Chapter 19 #2
By the time the dinner bell rang, Nic had composed himself enough to rise and offer the duchess his arm without his smile trembling.
With Silla in their wake, they fell in behind Dashiell and Lady Theresa, the lady leading the way to the parlour with an unceasing flow of chatter.
“Lizzy really is such an obliging girl, quite a second daughter to me. Sadly, as Withington’s youngest, I fear she is little thought of at home—you must know how that is, as a younger sibling yourself. ”
Dashiell murmured an unnecessary assent, Lady Theresa already rolling on without him. “Withington is a very good man, but he lost his wife some years ago and men, you know, just don’t know how to manage daughters.”
As they reached the parlour door, Castor bowed and pushed it open.
“It is always the way when—”
The lady broke off with a shriek, backing away from the door with a hand pressed to her mouth. In the corner of his vision, Nic caught a glimpse of shadows and the slivered edge of a white face, there and gone like a blink of imagination.
“The Faceless Man!” Lady Theresa cried, her hands trembling. “He was there, sitting in Lizzy’s chair.”
A murmur of mixed concern and confusion passed through the gathered group. Until Lord Ricard sneered. “Do keep moving, my lady, or you’ll have Vale taking off his glasses again to assure you there is no such thing as ghosts.”
“He was there! Tell them, Master sa Vare—you must have seen him too.”
Everyone in the hallway fixed their eyes on Dashiell, but the vowsmith went on staring at the unoccupied table. “I admit there did seem to be something in Lady Lisbeth’s chair for a moment.”
“See! It was a warning. This house is haunted and monstrous.”
“It suits you well then,” Millie said with a triumphant sniff.
“You are a snake, Millie Radlay,” Lady Theresa hissed, turning on her stepdaughter. “No wonder Lord Radlay died. Driven into an early grave!”
Gasps rippled back along the passage, even Lady Theresa pressing her hands to her mouth in shock as though she could force her own words back in.
“Aunt, that is too much!”
“Theresa!”
Near the back of the group, the duke let out a long-suffering sigh. “If we could at least reach the dining table before we are at each other’s throats tonight.”
Between so ill a beginning and the previous night’s dinner still hanging over them, it was no cheerful meal—relief the paramount emotion when the party finally escaped back to the relative safety of the drawing room.
As had become their custom, Leaf immediately drew Nic away from the others. “Did you have any luck with that sigil tape? I am dreading what might happen next if we don’t work this out.”
“No,” he admitted. “I got a little further; the combinations just don’t make much sense. A lot of connecting commands and shapes, more like someone was just practicing sigils than trying to make something specific.”
“That is not very helpful.”
“I will ask Dashiell later if he’s had any thoughts.
” He looked around. While the rest of the company had divided into chattering groups, Dashiell had taken up a periodical.
This might have been unremarkable, but sitting with one leg balancing on the knee of the other, the strong, shapely length of his thigh was fully on show.
Nic groaned. “Although not while he’s sitting like that. ”
“What? Really, Nicholas Monterris? He’s just sitting.”
“No, he’s sitting like that.”
“What’s… erotic about it?”
“What’s not erotic about it? I’m only fortunate he’s not sitting with his knees apart, leaning his elbows on them.”
Leaf turned a horrified gaze on him. “That would be enough to make you…? No, do not answer; I will never understand. It all just sounds so… messy and uncomfortable.”
“I suppose in a lot of ways it is, but I see that”—Nic gestured at Dashiell—“and it’s like my whole body is on fire and I want to be messy and uncomfortable with him as much as I can.”
“That,” she said, “is one of the most sensible explanations I’ve ever heard.”
He had to laugh. “I’m not sure there was anything sensible about what I just said. Especially given how getting messy and uncomfortable with him is an extremely bad idea.”
“Yes, but Millie always makes it sound rational to want such things, and so I feel wrong for not having the same desires. You make it sound entirely irrational. And you haven’t told me I will change my mind once I experience it. Or fall in love.”
In looking around, Nic had found Dr. Fanshaw watching them from across the room, or more accurately watching Leaf. Before, he might have pointed this out and encouraged her as she encouraged him, but instead he just smiled.
“You are who you are, my dear. Shall we rejoin the rest of the party?”
She didn’t rise, just looked around at the company with a frown collecting between her brows.
Near the fire, Lord Charborough was in full voice about one of the translations he was working on, Lady Theresa had silently taken up her stitchery, and Lord Ricard had brought his glass of wine and was drinking it with a determination Nic knew well.
Millie and Lady Lisbeth had settled at a small table for a game of cards, while Dashiell went on reading, the position of his leg unchanged.
Even the duchess was in fine spirits. Usually, she left the drawing room soon after dinner, but this evening she was bustling the servants about as they brought in the tea tray.
“I suppose we should join them for tea,” Leaf said after a time. “At least nothing can happen when we are all together like this.”
“If you prefer, I can fetch you a cup instead?”
He gestured to where his mother had started serving the tea, handing cups to Lady Theresa, who passed them on to waiting hands.
“No, that’s all right.” Leaf rose and shook out her skirts. “I will fetch my own and sit with your mama. I want to be sure she gets used to me so it’s not a shock when suddenly I’m around all the time.”
Dashiell had fetched himself a cup and returned to his chair, but had not yet taken up the periodical again. Nic met his gaze as he walked past and held it as long as he dared, rather than risk his eyes sinking back to admiration of the vowsmith’s legs.
A cup clattered at the gaming table and Lady Lisbeth hastily rose. “Oh no, Millie, what a mess! Let me fetch a napkin.”
Cards abandoned, Millie sat blinking, tea staining the front of her dress.
“Oh, poor thing,” Lady Theresa said, seeming determined to make up for her earlier words. “Run upstairs and change, Millie dear; that dress is done for.”
Leaf had been crossing the floor in search of her own tea, but halted abruptly. “Millie?” Her voice emerged tight. “Millie, are you all right?”
Heads turned. Lord Charborough craned his neck to see what was amiss. Millie was trying to rise from her chair only for her hand to keep slipping off the back. She blinked bleary eyes, seemingly exhausted.
“Millie?” Having returned with a napkin, Lady Lisbeth gripped her friend’s elbow to hold her steady. “Millie, what is the matter? Millie!”
Lord Ricard surged up, his chair crashing back. “Out of the way! Millie, what is it, are you sick? Are you hurt?” He took his daughter from Lady Lisbeth’s hold and gave her a little shake. “Millie? Millie!”
Millie’s eyes rolled and her knees gave out, all but dropping her from her father’s arms. He half caught her as she collapsed, the pair becoming a tangle of limbs and rose chiffon upon the floor.
“Millie!”
Panic quivered in his voice as he patted her hands, her face—a man trying to wake her, repeating her name over and over. Yet she seemed not to see him, not to hear him, convulsions twitching through her body faster and faster.
Lord Ricard gripped her shoulders hard as though to stop her. “Please, Millie!”
Her name choked in his throat as her head fell back, as she stilled, as all the tension released from her body upon a long-awaited sigh.
Glassy-eyed, she stared at nothing and drew no more breath, and for what seemed like an eternity the whole room stilled with her.
Until Lady Lisbeth screamed, stealing away all hope that Nic had imagined the whole.