In which a moustache makes an appearance
Charm, of a personal kind, can be most deceiving in and of itself.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
For the rest of that day and the next, Judith and Dacian avoided each other. Judith occupied herself with sewing a tiny primrose gown for Marigold, and the duke had plenty to keep himself busy with his family and managing the estate, as well as employing two new footmen and instructing his steward, Mr Lewis.
Judith envied Dacian’s indomitable energy, for she found she was quite exhausted after the recent events and revelations. She needed several naps and cups of chocolate to restore her mettle.
She was aware, too, that she was running out of time. She was supposed to be visiting Castle Lanyon in Cornwall, to conduct a cursory inspection before her children removed there with a roost of bats. Then she needed to travel back to London for Elinor’s wedding. There was no time to dilly dally.
So at dinner, Judith made her announcement, while Dacian was safely lodged behind the dining table.
“I will be leaving tomorrow,” she said calmly. “I intend to call upon Garvey House, so I must be on my way.”
Dacian frowned from his seat. “Is that so, marchioness?”
Lady Agatha, Dacian’s sister, was the only one present at dinner. The rest of the family had asked for trays to be sent to their rooms after the recent tribulations. Lady Agatha was there simply out of pig-headedness, determined to show that she could rise above it all with true English fortitude.
Now, however, Agatha’s face became disapproving.
“Garvey House?” Her dark brows lowered, and she paused in the act of sipping from her spoon. She shared the same striking, dark colouring as Dacian. “What on earth can you want with Garvey House?”
It was a chance to see if Judith’s story would pass muster. “I thought I could invite Miss Georgina Garvey to visit Elinor,” she replied. “I imagine she is due to come out next year, if not already.”
“Why do you care about the Garveys?” asked Lady Agatha suspiciously. “They are low ton, soaked in scandal, with which they managed to muddy Dacian too. You cannot have forgotten that ghastly duel? You should keep away, especially now that you have moved up in the world, Lady Avely.”
“All the more reason to help them,” said Judith coolly. “You surely do not believe that the sins of her father should be visited upon poor Miss Garvey? She will need some support if she is to appear in London.”
Dacian looked unhappy but he nodded reluctantly. “It is a good notion, Judith. I would like to make amends to the family, myself. Perhaps I should come with you.”
Judith frowned at him, but she was not called upon to refute this preposterous idea.
“Make amends?” Agatha set down her spoon in affront. “Dacian, whatever Lord Garvey did to provoke a duel, I am certain that he deserved it. You, as a duke, should not admit to any fault.”
Dacian’s face went stony. “Agatha, it was my fault that he died. Regardless of the circumstances, I should not have killed him.”
“That dreadful man must have done something ,” she retorted. “We all know that duels are a matter of honour. I am sure society condones your actions even if the law does not. After all, you are a duke.”
Judith took a sip of her cream of onion soup, though it tasted rather sour. “Not all of society condones duelling. There is a reason it is illegal: in our enlightened day and age we should not need to resort to violence.”
Agatha sniffed. “Everyone knows Lord Garvey liked to seek out trouble.” She shot a sideways glance at Judith and took up her spoon again. “Far be it for me to repeat what I heard about that night.”
Judith raised her brows. Ordinarily she did not like to play the gossip, but this was a matter of murder. She could be forgiven for her interest in exactly what Agatha had heard. “I confess I am curious, Lady Agatha.”
Agatha gave her a penetrating stare, then she turned her head and dismissed the butler, Broughton, from the room. Once the man had discreetly closed the door, Agatha spoke.
“If you must know,” she murmured, “people said that Dacian found Lord Garvey forcing his attentions on Lady Vosse.” She shuddered. “Poor Isobel.”
Judith’s spoon wavered in her hand, spilling a drop of soup on the white tablecloth. “Oh. I see.”
Lady Isobel Vosse. Her involvement made all too much sense. There had been gossip about the duke and the attractive red-haired woman years ago, scandalous gossip that Judith had tried to ignore. It was more evidence that Dacian was nothing but a rake, but Judith hadn’t wanted to know the intimate details.
Indeed, irritation at Lady Vosse was one of Judith’s more vivid memories from the cursed Garvey house party. Watching her twine those auburn locks around her fingers as she widened her green eyes at Dacian had been exceedingly annoying.
She risked a glance at Dacian now. He was staring at his bread, a faint redness in his cheeks. Exactly how much truth had there been in those stories? Perhaps there was reason enough for everyone to have assumed it was Lady Vosse who had sparked Dacian’s masculine instincts.
Agatha smiled in triumph. “So you see, everyone is in perfect sympathy with you, Dacian. For once your stupid temper was useful. I imagine that Lady Vosse was very grateful to your intervention, given that her husband is so useless.”
It was true that Lord Vosse appeared to have other sort of interests, which did not include his wife. So much so that Isobel Vosse had been free to do as she pleased, even if it involved a handsome, libertine duke.
Dacian remained silent.
“What a sordid story.” Mechanically, Judith began eating her soup. “Let us not mention it again.”
“Precisely,” agreed Agatha. “Dacian, you will do well to keep away from the Garveys.”
“We will see,” he replied shortly. “You cannot dictate my movements, Aggie, as much as you may have become accustomed to running this house.”
When the strained meal finally ended, Judith made her excuses rather than suffer the perils of the drawing room. She retreated to the Gold Room once more and found Marigold awake, sprawled on her bed.
The vampiri’s brown curls were in disarray, and a bare shoulder peeped from under the orange-gold silk that Judith had given her.
“You look a bit peaked,” Marigold observed as Judith shut the door. “Especially for someone who ought to have been napping all day.”
Judith pursed her lips and sat down on the settee by the window. “There have been unfortunate developments, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?” Marigold sat up with interest, and her silk fell further down. Grimly, Judith wondered how much further it would have to fall before it mimicked her gold and black dress nine years ago.
With some embarrassment, she explained how Dacian had been provoked into killing Lord Garvey. She left nothing out. If Marigold (as she hoped) were to come to Garvey House, she would need to know the details. She could be useful in uncovering an Illusor, for vampiri could sense when magic was being cast.
Marigold’s eyes widened. “Sunbeams! How dare someone take your image in vain!”
“Precisely my feelings.”
“And a duel of pistols at midnight! That’s a bit disgraceful, isn’t it?”
Judith gave her a wry look. “No more than my exposed flesh, I wager.”
“Oh, that doesn’t concern me much.” Marigold wriggled her naked shoulder suggestively. “Who cares if flesh is exposed? Duels, on the other hand, are usually fought at dawn, aren’t they? The duke must have been very angry to ignore the usual protocols.”
“True.” Judith frowned. “He hasn’t told me exactly what happened. I heard the gunshots, however. It must have been an impromptu fight, spurred by drink.” Duelling was a terrible practice, a violent and stupid way to settle quarrels. And Dacian’s indulgence in them was yet another reason to spurn his advances.
Glumly, Judith fed Marigold from her wrist, cementing their bond even though they both agreed it was a temporary measure. They had only joined forces recently, and Marigold was a flighty sort of bat, reluctant to commit to any one Musor for long. Still, while they were bonded, Judith was duty bound to feed and care for the little creature.
Sighing, she leaned back against the pillows and picked up her sewing, wondering if Dacian would try to stop her from leaving tomorrow. She would have to be prepared for his intervention.
It came sooner than she thought. Just as she was finishing a sleeve, there was a rap on the door.
Half expecting the duke, Judith swallowed her disappointment when she saw that it was Robert, her husband’s illegitimate son. The sight of his rich brown hair and blue eyes still gave her a shock of recognition; even if she had been inclined to deny the relationship, it was there before her eyes, in Robert’s resemblance to his father, Nicholas.
Robert gave her a tentative smile and Judith returned it. She had been carefully trying to befriend him. He was only a few years older than her own son, Peregrine, and she had decided it would be better if Robert joined their family, as was only right. When she had first learned of his existence it had been a painful thing to accept, but over the last few days of spectre hunting and foiling a murderer, she had grown rather fond of him.
Now, however, he spoke formally. “Lady Avely, his grace invites you to partake of chocolate in the study.”
Robert was still dressed in the Sargenet footman’s livery of green and gold. Earlier that day, Judith had tried to convince him to cast it aside, but Robert had said he was happy to be a footman while the household was short and in chaos besides. He owed the duke that much, he claimed. Judith thought that was a rather generous view of the situation, for it was by Dacian’s (and her) neglect that Robert had ended up employed by Lady Agatha in menial service.
“Oh, his grace does, does he?” said Judith grumpily. “What if I were sleeping?”
Robert allowed himself a small smile. “He bade me promise you that it will be the best Spanish recipe.”
“Hmm.” That meant it would contain cayenne and doradozón, a rather delicious addition to the usual spices. Judith was tempted. Damn the duke. At least, she noted, Dacian was not breaching the privacy of her own room this time with his chocolate rendezvous. Good. A business-like meeting in the study was far more appropriate. Especially now Dacian knew she was unlikely to expose her breasts .
She bit down a flush of mortification, and stood up. “Marigold, would you like to join us?”
Marigold sprung up. “Yes, please!” She flung her gold cloth aside and Robert hastily averted his eyes from her naked form. “Just let me attire myself more appropriately.”
Judith told herself that they could be a little bit lax with the Edicts in the duke’s household, and the vampiri could act as a sort of chaperone.
Not that she would need it now.
Robert led them through a darkened house, for everyone else had withdrawn to sleep. The study, when Judith entered, was lit by several candles. Dacian was sprawled in an armchair with a glass of whisky in his hand. He lurched to his feet when Judith came in. Marigold was tucked in her pocket, out of sight, and now (fortunately) dressed in a blue gown.
“Ah, marchioness,” drawled Dacian. “Robert will fetch the chocolate. I think we should add some spirits to it tonight.” He lifted up his glass of liquor suggestively.
Judith gave the duke a disapproving frown as Robert clicked his heels together and vanished.
“Don’t frown at me, Judith. It’s been a hell of a few days. I deserve a drink.”
She sighed in acquiescence. “Very well, but we have much to discuss.”
“We do indeed.” Dacian sank back into his armchair. “What did I say about harebrained schemes? I don’t like this plan of yours to go to Garvey House.”
“It is not harebrained. It is perfectly respectable for me to call upon Lady Garvey or Mrs Bollopher.” She moved forward into the room and took up a defensive position behind a table, sitting in a high-backed chair that suited an air of authority.
“You can’t go alone,” he insisted.
“I most certainly can. I am not a maiden anymore. I am a widow of advanced years.”
“Pfft,” he scoffed. “You may be a widow, but you’re still young, Judith, with plenty of life in your limbs.” He let his eyes trail down her body suggestively, and waved his whisky glass. The amber colour glowed in the candlelight.
“As much as you like to cast me as a merry widow,” she snapped, “I must inform you that you are bound to be disappointed.”
“Will I?” He smiled lazily. “After all these years? I really hope not, Judith.”
Marigold chose this moment to pop her head out of Judith’s pocket, with an interested look. “Your grace, are you propositioning a lady while drunk?”
Dacian’s eyes widened. “Me? No.” He cleared his throat and took another gulp. “I was trying to make a point. What was it? Oh yes. Lady Avely can’t go alone to Garvey House. It might be dangerous.”
“I can promise you,” Judith said coldly, “that I will not be tempted to enter into any duels.”
Dacian looked pained. “Miss Cultor, please tell her that I must accompany her.”
Marigold looked undecided as she glanced from one to the other.
Judith shook her head crossly. “You said yourself we cannot be seen together.”
“Ah,” said Dacian, putting his glass down with a decisive clink. “But I have my own harebrained scheme.”
“Oh, really?” Judith leaned into her high-backed chair and braced herself. This sounded ominous.
“I will go in disguise.” Dacian held up his other hand to forestall her objections. “Hear me out. I will travel separately as a Mr Fortnew, a simple man of business. We can both stay at the Golden Bat, the inn closest to Garvey House. That way I am on hand to assist you.”
“Are you mad?” Judith shook her head. “It is an entirely foolish notion; I cannot imagine you as a Mr Fortnew.”
“Nonsense, I am accustomed to travelling under a false name. Do you imagine I travelled around Spain as the Duke of Sargen?” Dacian’s lips quirked. “Be grateful that I am not suggesting I appear as the Count of Querrento.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “A small mercy, indeed, but this is England, Dacian, not Spain. The odds are that you will be recognised, even after ten years’ absence. People don’t forget a duke. I am much more likely to go unnoticed without you.”
“Ah, but this will be no ordinary disguise. I will take Robert with me.”
Marigold clapped her little hands together. “Ooh, so he can assist you with an Illusion? This could be fun.”
“Might as well fight fire with fire.” Dacian grinned at Marigold, and knocked back the last of the whisky in his glass. “I was contemplating a moustache. And brown hair. What do you think?”
Judith ran her eyes over his thick, black locks. “It will scarcely be sufficient.” His black hair was a distinctive Sargen trait, but simply changing his hair colour wasn’t going to disguise his cursed cheekbones. “It is a ridiculous idea. Robert cannot constantly Illuse you. He will become Bewildered.”
“Not constantly.” Dacian leaned back and crossed his legs. “I’ll stay in my room all the time, and you can hire a private parlour for our discussions. I’ll only need a moustache when the servants come in.”
Judith frowned. She didn’t like the idea of being alone in a private parlour with the duke. It sounded…intimate. Like this current situation, which was far too convivial in tone.
“No,” she said. “I don’t have the funds for a private room. Not to mention that my reputation will suffer if I entertain a strange man there.”
Dacian tipped his head thoughtfully. “You’re right, perhaps you should already be acquainted with Mr Fortnew. I can be your man of business - assisting you with your new property!” He grinned like a child who has just performed a trick.
Judith drew a breath to refute the notion, but at that moment, a soft tap came at the door. Marigold vanished under the table, but it was only Robert, who entered the room carrying a large wooden tray, topped with a molinet and two tall cups. Dacian waved him in.
“Robert, my dear boy, how are you at moustaches?”
“Excuse me, your grace?” Robert set the tray on the table. He was very formal today, Judith observed. He was probably trying to make up for his recent lapses into Bemusement.
“Can you paint one on my face? A suave brown moustache, if you would be so kind. Give it a try.”
“Now, your grace?”
“Yes, now, for God’s sakes.” Dacian sat up. “I am trying to prove something to Lady Avely.”
Robert shot a glance at Judith. She rolled her eyes and set about pouring a cup of thick, steaming chocolate. She was going to need it, she could tell.
Robert cleared his throat. “Certainly, your grace.” He stared at Dacian’s face earnestly and a moustache drifted into view. It was thick and brown, like a caterpillar. Judith shuddered.
Marigold popped her head out from under the table and observed it critically. “I’m not one for moustaches, myself.”
Robert startled, and the moustache fell away. He nodded politely at Marigold.
“I need a mirror,” announced the duke, who was peering down the end of his nose. “Robert, can you fetch one, please? There is no point in conducting your artistry if I can’t see it. And next time, make my hair brown too. I need a thorough disguise.”
“Certainly, your grace.”
Robert retreated once more and Judith took a sip of fortifying cocoa, breathing in the soothing aroma of spices. “You shouldn’t treat him like a servant, you know.”
“I know. I’m treating him as a co-conspirator. Whisky in that?” Dacian picked up the decanter.
“Tsk, tsk,” said Marigold, hauling herself up the leg of the table like a small monkey. Ordinarily, she would stay hidden from servants, but with Robert it didn’t matter. Technically, they were all currently in breach of the new Edicts, for vampiri were meant to keep themselves separate under King George’s oppressive new protocols. The Edicts, passed in the heat of the French Revolution, forbade vampiri to appear in public, or consort openly with their blood companions. Musors and vampiri had always kept apart from the uninitiated, but now they weren’t given much chance to talk even to each other. Unless one simply ignored the rules, as Marigold was prone to do.
Judith sighed and proffered her cup for the whisky. “Why not?” She was going to need more than cocoa, she suspected. Dacian poured in a liberal dose. The resulting brew was fiery and potent, and she sipped it as Dacian dosed his own cup. Marigold shook her head disapprovingly, now sitting cross-legged on the table once more.
“Where is Wooten?” Judith asked. Wooten Willoughby was Dacian’s own vampiri companion, a personage of melancholy moods and immaculate attire.
“Oh, he wanted some quiet time,” replied Dacian airily. “All the irregularities lately have worn down his fortitude.”
“You mean, you knew he wouldn’t like this moustache nonsense.” The whisky glowed warm in Judith’s belly.
“Ha, yes,” said Marigold. “A moustache is far too interesting for Wooten.”
“The moustache is a good idea.” Dacian rested his cup of chocolate negligently on his thigh, though he did not deny Judith’s accusation. “You might as well accustom yourself to it, my dear, because I won’t let you go alone.”
Judith took another sip of whisky-laced chocolate, pointedly ignoring him and his endearment.
“She won’t be alone.” Marigold bristled. “She’ll have me.”
Dacian raised a brow. “You’re a bit small. And you sleep in the daytime. No offence, Miss Cultor.”
Marigold huffed. Judith sighed, nursing her cup, as Robert returned carrying a large brass hand mirror. The duke took it and bade the moustache to re-appear.
Robert stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and stared fixedly. A large brown caterpillar appeared on the ducal face.
“No, that’s too fat.” Dacian tilted his chin up. “Make it slightly thinner. No longer than my lips.”
Robert complied, until there was a rather elegant moustache sitting atop Dacian’s lip. If anything, thought Judith morosely, it simply highlighted his sensuous mouth, and counterpointed his high cheekbones.
“No,” she said. “It’s no good.”
“I rather like it.” Dacian preened into the hand mirror.
“You still look like you .”
“Robert, what about brown hair?” Dacian’s black hair became a mousy brown, matching his moustache. Suddenly he looked a bit unfamiliar, for Robert had also taken the liberty of concealing the familiar white scar on his forehead. Judith stared.
“Don’t forget his eyebrows,” put in Marigold thoughtfully. “They stand out a bit.”
Dacian’s striking eyebrows softened into a more muted colour, becoming rather less thick and untamed. Everyone examined him. He was, regrettably, still handsome.
“If I may suggest,” said Robert diffidently, “a bit more of a curl?”
At his words, the moustache lengthened slightly, thinning and curling at the ends. In counterpoint, the wave in Dacian’s hair deflated, becoming very straight and neat.
“Perhaps,” said Judith, entering into the spirit of things, “a mole is required.”
“An excellent notion,” agreed Robert, grinning. In a blink, a large brown mole appeared on Dacian’s left cheek.
The duke peered into the hand mirror. “Not too sure about the mole.”
Neither was Judith, but it was time to assert some authority. “Your grace, if you want to come to Garvey House, you must have the mole. It is the only thing that will possibly make this work.”
She took another gulp of hot, spiced cocoa. Perhaps the mole would act as its own sort of chaperone. She couldn’t possibly kiss a man with a curly moustache and a mole, even if his cheekbones and dark eyes remained irrepressible.
Dacian frowned. “I don’t like the mole.”
“You will put your vanity aside,” said Judith austerely. “Robert, it appears you will be coming on a little expedition with us. May I introduce you to Mr Fortnew, my man of business?”