by Bree Verity
“Alright, Mar. Thanks.” She walked away toward her new recruits, scolding as she did, and Nazryth returned his attention to Fenella and, with a smile and a shrug, said, “Well, that’s that then.” He commenced walking back to his office, and Fenella fell in step alongside him.
“So, we don’t really know what this is?”
“Not really, no.”
“And yet it seems that Eldryth knew all about it.”
“How could she? If it’s a subset of blackdark, then…” Nazryth’s face grew grave. “She must suspect you of blackdark.”
Fenella’s heart jumped into her throat. “She couldn’t. I’ve done everything I can to hide it.” They reached Nazryth’s office, and after ushering her inside, he closed the door, concern in his eyes.
“Perhaps she can sense the blackdark. She’s ancient, you know. With powers that neither you nor I could possibly understand.”
“But how can I hide it, then, if she already knows?”
“You can’t.” He paused for a moment, considering. “At least you can take some comfort from the fact that she hasn’t pointed the authorities your way. Perhaps she only suspects something.” With a nod to himself to confirm what he was thinking he said, “You need to stay here. That would be the safest thing.”
“No.” Fenella crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the side of his desk. “I have to go back. I have a duty to my godchild.”
“Your godchild? You’re thinking of a human at a time like this?”
A little bubble of stubbornness expanded inside her. “Yes, Nazryth. That’s what fairy godmothers do.”
“And if you’re caught?”
“Well, I’ll just have to be sure I’m not.”
He exhaled, clearly dissatisfied with her answers. “I can’t stop you, of course,” he said, his voice deep. “But I wish you’d change your mind You must know I care about your welfare.” He took a step back from her and cleared his throat. “The welfare of all our soul magicians, I mean.”
“What is this, Nazryth?” She asked the question quietly, her cheeks flaring.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Fenella waved a hand between herself and the Ravyn leader. “This. Thing between us.”
“There is no thing.” He shuffled his feet, refusing to catch her eye.
“You know there is.” She took a deep breath. “I have a soulmate. We’ve only just reached an understanding.” Nazryth looked at her quickly, and she flushed even deeper, even as she stepped up to him and reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. “I have to go.” She locked her blue-black eyes with his bright blue ones.
“And if they lock you in prison and throw away the key?”
“Then I’ll know you’ll be along shortly to rescue me.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “You know,” he said, “a she-fae can have multiple soul mates.”
With a pat on his cheek, she walked out of his office and back across the open room to the exit, knowing his eyes were on her all the way.
Her mind was in turmoil the whole way home.
Chapter Fifteen.
Mary’s face hurt from smiling. It was exhausting to pretend to be equanimous when one’s heart was breaking. She had studiously avoided Mr. Penny after accidentally catching his eye once and seeing steely victory there; and she had jealously watched Sir Percy make his way around the room, mildly flirting with several of the pretty girls. She had, more than once, resorted to fluttering her fan in front of her face.
She had refused dances with several gentlemen, professing exhaustion, preferring to sit aside on a comfortable long chaise and watch the proceedings. Mama had looked at her askance more than once for her poor behavior, but she had not scolded her; perhaps, Mary thought, she realised just how miserable Mary felt.
She had worn a gown with a gauzy high-necked design to cover the bruises on her throat, and Mama and Heather had worked to cover up the wound on her cheek as best they could with powders and ointments, but Mary felt certain everyone could see her welts and were talking about her behind their hands and fans, creating hateful fabrications about how she might have received them. She felt as if she stood out like a flaming beacon, burning bright in the middle of the room.
Someone, a gentleman, brushed alongside her as he sat down. Busy as she was with her fan, and with no desire to speak to anyone, she didn’t register exactly who it was until he started to speak.
“You don’t seem your normal self tonight, Lady Mary.” The warm, concerned voice of Sir Percy cut through her thoughts and she turned to him. His eyes narrowed as he noticed her overly pale countenance. “What is making you upset?”
“Say rather who,” replied Mary, then realizing she should not have said such a thing, she smiled and continued, “Pay no attention to me, Sir Percy, I am merely out of sorts this evening.”
“What happened to your face? Who did that to you?”
She could hear shock and anger in his tone; he had put her words together with her injuries. She stared at him wordlessly, wishing she could confide in him, put all her troubles in his hands.
“You must tell me, Mary.” His jaw had tightened, and he had taken up one of her gloved hands.
“I walked into a door,” she said, holding her head a little higher. “It was quite silly of me.”
His jaw tightened. “You did not walk into a door.”
“I did.”
She wriggled uncomfortably under his long stare and could not hold eye contact.
“It is not your right,” she whispered, her tone miserable.
He looked around a little furtively and pulled her to her feet. Tucking her hand in his elbow, he said, “Come with me.”
Mary would have followed him anywhere, but he only took her to a dark, quiet room that Mary took to be a morning room, filled as it was with chairs, small side-tables and odds and ends.
Sir Percy sat in one of the wing backed chairs and indicated that Mary should sit in another facing him. She did so, casting her eyes down to where her hands rested in her lap.
“Mary,” he started, leaning forward in his chair to capture her hand again, his action startling her into looking up at him. “I know I have no right to your affection; your Valentine made that very clear.” She started to protest but was silenced by his raised hand. “However, I cannot just turn my feelings off – and if someone has hurt you, I…” He stopped and swallowed. “I feel it my duty as a gentleman to defend you, if someone has harmed you.”
“That is very kind,” she said, “only…”
“Please, Mary. There is little I can do for you now, let me do this.”
He kissed her fingertips, through her glove, and Mary felt the thrill of her own blood rushing through her body. Her breathing shortened and she smiled tenderly at the beloved head bowed over her hand.
“Sir Percy I… there are so many things to say.”
He glanced up at her, a question in his eyes. She smiled sadly. “You were not the intended recipient of that vinegar Valentine.”
She felt his grip on her hand tighten. “Am I to assume then…”
“No. For my father has agreed to my marriage with Mr. Penny.”
“I cannot accept that.” He stood up suddenly, running a hand through his hair in a distracted manner. “Mr. Penny is not the man for you. He is too unpredictable, too dangerous.”
“It is kind of you to say so,” she replied, “however the damage has already been done.”
“Damage? Am I to assume you do not wish the engagement?”
“I do not wish the engagement with all my heart.” This would likely be the only opportunity she would get to explain the situation to Sir Percy, to apologize for her dreadful error and to tell him how she really felt. She stood up, feeling brave and bold, yet still afraid. “My wish was to become engaged to an entirely different gentleman.” Standing directly in front of Sir Percy, she said simply, “You.”
Without a word he pulled her into a hug, crushing her again
st his chest, his arms tight around her shoulders. Her neck, twisted as it was so her head would lie against his chest, ached anew, but she ignored it. She took hold of his lapel and lay her head on his breast, reveling in the comfort and warmth of his hold. His spicy scent surrounded her. The galloping of his heart, which she could hear clearly, showed just how affected Sir Percy was. Mary wished she could spare him some of the pain, but she could not fathom how she might extricate herself from her engagement.
“Run away with me, Mary,” whispered Sir Percy fiercely into her curls. “Come away with me to Gretna.”
“That does not solve the difficulty of Mr. Penny,” replied Mary, ever practical. “He will sue for breach of contract. And knowing him, he will take my entire portion and probably half of Papa’s money as well.”
“But it means that I will be able to protect you.”
He pulled her away from him, holding her at arm’s length by the shoulders. “You have still not told me who damaged your face.”
She shrugged. “Who do you think? It was Mr. Penny.” She hooked a finger in her high-necked dress and pulled it down a little to display the bruises on her neck. “He also tried to choke me.”
Sir Percy’s face suffused with anger. “But why? Why would he do something so heinous?”
“I told him that I did not wish to marry him.”
Sir Percy let go of her shoulders and paced around the room in agitation. “I shall see his liver skewered,” he promised, and Mary was impressed by the flash in his eyes. “I swear, he will pay for what he has done.”
“You shall do no such thing.”
“You cannot marry him, Mary.” He came back to her and took her hands in his. “Please do not go ahead with it. He is mad enough to kill you.”
“I know.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, her brow furrowed. “I only wish I could work out how to break our engagement without endangering my reputation, or that of my family, or putting all of our fortunes at risk.”
“There must be a way.”
They stood for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until Mary, realizing that they were still standing hand-in-hand, blushed and said, “We should probably return to the ballroom. People will start to talk.”
“Let them talk,” replied Sir Percy brashly.
“That is easy for you to say. Your reputation will not suffer.” She moved to pull her hands away, but Sir Percy held them tight.
“Just one thing before you go,” he said, and before Mary knew it, he had pulled her into his arms again, and his lips were upon hers.
She had not expected that a kiss would pass fire through her veins, nor that her insides would dissolve and fall to the very pit of her stomach. She had not expected that a kiss would remove all rational thought from her mind and leave her limp and bewildered in her lover’s arms.
She had not known what to expect from kisses at all. But Sir Percy’s kiss told her everything she needed to know.
For it told her that she loved him. That she would gladly hand her life and body and soul over to him if he asked her again. She would suffer the loss of reputation without regret if it meant she would gain his company for the rest of her life.
But he did not ask again. He stopped kissing her and rested his forehead against hers.
“Be brave, my love,” he said. “We shall think of a way to get through this.”
She nodded, unable to make a single sound and unsure that, even if she wanted to, she could put together a coherent sentence. He smiled gently, then said, “You should go.”
With one last glance behind her, Mary left the room, hurrying to close the door and return to the ballroom.
Percy watched her go and sighed heavily. He had thought Mary’s rejection, delivered in the guise of a vinegar valentine was bad. But knowing that she loved him but could not be with him was far worse.
And his blood boiled afresh when he thought of Mr. Penny laying a hand on her.
Well, even if he could do nothing else, he could make it clear to the bounder that Lady Mary had a champion.
He straightened his vest, checked his cravat for unsightly wrinkles, and went to find Mr. Penny.
He was, of course, to be found in the card room, amongst the non-dancers and loud voices. Damn the fellow, he looked as if he was having the time of his life, laughing with his friends while dealing out cards, taking snuff from the offered hand of a… certainly not a lady. A courtesan.
Percy knew, without a doubt, that Mr. Penny did not care for Mary, apart from her wealth. He suspected that Mr. Penny would continue along the lifestyle he had created for himself, any wife and children left to suffer the loneliness and heartache of a chronically absent father. And yet, he would rule with a cruel hand when he was at home – his treatment of Mary had made that perfectly clear.
Percy could not allow the man to marry Mary. He simply couldn’t.
And so, he approached the table, his gaze fixed on the man standing between him and his happiness. As he got closer, he removed a glove, finger by finger, and when he reached the table, he swiped Mr. Penny across the face with it.
Mr. Penny sprung up out of his chair, the rest of the people around the table going silent, as well as the ones round about who had seen Percy’s action.
Percy, pale but resolute, said in a clear voice, “I demand satisfaction, sir.”
Mr. Penny’s expression changed. The murder in his eyes turned to amusement, and a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “Indeed, sir,” he murmured. “For what particular slight, may I ask?”
“The damage you inflicted upon Lady Mary Pascoe’s person.”
Mr. Penny’s expression changed again, and he snarled, “Matters between my fiancée and myself are nobody’s business except our own.”
“On the contrary, sir, honor demands that you give me satisfaction.”
Percy stood his ground, although inside he was quivering like an arrow just shot into a tree trunk. He had never picked a fight before; it was just his luck that his very first bout would be against one of the greatest bullies in London.
Mr. Penny strolled over and stood directly in front of Percy. He was perhaps an inch taller and sneered down into Percy’s eyes. The silence lingered on, Percy could feel the perspiration rolling down between his shoulder blades and making its way down his spine. He was terrified, but would not allow it to show, rather staring back as belligerently as he could into Mr. Penny’s hard eyes.
Finally, Mr. Penny said, “Fine. A duel it is.” He took a step back, and Percy realised he had stopped breathing. He exhaled in a whoosh, not forgetting the niceties required for the bout.
“Name your seconds, sir.”
Mr. Penny returned to his seat at the table and waved his hand. “Sir Walter will stand for me and… oh, I don’t know. Find someone else will you Walter?”
Sir Walter, always Mr. Penny’s shadow, nodded gravely.
“Very well. I shall ask my men to call on Sir Walter tomorrow.” With that, Percy turned on his heel and stalked away, gritting his teeth against the mortification caused by the ringing out of a poorly bred woman’s voice, “’Oo did he think he was then aye?” and a laugh around the table.
And then he saw Mary staring at him in horror from the other side of the ballroom.
Chapter Sixteen.
The duel was duly scheduled for the morning after, at dawn on the common, in a clearing created by a copse of tall bushes that would shield the participants from the prying eyes of the law. Dueling had been outlawed for years, still it was practiced regularly by men (and some women) who felt it was the only way they could obtain satisfaction and restore themselves, or the person they fought for, to honor.
The morning was chilly, and a light fog filled the air. Percy was glad it was not a little heavier, or he might not have been able to see his opponent. As it was, Mr. Penny was clear in his sights, 30 paces away, even though he was shadowy.
His seconds had called on Sir Walter and reported back that the gentleman ha
d not even sought to stop the duel, rather discussing with some belligerence the type of weapon that would be used and the distance between the two duelists. The time had been set and with a grim handshake, the seconds had sealed Percy’s fate.
He felt confident, his skill with the pistol was well honed, and he was very clear in his mind that he was going to hurt Mr. Penny – not kill him, but wing him sufficiently that he would know Percy would come to Mary’s aid, should she require it in future. It would be warning enough, even though it would never be enough to secure his happiness, or Mary’s.
“Aim.”
The call brought his thoughts back into sharp focus, banishing everything from his mind except the target in front of him, the trajectory of his pistol and the small kick to the left that his seconds had warned him of. He was rock solid on his feet, no flutter of his heart or errant thought in his mind would sway him from his goal. He looked down the sight of the pistol, Mr. Penny’s right shoulder in view. The plan was to skim the ball across Mr. Penny’s outer arm, a painful and bloody injury, but far from life threatening. Percy felt a moment of satisfaction cross his mind as he imagined his opponent dropping to the ground.
“Fire.”
At almost the exact moment that he fired; Percy felt a sharp pain in his upper leg. The leg would no longer take his weight, and he collapsed to the ground. Vaguely he noticed the blood starting to ooze lazily from his wound, and he grew groggy. And just before he passed out, he realised what had happened.
Mr. Penny had shot him.
* * *
He awoke in his own bed, his leg on fire. He tried to move it and was rewarded with a burst of pain strong enough to make him cry out, and for his vision to blur up again.
Into his vision came a woman, one he could not identify through his fuzzy state. She scolded him, but gently, and placed a cool hand on his forehead. He relaxed, the woman’s touch calming his agitation. Perhaps he would sleep again, just for a moment.