Chapter 11 Lovely to Lure a Man to His Death #2
Mr. Grant ran off to pull Ajax off a tall cupboard, and Diana was left alone to gather her wits.
But every new scene seemed purposefully designed to cast her wits from her once more.
No candles in the modest chandelier she could see in the next room.
Only floating, glowing orbs, casting a lovely golden glow over everything.
In this room, too, on the wall sconces. She was used to candles or the glamoured appearance of candles.
And the fireplace different, too. No flames leapt in the grate.
There were coals in the stove, but they were not rough as she’d seen, and they produced no smoke or ash to foul the air.
They did, however, produce a lovely tempered and consistent heat.
“Pardon me, miss.” A maid was beside her, bobbing a curtsy. “But may I take your bonnet?”
“Oh, yes. Apologies.” Diana removed it and handed it over.
“No need. You didn’t know I was there, and I couldn’t break through the Grant Army, now could I? No one can.” She chuckled then disappeared once more.
“That’s what they call us.” Sybil settled a chair next to Diana’s. “The Grant Army.”
“Who is they?”
“Oh, everyone. Other alchemist families, their servants. The whole world, really. Our world, that is. The alchemists.” As Sybil spoke, she tugged over a tea cart that had been resting by the fireplace.
She poured a cup of steaming tea for Diana then waved to the accoutrements on the cart.
“Do as you please. You’ll have to get used to being informal if you join the family. ”
“I can see that.”
Sybil poured her own cup, her gaze still heavy on Diana. Waiting for something?
“I do not mind,” Diana reassured her. “This is… different from what I’m used to. But it is nice.” What a tepid word for what this was.
Sitting in a nearby chair, Sybil said, “Careful! Hold the cup by the handle. And don’t ever touch the bottom.”
Feeling like she might be holding explosives, Diana froze. “And why is that?”
Sybil preened. “My own design. Look at the bottom of the cup.”
Diana did. It was not the same china as the rest of the teacup. It was darker orange metal.
“Copper,” Sybil said. “Once heated it will stay quite hot for some time. That’s why we keep the tea cart near the fireplace. And if the cup stays hot then—”
“So will the tea. Brilliant.”
More preening. But somehow it did not make Diana think less of the woman. “Thank you. You look rather astounded.”
“This house is like an entirely different world.”
“Not like transcendent houses at all, I’m sure. Smaller. Only nine rooms, and all of us share.” A long suffering sigh. “If I can ever snag a husband, I’ll demand a room of my own. No bed-sharing.”
“Bed-sharing is part of marriage, isn’t it? Usually. At least a little.”
“Only as much as necessary. Helios is lucky. Temple spends most of his time at his London apartment, and Hesperus is away at his apprenticeship. He shares only with Tim. He’s our apprentice.
” Sybil pointed to a boy sitting next to the girls playing cards.
He was fiddling with a handful of bright orange wires.
“Helios could go somewhere else to apprentice, but he wanted to stay with Papa. And he didn’t want to leave Helen.
They’re twins. Quite close. She begged for an apprenticeship, too.
I’m not sure she actually wanted one, though.
She simply didn’t want to hold Helios back.
But you know”—she cracked her knuckles—“men are so scared of women, they won’t let us even try to learn. ”
Diana could not disagree. “I thought alchemists more… progressive.”
“Not in this.” Sybil sipped her tea, but the disgusted curve of her mouth suggested she’d rather toss it in someone’s face. “Even Temple says the forge is too dangerous for a woman like me.”
“That sounds like him.” Not that she knew him so very well.
But she did know he was a protector. Down to his bones and whatever was more foundational to making him who he was.
His soul sought to see others to safety.
Diana’s gaze drifted toward that sliver of space between doorways where she could see into the other room.
Snatches of conversation lifted on the air—Temple’s low voice and his mother’s higher one. “But you designed this cup.”
“Designed, yes. Built, no.” But Sybil had wanted to build it, that much clear, not a word needed to make it clearer.
“Have you ever considered potions?” Diana asked.
“After today I have. My mother dabbles. Potions and alchemy go well together. Metals come from the earth, after all, as do, well, everything that goes into potions. Would you like to see my designs?”
“Yes, I would. If it’s not against some alchemist rule of secrecy.”
Sybil chuckled. “I can tell you. You’ll soon be part of the family.
It’s you who can’t tell anyone else. Besides, the Grants are known for having loose lips now.
But I’m sure Temple has told you all about that.
” She swished away, leaving Diana confused.
And… frustrated because Temple had told her nothing about loose lips. What did Sybil mean by that?
Before Sybil could return, Temple slunk into her seat. “How are you doing?”
“Dizzy.”
“That’s natural. Bad dizzy or good dizzy?”
“Good, I think.”
His gaze dipped to her hand like he was thinking of touching it.
He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
His forearms were indecently beautiful, corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair.
Would that hair be crisp or soft? The arms ended in powerful hands, long fingers.
Clever fingers, she knew. Her mouth suddenly dry, she sipped her tea.
“Still hot,” she said weakly.
“Sybil is clever. Did she tell you about it?”
“She did.”
He took the cup, his fingers brushing oh so briefly against hers. Her muscles clenched, heat pooling low in her belly. From a touch. A mere touch. She was tuned to it, though, tuned to him.
He set her cup aside. “Time for dinner. Are you hungry?”
She was. For more than a nightly repast. This a dangerous hunger, one that would cloud her ability to make decisions, to stay steadfast to the truth. She could not take a husband, could not burden this man or this family with the complications of her existence.
She nodded, and he helped her stand. His hand on the small of her back fit perfectly. She could imagine it being like the little disc of copper that bottomed Sybil’s teacup—keeping her warm as long as she needed.
“There’s no formal sitting arrangement,” he whispered in her ear as they entered the small dining room. “Sit next to me. I’ll keep you safe.”
He would, wouldn’t he.
The table was already filling up, and Temple bounced Helios out of a chair so he could claim two side by side.
“Mother,” Helios whined. “Temple is being a pain in the arse again.”
“Helios!” Mrs. Grant pulled herself up to her considerable height on one far end of the table. “We have company. Please gather up your discarded manners and tend to them.”
“Fine.” Helios threw himself into a seat across the table from Temple. “Temple is being an irritation in the backside.”
“Unfortunate for you, my dear,” Mrs. Grant said. “But Temple has a guest, and we must show her our best hospitality. Don’t you agree?”
Helios began to dissent, but Helen elbowed him the ribs. “I guess so,” he grumbled.
“If you bring a bride home, Hel,” Mr. Grant called out from the other end of the table, “you can have the best two seats in the house, as well.”
“She’s not my bride,” Temple rumbled, then, lower for her sake, he added, “Yet.”
Diana wanted to swat at him, but that might imply a greater sense of understanding and intimacy between them, and his family already thought them connected.
The very air she was breathing seemed to whisper—swat him, play with him, sink fast into this family and never go ashore again.
But the two and thirty years of her upbringing possessed a louder if a colder voice. Hands to yourself, spine straight, face blank. Manners kept her pale and silent as a ghost attending Carnival.
The dishes were settled snug in the middle of the large table, and arms reached and hands grabbed, silver clinked against china, and soon there was a plate of food before Diana, carried by Temple’s large, competent hand.
“Eat up,” he grumbled. “I’m worried you’ve not been eating enough of late.”
She wanted to say, No one has asked you to worry over my diet, sir. What kind of man took such worry on by himself without prompting of any sort?
Instead, she said, “Thank you.”
“Miss Smith.” That his mother, Mrs. Grant. “Finally we may speak. There is much I wish to know about the lady my son has taken an interest in.”
Ah, but how much could Diana tell her? “I am pleased to answer any questions.” She folded her hands in her lap, though the food steamed, inviting.
Temple nudged her arm with his elbow. “Eat,” he mouthed.
She set her hand upon the silverware.
“Temple has told me,” his mother said, brandishing a knife, “I am not to ask too many questions. But I have told him I shall do as I please. Now, I must know, what sort of family are you from?”
Bull’s-eye. First shot. Mrs. Grant was a master archer. “A small one. Only my aunt and cousin remain. But we are not close.”
“Poor dear.” Mrs. Grant clucked, each soothing sound another arrow right to Diana’s heart. “Do you have any interests?”
A safe topic. “I have lately been learning potions.”
“A fine pursuit,” Mrs. Grant said before popping a bit of meat in her mouth.
“Tell her about Cuda and the mermaids.” Temple placed his hand atop her and curled it, wrapping her fingers around a fork. “Then eat.”
Diana shook his hand off and picked up the fork, but it only hovered over her plate. “I have long held an interest in mythology. That of our island and that of other places. Cuda is a celtic goddess of prosperity, depicted holding an egg.”
“An egg?” Helios laughed.