after this, so if I rock the boat, it’s no big deal. It keeps your options open.”
He was right; she did care about Tom and how he would be affected. While she was pretty certain he wouldn’t burn the pamphlet if he found it now, he would lose the chance to be Duke if she did as she planned. “All right. Meet me out in the corridor in five minutes.”
Cecilia Peonia was so busy dividing her time between giving the Censor the evil eye and watching a particularly handsome servant that she didn’t notice Lucy sliding
the pamphlet from its hiding place to be folded and held beneath her fan. Once it was hers, Lucy went down to the lobby to speak to the messenger boy from the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides, ordering the glamour she needed, promising him a healthy tip if he could bring it back to her within five minutes. With only seven minutes left to go before tiepin time, the boy returned, flushed and out of breath, to give her a small wooden box.
She raced back up the stairs, collected Edwin, went with him to the narrow staircase leading up to the minstrel’s gallery, and cast the glamour on him.
“What the f—” he started, but she shoved the pamphlet into his hands.
“Go up to the gallery. This dance is about to finish. When the music stops, step out in front of the musicians and read this as loud as you can.”
He flipped through the pages. “Holy sh—”
“Go!”
She dashed over to the ballroom doors, paused, composed herself, and then entered. Lord Poppy was standing at the back of the room, twisting his cane as he watched the dancers, only to stop and smile as she approached. “I am, as yet, unimpressed,” he sighed.
“Lord Poppy, at the end of this dance, I have arranged something that will make at least one lady faint, at least one gentleman choke on his punch, and several women will hide their faces behind their fans. It will be the talk of Aquae Sulis—no, of Albion—for weeks to come.” She glanced up at the gallery. “And, I hope it will entertain as well as impress you, my Lord.”
The last chords played out and the dancers bowed and curtsied as Lucy held her breath. Then Edwin stepped out in front of the musicians, appearing to be dressed in a flowing red ball gown, complete with puffed sleeves and gold trim.
“Ladies of Nether Society!” Edwin called out in his deep voice. “There is more to life than what we are told to believe. There is more to life than looking beautiful and dancing nicely. There is more to life than being someone to marry off for the profit of one’s family.”
As he read the first lines of the pamphlet, both Lucy and Lord Poppy looked at the Censor, whose mouth had fallen open as she stared up at the gallery, her hands in the air as if she were being held at gunpoint.