Chapter Twenty
“Are you going to behave yourself?”
Rhys scoffed, dropping his valise and the last of Seph’s leather bags onto the drive as he peered up at the frowning, blue-eyed visage of his brother. “Probably not. Why do you ask?”
Errol did not laugh. Or blink. Or move at all.
It was disquieting, truth be told.
“Rhys, you’ve a … complex history with Miss Boswell,” he said carefully, shifting his big feet left to right in clear discomfort for having to say it. “It is lovely to see that the two of you have reached some sort of accord, but the propriety of this shared chamber business…”
“Will be fine,” Rhys said, holding a hand up. “This isn’t a house party full of toffs. We’re all carnival folk and vagabonds. No one cares about appearances here.”
“That doesn’t mean you can treat her like less than a lady,” Errol said stubbornly. “Willa taught us better than that.”
Rhys paused, sighing and shaking his head. “I know that, you dolt. And I’m … We’re … Listen, Seph and I are working out our business right now. Things are … They’re good, Errol. Finally. You can trust me that I want them to remain that way.”
Errol looked unconvinced, scratching at the side of his nose and squinting. “I just hope you’re going about this with the respect Miss Boswell is owed.”
“Aye. I have never been anything less than a gentleman,” Rhys said, eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting?”
“Not ‘suggesting,’” Errol said with a sigh. “Just … remembering. You. And your propensity to act out around her.”
“Oh, you’d know all about that, would you?” Rhys shot back. “Always forthcoming with the women in your own life whom you’ve complicated gravities toward, hm? And don’t pretend like you’ve always been a saint, either. We’ve known each other through all our unfortunate growing pains, brother mine.”
At that, Errol dropped his hand to his side and gave a sheepish, little smile, a blush working its way across his nose. “Fair enough.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Rhys said again, not because Errol deserved it, but because it was true. “You can go back to Starling’s Rest assured that I’ll be more of a gentleman than I ever was, and you should still be less of one than you’ve always been.”
“What does that mean?” Errol demanded as Rhys picked up the valise with one hand and Seph’s bag with the other.
“Get home safely,” Rhys said, turning to go back into the house.
“Rhys!” Errol barked. “What the bloody hell does that mean?!”
Not answering gave Rhys a significant wave of satisfaction. What business did Errol have defending Seph’s honor, anyhow? Irish pride?
If Rhys had had half the opportunities with Seph that Errol had enjoyed during a lifetime with Ruby, he’d not still be shuffling about, trying to express love through giant turnips and carnivorous flowers. That was for damned certain.
Behave himself.
Please.
He would treat her like a lady, all right. Like a princess, even.
That thought made him smirk to himself.
“You’re plotting something,” came Nini Winterstone’s voice as he approached the staircase. “I can hear the murmurs spilling out your ears.”
Rhys startled, whipping around to face her where she lounged against the wall, sipping a chilled glass of something that looked very bloody refreshing, actually. “You, madam,” he said to her with a sniff, “are a troublemaker.”
She grinned at him, her face splitting into delight. “Why, yes, I am,” she said. “Thank you for noticing.”
He gave her a good glower—and then a crisp nod. “I like you.”
“I know you do,” she said, turning to flounce off to whatever trouble she had in store for whomever she stumbled upon next.
He wanted to hold that against her but couldn’t find it in himself to try.
He was smiling as he scaled the stairs and navigated to the farthest right-hand corner of the second floor hall.
The master suite’s doors were hanging open and he could feel the cool breeze whirling down the hall from its open windows.
Seph was arranged on the floor just past the entry, her brown skirts spread out in a pool around her and bordered with an assortment of things she had withdrawn from the open trunk in the center of the room.
Silk flowers, gradients of kerchiefs, waxed ropes, and little, metal fasteners dotted around her like mushrooms in a fairy circle.
Off to the side were several bolts of folded black velvet and an assortment of hollow tin tubes sitting atop them.
He paused, dropping the luggage, and simply watched her for a moment as she examined one of the silk flowers held in her palms.
“You can come in,” she said, blinking twice and glancing up at him as she discarded the burnt orange silk rose next to its matching dahlia, carnation, and lily. “How was your farewell with Errol?”
“Tedious,” Rhys answered, stepping inside and drawing the door shut with the hook of his foot. “He made me promise to be a gentleman while we’re here.”
She frowned, tucking the little wisps of golden hair that had escaped from her chignon behind her ears. “Well, you didn’t, did you?”
“Seph!” he blurted out, wide-eyed.
She simply raised her brows and crossed her arms over her very distracting chest.
He wasn’t sure what else to do but give a nervous laugh. “I did promise, as it happens,” he said, holding a finger up when her mouth opened to comment upon that, “but I have my own set of parameters for what that word actually means.”
“Of course you do,” she tutted, leaning back and bracing her hands behind her on the floor. “Have you seen Merlin yet?”
He shook his head, kneeling down just outside her little fairy circle and running his fingers over the matching silk kerchiefs layered atop one another, forming a slow gradient from red to orange to yellow. “Nini said he was poorly.”
“Yes, she did say that,” Seph agreed, “but she also said she asked everyone if they were willing to share their rooms, and I don’t believe she actually did.”
“She didn’t say she asked them,” he corrected, glancing up at her with half a smile. “She said they would or wouldn’t be willing. Different thing entirely. At least for someone like her.”
“A pot stirrer?” Seph suggested, giving a twist of her lips at his laugh. “She’s my first American. Are they all like that?”
“In my experience?” he said, tilting his head to the side to consider it. “Yes.”
“Perhaps I will visit someday,” she said wistfully. “And be surrounded with brash, decorum-flouting lovelies.”
“Well, you’ve already got me,” he pointed out. “I’m those things too.”
“Hm,” she said, rather than agreeing. “We have a few hours before dinner. Do you want to assemble the curtain frames? They’re just over there, by my bed.”
“Oho, your bed,” he mocked, pushing up from the ground to flip his feet back under him. “We’ll see about that. I don’t think we have room for all five, though. At least not in here.”
“No, I don’t think so, either,” she said, looking from one corner of the room to the other. “Three should do us, for an intimate performance. We won’t have an elevated stage or a large crowd like we used to, either, nor the benefit of open-air distractions.”
He nodded, frowning and craning backward to stretch out his spine before he began this simple carpentry. “Maybe there will be room for all five frames wherever these nightly performances are happening,” he reasoned. “But we can rehearse with three.”
“If we’re limited to three, we ought to reduce the number of vanishings or alter them to avoid being repetitive,” she said, reaching out to count the kerchiefs and flowers. Six of each. “I would hate to do that, though.”
Rhys had stopped over the trunk, his chin fallen so hard against his chest as he stared, wide-eyed down into its contents, that the bones of his jaw felt fused to the ones in his collar.
The contents of the chest had drawn his eye.
He supposed he had thought she’d emptied it of everything, the way she was surrounded by bits and bobs a few feet away.
He had been wrong.
There in the low, cradled recess of the trunk was midnight-blue fabric, glinting with gold satin down the middle and over the hips, long-belled sleeves folded over its middle demurely.
It looked like a battle standard from the Crusades.
It looked like the type of flag one intended to plant, whether in claim or in victory.
“What?” said Seph, coming to her feet. “What’s wrong? ”
“You kept the dress,” he said softly, bringing his hands up and sinking his fingers into his hair. “I did not think you would still have that dress.”
“Oh,” she said, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “Well, I don’t know if it still fits, but I’m hoping it does. It already matches the props, so it’d be one less thing to buy. We’re going to have to go into town to get the shoes, though, if we’re still doing that part.”
“We are,” Rhys said thinly, still staring down at the dress. “Aye. Indeed. Shoes.”
He cleared his throat and spun away from her to trot briskly over to the curtain assembly, lest he forget himself less than an hour into this visit. He could feel her eyes on his back, warm and curious and perhaps just a bit smug.
Gentleman, he thought.
It was such a very flexible word.