The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (5 page)

Alex had a feeling everyone else would treat it
as gauche to bring up, and he intended to stand out with kindness when he knew
he couldn’t compete in other ways.

The first thing Alex did was to spend several
minutes in the centre of the room letting go of his own heartaches as best he
could. Years of magical training had blunted some of the bitterness he felt
toward his family, but today it was as fresh and black as ever, and he had to
lighten that up as much as he could before he could make something that would
truly help Julian’s grief.

He sang his own personal meditation mantra, not
so much words as tones given form through the shape of his mouth, something
that grounded him and helped him to push away the feeling that came with
knowing that his family didn’t particularly like him. The feeling was mutual,
but he was too self-aware not to know that it was partly out of self-defence.
Flora and Fauna could both be quite kind, Victor strong and Henry unfailingly
cheerful even in the face of tragedy.

But they didn’t like him, so he didn’t like
them, and there were barbs in their words to each other, meant to tear the soft
places of their hearts.

Deep breaths between each clear, pure sound
helped him to let go of today’s fresh wounds, to let them heal over, to take
his triumphs in having made Fauna admire his cleverness in gift choices, in
making Flora acknowledge that his sense of personal style wasn’t utterly
hopeless.

When he was done, he had a small store of
shining moments of goodness to add to his personal collection, and he felt he’d
eased his own turmoil enough. He continued to hum, tunelessly now, as he
gathered up the ingredients for the potion.

Heart’s ease had to be brewed in a cauldron of
silver, over a heat too low to damage the soft metal, a fire fed with fresh
lavender and rosemary. He poured out nine drams of tincture of heartsease,
smelling the violet-tinged water like a fine fragrance.

Finely chopped lemon thyme was weighed and
sprinkled over the burbling liquid, adding its own healing and purification,
not to mention love. Then he dropped in a cracked but insect-free piece of
amber for calming and harmony, watching as it sank to the bottom of the small
cauldron, its rich colour blunted by the violet tinge of the tincture.

He struck the first tuning fork against the
cauldron, causing them both to ring, and he could feel the magic beginning to
rise. When next he looked, the amber had begun to melt like honey, though the
fire wasn’t nearly hot enough to have such an effect, and the bits of thyme
seemed to be dissolving into the potion as well, giving it a cloudy blue-green
tinge. Alex was patient, holding the tuning fork over the cauldron until its
tone had died out almost completely before he set it down and moved on.

Next he sprinkled finely powdered jade over the
potion and then added a few drops of cedar oil and a sprig of feverfew. Another
tuning fork rang out, this one a low, deep tone that rumbled through the
cauldron, causing it to bubble and mix until there was nothing visible but a
clear, pale green liquid.

Lastly he added some very fine vanilla and a
small but clear peridot, for comfort and cleansing in turn. A tiny sprinkling
of olive oil made the fire flare just a touch hotter, and then he struck the
third tuning fork, this time a very high, clear note that seemed to shatter the
stone into a thousand glittering bits that were then swallowed up by the magic,
leaving the final potion a single dram of clear, thick liquid the colour of new
green leaves.

With the deftness that came from years of
practice, Alex struck the three-tone chord one last time, pulling the magic
together and adding in his own voice as a fourth note, binding the potion to
his will. The smoke that had hazed the room from the fire began to pour into
the cauldron, giving it one last infusion of power and giving the green liquid
the smoky quality of good jade.

When the sounds died out this time, the fire
was out and the potion completely cooled. Alex decanted it carefully into a
tiny bottle and then tucked the phial into a padded case. He sat rather
heavily, his energy drained from the effort, and forced himself to write out
the potion’s date, creator and purpose on a card to be tucked in with it.

When that was done, Alex didn’t even bother to
look at a clock, he just took himself straight to bed. Whether it had taken
minutes or hours, it had taken all he had to give this night.

CHAPTER
5

In Which Protests
A
re Lodged, and the Courtship Begins in Earnest

“What would you do if I told you I forbid
you to enter into this Courtship?” said Smedley, standing far too close to
Alex.

Alex smirked and stepped just a bit closer,
turning intimidation into seduction. “I’d say you were jealous, Agent Smedley,”
he said.

Smedley turned a rather unattractive shade of
red, but he refused to step away. “That’s not. Look, it’s a conflict of
interest! The boy’s a suspect, you know.”

“Nonsense,” said Alex, walking his
fingers up the front of Smedley’s shirt. “You say that as though I’ll be
shagging him tomorrow.”

“Won’t you?” said Smedley, grabbing
Alex’s hand to keep him from his antics, which only brought them closer and
made his face go from red to purple.

Alex laughed and kissed the tip of his nose,
then stepped away, bringing Smedley’s hand with him. “Courtship is far
more proper than that, at least in the earliest stages,” said Alex,
clutching Smedley’s hand briefly to his chest. From the reading he’d been
doing, there was a chance that Julian would want a taste of his potential
husbands at the week-long garden party he’d be hosting nearer the end of the
Courtship, but Alex would deal with that when the time came.

Hopefully, by then he’d have found the clues he
needed and been eliminated in favour of someone more suitable, anyway.

“Agent Smedley, are you trying to seduce
my consultant?” said Lapointe, from where she’d been watching across the
room.

Alex looked coy and innocent
as best he could.

“It wasn’t. I’m not. Argh!” said
Smedley, throwing his hands up and stalking out.

Alex managed to hold in his laughter until
Smedley was out of sight, if not hearing.

“I take it he read you the riot act over
joining in the St. Albans Courtship?” she asked dryly, handing him the
newspaper society page with its full-page spread on the suitors and, of course,
the prize.

Alex made a face. “They must have gotten
that photo from Victor,” he said. He looked paler and thinner than ever in
it, having been forced into wearing colours that didn’t suit him at all.

“It’s terrible,” she agreed, admiring
the photos of the other suitors, all staged head shots meant to make them look
handsomely dominant. Alex just looked faintly sick in his.

Alex sighed, adjusting his own well-cut black
clothing. It washed him out a bit, but in what he’d always thought was a
dignified sort of way. His sisters always said he looked like an undertaker.
“Well, all the more reason to have outfitted myself with a whole new
flattering wardrobe at Victor’s expense.”

Her eyebrows went up; she’d worked with him
long enough to know how much he loathed accepting family money. “What
brought this on?”

Alex smirked. “He wanted me to represent
the family, which costs more than I could afford even I did nothing but make
charms like your new little bauble. So, the family gets to pay for me to come
up to their standards, and I get a new wardrobe.”

She laughed. “I suppose
a courtship like this isn’t cheap.”

“Not by any stretch of the
imagination,” he said with a sigh, followed by a grin. “It’s a good
thing Smedley didn’t ask me to do it, the department would have to fire
everyone and get a trained dog to do all the work for the next year to pay for
it.”

“Perhaps I could stay on as his
handler,” she mused, leading him toward the kitchen, where there was a
fresh pot of coffee just brewing.

He chuckled. “With a
nose like yours, perhaps you could do both jobs.”

“Less to scoop that way,” she said,
pouring them both a cup as soon as the filter stopped dripping.

~ ~ ~

The next afternoon, Alex dressed himself in his
new finery and double checked that everything was in order. In deference to his
monochrome theme, his gift in its black velvet box was wrapped with a black
satin bow on which he’d written black runes that would keep it from unfurling
for any but Julian’s hand.

He’d even worn black underthings, in case there
was any sort of accident — some suitors in the past had not been above pranks
to try to humiliate the opposition.

Today’s event was a formal dinner at the St.
Albans home, and Alex had spent several meals with his family during the past
week in order to brush up on his table manners. He sighed and checked his new
pocket watch, then closed up the flat and went outside to wait for the family
car.

After all, it wouldn’t do to arrive at a place
like the St. Albans estate in a common taxi.

On the way there, Alex found himself fingering
Julian’s third note, which had come just this morning. His second reply had
been mostly an apology for his own poor social graces, and an assurance that he
had every intention of Courting Julian the way he deserved — to say outright
that he wanted to win Julian’s hand would have felt too much like lying. Even
for cases, he tried not to lie when a good misdirection would do.

The card was made of the same heavy paper, and
he wondered what made it so touchable even as he forced himself to tuck it away
once more. He sent Lapointe a quick text message suggesting a test on the paper
itself rather than the words written upon the first two notes, which were
properly in evidence, and then he steeled himself as the car slowed coming
around the long driveway, stopping in front of the door that had seemed far
less intimidating the first two times he’d been here.

A footman opened the door, and Alex gathered
his box and got out, making sure to smooth down his clothing so that Julian
would get the full effect right away. He noted the fresh fairy-bread offering
left out by the door for luck, the china spelled to keep the milk from spoiling
and ants out of the honey, eyes finding the fairy-wards in among the rest of the
arcane and decorative moulding around the front door.

That door opened as he approached, and Godfrey
gave him a dark look as he cheerfully walked past. Somehow, the man’s
disapproval improved his spirits greatly; whatever Godfrey suspected of him, he
had a feeling it would only make him more appealing to young Julian.

Godfrey followed him to the parlour, where
Julian sat in his dark mourning clothes among the jewel-bright suitors,
surrounded by gifts that had been opened and discarded. The butler cleared his
throat and announced, “Alexander Nigel Frankfurt Benedict, the
Fourth.” Alex winced.

“Alex,” said Julian, and the smile on
his face went from strained to welcoming.

Alex actually blushed.

“Julian, it’s so good to see you
again,” he said, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to the offered
hand. “I’ve brought you a small token of my affection,” he said, as
he was sure all the other men had said before him. He produced the box with a
smooth gesture, finding himself touched as Julian’s smile widened.

“I’d say you didn’t have to, but you
did,” said Julian impishly, getting a disapproving look from one of the
suitors; Godfrey had already returned to door duty.

Another young man, a Duckworth by the look of
him, drawled, “Funerary as always, I see, Benedict.”

Alex did not smirk, but it took effort.
“With our host in mourning, how could I be any less?” he asked
smoothly. Flora had helped him practice.

Julian looked suitably touched. “You wore
this for me?” he asked, though of course all the men had likely had their
suits made just for tonight.

“Though it’s true I do often wear
black,” said Alex, “tonight my black is for you, and for your
losses.”

“Thank you,” said Julian, his voice
soft and small this time, as though he didn’t know what to make of such honest
kindness. He busied himself unravelling the ribbon on his gift, opening the lid
to admire the sheen of the pearls before reading the jeweller’s written
explanation of the enchantment on them. “Oh! This is very kind of
you.”

“What is it?” asked another suitor, a
swarthy young man in rich amber and brown.

Julian showed them dutifully to the crowd.
“They’re charmed to bring love to the heartbroken,” he said.

“Did you make them?” asked Duckworth,
his voice rich with implication.

Alex shook his head. “I did not, they’re
from Clovis & Dade. I will get no advantage from my gift.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Julian,
closing the box and holding it in his lap. “I’m already feeling more
kindly disposed toward you.” He sounded flirty, hopeful, and Alex
swallowed a mix of triumph and guilt — after all, it wasn’t truly the young
man’s heart he was after.

He was saved from making a clever reply by
Godfrey announcing another suitor, this one a Holmes Willoughby. Willoughby was
an athletic sort, blond and blue-eyed and grinning his white grin, his suit a
soft dove grey with a crisp white shirt and blue cravat that made his eyes seem
to glow.

“Willoughby, how good of you to join
us,” said Julian, and Alex stepped back and joined the flock of colourful
admirers around the main chair.

Willoughby went to one knee and kissed Julian’s
hand, his eyes only on the potential prize with seemingly no attention paid to
his rivals. “I am sorry for the circumstances that bring me here, but glad
for the chance to win you,” he said earnestly.

Alex had to refrain from
rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, W- Holmes,” said Julian,
getting that lost little boy look that Alex found so disconcertingly
compelling.

Holmes kissed Julian’s hand, and then presented
his own gift, in a silvery grey satin box with a blue bow. “I’ve brought
you a small token,” he said, his tone suggesting regret that it couldn’t
be more.

“Thank you,” said Julian simply, and
Alex wondered if he’d flirted with any of the others, and if this quiet
vulnerability was Alex’s fault, or something in the other man.

Alex sighed and tried to remember his purpose,
humming very softly under his breath to get himself centred and calmed in the
midst of all the tediously difficult social intrigue.

Willoughby’s gift was a set of handkerchiefs,
monogrammed and spelled for softness and self-cleansing, another gift for a
grieving young man. Alex could see the rest of them looking nervous to have
been outmanoeuvred in this by two men in a row, their own more commonly
acceptable gifts cast aside while Julian clung to the boxes from both Alex and
Willoughby.

Alex reminded himself that he didn’t need to be
first, he just needed to not be last, and let it stand.

He was mostly quiet, standing at Julian’s side
as the men chattered around him, listening with his other senses when he could.
That sneaky thread was here somewhere, he could hear the tinny melody, but it
was hiding under so much from his own enchanted watch fob to the still-intact
house wards that it was just as hard to pinpoint as it had been the last time.

“I’m sorry?” said
Alex, when he realised they were all looking for him.

Julian giggled, sounding terribly young for a
moment. “Flynn asked you if you were still working for a living,” he
said.

“Ah,” said Alex, clearing his throat.
“Yes, though my family has chosen to back me in this matter.” He knew
there would be gossip about how a mere magical consultant could afford such
things as Alex’s gift, which was rare both in enchantment and the size and
quality of the pearls, and he felt it best to head it off.

“I’d heard you had a falling out with old
Victor, how is he?” asked one of the other suitors.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t
catch your name?” said Alex, cocking his head.

That prompted a cascade of introductions,
though most of the men already knew each other from school or any of the
hundreds of absurd social functions they’d attended in their lifetimes. Alex
had always hidden in the coat check room whenever possible, at least until it
got late enough that the coat check room grew busy with more adult visitors.

It turned out that George Entwistle had shared
a room with Victor at school one year, which led to polite gossip about
everyone’s family until the next suitor showed up.

Eventually, all thirteen suitors were there —
some early, some fashionably late, but all of them determined to make a good
impression. All the other men but Willoughby had chosen the rich, luxurious
colours that were fashionable this year, jewel tones chosen to make eyes
sparkle, skin look richer, and bring out the highlights in their hair. Cravats
were impeccably tied and pinned, cuffs always French with a glimmer of fine
cufflinks, and quality watches checked at every opportunity. Most of the hands
held rings, though none had their own signet — no head of household would be
in this Courtship, because they’d be expected to take up the reins of the St.
Albans household instead, so there were a number of second, third and even
fifth sons in the mix.

Alex found it all very tiring, just as he’d
known he would, so he distracted himself trying to match the discarded gifts to
their givers, and when that was too easy, to discern everything he could from
the soft songs each man carried with him, made up of his own personal aura and
the enchantments he wore, the places he lived and had recently been, and the
lingering residue of any magic they’d used recently.