Page 22 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)
Joe watched Boniface pace the length of the kitchen, execute a turn that sent his shining hair into a swirl worthy of a shampoo commercial, then return to his starting point.
Over and over. He was graceful about it, almost like it was a dance.
There was nothing careless or uncertain about the man.
Honestly, his intensity was a little intimidating.
But at the moment, he was all smoothness and smiles and sincerity.
From the answers he was giving, Joe guessed he was in the middle of some kind of interview.
Boniface ended the call and immediately began texting. But while he tapped, he said, “I do apologize for monopolizing this space, but I can’t get a reliable signal anywhere else. Would you be opposed to my remedying the matter? Discreetly, of course.”
“I’m not the best person to ask,” admitted Joe.
“You’re this enclave’s headman.”
“But … I don’t have a phone.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said wearily. “Right. I’ll see to it. Entirely selfish on my part, but making do for nigh unto three months? Non . I know who to ask.”
“Do you mean Sinder?” inquired Kyrie, who was suddenly at Boniface’s elbow.
“Lord, give a chap more warning.” Boniface patted his heart, then carefully placed his hand atop the boy’s head. “And while I wasn’t planning to name names—for obvious reasons—yes, he’s the one I’ll ask.”
“I remember him.” Joe wasn’t likely to forget the dragon who’d been part of the balance, back when the Orchid Saddle had come to the enclave.
Kyrie explained, “He is part of Dad’s cortege now.”
“If he can make things better, you have my permission.”
“ Merci .”
Taking Boniface by the elbow, Kyrie steered him toward the chair that Anan pulled out for him. Boniface looked ready to protest the handling, but Kyrie interrupted with a question. “Who was interviewing you? She sounded Amaranthine.”
“Did she? As far as I’m aware, a voice is a voice is a voice.” Boniface frowned. “Wait a tick. There are security measures to prevent eavesdropping on this thing. Are they faulty?”
“Ah. No.” Kyrie turned the chair beside Boniface’s to face him and perched on its edge.
“I made inferences based the answers you gave. Also, your tone is always more wary when you are speaking with a female. And you add appropriate postures and gestures, even when you are on the phone. Yours just now were very wolvish.”
“You’re right, and it’s no great secret.
This time. Levity Highwind-Jones wanted appropriate details before running an article about Argent’s ‘personal reasons’ for stopping over in America.
Once the next issue of the Emergent hits newsstands, the presence of Stately House crossers in Perch County will be drawing national interest.”
“Is … that going to be a problem?” Joe couldn’t remember anyone saying that the crossers’ visit was supposed to be a secret. Only that Argent believed that Red Gate Farm was a safe place.
“All part of the plan,” Boniface assured. “Reinier and Nonny will speak for Stately House.”
“Not you?” Joe asked Kyrie.
“I have other obligations while I am here.” With a small headshake, he added, “Do not worry if I am sometimes missing.”
“All part of the plan,” repeated Boniface.
The next two days were exceptionally busy for Red Gate Farm’s many guests. Argent Mettlebright was all anyone in Archer could talk about as upcoming events suddenly clogged the community calendar.
A press conference at Bellwether, where he introduced Nonny as one of the first crossers to make Stately House his home.
A school assembly at Landmark Elementary, where the fox watched over Harrison Peck’s schoolwide announcement about his upcoming plans.
A town meeting in Archer—closed to the press—during which friends and neighbors were able to ask Harrison questions … and meet more of Stately House’s crossers.
Boniface took to squiring around Reinier and Cirric, who made appearances on television and handled radio interviews with impressive poise.
“They’re used to the limelight,” explained Nonny. “Reinier was raised by a theater company, and Cirric doesn’t know the meaning of stage fright.”
Joe ventured, “So they’re not from Stately House?”
Nonny snickered. “You may be the first person to actually ask that. Might be you’re too used to tricksters to be outfoxed.”
Inti tapped Joe’s shoulder with his tail. “What if Inti was speaking, speeching, spieling?”
“Never happening,” said Nonny. “And I look the part—right showy and turned out proper—but the guv knows how defensive I get whenever anyone talks shit about us. Reinier and Cirric are best at turning heads and winning hearts.”
“What about Kyrie?” posed Joe.
“Articulate and mannerly. Fearless, too.” Nonny’s gaze held amusement. “He could sway crowds, buuut there’s Anan to consider.”
“Temper, temper, tempest,” agreed Inti.
Just then, Boniface swept through the door, shedding wool and cashmere as he dropped to a chair. “Lord, what a day. Is there tea?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get yer cuppa.” Nonny pushed away from the table and went to put the kettle on.
Inti quietly asked, “Did they follow you here?”
“The paparazzi? Non . Argent has insinuated and implied without any outright lie. As far as the wider world knows, Stately House’s crossers will leave when Argent moves along. By this time tomorrow, things will quiet down, and we can rusticate in peace.”