Page 3 of The Rumpled Gentleman

Chapter

Three

E lara had several sheets of paper filled with lists of things she needed, based on her father’s notes and her desire to escape the situation unscathed. There were the usual ingredients of potions, of course, and items such as beakers and funnels and measuring tools. But she’d seeded the lists with other things, too. Things more in keeping with her limited use of magic. Flower seeds, nettles, vines.

The right mix of flowers and magical intent had saved her in the past. Though she hadn’t any solid plan at the moment, she would come up with something.

A knock on the door preceded the entrance of the maid who’d let her in the kitchens. Her father currently slept in the bed in the next room, and Elara had insisted on remaining with him as much as possible. Two irritable footmen had brought a cot into the room and put it against the wall for her.

“Miss?” The maid carried a swath of teal fabric and pink tulle over her arm. “I have your gown for the ball.”

Elara shook her head. None of those words made any sense to her. “I haven’t any gowns?” The statement escaped in the form of a question. She looked down at the desk, her hands splayed across a sheet of paper, fingertips ink-stained. “I think both of us are over-tired, Bess. I’m not going to the duke’s masquerade.”

“His Grace says you are.” Bess came into the room fully, closing the door behind her with a bump of her hip. “The duke has given orders. We had a mad rush to find you a costume, and then someone suggested one of the duchess’s old things. If we put a little enchantment on your hair, we can say you are Cupid’s Countess, or some such thing.”

She didn’t have time for a ball. Not when she had to come up with a way to either turn worthless weeds into gold or delay the duke long enough to form a plan of escape.

Escape. The ball might help her plan that out, granting her leave to move about more freely in the duke’s home.

Immediately, she relented. “My father is still resting. He is not expected to attend, is he?”

The maid glanced at the connecting door from sitting room to bedchamber. “I was not given instructions to see to him, miss.”

Relaxing, she gave herself over to preparations for the ball. The maid, sweet as she was, kept up a constant stream of soft chatter, laced with information for Elara to absorb. The schedule for the evening, the usual expectations at such events, the sorts of dances performed. As Elara sat in front of the mirror at the small dressing table, her hair magicked to match the pink of her gown, she listened intently.

“And never reveal your identity, not to anyone,” the maid added. “The duke thinks it amusing for folk to stay in character. He gives prizes for those who best perform in their costume.” She winced. “Sometimes, High Fey attend. So be careful not to agree to anything, be it simple or strange.”

“You are Fey,” Elara observed softly, meeting Bess’s eyes in the mirror. “Should I be worried about you?”

Bess smiled and wiggled the tips of her catlike ears. “My gram was a Welsh Bwbachod . I inherited a fair few of her abilities, including her good looks.” She winked and her short cat whiskers rose with her grin. “Our kind aligns closely with humans, as we find joy in the tasks of keeping house and home. Some High Fey think it’s demeaning, so they don’t like associating with us. Unless it’s to cause mischief. Did you never learn these things? You speak as though you’re a lady, but you came to us looking like a servant.”

Elara shook her head, slowly. “My father belonged to the apothecary guild, and his shop was one of the finest in London. We had servants, but they were human. I only met Fey in passing.”

Bess gave a nod. “Be extra careful tonight. Make no bargains. Especially with the High Fey. They will promise you the moon but ask for your eyes in return.”

Elara blinked. “What does that mean?”

The maid’s expression turned sad. “What use is something as beautiful as the moon if you haven’t the eyes to see it?”

Elara swallowed and nodded her understanding.

“No deals with fairies. I understand.”

Bess gave a smart nod, then motioned to the bracelet on Elara’s wrist. “Do you want that above or beneath your glove, miss?”

The glass beads, blue and white, were as out of place as she was in this grand house. But she couldn’t bear to leave them behind. “Beneath, I think.”

She’d still have her sisters with her that way. Even if she kept them hidden.

Plotting her escape and avoiding the duke’s magical guests at the same time might be more difficult than she anticipated. But what choice did she have?

Orion hated playing his father’s games. The duke’s demand that Orion attend the ball, last-minute and delivered with expectation, was a reminder of his power. Orion depended on the duke’s goodwill for everything. For his mother’s health. For their livelihood. Until Orion gained complete independence, financially and through influence, he had to bow to the villain’s every demand.

Without worrying his mother.

If the opportunity arose, he would slip away to check on his father’s captive guests, the woman and her father. After collecting her father’s books, seeing where they lived, he’d thought of nothing else but her predicament. Which had made his own work suffer.

Tonight, he dressed the part of an Elf Huntsman. He wore a deep gray cloak, embroidered along its edges with silver vines, the hood up to cover the dark curling hair that would give him away to those who knew him best. Black made up the rest of his costume, except for the waistcoat that matched the cloak in color and design. Before he left his carriage, he donned the mask he’d chosen for the evening. It covered everything except his mouth, obscuring his identity entirely.

He had little desire to mingle with his father’s friends, or for others to know how often the duke forced his illegitimate son to heel.

Light flooded outward from every window of the duke’s enormous house, a show of extravagance and wealth that made Orion wince. Everywhere he looked, Orion saw wealth on display in extravagant costumes. Humans mingled freely with elves, fauns, fairies, and other fair-folk. Some were dressed as figures from the past, others as the embodiments of virtues or vices.

His father’s closest associates were easy to spot, ringed around the duke as they were near the entrance to the ballroom. The duke himself wasn’t masked. He wore well-tailored evening attire, his stickpin a diamond in the jaws of an intricately designed golden dragon. He smirked coolly, looking over the assembled guests with a gleam in his eye that made Orion hold back a shudder.

The man’s greed for gold was only matched by his hunger for power.

Orion slipped into the ballroom with a crowd of guests, avoiding the duke’s notice. He would have to make himself known at some point, to prove he’d fulfilled his obligation to attend, but it needn’t be so early that his father could then command his steps for the whole of the evening.

He stayed at the edges of the ballroom, exchanging polite nods with those who met his gaze through his mask.

He debated dancing to pass the time but caught sight of a person in teal ruffles and pink lace, wearing a wig tinted to match her gown, dressed in a style popular before his birth.

She looked like a French noblewoman, direct from Napoleon’s court. England’s Regency era, before the Mad King had passed his crown to the impatient prince. Her mask, held in place by a thin silver ribbon, wouldn’t be enough to hide her identity. Not from him. Especially when he saw her somewhat wide-eyed glance over her shoulder before she stepped through the doors to the gardens, out into the night.

Elara Millstone.

Why had the duke allowed her to attend the ball? Or forced her to attend, as was more likely the case. Did she hope to escape through the gardens? Surely she wouldn’t, not after his earlier warnings. And she wouldn’t leave her father behind, either. No, escape wasn’t what she had planned.

There was something amiss, and he intended to find out what.

He followed as Elara slipped out into the cool embrace of the night, careful to maintain a discreet distance. The soft glow of moonlight bathed the elaborate maze of hedges and flowers in silvery-blue light. Orion kept to the shadows of the garden.

Few people walked along the well-lit paths nearest the ballroom doors. Elara ignored them and ventured deeper into the darkness. He kept his quarry in sight, observing her every move with keen interest.

She wandered along the paths with a sense of purpose, her gaze fixed on the various blooms that adorned the garden. Orion admired the careful way she moved, her attention to detail, the way she paused to consider each flower before moving on.

At one point, she stopped before a bush adorned with delicate blossoms. Orion watched from behind a marble statue as she reached into a small bag tied to her wrist and produced a pair of scissors. With a precise and delicate motion, she clipped a single flower, inspecting it closely.

Her actions intrigued him. Was she gathering these flowers for a specific purpose? To create something to cheer her father, perhaps?

She moved silently and he acted as her shadow. The farther they ventured, the more secluded and wilder the garden appeared. Here, the carefully manicured flowerbeds gave way to denser foliage and less-trodden paths. The scent of earth and growing things filled the air.

Elara paused occasionally, selecting certain flowers or leaves, occasionally clipping a piece and arranging it carefully in her hands.

Orion’s curiosity deepened.

He heard a shuffled step on the walk nearby, the murmur of male voices. Elara must have, too. She stiffened where she stood and glanced about, as if for a place to hide. A lone woman ought to be safe everywhere, but depending on who stumbled upon her, she was in as much danger in the gardens as on the streets of London.

Orion didn’t hesitate. He swept out of the shadows and heard Elara’s soft gasp as she turned toward him, eyes wide behind her mask. He didn’t pause to explain, merely wrapped his cloak halfway about her shoulder as his hand went to the middle of her back to steady her, as if he meant to guide her through a waltz.

“Hush now,” he commanded, his voice a whisper. “You mustn’t be caught thieving flowers from a duke.”

Her body, tightly coiled, trembled beneath his touch.

The owners of the voices came into their secluded alcove. They raised a lantern, and Orion looked over his shoulder with all the arrogance he could muster. Voice deep and commanding, he snarled, “What do you want?”

The men, dressed in the duke’s livery, patrolled the grounds.

Elara ducked her head closer, her forehead brushing his cravat and the hair of her wig tickling his chin.

“Keeping the gardens safe, sir,” one of them answered, raising the lamp higher. Noting Orion wasn’t alone.

“I am safe enough. Away with you both.” He didn’t have the ability to persuade or command with his voice. Not a magical ability, at any rate. But he had the duke as his example, and when he pitched his voice just right, he sounded as coldly authoritative as his sire.

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to interrupt, sir.” The servants backed away, taking their lamp with them.

Orion stood still and silent until their footfalls faded away. Then he stepped back enough to look down at the woman he’d shielded from view.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Whoever you are. I didn’t think of what would happen if someone accused me of theft. They are flowers—but rare and valuable. I should have considered that possibility.”

He shook his head at her explanation. “A simple mistake. But the consequences could have been dire.” She didn’t know who he was. His mask and hood, his change of posture and voice, assured that she wouldn’t. He opened his mouth to identify himself.

“Are you Fey?” she asked suddenly. “I have little experience with Fair Folk. Please forgive me if there is a thing I ought to do and haven’t yet done. I assume a curtsy is in order, at the least.” Immediately, she dropped into a charming curtsy more fit for a prince than for Orion.

He shifted uncomfortably but considered his options for a moment. If she didn’t know who he was, if she saw him only as a rescuer, he might gain more information than he had when he’d spoken to her before. She didn’t want to speak to the duke’s offspring, illegitimate or not, but she might be freer with a stranger.

He didn’t clear his throat. Better to keep his tone low, his voice dry. “What warning did you receive?”