4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Kat
“Lady Vandermore!”
My name, called so loudly into the ballroom of sparkling chandeliers and twirling gowns, draws a wave of attention I’m never prepared for. Practically every young man in the room whips his head in my direction. Their abandoned dance partners pout in frustration—or in some cases, sigh in relief. All the mothers of said ladies scowl darkly.
One particular set of eyes sears into me like fire, as though the potency of her hatred could simply burn away the fine gown I wear. My stepmother leaves her two daughters and hurries to join the throng of young men waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
“Forgive me for my tardiness, dear stepmother,” I say with a little laugh. “My horse had a bad shoe, and I had to walk all the way back from the Biltwalls’.”
Her smile is all teeth. “You could have summoned the carriage, darling.”
“I didn’t want to trouble you! I didn’t want to make you late too, after all.” The lies come so easily, even though Agatha isn’t fooled at all.
She believes I have tarried on purpose, to avoid the young men. Which, to be sure, is definitely something I would have done—if I hadn’t been sneaking into Caphryl Wood and robbing fae princes and nearly getting myself killed instead.
“You are always so thoughtful of your stepfamily, Lady Vandermore,” says one of the gentlemen with a kind face and slightly crooked cravat—bless him—as he reaches for my hand to bow over it. “Would you care for a dance? If I remember, the waltz was your favorite.”
“Oh!” says Agatha, stepping forward to pat the young man’s arm. “I’m afraid she’s already promised the first few dances to Lord Boreham. But I’m sure she will have openings later in the evening for you.”
Fabulous. Just fabulous.
I still don’t know what Agatha’s obsession with Lord Boreham is or why, of all the young men, the rather short and rotund one boasting allergies to everything outside the confines of his house was the one she decided I should wed and bestow my fortune upon.
“I believe the lady can answer for herself,” says the gentleman, lifting his eyebrow at me.
How dare he give me an escape and put my stepmother in her place? Now I must begrudgingly like him, even though I know he only cares about my money.
This is why Mary’s plan can never work. I’m much too eager to like these young men’s attentions and if I am not careful, I will fall under the spell of so-called love and give my fortune away to someone who will squander it on foolish things.
I withdraw my hand with an apologetic wince. “I’m afraid my stepmother is right, and I am otherwise engaged for these next few dances.” I force myself to smile and add, “But do find me later.”
At least, with Lord Boreham, I am not at all at risk of falling for him.
The young man—the son of the Baron Cranswick—smiles politely as he accepts my dance card and scrawls his name. Oliver. When he looks up, he says, “I have some news for you. I’ll tell you when we dance.” He winks at me, then drops his tone so Agatha cannot hear him when he adds, “It’s about the fae and the Long Lost Wood.”
My attention whips to him as I’m passing my card along to the others waiting. He grins, happy to have my attention—though I am instantly terrified to know why he thinks I would be interested. Has rumor gotten out about my escapades as the Ivy Mask? Surely not!
My full card is pressed back into my hand before I walk away. My stepmother’s low voice tickles my ear with a tight, “I’m glad you made the right decision.”
That only makes me want to retract my decision and snub her choice. If for no other reason than to prove I didn’t do this for her.
I do nothing for her.
Instead, I hide my fists in my skirt and paste a smile on my face as I follow the bane of my existence to Lord Boreham.
The gentleman is nowhere near the dance floor, sprawled across a settee and laughing hysterically at something the group of men near him are saying. He clearly has no intent of dancing—least of all with me—and I have a particular dislike for the man gripping the back of the settee with one hand and holding his wine goblet the other. Sir Alsbee tried to seduce me when I was much younger, to force me via scandal into marriage with him.
I do not like any of them, but I will take the watery nose of Lord Boreham any day over one like Alsbee.
“I found her at last!” cries Agatha. “She was late because of that worthless horse of hers. But she is here now!”
The laughter quiets, and Lord Boreham grunts as he gets to his feet. He bows to me. “Lady Vandermore.”
I curtsy. “Lord Boreham.”
“I had to fight hordes of men to get her for you,” says Agatha, patting Boreham’s arm. “Use your time wisely.”
Oh dear.
“Oh, you look lovely Kat!” cries one of my stepsisters from behind us.
We’re turning around when Agatha says, “It’s Katherine, Bridget. Do be proper in public, my darling.”
Bridget grins at me when I curtsy to her. She flaps her fan, making her golden ringlets flutter. She looks me up and down. “I like the pearls. Did they belong to your mother?”
I pretend I don’t stiffen at the mention of Mama. “Mary found them at the market on a discount. It was a peddler trying to pawn off the last of his wares before he died or something. I cannot remember the story exactly.” I shrug one shoulder.
Bridget chortles, glancing between me and Lord Boreham while Agatha sighs and closes her eyes.
“That,” I say, glancing at my stepmother who looks like she is trying to restrain the urge to murder me, “was not very proper of me, now was it, Lord Boreham?”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t,” he agrees.
I smile. “But you don’t mind too much, do you?”
“Um, well—” Lord Boreham starts to say.
Agatha interrupts him before he can say something too damaging. “He finds your liveliness charming, I am sure. I can see the way you look at her, Lord Boreham.”
One look at the mottled color in the gentleman’s cheeks and the way his eyes shift around uneasily, and charmed is definitely— definitely— the word that comes to mind.
“Where’s Edith?” I ask, glancing around for my other stepsister to end this uncomfortable turn of conversation.
Bridget waves her fan, ruffling the lacy trimmings on the square neckline of her rose-colored bodice. “Oh, in some back room banging on an abandoned harpsichord. I think she feels sorry for any instrument that goes five minutes without being played.”
“Darling,” hisses Agatha under her breath, before smiling at Boreham and I. “The music is starting. Off you two go!”
As Boreham leads me to the dance floor, I cannot fathom for what possible reason Agatha has decided that he is the gentleman I ought to marry. She is from Aursailles originally, as is Lord Boreham, so perhaps she feels a kinship to him and thinks I ought to feel the same.
I glance at my partner, whose arms are not long enough to put a comfortable distance between us while we dance. It’s just a waltz, yet he is breathing hard not even halfway into the dance. To be fair, my breath isn’t even either—but that’s because I was tearing around fae forests only an hour ago. A girl’s legs can only take so much in one night.
What strikes me as strangest about this arrangement is that, of all the young men at this ball, Boreham seems the least interested in me. He doesn’t even attempt to make conversation, and his eyes are dancing around over the top of my head, very occasionally flitting to mine and then away.
“Did you travel from Commington today for the ball?” I ask just before he sends me into a twirl.
“Yes.”
“And how long are you staying in Ashbourne?”
“A few days.”
“Ah! What is keeping you here? If I remember correctly, you usually return home very quickly.”
His shifty gaze finds mine. He swallows and clears his throat. Then his gaze is back to staring at my forehead. “Well, your mother and I—”
My reply comes out far too vehemently than it should. “She is not my mother.”
He nods in acquiescence. A bead of sweat slides down his temple. “Your stepmother and I have been in discussions of marriage.”
I trip over my skirt. “Wh-what?”
“Marriage. Lady Agatha has agreed that a quiet ceremony—just family—in a fortnight’s time would be splendid.”
I stop dancing. In the middle of the ballroom. He flushes hot, glancing around as his hand tightens on my upper ribcage and tries to tug me back into the dance.
“Lady Vandermore,” he says with a strained chuckle. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Don’t embarrass myself ? If I had the strength to do it, I would pick him up and hurl him across the ballroom.
“I’m not marrying you,” I snap, losing every shred of the persona I try so hard to paint at these balls. I lean closer to him, wrenching my hand from his grasp so I can shake my finger in his face. “If you wanted to marry me, you should have discussed such arrangements with me , not with my stepmother.”
He stares at me, baffled, before looking around at the people staring at us. He grabs my hand and pulls me off the dance floor, dodging the couples still dancing. Everyone is staring at us, and I do not care one tiny bit. He does, however, and his attention is wasted more on his friend group than on me. I catch Alsbee grinning wickedly at the two of us and our obvious irritation with each other.
“She is your guardian,” says Boreham, trying to keep his voice low and pretend everything is normal—even though all the mothers in the room have suddenly seemed to materialize within hearing range, eager for a scrap of gossip. “Of course I should discuss marriage with her. I am titled. I have land. I am respected. I am young. I have need of a wife, and you have need of a husband. Since Lady Agatha is your legal guardian, it is only proper that I discuss marriage with her.”
Stop trying to play the level-headed victim here! I barely keep those words from flying out of my mouth, and instead manage to say, “I don’t care that she’s my guardian. If I—”
“Katherine, dear!” Agatha’s voice rankles down my spine.
I clamp my lips tight, hide my fists in my skirts, and turn around with a forced smile. “Yes, Stepmother, dear?”
Agatha waves her fan as she approaches us. The beading of her gown catches the flickering light of the chandeliers. Her shadow slides along the golden paneled walls, larger than her figure, prowling ever closer. Then she stands in front of where Boreham and I have sequestered ourselves between two tall potted plants. “I do hope you are not creating any trouble for handsome Lord Boreham.”
But Lord Boreham glares darkly at her before turning it on me. His face continues to redden. A muscle clenches in his rounded jaw. “I will be off. Lady Vandermore, you have three days to consider my proposal. I will call to receive your answer. Think it over.”
He leaves us at once, storming through the milling crowd of curious onlookers. When he passes his group of friends, Alsbee tries to hail him with a wine goblet, but Boreham shoves past him, grabs his coat, and vanishes out the door.
Serves him right to be embarrassed and offended!
I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest and stick out my tongue like a toddler. Instead, I accept a goblet from a passing servant in black livery and sip delicately. Whatever will be in the gossip column of the papers tomorrow? Lady Vandermore has fought off another suitor, and all of Ashbourne is beginning to wonder if the lady’s fortune isn’t worth putting up with her boorish manners.
Agatha sidles up next to me, the beading in her hair shaking as a vein stands out above her eyebrow. “If you just ruined—”
I swallow my wine and then pour the rest into the potted plant. The plant is probably jealous, after all, of watching the rest of us drink and dance without it. “Oh look!” I hold up my dance card. “I believe I have a prior engagement with one of these other fine gentlemen. Please excuse me.”
Lord Oliver Cranswick with his crooked cravat is there immediately, as though I’ve summoned him from thin air, and I practically throw myself into his arms.
“You had news for me,” I say, mustering a smile and endeavoring to put Lord Boreham behind me for the rest of the night. “Though I’m curious as to why you thought news of the fae concerned me.”
The young man returns my smile with a conspiratorial one of his own, holding my hand more possessively than my last unwelcomed dance partner. “You’ll see why. The news, Lady Vandermore, is that a fae is coming to town. Not many know this yet because it was only discovered an hour ago, but my father, Baron Cranswick, has the ear of the queen. Do you remember the tales of how a prince of the fae came to Aursailles and stole one of their princesses years ago? Queen Vivienne’s younger sister?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Yes, well, no one knows who this fae is—except that he is believed to be a warrior—but he sent his servants to purchase a house and property. Here, in Ashbourne.”
“A fae? Come to live here, in this very city?” The gears in my mind are spinning at once, more from possibility and opportunity than danger. This is very interesting news indeed.
“Indeed! And after the last fae came to steal a bride, it begs the question: Is this one here for a bride too?”
“It hardly sounds like the same situation. The princess of Aursailles was taken back to the fae world.” I catch myself before I name the fae Court of Valehaven and give away that I have a much deeper understanding of the fae and their ways than the rest of the Harbright people possess. “Why would one come to live here?”
Oliver shrugs. “Some rumors say he is here as an ambassador from the fae world, now that our peoples are no longer at war with each other. Regardless, I thought to warn you.”
My eyebrows lift. “Warn me?”
His hand shifts on my shoulder blade slightly. “Forgive my boldness, but you are the rose of the city—of all Harbright. If this fae is seeking a wife, he will likely set his sights on you.”
My mouth twists. “You’re concerned about me? That is very sweet of you, Lord Oliver.”
He blushes and doesn’t seem to know what to say as the dance finishes. He escorts me off the dance floor, and we barely make it to the edge before the next gentleman comes to claim his dance with me.
Not once do I feel relief from Agatha’s gaze searing into my back the entire rest of the night.