2. Conrad #2
Councilmember Wrenwhistle wrung his hands together. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Moore?”
“Thirty-five,” Conrad answered, mystified.
The gentleman looked a little more at ease. “Well, you’re of age, at least. You see, there’s one room with only one occupant, but…well, he’s fae, and I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
Conrad couldn’t have planned this conversation to go better if he’d tried.
He was getting the opportunity to stay overnight, talk with multiple councilmembers, and he’d get the chance to prove he could get along well with fae?
He beamed. “I assure you, I won’t be in the least bit uncomfortable.
If your friend is amenable to the idea, I would be happy to share the space during my stay. ”
Councilmember Wrenwhistle relaxed. Councilmember Pimpernel-Smith looked like they wanted to laugh. “Perhaps I should go and ask him while you have tea with Mr. Moore.”
“What an excellent idea,” Councilmember Wrenwhistle said. “Thank you, Torquil.”
Councilmember Pimpernel-Smith gave their friend a little wink, gave Conrad a bow, and left the room.
A few moments later, the tea was brought in and Conrad spent a lovely half hour talking to his host about his journey, how he’d come to learn about the position, and all of the things that Council had achieved recently that he was most impressed by.
By the time Councilmember Pimpernel-Smith returned to say that Mr. Ravenwing had agreed to the arrangement, Conrad was calling Councilmember Wrenwhistle by his first name, and he had never felt prouder for concocting such a bold scheme.
Everything was working out beautifully .
* * *
After his room had been arranged, Roger ordered a bath for Conrad.
The mysterious Ravenwing fellow sharing the room was not present and had clearly not anticipated compromising on his space at all.
His things were spread out across the bedroom.
Conrad took his bag to the side of the bed with the least amount of items on it and began laying out his clothes.
While the servants prepared the bath, Conrad decided which of his clothes was the most presentable for dinner.
Thankfully, among the three outfits he had packed, he had included his best coat.
He knew it would be nothing compared to the rest of the guests’, but he was here to apply for a position; it was best if they knew exactly who he was and what his station was.
A dockworker from Bristol was not apt to have elegant attire, but that did not mean he didn’t have sound ideas.
If anything, the class differences would be a point in his favor, offer a variety of viewpoints.
He felt cheered as he folded the clothes he wasn’t wearing and returned them to his bag.
The wardrobe was fully stuffed with clothing, so Conrad didn’t bother attempting to squeeze his things in.
He didn’t wish to make a bad first impression on Mr. Ravenwing by combining their clothing prematurely.
As he got into the bath, he began speculating on how to approach meeting the others at dinner.
He had prepared himself for an interview of sorts with the Wrenwhistles, but he was not at all sure what to do at a house party.
He scrubbed himself clean with lavender-scented soap, fascinated by the opulence.
Then he dressed himself for dinner and strode back downstairs, following the sounds of voices until he reached a large sitting room where a dozen people milled about and chatted.
Roger noticed him first, although Conrad suspected the man had been keeping an eye out for him. He beckoned him forward and wasted no time in introducing the gentleman at his side.
“Conrad, this is my husband, Wyndham Wrenwhistle. Wyn, this is the fellow I was telling you about, who wants to join the Council.”
Councilmember Wyndham Wrenwhistle was tall, slender, and elegant, with pale skin and golden brown, shoulder-length hair that was tucked behind his pointed ears.
He gave Conrad a smirk. “Ah, yes. The one staying in Sage’s room.
Hopefully that experience doesn’t send you scurrying back to your home come morning. ”
Roger shushed his husband. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.
Conrad laughed. “I doubt it, sir. And I do appreciate your hospitality, especially considering how unexpected I was.”
The gentleman shrugged in response. “What’s another person more or less at a house party? And you can call me Wyndham. If we get along, it will reduce confusion. So many Wrenwhistles in residence right now. If we don’t get along, I doubt we’ll see much of each other for it to make a difference.”
Conrad beamed at him. “A pleasure, Wyndham. And do call me Conrad.”
“Why don’t I introduce you to the rest of our guests?
” Roger said, taking Conrad’s arm. Wyndham sauntered towards a quieter part of the room as soon as his husband was no longer at his side.
“Now you already know Torquil,” Roger said as he led Conrad to one of the couples watching him with curiosity.
“This is their husband, Mr. Emrys Wrenwhistle. Emrys, this is Mr. Moore.”
Mr. Wrenwhistle was a little shorter than Wyndham, though still quite tall, and a little broader around the shoulders. His hair was shorter and his expression was much friendlier. Although he seemed just as proud of the spouse on his arm as Wyndham had been of Roger.
“You’re the one who walked here?” he said. “You must have really wanted to meet Roger. I’m sure I’d have given up before walking from the posting station.”
“I’m on my feet a great deal with my work. It was no trouble.”
“What is your work, Mr. Moore?” someone said beside him.
Conrad turned to see another tall individual, this one with a muscular build, dark brown skin, and short black hair. His accent was less polished than either of the Wrenwhistle brothers, which instantly put Conrad at a little more ease.
“I’ve been working in the shipyards. I’m from Bristol.”
“I see,” the other man said. “You’re the one wanting to work in the Council?”
“Yes,” Roger said. “Conrad, this is Silas Rook-Worth and his husband, Mr. Keelan Rook-Worth. Silas works on the Council as well.”
Conrad nodded at both men. Mr. Keelan Rook-Worth was of equal height to his husband, though of a trimmer build. He had dark blond hair and a smile that hinted at a cheerful disposition. Councilmember Rook-Worth shook Conrad’s hand.
“You can call me Silas,” he said. “It would be nice to have another person from a similar background to myself on the Council.”
Conrad felt a thrill at the endorsement. He bounced a little on his toes—a habit that he was trying to quell, but had difficulty quashing when he was excited. “That is wonderful to hear, Silas. Thank you.”
Roger led him to a small cluster of people conversing in one corner of the room. “Conrad, this is Lady Anthea Fitzhugh, Lady Imogen Fitzhugh, Miss Harriet Thackeray, Mx. Fern Hillcrest, and Mr. Cyril Thompson,” he rattled off, pointing to each person in turn.
“You don’t need to be so formal,” Lady Anthea Fitzhugh said with a kind smile.
“I think I can speak for all of us when I say you can use our first names.” She was a human with a brown complexion and tightly-coiled ringlets.
Her wife was a bit taller and wore trousers and a suit.
The lady’s short blonde hairstyle barely reached the back of her jaw.
She also seemed friendly, although a little less warm in her greeting than her wife.
“Thank you,” Conrad said, relieved. “And do call me Conrad.”
“Where are you from, Conrad?” Fern asked. They had dark, straight hair that fell neatly around their pointed ears. Even the way they’d inclined their head in greeting seemed graceful and elegant.
“Bristol. Just arrived this afternoon.”
“That must have been quite a long trip,” Imogen said, looking sympathetic.
“It was. Traveled by post mostly. I’m sure I looked a fright when I arrived,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Roger.
“Oh, my word, the poor man was soaked to the skin from the rain,” Roger put in.
Cyril—a slim gentleman with impeccable attire and dark eyes—crooked a grin at Conrad before giving his outfit a brief, assessing once-over. “It appears as though you’ve recovered rather quickly, old chap.”
Conrad chuckled. “I don’t mind a little rain.”
“Ooh, I like him,” Harriet said, with a bounce on her toes that made Conrad immediately like her as a twin in habit. The lady was as short as he was, with a curvy figure, bronze-colored skin, and bountiful black chignon at the back of her head. “You should stay for the whole party.”
“I don’t wish to impose on my hosts’ generosity, but I will be pleased to stay for as long as they wish. Or as short,” he added with a wink. “How long will you all be staying?”
Roger quickly glanced over his shoulder. Conrad followed his gaze over to Wyndham, who was still in his corner, sipping wine.
“And now I’d better introduce you to our final guest,” Roger said, taking Conrad’s arm again and leading him to another man sitting by himself in a corner. “Conrad, this is Mr. Ravenwing. Mr. Ravenwing, please allow me to introduce Mr. Moore.”