I Thee Wed

by Amanda Quick

  Edison seized the opportunity. He rained a series of short, sharp blows designed not to cause injury but to keep his opponent reeling.

  The young fighter abandoned the effort to maintain his balance. He threw himself to the ground and rolled toward Edison. It was a deft recovery. Edison was impressed. The move was an old one from the Strategy of Surprise.

  He opted for a move from the same Strategy. Instead of falling back, he leaped over the rolling figure, twisted in midair, and came down on the other side.

  The fighter realized too late that his attack had been thwarted. He struggled to get back to his feet, but there was no time. Edison was on him. He pinned the young man to the damp paving stones with an unbreakable hold from the Strategy of Restraint. He felt the fear and rage that shuddered through his victim.

  “It’s over,” Edison said softly.

  There was a moment of tension during which he worried that the fighter would fail to yield. He would have another kind of problem on his hands if the young man made such a decision. He sought for the formal words that would allow his opponent a face-saving way out of the impasse.

  “Even though I have gone out of the Circle, my honor is unquestioned by any in the Society or on Vanzagara itself,” he said. “I demand from you the respect that a student must show to a true master. Yield.”

  “I... yield.”

  Edison hesitated a few seconds and then released his captive. He got to his feet and stood looking down at him. “Get up. Take off that ridiculous mask and move closer to the light.”

  Reluctantly the fighter hauled himself up off the stones. He limped slowly toward the glare of the gaming hell windows. Then he stopped and reached up to pull the scarf away from his face. Edison looked at him and stifled a bone-deep sigh. He had been right. The fighter was no more than eighteen or nineteen at the most. No older than he himself had been when he had sailed for the East with Ignatius Lorring. He looked into the sullen, haunted eyes and saw a mirror that reflected his own past.

  “What is your name?” he asked quietly.

  “John. John Stoner.”

  “Where does your family live?”

  “I have no family. My mother died two years ago. There is no one else.”

  “What of your father?”

  “I am a bastard,” John said flatly.

  “I should have guessed as much.” The tale was so close to home that it made him shudder. “How long have you studied Vanza, John Stoner?”

  “Nearly a year.” There was a desperate pride in the words. “My master says I learn quickly.”

  “Who is your master?”

  John looked at his own feet. “Please, do not ask me that. I cannot tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he told me that you are his enemy. Even though you have defeated me in honorable combat, I cannot betray my master to you. To do so would be to sacrifice all that is left of my own honor.”

  Edison moved closer. “Will it make it any easier for you to give me his name if I tell you that your master is a rogue? He has not taught you true Vanza.”

  “No.” John’s head came up swiftly, his eyes stark. “I will not believe that. I have studied hard. I have served my master faithfully.”

  Edison considered his options. He could probably force the name of the renegade out of John, but to do so would deprive the young man of the only thing of value he had left, his honor. Edison remembered too well what it felt like to have only that one commodity to call his own.

  He contemplated the scene through the gaming hell windows. The fiery glare revealed the figures of the debauched men inside, men who drank too much and risked too much. They were men who had nothing left to lose, not even their honor. It would be all too easy for John to become one of them after his failure tonight.

  Edison made up his mind. “Come with me.”

  He turned and walked toward the entrance of the fog-shrouded lane. He did not look back to see if John had obeyed him.

  The fog had lifted by the time Edison arrived at the docks with John in tow. The cold light of the moon revealed the outlines of the ships that bobbed gently in the water. The familiar stench of the Thames filled the air.

  There had been only one brief stop en route. That was to collect John’s entire assortment of worldly possessions from a dismal little room above a tavern.

  “I don’t understand.” John hitched his bundle higher on his shoulder and stared, bewildered, at the creaking masts of the Sarah Jane. “Why have we come here?”

  “You have been a nuisance on occasion, John, but you have succeeded in convincing me that you are serious in your quest to learn true Vanza. I take it you have not changed your mind in the past hour?”

  “Changed my mind? About Vanza? Never. Tonight I have failed but I will never cease to search for the balance that brings knowledge.”

  “Excellent.” Edison clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Because I am going to give you a chance to study Vanza the way it should be studied. In the Garden Temples of Vanzagara.”

  “Vanzagara?” John swung around so quickly that he nearly dropped his bundle. The lantern he carried revealed the stunned expression on his face. “But that is not possible. It lies across the seas. Is it not enough that you have defeated me? Must you continue to mock me?”

  “The Sarah Jane is one of my ships. She sails at dawn for the Far East. One of her ports of call is Vanzagara. I will give you a letter to give to a monk named Vora. He is a man of great wisdom. He will see to it that you receive instruction in the true ways of Vanza.”

  John looked at him as though afraid to believe him. “You are serious.”

  “Very.”

  “Why would you do this for me? You owe me nothing. I did not even tell you the one thing you wished to know, the name of my master.”

  “Your ex-master,” Edison said. “And you’re wrong. I do owe you something. You reminded me of someone I knew when I was much younger.”

  “Who?”

  “Myself.”

  Edison saw the elated John safely aboard the Sarah Jane. He had a word with the captain, informing him that his new passenger was to be put ashore in Vanzagara, and then he returned to the small room John Stoner had called home for the past year. There was very little left in the tiny chamber. But the remains of John’s most recently used Vanza meditation candle were still in a dish on the table. Edison had noted them earlier but he had said nothing about them.

  He walked across the small room and hoisted the lantern to spill light on the cold, melted bits of beeswax. The candle had been tinted a dark crimson. Edison pried one of the pieces off the plate and inhaled the scent.

  To know the master, look at the student’s candles.

  When he found the man who had given John the crimson tapers, he would find the rogue master.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “So, you have managed to win over the Exbridge Dragon.” Basil’s mouth curved with dry humor as he brought Emma to a halt at the edge of the dance floor. “My congratulations, Miss Greyson. You must be something of a sorceress.”

  “Nonsense.” Emma glanced toward Victoria, who was chatting with two women who appeared to be old friends. “Lady Exbridge was kind enough to invite me to stay with her until the marriage.”

  Basil looked tthoughtful. “Until tonight, no one in Society would have believed that the Dragon would ever have deigned to recognize her bastard grandson’s choice of bride.”

  Emma raised her chin. “She is his grandmother, when all is said and done, sir.”

  Without waiting for a response, she whirled and walked briskly away from Basil. she had not wanted to dance with him in the first place. She had not wanted to go back onto the floor with anyone after Edison had left. She had been too busy worrying about his plans for the evening.

  But Basil had materialized the moment Edison vanished, and Lady Exbridge had urged her to accept his invitation to waltz.

  It was really very difficult trying to please Victo
ria, Emma reflected as she moved back through the crowd. In the short time she had spent with her, she had learned that her gowns were not only cut too low, they had too many flounces. She had been told that the particular shade of green Letty had decreed for most of the items in her wardrobe was not the right one. In addition, she had been informed that Lady Letty had allowed her to accept too many invitations from the wrong people in the Polite World.

  All in all, Emma thought, she was very glad that she had not had the misfortune to have been employed by Victoria as a lady’s companion. She had no doubt that Lady Exbridge would have proved to be every bit as difficult an employer as her grandson.

  A liveried footman went past with a heavily laden tray. Emma seized a glass of lemonade and paused beneath a potted palm to down the entire contents. Dancing, she had discovered, was thirsty work.

  So was worrying about Edison. She glanced out the window into the night. He was out there somewhere pursuing his scheme to lure the Vanza fighter out of hiding. She was still annoyed with him for refusing to take her with him.

  She was searching for a place to set down the empty glass when she heard Victoria’s voice drift through the branches of the palm.

  “I have no notion of what you are talking about, Rosemary. Murderess, indeed. What utter rubbish.”

  Emma went very still.

  “Surely you’ve heard that Crane was found shot dead in her bed chamber,” the woman named Rosemary said.

  “I assure you,” Victoria snapped, “that if my grandson’s fiancée actually did shoot this Chilton Crane person, he most certainly deserved it.”

  Rosemary gave a shocked gasp. “Surely you jest, Victoria. We are speaking of the murder of a gentleman of the ton.”

  “Really?” Victoria sounded coolly astonished. “If that’s true, then it was, indeed, a memorable event. After all, there are so very few true gentlemen in the ton. It would be a pity to lose one. However, I do not believe there is any cause for alarm in this case.”

  “How on earth can you say such a thing?” Rosemary demanded, clearly scandalized.

  “From everything I have heard, Chilton Crane was no gentleman and no great loss to the world.”

  There was a short, stunned pause and then Rosemary abruptly changed tactics. “I must admit that I was amazed to see that you have given your approval to your grandson’s choice of bride. Even if one ignores the fact that her name is connected to a murder, there is no getting around the business of her former career.”

  “Former career?” Victoria repeated vaguely.

  Sensing an opening, Rosemary pounced. “Heavens. Has no one told you that Miss Greyson made her living as a lady’s companion until the night she became engaged to your grandson?”

  “What of it?”

  “I would have thought that you would have preferred a daughter-in-law from a more elevated station. An heiress, surely.”

  “What I prefer,” Victoria said crisply, “is precisely what I have got. A future daughter-in-law who shows every sign of being able to help my grandson reinvigorate the family tree.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Family bloodlines are not unlike horse bloodlines, you know. To keep the breed strong and robust, one must look for spirit and intelligence in a prospective daughter-in-law, just as one would in a mare.”

  “I cannot believe—”

  “Look around you,” Victoria said. “Don’t you think it’s a pity that so many families in the Polite World show evidence of weakness in the bloodlines? Poor constitutions, a sorry tendency to frequent the gaming hells, and an inclination to debauchery. The Stokes family line will be spared that fate, thanks to my grandson and his bride.”

  Emma managed to restrain herself until she and Victoria were on the way home in the carriage. When the vehicle, guarded by two sturdy-looking Bow Street Runners, set off into the late night traffic, she looked at the older woman.

  “Weakness in the bloodlines?” she murmured.

  Victoria’s brows rose in a manner that was strongly reminiscent of Edison. “So you overheard that, did you?”

  “It’s a shame Edison was not present. He would have been extremely amused.”

  Victoria turned her head to look out the window. Her jaw was set in rigid lines. Her shoulders were stiff and very straight. “No doubt.”

  There was a short silence. Emma looked at Victoria’s gloved fingers. They were tightly folded on her lap.

  “It was very kind of you to lend your assistance to him in this venture, madam,” Emma said quietly. “It is very important to him because he feels a great debt of gratitude to his friend, Mr. Lorring, and to the monks of Vanzagara.”

  “How very odd.”

  “Perhaps. Nevertheless, he is committed to finding the villain who stole the book and the elixir recipe. After the events that transpired today he had nowhere else to turn except to you.”

  “Astonishing.” Victoria gazed fixedly out into the darkness. “Edison has certainly never needed any help from me before.”

  “Oh, but he has. The thing is, he did not know how to ask for it. And you, I am sorry to say, were not very good at offering it.”

  Victoria’s head snapped around. Her fierce, strangely desperate eyes pinned Emma. “What do you mean?”

  “As I told you, the two of you have much in common when it comes to stubbornness and pride.” Emma smiled wryly. “They are no doubt a few of those delightful traits that you mentioned. The sort that are passed down through family bloodlines.”

  Victoria’s mouth tightened. Emma braced herself for a blistering scold.

  “Are you in love with my grandson?” Victoria asked instead.

  It was Emma’s turn to go rigid and focus on the scene outside the window. “An acquaintance of mine recently reminded me that it is most unwise for anyone in service to fall in love with his or her employer.”

  That is not an answer to my question.”

  Emma looked at her. “No, I suppose it is not.”

  Victoria searched her face. “You are in love with him.”

  “Do not concern yourself, madam. I assure you, I will not make the mistake of assuming that he loves me.” Emma sighed. “That is how the disasters always seem to come about, you see. False assumptions.”

  It was not yet dawn when Emma heard the light, rapid ping, ping, ping on the window of her bed chamber. She was still wide awake. Her thoughts had been churning ever since she had climbed into bed. A

  part of her was waiting but she did not know why.

  Ping, ping, ping.

  Rain, she thought. But that made no sense. The moon was out. For the past two hours she had been idly tracking the band of silver that was moving so slowly across the carpet.

  Ping, ping, ping.

  Not rain. Pebbles.

  “Edison.”

  She scrambled out of bed, grabbed her wrapper, and hurried to the window. She opened it quickly, leaned out, and looked down. Edison stood in the garden directly below. He had his greatcoat hooked over one shoulder. His cravat hung loose around his neck and his head was bare. The moonlight cast cold shadows around him as he watched her window. She was so relieved to see him safe and sound that she felt slightly dazed.

  “Are you all right?” she called softly.

  “Yes, of course. Come downstairs to the conservatory. I want to talk to you.”

  Something was wrong. She could hear it in his voice.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  She closed the window, tightened the sash of her wrapper, and went to the table to pick up the candle. She let herself out into the hall, tiptoed past Victoria’s door, and descended the back stairs into the kitchen hall. She walked quickly to the conservatory door and opened it. She saw at once that she would no longer need her candle. Moonlight flooded the glass-walled room with a radiance that etched the plants in silver. Palm fronds loomed against the backdrop of the night outside the windows. Broad leaves cast strange shadows. Massed flowers, stripped of their exotic hues, li
ned the benches. An earthy mix of exotic scents floated in the air.

  “Edison?”

  “Here.” He moved out of the dark place between two leafy trees and came toward her down a moonlit aisle. “Keep your voice down. I do not want to wake the household.”

  “No, of course not.” She blew out the candle and set it aside. “What happened? Did you find the Vanza fighter?”

  Edison came to a halt in front of her. He tossed his greatcoat over the nearest workbench. “I found him.”

  The neutral quality of his voice alarmed her as nothing else could have done at that moment.

  “What is it?” She swallowed uneasily. “Did you ... were you forced to kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Thank heavens for that much. What did you do with him?”

  Edison leaned back against one of the pillars that supported the glass roof. He folded his arms and looked past her into the darkness outside the windows. “I put him on a ship bound for Vanzagara.”

  “I see.” She hesitated. “Was he as young as you suspected?”

  “Yes.”

  “So that is the problem. He reminded you of yourself at that age.”

  “Sometimes you are entirely too perceptive, Emma. It is an irritating habit in an employee.”

  “It was a logical conclusion,” she said apologetically.

  “You are right.” Edison exhaled deeply. “He reminded me of the fact that I was not the only young man who ever found himself adrift in the world. He also reminded me of how desperately young men search for ways to prove to themselves that they are men. How those of us who were born as bastards seek some semblance of personal honor. Yes, he reminded me of myself at that age.”

  She touched his arm. “What troubles you now? Do you doubt that you did the right thing?”

  “By sending young John Stoner off to Vanzagara? No. If there is any hope for him, it lies there. As much as I may scorn the metaphysical nonsense spouted by the members of the Vanzagarian Society I must admit that it was my experience on the island that gave me what I needed to find my place in the world.”