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CHAPTER TWO

“ S ufficient time as bachelors.” Albion reached for the tiered silver tray on the sideboard by his mother’s Chesterfield sofa. He popped a plump blueberry into his mouth. “Can you believe Lady Talridge’s cheek? Stuff it all if one would think Dunc and I are moldering away like cast-off hermits.”

Albion was visiting his mother in the parlor of her Park Lane townhouse, a leisurely call before attending to his business for the day.

She sat in the window seat overlooking the rain-speckled snapdragons and calla lilies in her garden, thriving in a sunlit break from the day’s storm.

Her somber features, considered refined in the human and Orcan worlds, relaxed somewhat when it was just the two of them.

“I must agree with Lady Talridge,” she commented, tucking her crocheted shawl tighter over her shoulders. “The siren call of marriage is in the air. I doubt it will be long until your brother commits.”

“Dunc!” Albion said with mock dismay. “I know Iris is fond of him, but are you sure she’ll tolerate his grousing? Then again, I suppose we are all daft when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Mother touched her low chignon. As a widow, she wouldn’t wear her black hair loose, the customary style of Orcan women, for another year at minimum.

“Might I hope Duncan will allow himself to be happy? And you, as well. How long until you follow your brother’s lead?”

“Have you ever known me to do such a thing?”

“You can’t remain a bachelor in your leased set forever.”

“I moved in but six months ago.” He liked his apartments at the Albany, a fashionable residence in St. James near high-end game rooms and music halls. “Anyway, why not? Someone went to such trouble to name the place in my honor.”

“You are the toast of London, Albie, but ‘tis merely a coincidence.”

“A pleasant coincidence, though. Wouldn’t you say?”

“The Albany may suffice for now, but you require a more permanent situation. Have you not found a woman you desire to wed?”

Deuces if memories of Diana Stewart didn’t flicker in his mind just then: her captivating gaze, the energetic lilt in her voice, and her complexion positively glowing in the rosy candlelight. Her golden ringlets had been a tad askew, but all the more charming for it.

Apparently, Lady Diana had only recently returned to London after spending months on the American continent.

Diana had fallen victim to some whispering campaign regarding her virtue, the details of which remained foggy to his recollection.

As a result, her parents had shipped her across the ocean, palming her off on some unsuspecting relation like a piece of expensive but unusable furniture.

Last season, they’d chatted easily enough, the agreeable if shallow chatter of two young people. But had her sapphire eyes been so brilliant? Her commentary delivered as confidently?

No matter. At the moment, he was in no position to consider marriage.

“I don’t know that I am inclined to wed any time soon,” Albion said mildly, “given that I reside in London and you will undoubtedly insist on an Orcan woman as a bride.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

“There it is, then.” Orcan parents left the choice of partner to their child. That did not mean they would not prefer a pairing of their choosing. “I see little point in discussing nuptials. I was under the impression the decision to marry or not was mine alone.”

“What one wishes and what is best are two different issues entirely,” she told him. “Your father’s greatest wish was to maintain peace between our world and the humans. I now allow that there is no better way to do so than through marriage.”

“Mother! I never thought you’d suggest such a thing.”

“You are held in high regard here. Some human lady or another must have set her sights on you. After all, their main purpose is to attract a husband. Any predator worth its salt perfects the capture of their preferred prey.”

“Your assessment is rather harsh,” Albion commented, rising to his feet and resting an elbow on her white marble mantel. “I enjoy the companionship of humans. Particularly ladies.”

“Even when they ask ridiculous questions?” Mother’s voice rose an octave. “Have we the same anatomy, except for claws and horns? The same love of conviviality and domestic contentment?”

“The longer I live in London, the more ladies I meet who strive for something beyond marriage. Like Orcan women, one might say.”

His mother looked wistfully out the broad bay window. The southern light shining on her garden was markedly different from the iron gray of their home in the north.

“I am doing a poor job of expressing myself. I meant to say that if you were to find a human woman with whom you wanted to mate, I would not object.”

Albion toyed with a trinket on the mantel, a wooden figurine of a dire wolf carved to emphasize its fierce profile. His heavy top boot tapped the lush Turkish carpeting.

“You seem rattled, my son. It is no simple matter to straddle two worlds.”

Nervous tics were more the provenance of his brother.

Albion had always been more composed in that regard.

He bent down to retrieve a scone that he then slathered with butter and elderberry coulis before taking a bite.

Mother added little sugar to her preserves, preferring the Orcan preparation.

Albion had developed a sweet tooth and longed for a marmalade or sponge cake.

“I hardly see the point of all this bother,” he told her. “I enjoy my freedom. You wouldn’t wish to rob me of that prematurely?”

“Are you not a man of four and twenty? I know you will make your life here. You won’t return to live in the Hidden Realm. And I understand why.”

A familiar sensation of helplessness prickled Albion’s chest. The taunts of school boys from his early days, when his clumsy body had not yet caught pace with his height, still rang in his head. Weakling. Coward. Stringling.

“I’m sorry, Albie,” his mother said gently. “We should have done more for you when you were a child. Your father wanted you to fight your own battles. He thought it best.”

“You needn’t apologize.” Albion straightened the lapels of his new white riding coat.

“You grew into a man of great courage.”

“Mother.” A warning note steadied his voice.

She switched to the Orcan tongue. “I have it on good authority that the Duke of Rostin has offered a substantial sum to capture the Benevolent Phantom. Seven thousand pounds.”

“How unsporting.” Apart from his trusted associates, Mother was the only one aware of the Benevolent Phantom’s true identity. Who knew Albion Higgins was the architect of the rescues in Chamberly.

Success in Society required skill, but anyone with half a mind could learn the tricks.

Albion had done so quickly enough, affecting the airs of an aspiring but nonthreatening Corinthian who preferred a stiff drink and the gaming table to talk of politics or any emotion as weighty as love.

Whose intellectual curiosity seemed limited to the latest results from the races at Newmarket.

In short, an orc never to be overestimated. And perhaps the only individual in London not suspected of being the Benevolent Phantom.

“Despite their politeness, the English see us as foreigners, which will always put our kind at unique risk. That’s why your father insisted on Anglicizing our family name for their benefit. Were you apprehended, you would enjoy none of the protections granted to the native-born.”

“No one thinks me sufficiently clever to take part in these exploits,” he replied in their language. “And I never travel to Chamberly myself.”

“You plan and fund the trips, and your men risk capture. Under duress, there is not any among them who would not betray you? I fear for your safety, my son.”

“You needn’t worry,” he told her. “I take all due precautions. But I shan’t change course.”

“I assumed as much. Could you not at least consider a strategic marriage? A match which might add a layer of protection to your status in this world.”

“So you want me to wed a human woman as part of the ruse?”

“Not any woman. One who wields social and political power. Perchance a family member in Parliament. A woman with useful connections if anything unfortunate were to occur.”

“Doesn’t a human woman deserve love the same as any other?”

“I only ask you to consider it, Albie. Many women are open to a practical marriage.”

He approached and gave her a tight hug, taking in the sharp citrus scent of the soap his mother favored. Imported from the Hidden Realm, like all other things she loved. Mother and Duncan pined for and idealized their homeland, while Albion couldn’t escape it fast enough.

He switched back to English.

“I know you’re worried,” he told her. “But when I take a wife, human or orc, it shall be because I wish to do so. Because the partnership brings us both joy. I reject anything less.”

“For the life of me, were you any more industrious, Lil, you would be the patron saint of handiwork. How many items can one woman knit?”

Though she hadn’t stayed overly late at Lady Talridge’s affair, Diana had overslept. Still in a morning robe and foregoing the breakfast room, she was only now catching up with her older sister.

Since calling off her engagement, Lillian had become a constant presence in the front parlor, hunched over her sewing. Shawls, socks, and petticoats were heaped in tidy piles, all destined for those poor souls displaced by the Duke of Rostin’s occupation of Chamberly.

But for a small complement of servants, they were alone in the house, Father having no doubt departed at dawn for his office in the City of London.

Finding himself unexpectedly in the position of inheriting a title never prevented Tobias Stewart, with his stoic banker’s heart, from pursuing more money.