“Well, perhaps it will not come to pass,” he said, though he did not sound very hopeful.
“If not, then no one shall be more glad than I. And if it does come to be, then no one shall be more proud than I.” She shook her head. “Yet I confess, this is a wonder. It does not surprise me, given your abilities and your dedication, that you would be considered for such a post. Still, I did not think a baronet could attain such a position.”
“He cannot,” Mr. Quent said grimly.
Ivy stared at him stupidly.
“Oh!” she said as understanding at last came upon her. Then she went back around the table and sat in her chair.
Now dread and wonder were replaced with a kind of cold numbness. She could hardly comprehend what he meant—not because his meaning was not clear, but rather because it did not seem possible. Was it not enough he had been made a baronet? Would he now be raised to a magnate as well? Such a thing was scarcely heard of in modern times.
Now it was he who rose and came around the table to her.
“Let us not think about things that have not come to pass,” he said, touching her hair, “for they may never do so. Besides, I have a little time before I must depart, and I can think of more pleasant ways to pass it.”
He brushed aside her hair, exposing the nape of her neck, then bent to press his lips against it. Ivy sighed, and while she knew they would no doubt return, in that moment the chill of worry vanished from her, replaced by the most pleasant warmth. Shutting her eyes, she reached up, touching the side of his face, and leaned against him.
“As you wish, my lord,” she murmured.
THE CARRIAGE CAME to a halt before a grand house in the New Quarter. She was here already.
Ivy sighed and leaned back against the bench. Since bidding farewell to Mr. Quent earlier that day, her spirits had been very low, and she was not in the proper frame of mind to attend a party. However, he had admonished her that she must in no way give up her plans to attend the affair.
If he was in fact to be the next lord inquirer—a position that would raise him even further—then it was all the more important that they appear fitting and worthy of such a grand benefit. In this regard, her behavior was as vital as his; or, he had told her, even more so. She was seen by society much more often than he was, and their observations upon her could only be used to infer judgments about him.
With such thoughts in her mind, Ivy could hardly look forward to the tea at Lady Crayford’s—a thing that previously had sounded so amusing—with much anticipation. She reminded herself that Mrs. Baydon would be present, and seeing her friend was something she could always look forward to. Thus, when Lawden opened the carriage door, Ivy found the will to take his hand and descend to the street.
The viscount’s house looked no less magnificent in daylight than by moonlight. Its marble columns gleamed like the stones of some classical Tharosian ruin. Ivy took the steps slowly; there were a great number of them, and she did not wish to look flushed upon her arrival. Besides, she was in no great hurry to be in the company of others who would expect her to speak and be charming.
Only then she was there, and the door opened before she could lay a hand upon the knocker. She was whisked within and led down a long gallery and through a pair of glass doors. Beyond was an airy colonnade, and once past that she came into the garden behind the house.
Except it was more like a park: a great lawn bordered by tall plane trees. The tinkling of water filled the air, for all around there were fountains and little springs that tumbled over rocks. The garden had been made to look like the most natural place, yet it was clear it was all carefully tended and arranged to appear so.
“There you are at last, Lady Quent!” called Lady Crayford, hurrying across the lawn in her direction.
This greeting left Ivy perplexed. She was certain she was in no way late; and even if she was, she could not imagine the party had been waiting upon her arrival. However, any momentary vexation she suffered vanished as the viscountess took her arm and led her across the garden, talking brightly all the way.
Upon reaching the others, Ivy discovered that she was in fact the last to arrive. Mrs. Baydon was already there, happily engaged in conversation with Captain Branfort, while Lord Eubrey was gesturing in an exaggerated manner, apparently attempting to win some sort of response from Colonel Daubrent. The viscountess’s brother had folded his arms over his broad chest and seemed unwilling to surrender his phlegmatic demeanor.
There were a number of others there as well—some Ivy recognized from other affairs at Lady Crayford’s, and some were new to her. While there were many there she did not recognize, she was astonished to find that everyone present seemed to recognize her. What was more, they all wished to approach her at once, and she was immediately subjected to a lengthy series of greetings and introductions with various lords and ladies, sirs, misters, misses, and madams, and even a stray earl.
At last Ivy was rescued by the sound of muskets.
All conversation was suspended as Colonel Daubrent led Captain Branfort and several other men in a display of their firearms. While no shot was loaded in the muskets, they made the most alarming and delightful noise all the same. Soon the servants released the hounds, which prowled about the bushes hunting for the pheasants that had been hidden there. With the smoke of gunpowder drifting on the air, and the men looking so handsome and imposing in their hunting coats, rifles in hand, Ivy could indeed believe she was part of a birding party out in the country.
“Isn’t it all marvelous!” someone said, taking her arm, and Ivy was delighted to discover it was Mrs. Baydon.
“It is a very convincing facsimile.”
Mrs. Baydon sighed. “Mr. Baydon hates hunting with the greatest vehemence, but I have always wanted to be able to go out with a hunting party. Though I confess, the sound of the guns is very startling. I believe I need a glass of wine to settle my nerves.”
As another musket volley sounded, they proceeded to one of the tables set up on the lawn. There they sat and were brought wine and a luncheon of savory and sweet things that Ivy was certain were far more elaborate than anything men might consume on a hunting trip, which she guessed would consist of tobacco, whiskey, and little else.
Soon they were joined at their table by Captain Branfort and Colonel Daubrent, who had set down their guns, and Lord Eubrey followed after. Ivy expected Lady Crayford to sit with some other of her guests, but it was the viscountess who took the last seat at their table. Glasses were raised, and the talk that ensued was like the wine they drank; that is, it flowed freely and was deliciously heady, even if it provided scant substance. Ivy listened to tales of this party or that affair, who was at each, and more important, who was not. All the while, Mrs. Baydon watched with blue eyes aglow.
“But where is the viscount today?” Captain Branfort said after a time. “I had intended to show him my new rifle. He had expressed an interest in seeing it when last I spoke with him.”
“I have no idea where he is,” Lady Crayford said. “Engrossed in some dull affair of business, I have no doubt. I told him how marvelous our party was to be, but he said such an affair could not interest him—that it would have to offer something truly novel to entice him.”
Ivy was disappointed by this news, as she had hoped to meet the viscount as well. She expressed this sentiment, and Lady Crayford’s violet eyes flashed as she set down the apricot she had been nibbling.
“If you wished to meet the viscount, I imagine it is within your power, Lady Quent. For of course he has heard all about you from me, and he told me the other day that he was quite interested to attend your next affair.”
“My affair?” Ivy said, and took another sip of cool wine.
“Yes, of course—the party for the occasion of presenting your sisters.”
Ivy set down her glass; had she imbibed so much that she could not hear clearly? “The party for my sisters?”
“Yes, Mrs. Baydon told me all about it. I confess, I
am astonished you did not inform me of it yourself.”
Ivy suffered a sudden pang of alarm. “I assure you, it was not my intention to keep such news from you! It is simply that it never—” She took a breath, thinking how best to phrase it. “You see, it will be only a modest affair. That is, it will be nothing remarkable compared to a party such as this.”
“Well, I don’t believe that at all,” Colonel Daubrent said, a frown on his handsome face. “One hardly needs all this mummery my sister favors to host an agreeable affair. I have been to parties in canvas tents in the Outlands where all we had were tin cups and a cask of ale, and I found them to be perfectly entertaining.”
Ivy knew the colonel was being serious, yet she could not help smiling at his description, and some of her dread receded. Lady Crayford seemed amused as well, rather than perturbed, by her brother’s words.
“I have no doubt that is just the sort of party you military men favor,” she said.
“The colonel does not speak for us all!” Captain Branfort declared. “I for one would greatly prefer an affair at Lady Quent’s to just about any sort of gathering. I had the occasion to ride by your house on Durrow Street the other day and caught a glimpse through the gate. It is the most handsome sort of old edifice. Indeed, so pleasing are its proportions and the air of solidness about it that I wonder why people ever abandoned the Old City in favor of the New Quarter.”
Lord Eubrey was idly folding a piece of paper into the shape of a swan. “No doubt people will begin to return to the Old City once word circulates of the affair at Lady Quent’s excellent house,” he said. “I wager that within a quarter month it will be seen as the most daring and marvelous thing to leave the New Quarter and take up residence on Durrow Street.”
“I am certain that will not be so!” Ivy said, astonished.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you? Well, if you think that to be the case, there is only one way to test your hypothesis. You must invite us all to your sisters’ party.”
Now Ivy was beyond astonished; she could find no capacity for speech.
“Unless, of course, you do not think the Miss Lockwells would wish to have so many guests who are unknown to them at their affair,” Captain Branfort said seriously.
“No!” Ivy at last managed to cry, and so gallant and absurd were the captain’s words that she could not help laughing. For who would Lily more wish to have at her party than the very sort of people sitting at this table? It would be, for Lily, like a chapter from one of her romances. “No, they would both be delighted if you all came, I have no doubt. But you must do so only if it is something you truly wish to do, not out of any sense of regard or duty. I warn you again, it will be a very modest affair.”
They would judge that for themselves, her companions at the table declared. For they would all surely attend, and Lady Crayford was confident her husband would be enticed to go as well. For what could be more novel than to attend a grand party at a grand house that had not seen such an affair in centuries?
So overwhelmed was Ivy that she could only nod and take another sip of her wine. Beneath the table, Mrs. Baydon squeezed her hand.
The afternoon wore on. They left the tables and sat on blankets on the grass, eating strawberries and gazing at the trees that swayed gently overhead while Lady Crayford made little drawings of all their profiles in her sketchbook. A great contentment came over Ivy; she could have wanted for nothing else, save to share this all with Mr. Quent.
On the blanket beside her, Mrs. Baydon let out a sigh. The afternoon light shone gold upon her hair. “It is so lovely here,” she said. “Yet it fills me with a longing to go on a real trip to the country. Somewhere far away from the city—somewhere wild.”
“Somewhere wild?” Lord Eubrey said, his chin held high as he posed for the viscountess. “Somewhere like Madiger’s Wall, perhaps?”
Mrs. Baydon gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh, but I have always wanted to go to the wall and see the Evengrove!”
“You have never been?”
She shook her head. “My husband has always refused to take me.”
“Perhaps it’s because of that slow gig of his,” Lord Eubrey said with a laugh. “It would take a long lumenal indeed to get all the way to the Evengrove if you were to take a gig. But a good number can fit in the viscount’s four-in-hand, which is wickedly fast. Why, the colonel’s curricle would be hard-pressed to keep up with it. And I can meet you all there.”
“Why would you not just come with us?” Colonel Daubrent said.
“I have a plan already to travel there tomorrow with some associates of mine. If you were all there as well, it would make for a merry outing.”
The others concurred that it would no doubt make for a great adventure, and the details of a plan were quickly formulated.
“But do you think it is very wise?” Ivy said.
The others looked at her, and the anxiousness that had been growing within Ivy throughout this conversation increased further. Long ago, the Tharosian emperor Madiger had commanded the wall to be built to protect the outpost of Invarduin from incursions of the Wyrdwood. In the centuries that followed, the wall was strengthened and expanded; over the same period, the old Tharosian fort grew into the Grand City of Invarel. As a result, the greatest expanse of primeval forest in the nation was not far out in the country, but was rather a journey of but a few hours from the city.
In recent years, making a tour of Madiger’s Wall had become a popular entertainment. Ivy, however, had never been there; Mr. Lockwell had never taken them to the Evengrove. Nor did this surprise Ivy, knowing what she did now of her own heritage.
The others still gazed at her, and with some difficulty she drew in a breath. “I mean only, since the events in Torland, I cannot imagine people are going to the Evengrove much anymore.”
“On the contrary, I’m sure they go now more than ever,” Lord Eubrey said brightly. “I imagine a great number of people are curious to gaze upon the very sort of trees that caused the Risings, and to think what it might be like to see them stir of their own accord.”
“Oh, that’s a dreadful thought!” Mrs. Baydon exclaimed, though her eyes were shining.
“I would say it’s perfectly natural to wonder about it,” Lady Crayford said. “While it might cause a shiver to consider such things, there can be no harm in it. I am sure it is perfectly safe to go to the Evengrove. No doubt the soldiers are watching it night and day.”
Her brother said this was indeed the case.
“Do you see, Lady Quent?” the viscountess said, turning toward her. “Even one as sensible as yourself must be satisfied that everything can only be perfectly safe with so many soldiers about.”
Ivy had to concede that was likely the case. All the same, her every urge was to tell the others that they must go without her. But what would she give them for a reason? She could not say Mr. Quent had forbidden it, for he was not in town. Nor could she very well tell them the reason for her dread—that she was a witch, and to go near so great a stand of Wyrdwood could only be perilous for her.
“There!” Lady Crayford said triumphantly. “You can offer no reason against it, Lady Quent. So it is decided, then—we will all go to the Evengrove tomorrow.”
The others continued to devise a scheme for the trip. They would leave early, so there would be plenty of time to linger at the wall when they arrived. Now that it was decided, and there was no chance of refusal, Ivy’s dread began to recede. For Lady Crayford was right—what harm could possibly come to them there? It was not as if Ivy would be able to pass beyond the wall. Indeed, she would not venture near to it at all.
Which meant there was no cause for any sort of worry. Besides, now that it was beyond her power to refuse, she was in truth eager to lay eyes upon the Evengrove. She had always wished to see it, as it was a place of such importance in the history of Altania. It was held by some historians that the Evengrove was the very patch of forest into which Queen Béanore had vanished after she used he
r bow to inflict a fatal wound upon the Emperor Veradian, thus driving him from Altania. To behold such a place would be fascinating.
Her thoughts thus pleasantly occupied, Ivy sipped her wine as the others spoke, and she gazed up at the plane trees, watching their branches weave against the sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS A full house again that night.
In recent years, the Theater of the Moon had been one of the least popular theaters on Durrow Street. It was smaller and more dilapidated than most of the other houses, and it was often overlooked, half-hidden as it was at the end of the row. What was more, the illusion play performed there was not a fantasia or a burlesque, but rather an esoteric piece that offered little appeal to patrons seeking diverting idylls or sights of passion.
Now that had changed. The only thing that traveled faster on Durrow Street than news of a poor performance was news of a great one. Thus word of that first remarkable performance at the Theater of the Moon spread rapidly. The following night a small crowd had assembled outside the door of the theater by the time it opened, and such is the nature of people that, if they see others gathering, they will join in themselves. Soon people were flocking to the newest sensation on Durrow Street, and theatergoers had to be turned away for want of available seats.
Those who had been lucky enough to gain entrance tonight were not disappointed, and their applause continued as the curtain fell. Behind the tattered velvet, the illusionists laughed and embraced one another, sweating and bright with energy.
“Splendid!” Master Tallyroth said as he thumped his cane against the boards. “That was splendid work! I do not believe I have ever seen a finer performance upon this stage.”
“Why, thank you, Master Tallyroth,” Dercy said, a grin splitting his blond beard as he spread his arms and gave a florid bow.
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