Chapter 1 #2
The major’s eyes narrowed, the violence that lived just under his skin shimmering for a moment.
But he wore his society face in this room, so he merely gave Sebastian a mocking study, picking up Sebastian’s own wine glass and taking an idle sip.
“So…your title won’t do it, or even your father’s.
Your standing, your face, your figure, and even your wealth won’t do it…
What’s holding the girl back, eh? Got another lover, has she?
” He drank more wine, eyes as hard as a fresh-shod hoof.
“Oh, the same issue,” said Sebastian, selecting a card, though the game had long been abandoned.
“Still thinks you’re a cold fish, does she?”
“That I lack a heart,” he corrected.
“She’s one to talk. Made of ice herself, though she flirts with the warmth of a Cyprian, playing all of society like it’s one big mark.
But, damn, she’s a fine creature.” The major gestured to the room with Sebastian’s glass.
“Look at this cavern of withered husks, all these shrivelled up old women making us dance to their frightful tune. But their time is past, my boy. The Lady Frances and her friends are society’s new queens, and thank God for it, because not only are they a damn sight more fun, they’re a damn sight better to look at.
” He drank the rest of Sebastian’s wine and put the glass down.
“She’s not here, is she? Your Elston chit knows better than to waste her time on this dying breed. ”
Sebastian put down his cards and flexed his fingers out of sight beneath the table.
Was it boredom? Was it anger? Something unpleasant bobbed around beneath his skin like old weeds caught in a river’s snarl.
He met Handley’s eye. The man was used to the major, and his expression gave nothing away except frustration at the game being done.
He, too, set down his cards and picked up his drink instead, giving Sebastian a rather flat smile.
Beckford…well, Beckford was being Beckford and was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling’s mouldings, apparently oblivious to all else.
“Lady Frances Elston,” said Sebastian, “is everything she should be.”
“Except for being your wife, eh?” said his uncle with a huff of laughter. “You and her, Cote, aren’t you meant to be leading society by now? The new king and queen, not that doddering old crone over there.”
“That was rather the plan.”
“Not your father, is it, throwing a stick in the spokes? Daresay having that addle-pated crock in her family tree ain’t to the lady’s liking.”
Handley went still. Even Beckford looked down from the ceiling, blinking between Sebastian and the major. But Sebastian merely said, “No. That isn’t the reason. As you know, my father’s health isn’t common knowledge.”
His uncle sneered at that then drummed thick fingers on the table.
“So it’s this heart business, is it? Are you going to prove you have one?
If you even do, Cote, my boy. In twenty years of knowing you, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it.
Though it’s not milk in your veins, I’ll give you that.
You’re a man all right, I know that much. I made you one myself.”
“Silver,” said Beckford. Everyone looked at him. “Quicksilver. The stuff in his veins. You know?”
Handley lifted his eyes to the heavens. Sebastian’s uncle stared at Beckford like he was a funfair pig in a bonnet. Sebastian smiled faintly, sorry for the boy, as he often was. It was a mayfly thing, that softness. It wouldn’t last.
A peal of laughter came from across the room, drawing their attention, and not just because it was loud. It was mocking too.
The Pretty Pariah was in the middle of it, on the opposite side of the room to where she’d been before.
It surprised him that she’d moved, as though he ought to have known of it.
Her aunt was with her, and they were with a group of three men and one woman, standing by the tall, windowed doors that led to the garden.
It was those three who had laughed, the Pretty Pariah and her aunt the recipients.
The aunt’s rosy, round cheeks were very red now, her embarrassment clear as she turned, flustered.
The Pretty Pariah supported her elbow as they walked away from the group and back to their seats.
There was pink tinging her cheeks, but she showed no other sign of embarrassment, her chin held high, her face composed.
“Why that Pemberthy woman gets invited anywhere, I don’t know,” said the major.
“Husband was popular,” said Handley, in his practical way. “Still a lot of good feeling toward the old man.”
“He’s been dead fifteen years.”
“She’s not so bad, Lady Pemberthy,” said Beckford. “My mother said so. Said her heart’s in the right place. It’s just a pity she’s so…so…”
“Wretchedly nagging?” said the major. Like almost everyone in the room, he was watching the spurned pair’s progress back to their seats by the tea table.
“Doesn’t know when to quit and stay quiet.
Terrible thing in a woman. And look at that unnatural creature with her.
They make my skin crawl, these preaching, managing, mannish women.
See her stomping along, with no care to dress pretty, or look pretty, or act pretty, or do anything at all a man might care for. ”
“She is quite pretty,” said Beckford. “I mean…it’s in the nickname, isn’t it?”
“Pretty Pariah,” supplied Handley, seeing the major’s lack of comprehension.
He gave a contemptuous laugh. “That one of yours, Cote? What’d you call those Parling girls? The Gretna Getaways? I’d say it was apt, but I doubt they’d even get as far as Gretna. Roll over for a wink, those girls would.”
“No,” said Sebastian, who didn’t dislike Tom Parling and vaguely regretted the witticism made at his sisters’ expense, “this wasn’t one of mine. Lady Pemberthy’s niece had earnt the epithet before I ever knew of her.”
“It’s something to do with children.” Beckford’s thoughts, as usual, were flitting around like butterflies. “That’s what I meant about the swallows.”
The major stared. Sebastian and Handley waited with varying degrees of patience.
“She visited my mother,” the young man explained. “Lady Pemberthy’s trying to get some sort of society together for protecting children.”
“That chimney sweep business,” Handley stated. “And what nonsense. I suppose they’d rather London burnt to the ground again. Because that’s what’ll happen if no chimneys get swept.”
The major nodded, but Beckford continued, eyes narrowed in thought. The attempt looked somewhat painful. “No…I don’t know if that was it…but it was children, all the same. And like I said, it’s exactly like the swallows, isn’t it?”
He met three looks: one contemptuous, one annoyed, and one mildly amused. The latter was Sebastian’s, and seizing upon it as friendly ground, Beckford fastened his wide blue eyes upon him.
“Because it makes you think of all that stuff you’d rather not, doesn’t it?
All these people trying to be all…all charitable, and everything like that, and telling you about horrible things you’d rather not know.
I don’t want to be thinking about chimney sweeps when I’m in my room, getting ready to go out, one eye on the fire and thinking about…
about skeletons and things. All those little boys who get trapped up there. ” He gave a shudder.
“Oh yes,” agreed Sebastian. “Terribly inconvenient, having a conscience.”
“Well, exactly!” said Beckford. “I don’t like it at all!”
Sebastian nodded in heavy sympathy, only the smallest betraying smile at the corner of his mouth. “And there we have the problem with Lady Pemberthy and her niece. They’re the splinter in society’s heel—and therefore continually trod upon.”
Handley smiled at the joke but said, “You’re both right, though.
No one wants to be nagged to death about all these depressing things when they’re trying to enjoy themselves.
” He nodded to the room, which had returned to its former low murmur of polite conversation.
“Here we are, at a party. Of sorts. Who wants to have dead and dying children poured into their ear?”
“It’s impolite, to be sure,” said Sebastian.
The major snorted, never much impressed by this sort of wit. Like Sebastian, he’d been watching the old lady and her niece. They’d sat down in their former seats momentarily, having some low, fast, murmur of conversation, and were now standing, getting ready to leave.
Well. Perhaps next year he’d see the Pretty Pariah here again. And in the meantime, he’d forget she ever existed, just as he had last time.
His uncle looked away as they left the room, his gaze snagging on Sebastian’s as he turned back to the table. A gleam kindled in his eye upon seeing where Sebastian’s attention had lingered.
Sebastian reached out and busied himself, gathering the cards. “Another game, gentlemen?”
“If there’s time,” said Handley, who never said no.
But the major was still looking at him, a smile growing. Sebastian supposed he was about to be punished for his barracks room comment. The major never liked to be reminded he’d come up from the ranks. “Your fool of a friend does make a good point.”
“Oh?” said Sebastian as Beckford coloured.
“If the Pemberthy woman and her niece can nag people into remembering they have a conscience, maybe they can help prove the existence of one too.”
Sebastian only glanced at him, shuffling the cards, though their hostess had stood and there was already the beginnings of an exodus back to the music room.
“Get on that society board, my boy. Get involved with Pemberthy and the Pretty Pariah. They’ll find you some orphans to weep over, and then Lady Frances won’t ever be able to claim you have no heart.”
Beckford’s eyes went wide. “Oh, but that just might work! She’s recruiting for her committee, trying to set up some fundraising ball or other. Imagine how much help you’d be!”
The major’s smile deepened, eyes still fastened on Sebastian. “Your popularity against their lack. What do you say, Cote? Think you’ve got what it takes to bring them up to scratch? You act like society’s king. Perhaps it’s time you proved it.”
Handley stared between the two men, a familiar light in his eye. “Now there’s wager with some meat on it. Maybe we’ll have a proper game after all, eh?”