Chapter 3 #2
“Nothing, my lord,” Rowerre said, a smile flickering at the corner of his lips as he returned to taming Nic’s golden mop.
“Nothing?”
Rowerre couldn’t contain his spreading smile, though he tried. “Nothing, my lord.”
“Nothing, huh? Well, I can assure you that whatever you’re thinking isn’t going to happen, because that ended years ago.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“You’re still smiling.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.”
“You know I can tell when you’re up to something because you say my lord constantly.”
“Merely showing the necessary respect to your rank, my lord. There, that will have to do. If I wrestle with your hair any longer, you will be late.”
Nic rose from his dressing table. “You’re still smiling.”
“For no other reason than because I’m proud of you, my lord. Of the man you’ve become despite…” He waved a hand, the gesture seeming to encompass both everything and nothing, and Nic pressed his lips tight against the urge to cry.
“Oh, stop it, or I’ll be going down there with hideous red eyes,” he said, and set his hands on Rowerre’s shoulders. “Likely I’m too drunk to do this justice, but thank you.”
Rowerre acknowledged the words with a fleeting squeeze of Nic’s arm, before turning away to fetch his shoes. “You are very welcome, my lord.”
The ceremonial drawing room at Monterris Court was in the oldest part of the house.
The grand space, with its high vaulted ceiling, ran alongside the great hall and was even more impressive.
Though it was rarely used, tonight half a dozen chandeliers created a starry sky that twinkled above a sea of guests—every humble negotiator, lawyer, and scribe from both sides of the table having been invited to the first night’s evening party.
Dashiell was, of course, present. He had changed from the plain coat and epaulettes of a working vowsmith into an evening coat with broad lapels.
It was cinched well in at the waist too, which Nic decided was a crime against him personally.
Like the bright bronze buttons that exactly matched the colour of his eyes.
Nic assured himself he only stared because it would be impossible for anyone not to.
It fell to Nic’s lot to escort Lady Theresa Serral into dinner, and given the length of the table and the enormity of the old centrepiece—a golden statue of songbirds taking flight that was too heavy for a single man to lift—she was also the only one he could converse with.
The long, ancient wooden table could seat more than a hundred people, but they only used it once a year, when the three remaining members of House Monterris sat in state to celebrate the date in 1683 when King Charles II had elevated them to their dukedom—a silent celebration due to the necessity of shouting the length of the table.
“This is quite the dining room, Lord Monterris,” Lady Theresa called to him, her voice joining the general noise of other guests raising their voices and craning their necks. “Do you eat in here every day?”
“Thankfully not,” Nic returned, leaning toward her so he needn’t shout.
“We usually dine in one of the parlours, but when we do eat here conversation is, as you can imagine, impossible. His Grace sits up that end, Mama down that end, and I sit perfectly between them and stare at the birds.” He gestured to the centrepiece. “They make excellent conversation.”
Her laugh sounded discordant amid the noise. “Where is Her Grace? I admit I was surprised not to see her this afternoon.”
“I’m afraid Mama is rarely well enough for large gatherings, though I hope she will join us often once the party is smaller.”
More lies, but Lady Theresa bought them with a solicitous smile as everyone always did. “Well, it is too bad Lord Francis is no longer with you to make a fourth at dinner. Then at least you would have someone to shout to over the birds.”
At mention of his uncle, Nic reached for his wineglass.
“Though of course it’s not merely a pity you lost him because now you lack dinner conversation,” Lady Theresa went on, reaching a sympathetic hand in his direction. “How crass of me to make it sound so.”
“I thank you for your sympathy, Lady Theresa,” Nic said, hoping to turn the conversation. “But while I’m sure my parents miss him greatly, I was only a squalling annoyance swaddled in blankets when he died.”
“Blankets and attendants, I’m sure. As Vale’s heir, you must have been quite protected. Smothered, even. Little wonder he never brings you to town, though I must say your absence has elicited much conjecture over the years.”
She spoke lightly, but Nic caught the sharp way she watched him. He was used to being stared at in the nearby towns, yet such scrutiny coming within the court’s walls made him uncomfortable.
“I recall how relieved I was when my Edmund was born,” the lady went on, showing no interest in the grand spread before her.
“With only dear Millie from Lord Ricard’s first marriage, it was such a comfort to give him two heirs, and I am not providing for a duke.
” Her laugh was sunny yet lacked all warmth.
“Dear Leaf has quite the task ahead of her, poor thing. People said the same of your mother too, although Lord Francis was alive then and might still have had children. Poor man. We heard almost nothing about what happened, you know, which caused quite the stir. People made up all sorts of stories to be interesting. Everything from him drowning in the lake to being murdered!”
She laughed at what seemed to her a good joke, but Nic just pressed out a flat smile. There were some things only a Monterris ought to know. “I’m afraid I know no more than you, Lady Theresa, having been so young at the time.”
“A pity! But perhaps I can find out more while I’m here, since there will be nothing else to do.”
Nic’s appetite for food deserted him, but his appetite for wine tripled and he spent the rest of the seemingly interminable dinner listening to Lady Theresa Serral’s endless descriptions of her own house and gardens, numerous repetitions of just how fortunate he was to have ended up with her niece—whom she looked at so often along the table that Lady Leaf turned her chair away—and broad hints that said niece was too good for him.
“I just don’t know what can have come over Lord Charborough that he agreed to negotiations at all! ”
How shocked she would have been to learn Lord Charborough had instigated them—a fact Nic heroically kept to himself.
Back in the drawing room after dinner, Nic found that their guests had become little more than a swirl of colour, yet still he made straight for the table where an army of wineglasses stood filled and ready to battle his troubles.
Having downed the first in a single gulp, he reached for another, only to find Lady Leaf watching him from a nearby sofa.
His bride had changed into a white silk evening gown adorned with knots of ribbon.
A pearl necklace encircled her throat and her maid had pinned flowers through her hair—white flowers that stood out against her dark curls.
It was a charming look, Nic had to admit, earning her covert glances from more than a few young men in the room.
Dr. Fanshaw in particular seemed unable to drag his gaze away, nodding almost at random to the lawyer attempting to make conversation with him.
Nic made his way over. “Good evening, my lady. How are you enjoying the party?”
“I’m finding it devilish boring,” Lady Leaf replied with a sweet smile. “But it’s so kind of you to ask.”
Lady Lisbeth rapped her friend’s hand with her fan. “Pay no heed to her, Lord Monterris. Leaf says the same of all social gatherings. I, myself, am having a delightful evening.”
“Which you say of all social gatherings be they never so dull,” Lady Leaf said.
“I do not! Besides, how could this one be dull when we have finally met the invisible heir!”
Nic blinked at them. “Invisible heir? Is this perhaps related to the tail observation?” The feeling he hadn’t had enough wine for this made him glance, longingly, in the direction of the refreshment table.
Amusement danced in Lady Leaf’s eyes, but it was Lady Lisbeth who said, “Well, your father comes to town but you do not. I know Her Grace cannot spare you, but you can’t blame people for wondering if perhaps there is some other reason you have never been presented at court.”
“Such as my having a tail.”
“Oh, that is just my favourite,” Lady Leaf said.
“There are many others. That you are hideous, or mad, or that you died in infancy and His Grace just doesn’t want anyone to know.
Or that your magical affinity is so high you’ve turned invisible.
Or that you did something monstrous and so your father keeps you locked away like in some gothic novel. ”
“Yes!” Lady Lisbeth gripped her friend’s arm. “Like Emily St. Aubert in The Mysteries of Udolpho. You really must read it, Leaf.”
As understandable as it was, the discovery that he had been the subject of ton gossip for years annoyed Nic.
“Well, I have read it,” he said. “And I can assure you that as remote as Monterris Court is, it boasts no wicked Italian counts and no black veils, and the only time I have ever been locked away is thanks to this contract. Now if you will excuse me, I think I need more wine.”
With a nod Nic left them for the refreshment table, gnawing over the sour taste left in his mouth. Already he’d had enough of the lock-in and they’d hardly begun.
Lock-ins were a ridiculous custom. Long abandoned in every other situation, they’d been retained for marriage contracts due to their importance.
In such contracts, families were not only negotiating the terms of the marriage settlement but also bargaining magic rites, trading responsibilities to the crown, and jostling to increase their lineages on the Brilliance Register.
For those without magic, marriage could be straightforward, but magic had turned marriages between noble families into serious business.