by C. J. Archer
The butler balked. "We're all necessary."
Fabian swallowed. He looked like he was struggling to maintain his composure, but whether he was suppressing anger or distress, I couldn't be sure.
"Keep the cook, one maid and yourself," Louisa instructed the butler. "Inform the others they will receive their wages before they leave. That will be all."
The butler exited to the sound of furniture being moved downstairs.
"I'll see myself out," I said, gathering the papers Fabian had given me.
"That is not allowed." Fabian crooked his arm for me to take and gave me a smile. "I will escort you and ensure your safe departure."
I took his arm and we walked out of the drawing room together. Louisa followed.
"Do not be alarmed, India," Fabian said, patting my hand as we descended the stairs. "It is a financial problem, that is all. I must learn to live more…how do you say? Frugal?"
"Frugally."
"Financial problem?" Louisa asked from close behind. She sounded quite upset, more so than Fabian. "How can that be?"
Another elegant wave of his hand dismissed her question. "Do not trouble yourself, dear ladies."
Louisa huffed but didn't ask any more questions. I wished she'd persisted. I wanted to know how a member of one of the wealthiest families in France didn't have enough money to pay for furniture and a full staff. And how he could be so accepting when his belongings were being removed as he escorted his guests out.
Fabian greeted the tall, gangly man overseeing his two thick-necked colleagues as they carried out the marble-topped hall table. "Please, will you allow my friends to pass," he said.
The man stepped aside and touched the brim of his hat as Fabian escorted me through the doorway. Louisa did not follow, and Fabian didn't ask her to leave.
He assisted me down the front steps. "Do not worry, India. I am not leaving London."
Was that the intention of the person or people behind the repossession? To cut off Fabian's supply of credit and force him to leave London and end our association? It was a delicate topic and impolite to ask, so I merely smiled and nodded before walking off in the direction of home.
"It was quite strange," I told Aunt Letitia as we sat in the drawing room, waiting for the others to return from the shop. "He didn't seem shocked. He must have expected it. Although I think he was embarrassed to have his furniture repossessed in front of his guests." I studied the shirt I was mending yet hardly noticed the stitches. My mind was still on the scene that had transpired at Fabian's. "Louisa was more put out. She seemed to think it an impossibility that such a thing could happen to him."
"Isn't his family wealthy?" Aunt Letitia asked.
"Very. So why can't he pay his creditors?"
She took the shirt from me and plucked the needle out of my fingers. "You're going to prick your thumb if you don't concentrate."
"Oh. Thank you."
"His family must have cut off his allowance," she went on.
"But surely he has an income from other sources," I said. "He must have investments, like Matt."
She peered at me over the rim of her spectacles. "If he has devoted his adult life to learning about magic then he may not have an income other than what his family gives him. I doubt he has ever had to worry about where his next meal comes from or who pays his staff's wages."
Willie breezed in, followed by Cyclops and Duke. But not Matt. "Who're you talking about?" she asked as she threw herself into an armchair.
"Get up!" Miss Glass cried. "You're filthy."
"I washed." Willie stretched out her hands, palms up. Her shirtsleeves had been rolled to her elbows and she wore no jacket, only a waistcoat. "We all did."
Matt finally entered and went straight to the sideboard to pour a drink from the decanter. His aunt frowned her disapproval at him drinking liquor before dinner, but she didn't say anything. He downed the contents in one gulp and went to pour another, but stopped.
"Anyone else?" he asked.
Willie put up a finger but the others declined with sheepish glances at Aunt Letitia. She continued sewing.
Matt handed the glass to Willie and sat without pouring himself another. I was more relieved than I cared to admit. By his own admission, Matt used to drink too much. I didn't want to cause him to return to old habits. The tension in the air was awful, however, and I almost reached for the decanter myself just to do something.
I gathered my nerves and faced him instead. As if he felt my gaze, he finally looked up. His eyes were shadowed, his lids heavy, but I was relieved he could at least look at me.
"How was your afternoon with Charbonneau?" he asked.
"Fine, for the most part," I said. "I learned some new words. But just before I left, his furniture was repossessed."
His brows arched, a silent request for more information. I told them what I'd told Aunt Letitia.
"Serves him right," Willie said when I finished.
"How?" Duke asked.
"He shouldn't be relying on his pa's money. He should get his own."
Cyclops nodded agreement, but Duke didn't look convinced. "His parents are still alive, aren't they? He won't inherit anything until his father dies, is my guess. It ain't easy to get your own money when you got nothing to invest in the first place."
"He could work," Willie shot back. "Like the rest of us."
"You don't work."
Willie sank into the chair. "That's different."
"I don't work," Matt pointed out. "Not in the traditional sense. I inherited everything I have."
"You worked for the law back home," she pointed out. "We all did."
"You can't compare the small amount we earned to what my father's estate gives me. He amassed a fortune. Not me."
"Why're you brooding?"
Matt fell into silence.
Willie frowned and turned to me. "India?"
"Fabian's family must have cut him off," I said quickly. "Unless Fabian finds another line of credit, he can't stay in London much longer."
Thankfully Willie didn't ask me again why Matt was unhappy, but I suspected the conversation would arise again later.
Duke snapped his fingers. "Coyle!"
I gasped then pressed my fingers to my lips.
"What about him?" Matt asked, sitting forward.
"Coyle will lend him money if Charbonneau asks," Duke said. "He's interested in magic and wants India to learn more about it."
Matt sat back again, shaking his head. "Charbonneau wants to expand the use of magic whereas Coyle wants to keep it private and exclusive. If India and Fabian manage to create more spells, it might devalue his collection."
"Or it might give him something new to collect," Cyclops said.
Nobody spoke and the silence blanketed us, hot and smothering. Matt's gaze wandered to the sideboard where his glass sat empty. Then it drifted to me.
I swallowed heavily. "Coyle's motives are not yet clear," I said.
"He's only interested in helping people if he can get something in return," Matt said.
"True, but if the alternative is to fail or lose something precious, Fabian might deem the risk worth it."
Matt looked away.
Willie screwed up her nose. "Charbonneau will only have to return to France and beg his family to give him his allowance. That ain't so bad."
"Isn't it?" I snapped.
Willie cocked her head to the side. "What's wrong?"
Neither Matt nor I said a word.
Aunt Letitia lowered the shirt to her lap. "Are you cross with him because of afternoon tea next week?" she asked me.
I blinked. "Pardon?"
"That's not Matthew's fault. I organized it."
"What afternoon tea?"
"The one with Beatrice and the girls. I just told you about it. Honestly, India, you're so forgetful sometimes."
"They haven't returned to London yet," I said.
She picked up the letter she'd been reading upon my entry an hour earlier. "They arri
ve back in two days. It is early to be returning to the city but my sister-in-law loathes the countryside, as do the two girls. Patience won't be coming of course, just the two unmarried ones."
"Aunt Beatrice agreed to have afternoon tea with you?" Matt asked.
"She did. I'm sure it's to bury the hatchet with India and start afresh. Now that you are married, she'll want to make her peace with the future Lady Rycroft. Her own future depends on it."
"Huh?" Willie asked. "What's India got to do with her future?"
"She doesn't want me to send her away if her husband dies before her," I said. "After Matt inherits the title and estate, he could ask her to leave."
"But I won't," he said.
Aunt Letitia passed the shirt back to me, her eyes clear and bright. "But Beatrice doesn't know that, and I see no reason to reassure her. So you see, India, you shouldn't worry about the afternoon tea. You have the advantage over her." She rose. "Now, stop snapping at Matthew so I can change for dinner with a clear conscience. I suggest you all change, too. You can't dine dressed like you've spent the day at the docks."
Willie watched her leave, leaning forward until she was out of sight. Then she slapped her hands down on the chair arms. "What's really wrong between you two?"
Matt merely shook his head so I did too.
"You're both as tense as bow strings," she went on. "Go on, tell me."
Cyclops shushed her. "Leave 'em be."
"Nope. I can't stand it no more." She shot to her feet and stamped her hands on her hips. "If you two don't fix it soon, it'll tear you apart. I've seen it happen to good people."
Matt rose. "Nothing's wrong, Willie." He held out his hand to me. "Shall I help you dress for dinner?"
I placed my hand in his and smiled as he closed his fingers. "Thank you."
We left, the picture of a perfect couple.
He let go of my hand as soon as the bedroom door closed behind us and headed for the dressing room, tugging on his neckerchief. I followed.
"We should talk about this," I said.
"There's nothing more to say. You told me your motives for going to Coyle, and I told you why I objected. Neither of us will agree the other was right." He removed the neckerchief and started on his shirt buttons.
I crossed my arms. "You can't be angry at me forever."
He clicked his tongue as a button gave him trouble. "Damn it," he muttered.
I stepped closer and took his hands, drawing them away. I undid the button, slowly. He fixed his gaze on a point above my head, as if my nearness didn't affect him. But the throb of the vein at his throat and the sudden intake of breath gave him away.
"You're wrong if you think Coyle would leave me alone if I hadn't gone to him about Cox," I said softly. I finished with the top button and moved down to the next. "He would have found something else to trap me, or made something up."
"You don't know that."
Another button released, I parted his shirt to reveal the patch of smooth skin above the smattering of dark hair on his chest. I leaned closer so that he would feel the heat of my breath and the pillow of my breasts. His Adam's apple jumped. I resisted the urge to kiss him there and continued to the next button.
"At least this way we can face him together," I murmured. "If I'd never gone to him, and you married Patience, I would be on my own against him."
"I wouldn't allow it."
I pressed my palm against his chest to capture the vibrations of his voice. "You wouldn't have a choice. Your conscience wouldn't let us be together, even in a platonic way."
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "India…" he murmured.
I stared at the vein in his throat until my vision blurred from my tears, then I pressed my lips to it. The rhythm of my blood synchronized with his.
He circled his arms around me and held me tightly, tucking my head beneath his chin. "Together," he said. "Forever."
I continued to meet with Fabian over the next week. Each time I went, something was different. First, it was the absence of a footman. The parlor was almost bare and the drawing room rug had disappeared. Finally, the tea service came in an ordinary set that was most likely the one used by the servants.
One thing remained the same, however: Louisa. She sat on the landing during each of my visits, watching us. She always arrived before me and welcomed me cheerfully, inviting me to sit and have tea. Fabian's smile tightened at the edges but he never asked her to leave.
He looked weary, which was understandable considering his worsening finances. I never commented on the missing furniture or staff, not even when the slice of cake he served tasted salty. The butler must be trying his hand at baking.
The only time I commented on the situation was when Fabian seemed unfocused toward the end of the week. I'd already repeated myself three times and not received an answer, so I tapped his arm.
"Are you all right, Fabian?" I asked when he blinked at me.
"Bien sur." He shook his head when he realized he'd responded in French. "My apologies. Yes, I'm fine."
"You look exhausted."
"I am not sleeping well." He attempted a smile, but I wasn't reassured. "Please, sit, and we will begin."
Louisa had been about to leave us to sit on the landing, but she stopped. "My poor Fabian." She looped her arm around his and hugged it. "Do take care of yourself, darling. I would be most upset if you fell ill."
My poor Fabian? Darling? Had their relationship changed from one of friendship to something more? Or had I been blind to it all along? If so, Fabian had lied.
He extricated himself from her grasp. "Thank you, Louisa. Please, if you would leave us to work in peace."
"Of course." She touched his cheek in a sweet, intimate gesture.
He flinched. "Please, Louisa." The hint of steel was light but I heard it, as did she.
Her nostrils flared, but she moved away as asked.
The following day, I received a message from Fabian in the morning asking me to meet him at his new address in Chelsea. Because of the extra distance, and the drizzling rain, I took the carriage and asked the coachman to return in two hours. I regretted sending him away when no one answered my knock.
I was about to go in search of a hack when I thought I heard a shout from inside. I tried the door and, finding it unlocked, opened it. Louisa's voice carried down the stairs but I couldn't see her.
"Stop being so stubborn!" she all but shouted. "Let me help you. I can pay for the other house. This one is not worthy of you."
"No, Louisa." Fabian's voice wasn't as loud but I heard it clearly.
"Listen to me, darling."
I shouldn't be eavesdropping on their private conversation, and backed up toward the front door again to leave. Then Fabian scolded Louisa, and I found my feet wouldn't move. I had to hear more.
"Do not call me that," he said. "I am not your darling. I am not your anything."
"You should be," she snapped.
"Stop this. You are going mad."
"You are the mad one, Fabian. Think about what I'm proposing."
"I have. The answer is no. I told you that when you asked me the first time."
"You haven't considered it properly. Listen, Fabian. I have more money than I know what to do with. I can support us in a Mayfair house with dozens of servants. You'll never have to crawl back to your family and beg them to reinstate your allowance. You can rub their noses in your good fortune."
"No, Louisa. Marrying you will mean I can never go back to France."
Marry her? Good lord, she had proposed to him and he'd rejected her! Poor Louisa.
"So?" she pressed. "What's in France for you?"
"My family," he bit off.
"The family that wants to control and manipulate you. The family that cut off your allowance and are forcing you to live like this!"
"This is not a terrible place." He sounded amused. "There are artists and writers nearby, and my landlady is a good woman."
"Don't pretend with me. You and
I are alike, and I know that living like this—"
"We are not alike." He growled something in French and footsteps stomped overhead.
I retreated outside and was about to knock, pretending I'd just arrived, when a woman dressed in widow's black approached from the street. She introduced herself as the landlady.
"I'm here to visit Mr. Charbonneau," I told her. "He's expecting me."
She invited me inside and closed the door behind us, loudly. Fabian appeared a moment later on the stairs.
Louisa didn't stay for our meeting. She smiled tightly at me then went on her way, ignoring the landlady who opened the door for her.
It took a full thirty minutes before Fabian relaxed, but once he did, he was the most cheerful he'd been in the past week. He didn't mention Louisa, and I didn't ask about her.
I couldn't stop thinking about her, however. She was right, and marrying her would solve Fabian's financial problems. She was a wealthy woman with her own fortune that would become his if they wed. Why would his family reject her if their fathers had been friends? Why would Fabian reject her?
The answer to that was quite clear—he didn't love her. Perhaps he didn't even like her.
She, however, seemed very keen to have him. Because she loved him? Or was there another reason that had more to do with his magic?
Chapter 3
Afternoon tea with Lady Rycroft and her two younger daughters was changed to dinner at their London address, gentlemen included. I was glad to have Matt there, although I would have been happier without the presence of Lord Rycroft. Matt's uncle was a bully and a snob. He didn't like his own sister, let alone me. He couldn't even look at me as he greeted me. Thankfully, we didn't sit together at the table.
With an intimate family dinner, it didn't matter that the women outnumbered the men, but Lady Rycroft insisted married couples couldn't sit together. I found myself with Aunt Letitia on one side and Lady Rycroft on my other while Matt was wedged between his two cousins opposite.
Hope Glass, the youngest of the three sisters, sat with demure dignity, the perfect young lady. As a beauty and only recently turned twenty-one, she had the better opportunity to marry well out of all three sisters. If Lord Cox hadn't fallen in love with Patience, and I hadn't forced him to marry her after he learned of her indiscretion, Hope probably would have married first. She could be amiable and good company—when she wasn't being cruel and trying to destroy my relationship with Matt.