Page 8 of The Rumpled Gentleman
Chapter
Eight
E lara had fallen asleep at the desk in the suite she shared with her father. When a hand touched her shoulder, shaking her gently to rouse her, she sat up with a fright—and with flower petals sticking to her cheek. She brushed them off as she looked up at the maid who’d become a friend.
“What time is it?”
“A quarter to nine, miss.” Bess’s ears twitched at either side of her white cap. “The duke is going to your workroom in half an hour.” She winced as she took in Elara’s visage. “I think we have time for your hair, but little else.”
Elara stood and walked away from the desk. “No. There isn’t time for any of it.” She hurried to the basin of water, bent over and splashed her face. “Even with magic?—”
“There is time,” Bess insisted, not moving from her place, her brow furrowed. “Hair is simple. Please, Miss Millstone. Sit. A man like the duke will prefer a show of sophistication to one of haphazardness.”
Elara chewed her lip but complied. She glanced to the closed door of the bedchamber. “My father?—?”
“A valet is seeing to his needs. He must be there,” the maid said, whisking out the pins that had half-fallen out of Elara’s limp coiffure. She shook out the waves of Elara’s hair, pursed her lips, then spoke several words Elara didn’t understand. Mewling, lyrical words Elara doubted she could even try to repeat. The magic made her hair shine, soft and gold, and then Bess gave the tresses a gentle shake. The waves of hair piled themselves upward, in twists and curls, and froze in place. Elara’s mouth dropped open in her shock.
“You didn’t do that for the ball,” she whispered. “Just the color-changing spell.”
Bess popped pins into the hair as it remained where she’d magicked it. “Of course not, miss. Magic takes it out of the caster, doesn’t it? But this is important.”
Before Elara could ask any questions or even think on that, the door to the bedroom opened and her father came out. His eyes glowed with joy, his steps long and his energy apparent.
Today was a good day for him.
“You had success, my dear?” he asked, grinning at her through the mirror. “You must’ve, for the duke to inspect things this morning. Oh, I wish I’d been with you last night. To see your triumph!”
Her heart twisted. She hadn’t considered that the duke wasn’t the only one she’d need to deceive. “You need your rest, Papa. You already did the hardest part of the work when you devised your formulas.”
“You’re ready, miss.” Bess stepped away with a tight-lipped frown. “And you’d best not keep the duke waiting.”
“One more thing, for your grand moment,” her father said, lifting her hand from where it rested atop the dressing table. “This was your mother’s. I think you ought to have it, so she can be with you too during this moment.” He removed a ring from his pocket, one that Elara instantly recognized.
It had adorned her mother’s right index finger, and then her father had worn it on his smallest finger for a time. It was a simple ring. Likely of no real monetary value. A thin band of silver, made up of two twisting vines, with the smallest of blue stones peeping out at regular intervals. It had always made Elara think of buds on a stem, waiting to grow.
She let her father slip the ring on her index finger, where it fit perfectly and felt warm, somehow. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t let the tears form. She embraced her father, then took his hand. “We need to hurry so we arrive before the duke.”
Her father didn’t protest as she practically dragged him out of the room and down the corridors. The footmen stationed outside their suites followed, a grim reminder of how much danger they were in if the ruse failed.
They arrived before the duke, and Elara used the precious minutes to explain to her father the process she and the masked stranger had come up with the evening before. “It’s like flax, Papa,” she said. “See. The gold comes from the stems, from nature itself, but only after it is coaxed and woven there with my green-fingered magic.” She held up her hands.
Her father’s eyes narrowed as he took in the mess that she had created with her strange savior. Stems. Powder. Gold threads. Fiber—half of it dry, some of it wilted. Her heart pounded, the blood thrummed loudly in her ears, and Elara realized her mistake.
If her father doubted her in front of the duke, it would be the end. Why hadn’t she considered this before? She’d been so busy trying to fix the problem that she hadn’t considered his ability to cast them into an even worse circumstance.
To her relief, and her shame, her father nodded. “It makes beautiful sense,” he murmured, bending to look at the work. “It changes a few of my suppositions, but it is a harmonious result.”
It hurt to lie to him. But it would hurt more to lose him to an asylum. Or for them both to face transportation. Whatever it was the duke wished to do to punish them for duplicity and failure.
The door opened without warning.
Why would a duke knock in his own domain?
He strode in, and Orion came behind him.
Some of the tension left her shoulders when Orion met her gaze, the frames of his spectacles glinting in the morning light. He gave her a brief, subtle smile. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and she wondered if he’d barely received the summons in time to join them. His cravat was askew. His appearance rumpled. He was a contrast to his father, for all that they had similar facial features and a broad-shouldered structure. The duke’s appearance was perfect. Meticulously correct .
He came forward with a cold smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Millstone. Miss Millstone. You have something to show me.”
Her father started talking, and Elara kept her lips pressed together. She met Orion’s startled glance and shook her head slightly. But her father, referencing his own studies and what knowledge he had of plant magic, explained everything Elara had convinced him of with perfect confidence. She tucked her hands behind her back and clenched them into fists to control their shaking.
Her father explained the situation better than she could have, given that she knew it was all a ruse. A clever deceit. And their lives depended on it.
The duke came forward and inspected everything, a slow smile curling his lips, as he nodded. He lifted a magnifying glass from the table to inspect the threads carefully, and Elara’s blood ran cold.
Orion moved closer, quite subtly, and his warm hand cover one of her closed fists while her elbow brushed against his side. The effect this had on her couldn’t be measured, but she felt a wave of warmth ripple through her.
Her father came to the end of his explanation. “These are only the first results, of course, and hard-won given the inferiority of the plants. You can see the drying fibers nearly all changed to gold. The damp fibers are almost useless. Superior flora will lead to a better output, we are certain. My daughter will have to explain that part, as it is her specialty.”
The duke straightened from his study and turned to face her a mere moment after Orion released her hand and moved back again.
“This is acceptable, Miss Millstone.” A calculating brightness appeared in his eyes, like sunlight reflecting off ice. He’d believed the lie so fully that pretense fell away, and his smile was a predator’s flash of hungry teeth. “This is the first time I have seen results this promising in the four decades I have worked toward this end. And it’s all because of plant magic. What is that quaint term people use?” He looked at Orion rather than Elara.
“Green fingers,” Orion answered, voice hoarse.
The duke believed her. Orion had no idea how she’d managed this step. She’d have to explain everything to him the moment they were alone.
“Green fingers.” The duke held his hand out to her, and she put her palm in his, relieved he wore gloves. He wouldn’t feel how cold and slick with dread her hand had become. He held her hands up, and a laugh burst from him. “An apt name. Look at the stains—and the gold—on these dainty little hands.” Her turned her palm over, inspecting it closely.
Her mysterious friend had been right to dip her fingers in the golden-hued powder.
The duke’s hunger hadn’t left his expression as he asked, “What do you need to continue? What do you need to create more and better gold?”
She tilted her chin up. Ready for this answer. “The finest flax straw you can find. Already dried and prepared. Bushels and bushels of it. I believe it should come from fields that are regularly bathed in sunlight, as we are aware that light can impact the growth and health of plants. I do not think anything in England will do, because of our growing conditions.”
“Imported flax straw,” the duke murmured, releasing her hand at last. “From dry climates.” He slowly nodded. “I will see to it you are brought several strains to test. From Spain, Italy, Egypt—everywhere.” He looked to Orion. “You assisted Miss Millstone through her experiments?”
Orion nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You will continue to do so. Give the orders to my secretary.”
She twisted her mother’s ring around her finger and swallowed. Her father seemed pleased, not at all aware of the danger they were in. They were two little mice with nowhere to hide, making promises to a hungry tiger with nothing but them in his sights.