Chapter 14 #2
A shriek tore along the hallway and Nic spun. A maid was backing out of the dining room, smoke spilling around her, and Nic’s stomach dropped through the floor.
“Fire!” she cried, catching sight of them. “The dining room is on fire!”
A beat of horrified shock held them both stunned, before the duke pushed past Nic, already shouting. “Run downstairs! I want all hands up here at once. Water buckets. Blankets. Everything, now!”
A fearful nod and the woman scurried away as, at the other end of the hallway, the drawing room door burst open, spilling light and guests. The hallway was slowly filling with smoke, shocked cries adding to the rising chaos.
The dining room was ablaze, fire circling the entire space, rising up the walls.
Not yet too high, but too big and spread out to be easily smothered with the sacrifice of a coat.
Nic pulled his off all the same and hunted in the flickering heat for something—anything—to throw over it.
The gentlemen who had so recently left the room hurried back in behind him.
Dashiell was already stripping off his coat and Lord Charborough soon followed, shirtsleeves rolled up as a pair of footmen arrived bearing piles of old blankets.
Maids with water buckets came next, and out in the passage, Leaf’s voice could be heard calling orders to the servants.
“Here, step back!”
Nic wasn’t sure who spoke but backed out of the way as water splashed past, hissing onto the flames.
Another bucket followed, but the fire seemed determined to rise.
With no time to think, only to act, Nic grabbed one of the blankets and smothered a small section to stop it spreading, while his father shouted and water buckets kept arriving.
Bit by bit they fought back the flames, the evening full of smoke that stung at eyes and throat, full of noise and panic—the prospect of the whole Court going up in flames during a lock-in too hideous to consider.
By the time the fire was out, the dining room was a charred and sodden mess, and everyone was exhausted.
Tea was brought and drunk in silence while the doctor, having returned from looking in on the duchess, checked everyone over, assessing scrapes and minor burns.
When at last Nic pulled himself up the stairs to his rooms, he was grateful to find that Ambrose had warm water waiting, and having scrubbed the worst of the smoke and char from his skin, Nic tumbled into bed.
When the party gathered for archery the following day, it was in a mood of determined cheer.
Not once was the fire mentioned during luncheon, yet in its absence it seemed to loom over them, present in every one of the duke’s forced smiles.
He seemed to think that ensuring a perfect afternoon would somehow erase the previous evening’s horror.
As though determined to help in this mission, the weather had turned out fine, sunshine bathing a lawn already dotted with archery targets.
Near the pavilion, a large cage of hunting echoes stood waiting for the display that would follow, and for his father’s sake, Nic found himself hoping nothing would go wrong.
Everyone had joined them for luncheon, even the duchess, but when it came time to make their way down to the targets, Lord Ricard showed no sign of leaving the table.
“Not coming, Uncle?” Leaf said.
“No, Niece,” he said, gesturing to the pile of correspondence sitting at his elbow. “I have no time for such frivolity. I am here only to enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, which is never long in these northern wilds. Mark my words, it will be raining before you get halfway around the course.”
He spoke cheerfully enough, but given they suspected his hand in Gillingham’s death, Nic wasn’t sorry to leave the man behind.
The others were already gathering at the bottom of the terrace stairs, where Master Everel stood handing out bows and bracers to every member of the party.
The men all looked slightly odd in their white sporting shirts, as though they had ceased being Brilliants overnight—white linen something they only wore for hunting and hawking.
Nic had never understood the tradition and felt strange in his own whites, although the change meant Dr. Fanshaw no longer looked out of place amongst them.
“Lady Leaf,” the doctor said, greeting her as he accepted a bracer from Master Everel. “A lovely day for archery.”
“It certainly is, Doctor, although now I am worried the fine weather may not last.” Leaf glanced up at the white puffs of cloud scudding across the sky.
“It only needs to last long enough.”
Leaf smiled upon him. “How very true. Although it would be a shame if rain ruined tonight’s fireworks.”
Leaning closer, Dr. Fanshaw murmured, “Unless they are like the fireworks in To Cut a Bargain.”
“Oh no!” Leaf’s eyes danced. “Do not suggest it, Doctor.”
“I assure you, I will be keeping an eye out for shadowy interlopers.”
Leaf chuckled and took a bow from Master Everel with a graceful nod of thanks.
“—but I really do enjoy the hustle and bustle of London just as well,” Lady Lisbeth was saying as she and Dashiell joined them. “It is just that I have such a fondness for Malvern Hall.”
“Are we all ready?” the duke called from the front of the group. “Good. Now as you all know, I am more one for my pistols, but today we are going to—”
“Where do you travel after this negotiation, Master sa Vare?” Lady Lisbeth went on while the duke explained the day’s plan.
Dashiell, keeping his voice low so as not to interrupt his host, said, “That depends. Should we finish in good time, there is a contract I can take in Somerset next month or, if I am unavailable for that, it will be back to London.”
“You’re such a decisive man that you must enjoy being able to choose your work. For me, though, I think I could be happy anywhere so long as I was with my husband.”
Nic hoped this play was as obvious to Dashiell as it was to him.
But so what if it was? She was an obliging girl, pretty and wellborn, and it wasn’t like Nic knew a damn thing about either Dashiell’s tastes or his aspirations anymore.
Perhaps marriage to her would suit him very well now he had claimed his closure.
Nic stared ahead as the duke and Lady Theresa stepped up to the first target, and tried his best not to think about either Dashiell’s marriage or Dashiell’s fingers gently tracing down his cheek.
You’re beautiful.
“At least the first target is only a short distance,” Leaf said, watching Lady Theresa take her shot. “I haven’t used a bow for so long that I am sure to miss and land an arrow in someone’s leg.”
Nic threw her a mocking grin. “Then I shall be sure to stay behind you at all times.”
Lord Charborough and the duchess went next, the duchess in high fettle. Her dark mood of the previous day was seemingly forgotten and she proved a fine shot, her arrow neatly pipping the centre of the target to much applause.
“Oh, I am not going to be able to follow that,” Leaf said. “Here, you go first, Millie.”
Lady Radlay shrugged, and she and Dr. Fanshaw went next, leaving Nic and Leaf to follow.
“Are you all right?” Leaf asked as they took their places. “You look quite worn out and we’ve barely begun. You haven’t been drinking before breakfast again, have you?”
He had seriously considered it, and had been craving drunken oblivion since Dashiell had greeted him with a murmured “Lord Monterris,” sending a frisson through his skin he seemed unable to shake off.
“No, not this time, just exhausted from last night.”
“It was terrible, wasn’t it?” Her lips flattened into a grim line. “Would you rather sit out? I don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I feel better now we are finally moving.”
“And no longer having to listen to Lizzy set her cap at Master sa Vare. Perhaps I ought to tell her that you and he—”
“Don’t you dare, baggage. Not a word!”
Leaf giggled. “I suppose he would get in trouble, wouldn’t he?”
“A lot of trouble. More trouble than me. I’m just a degenerate earl; he would be in contravention of guild law and could get excommunicated if it was deemed serious enough.”
No laugh now, Leaf said, “Would it ruin the contract?”
“I’m not sure. It would probably have to be broken and renegotiated if they thought he had acted in bad faith.”
“Quite the risk he took the other night then.”
Nic had to agree, and it was all he could do not to glance back at the vowsmith as Master Everel hurried past, handing them arrows before moving on. Deeming it safe to begin now Millie and the doctor were out of range, Leaf stepped up to the line. “Wish me luck!”
“A fortunate garden party to you.”
She turned as she loosed, sending the arrow into one of the target’s outer rings. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a sigil pun people often make by accident,” Nic said, struggling not to laugh. “Good luck is shem la gard enda pi, but everyone always messes it up and forms it as shem la gard enpa ti.”
Leaf spun away on the words, calling to Lady Lisbeth still waiting back near the stairs. “Lisbeth, do please lend me Master sa Vare for the rest of the day. I wish to trade partners.”
“Cruel, my lady, cruel!” Nic cried, laughing as Lady Lisbeth approached, a question already on her tongue.
“Whatever is the matter, Leaf? I hope you did not distract her, Lord Monterris.”
“Worse, he punned in sigils at me and quite put me off.”
Dashiell, strolling over in Lady Lisbeth’s wake, grinned. “Oh no, did you ask him to wish you good luck?”
“Not you too, Master sa Vare.”
The vowsmith bowed. “A fortunate garden party to you.”
Leaf threw up her hands. “That’s it, I am washing my hands of both of you!”
Nic met Dashiell’s laughing gaze and for a moment they could have been twelve years old again, sharing the private joke of two boys smugly thrilled by their knowledge of sigils. But when the smile began to fade, it left Dashiell’s piercing stare searing into him.