Chapter 38
That evening
Pen found herself blinking, feeling like a fool. She could feel her cheeks flushing, the heat of it, but even here and now, Edmund did not do the wrong thing. He just waited, as if he were cordially ignoring her embarrassment or whatever it was called. “What I want?”
“It's simpler to have a conversation about it than make assumptions, surely.” Edmund turned away, but only to reach for his meringue. “Would you like another meringue? I have more.”
Desire warred briefly with uncertainty, trying to figure out the hidden meaning in the offer.
She swallowed, then said, “Yes, please. They’re delicious.
” He stood, disappearing into the kitchen area and coming back with two more, before putting one on each of their plates.
The gesture gave her some kind of idea of where to start.
“Why do you keep offering things to me?”
“Ah.” Edmund settled down, his feet more relaxed and out in front of him, now crossed at the ankles.
It would make it more awkward for him to lean forward, toward her, and she thought that might be deliberate.
“I enjoy offering you things and seeing what you’ll accept.
Also, what you’ll question, what you’ll think about, and what you’ll let sit.
Not many people do the latter, had you noticed?
They’ll grab for pleasure in the moment, without thinking of the consequences. ”
“I know people who argue that’s the war for us. The effect of it. Grandfather suggested it. That it’s human— though perhaps not moral— to reach for the momentary pleasure, because who knows what will happen tomorrow.”
“It’s a good point. Me, I like the pleasures. I don’t see a reason to deny myself the ones within reach, just because some people thought the ascetics might have an interesting idea or two. I’m like Papa that way, enjoying the pleasure.”
“You were— you were going to talk about your parents?” Pen had to make it into a question. “You’re fond of them. I’m clear on that. Not a cypher there.”
The phrasing made him chuckle, and she watched the way his eyes lit up.
He was letting her see that, Pen was sure of it, but the trick was working on her.
It made her want to do that again, to see him unguarded.
“Papa never expected to inherit. I can tell you enough of the story of what happened with Margot Williams, but it’s not pleasant.
Nor what I want to talk about tonight. And we don’t know all of it.
But something she did with Uncle Temple— Papa’s older brother— rotted his land magic.
Then he died— was killed— and his wife as well.
Papa was on an expedition in Kenya, and he knew.
So he came back, and had to sort things out, and figure out how to steady the land magic.
While he wasn’t at all certain who to trust.”
“And he wasn’t married yet?” Pen considered. “When was this?”
“1922. Papa had served in the Great War, and— well. He nearly died a couple of times, once with a particular injury. Bad shoulder, still.” The three words sketched out exactly how bad it was, to put it so plainly.
Like any other woman of her generation, Pen was an expert in reading that sort of understatement correctly.
“He met Mama in 1924, when both of them were investigating something specific. From different angles. They’d met once, both of them with their public faces on.
He fell over her in a bush while trying to figure out how to get into a particular party.
If you like, I’ll get them to tell the story sometime. It’s quite funny.”
“And your mother is— your father’s sort of people?” Pen was slowly piecing the bits together.
“First Families on her mother’s side. Cornish— Fourth Families— on her father’s.
Her father and uncle were explorers, too.
Their ship disappeared in 1920 on an expedition.
They’ve been presumed dead since the year after.
Mama was trying to keep things together for her and my Aunt Laura.
” Edmund shrugged, just one shoulder, before reaching to finish his first meringue.
“It was rough going, and then she found something she was good at. Papa stumbled over her, and they sorted things out quite promptly.”
“That’s also why you understood Circe. Your mother and aunt?” Pen reached for her own plate, taking a little bite, giving herself a moment of that pleasure. As she swallowed, she noticed Edmund’s blue-grey eyes focused on her, as if there was nothing else he’d rather be looking at.
“Mama would do anything for Aunt Laura. And Aunt Laura for Mama, though it doesn’t usually go that way.
” He added after a moment, “Aunt Laura’s married to a journalist. He writes for the Trellech Moon.
They don’t have children. She sorts out what people who’ve been seriously ill need afterwards.
What kinds of things will actually be helpful and what are just the show and awful. ”
Pen blinked. “They both work.” It didn’t quite come out as a question, but she was rearranging assumptions. “All right. But surely they expect you to marry in a particular way? And whatever you do that isn’t that has to be, I don’t know. Quiet. Hidden.”
He snorted. “Yes, if by particular way, you mean someone I love. Also, someone I feel will understand my commitments to the land magic— and to Ytene, in particular— and so on. But who that is, there’s more flexibility than there would have been a generation or two ago.
You went to Schola. That’s a help, mind. ”
“You can’t mean you’re interested in me.” Pen said it straight out. “It’s, it’s not logical. Nothing about that adds up.”
Now, Edmund raised an eyebrow. “May I join you on the sofa?”
It was his sofa. Pen would not tell him no. And whatever he had in mind, well, logic told her he’d be civilised about it. For what good logic was right now. She nodded, not sure what to say, then when he didn’t move, she managed a quiet reply. “Yes, if you’d prefer.”
“I do.” As soon as he’d spoken, he stood smoothly, pivoting to join her on the sofa.
He wasn’t quite touching her, but now he was close enough she could feel his magic brush against hers, the shift of the rug under his shoe.
Once he was settled, he cleared his throat.
“Now, may I begin to enumerate your virtues, as I see them?”
It wasn’t as though she could stop him. Pen nodded, though she found looking at her hands easier. Again, he stayed quiet until she spoke. “If you wish.”
“First, you are clever. Don’t bother arguing you aren’t, given how Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie responded to your ideas.
Also, your crossword ability.” She couldn’t argue, so she managed a little nod.
“Second, you are sensible. You think about the consequences of your choices in a way that’s deliberate.
I find that exceedingly attractive, actually.
Third, you commit to the things you choose.
That is also rather rare. Fourth, Uncle Alexander does not seem to terrify you.
That puts you in a tiny group. Certainly a requirement on my part for anyone I’d consider walking out with, never mind anything further. ”
This, or at least the way his tone of voice threaded between teasing and blatant affection, made her look up. “You care about him that much?”
“Oh, yes. He’s always taken me seriously.
Not that Mama and Papa don’t, but they’re obliged to, don’t you see?
Uncle Alexander chose to, and that turns out to make a great deal of difference sometimes.
I have so much more I want to learn from him.
” There was a hint there of some sort of shadow, but Pen didn’t think it was about his uncle.
“All right. And no, he doesn’t scare me. He’s been very polite. Though I gather he, um. Intimidates many people?” Pen tried to figure out how to put that into words.
“He does. Deliberately. I’d be glad to arrange a chance for you to get to know him better. And vice versa. I’ll tell you now, he has a solid understanding of cryptography, but you’re better at it.” Edmund shrugged.
Then, while she was looking at his face, he went on.
“Fifth, though by no means fifth in importance, you’re lovely.
Don’t argue with me, not yet at least. You’re not a stunning beauty, the kind that gets shown off in magazines.
But I adore watching you. You’re clear on who you are, you dress in a way that suits you.
I have given a few moments to wondering what you’d look like with your hair down.
Or—” His voice dropped in pitch and volume.
“Other things. Only so far, of course, I’d not want to be rude. ”
Pen’s mouth opened, then closed. Now she was certain she looked like a fish, and that was not remotely attractive. “You can’t mean it. Thinking about me like that.”
There were three heartbeats of hesitation.
“If you gave me permission to take your hand and place your palm somewhere intimate, you could feel for yourself.” Edmund made the sentence go together in absurd grammatical perfection, so much so that it took a moment for Pen to realise what he’d said.
Her eyes immediately dropped to his lap, though the way his jumper lay obscured whatever was there visually.
“May I?” His voice had the same smooth evenness, tinged with hope.
Silently, she held out her hand, and he took it.
His fingers were gentle but deliberate, drawing her hand toward his lap, then down, letting her close the last bit of distance herself.
His care about that sent a shiver through her.
The kind that made her clench her jaw before she forced herself to swallow, breathe, and move her hand the last fraction of an inch.