The Magicians and Mrs. Quent (28 page)

What a sullen creature! Any beauty she possessed was marred by her listless air and pouting expression.

“When he returns, you will tell him I came,” he said, but she only shrugged, so he went to the table in the corner, rummaged until he found a scrap of paper, and scratched out a note for Garritt. He started to give it to the sister, then thought better of it and left it on the table.

By the time he returned home, a letter had come from Vallant Street, inviting him to dine with the Baydons. He wrote back, declining. They could imagine he had much business to catch up on.

However, the correspondence of the last several days remained unopened on the desk. His affairs were neglected. Over the next several days he did not go out. He did not even bother to dress, instead wandering around in his gown, eating hardly anything but drinking a great deal of whiskey.

A cloud of misery settled over him, such as he had never known before. Everything that usually held amusement for him now seemed dull and pointless. It was impossible to imagine how he had ever derived pleasure out of shopping for clothes, or gambling, or attempting to win applause from stupid people at stupid parties, as if such recognition was something to be admired rather than scorned. At any given moment he had no idea whether it was night or day; the umbrals and lumenals flickered by.

Each time a note arrived he checked the address to see if it was from Garritt; none of them was. Vallant Street invited him twice again, and Fairhall Street did not ask for but rather
required
his presence. He ignored these summonses. What pleasure could he bring to or derive from such affairs when the only thing he wished to behold would not be there? Why go to a dinner where he could not whisper behind his napkin and make her laugh? Why go to a party when he could not walk about the room and marvel at the sight of her upon his arm? He could see no purpose in going anywhere where Miss Lockwell was not.

So instead, he must go to her.

The shroud of fog lifted, and everything was bright and sharp-edged. How was it he had not thought of it before? Never in his life had he denied himself anything he had wished for, so why had he denied himself
this
?

There could be only one logical answer to that question. He had not known until that moment what it was that he wanted. Perhaps he never really had known. The clothes, the gambling, the parties—perhaps all of it had been a substitute for this one unknown thing.

Only it was unknown no longer. Rafferdy stood, filled with a sensation more intoxicating than drink had ever imparted him. He felt positively
eager.
He found his man and discovered it was the afternoon of a middling lumenal. Good, he thought, as he dressed and put on his best coat; it would be a perfect time, and they could have no other engagements. He told his man to summon the driver. He would go to Whitward Street; he would see Miss Lockwell. And he would confess how profoundly he both admired and loved her.

He started to examine his appearance in the looking glass, then turned away.
Her
eyes were the only mirror that mattered to him now. He hurried down the stairs and into the front hall. A clatter of hooves sounded outside; the carriage had been brought around. Whistling a cheery tune, he took his hat, then threw open the door.

A carriage was indeed parked in the street before his house, but it was not his cabriolet. It was a four-in-hand: a large and grand conveyance, black with gilt trim, led by a handsome brace of chestnut horses.

Rafferdy’s momentum carried him to the base of the steps, and there he stuttered to a halt. His manservant had opened the carriage door and was helping a gray-haired man disembark. The older fellow limped, leaning on a cane, his left foot wrapped in a bandage. All the same, he carried himself in an upright manner. His progress was slow up the walk, but Rafferdy could only stand and watch him come.

“Were you going somewhere, Dashton?” the gray-haired man asked as he drew near. “You have a look as if you were just leaving.”

Rafferdy could not help glancing off down the street, and he fingered the hat in his hands.

“You need not answer. I see it is indeed the case. I suppose my arrival must keep you from some pressing engagement or lively affair. However, I trust you will not begrudge me this interruption in deference to the distance I have come.” The gray-haired man had come to a halt before him. “Well, aren’t you going to greet me?”

For a wild moment Rafferdy’s compulsion was to dash down the street like a madman. Then the light went out of the world, as if a cloud had passed before the sun. Only the sky was a clear, cold blue. He turned to the older gentleman and gave a bow.

“Greetings, sir,” he spoke. “You are very welcome here.”

“Am I indeed?” Lord Rafferdy said. “I imagine you will feel differently once we have talked, for it is time we addressed your future. It can wait no longer. Nor can I. For hours I sat in the coach, yet after even this brief walk to the step I must sit again. Let us go in.”

M
INUTES LATER FOUND them in the parlor. Rafferdy’s man had brought them brandy and the tobacco box, as well as a stool on which Lord Rafferdy had settled his bandaged foot.

“The door will still be there when we are done speaking, I quite assure you,” Lord Rafferdy said.

Abashedly, Rafferdy realized he had indeed been hovering at the door, one foot in the parlor and one foot out. He crossed the room and slouched into a chair—then leaped back out of it as if the seat had scalded him. He could not bear to be still.

“I prefer to stand,” he said.

“A standing man sees the dawn sooner, as the Murghese say.” Lord Rafferdy took a sip of brandy. “I was not much one for sitting myself when I was your age. I liked nothing more than to be on the move. I suppose that was why I decided to serve as an officer in the royal army. I wanted to travel, to see the Northern Realms, the Principalities—even the deserts of the southern empire. But that was years ago. These days, the only traveling I do is sitting in a chair like this, with a book open before me.”

“You traveled here,” Rafferdy said.

“So I did.”

“Can I ask what brought you to the city despite the great discomfort and trouble I know it can only cause? Why have you come, sir?”

“For the very same reason, I imagine, that you wish to leave.”

Rafferdy frowned at his father. “I don’t understand.”

Lord Rafferdy’s gaze went to the door. “I am told she is very pretty.”

Rafferdy’s legs no longer seemed capable of bearing him. He sank back into the chair.

“And I am given to understand her manner is excellent for one of her station,” Lord Rafferdy went on.

For one of any station!
Rafferdy wanted to say, but words were beyond him. How did his father know these things?

“From everything I have heard from my cousin, it is easy to understand how a young man might be charmed.”

So his question was answered. Lady Marsdel must have written to him, urging him to the city. Rafferdy gripped the arms of his chair. “What is it you are trying to tell me, sir?”

Lord Rafferdy set down his glass, directing his solemn gaze toward his son. “Only what I have always told you—that your position in life confers many advantages, but also demands certain requirements. However, I did not come here to make a reprimand, if that’s what you fear. That a young man’s attentions should be captivated by a charming young woman is in no way out of the ordinary. And if her station is not exalted and her associations simple, that can serve only to make her own charms shine the brighter. Yet there comes a time when indulgence must be left behind and more-permanent commitments made. Nor is charm alone enough when considering such commitments. There are other ideas that must be considered, among them suitability, advantage, and duty to one’s family.”

Rafferdy hardly knew how to act. His own feelings had been revealed to himself just minutes ago, and now he was being told to abandon them. “And what of duty to myself, to my own wishes? What if I say I am ready to make a commitment, however
unsuitable
and of little
advantage
to my family. Am I to suppose, then, you will disown me—that if I do not do as I am told, you will deprive me of my name and my fortune and make of me a pauper?”

Lord Rafferdy shifted in his chair. “My own father made such threats to me once, the day I put on my regimental coat. He forbade me to serve in the army and told me if I did not remove the coat that he would remove me instead, that I would be a son to him no longer. His wrath was a terrible thing to behold. I saluted him and left Asterlane to lead my regiment.”

Rafferdy was astonished. “
You
defied an order from your father?”

“So I did.”

“Then he did not do what he said he would?”

“To whom would he have passed his estate, if not to me? I was his only son. As you are mine. All the same—even if you were not my only child—my hopes, my thoughts, my intentions still could not be so easily transferred to another. And if your behavior displeases me, is it not I who should be blamed? To punish you would prove nothing, save that I am not only a poor parent but also a smallish and spiteful man.”

Rafferdy could not conceal his disbelief. “Then no matter what I choose, even if I should make a commitment to one whom you deem beneath me, you will not disown me?”

“No, I will not. You will always be my son, and any wife you take my daughter.” His expression grew more somber yet. “However, just because I do not disown you does not mean that no one will. Others in society will not look favorably on such a match.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Rafferdy said, and downed his brandy.

“That is a thing that is easy to say, I think, but not so easy to bear. I see a rather large heap of letters and invitations on the desk there, but you could expect that stack to dwindle until it was gone. Be assured that most, if not all, of the society you have enjoyed will turn its back upon you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, though a bit less certainly now. “I was going to decline those invitations anyway. I find those affairs boring.”

“Then perhaps it will not be so ill for you. But remember that it is not only you who will be divided from society. Even as she is beneath the circles you moved in, she will be above those that were once her own. Every day she will be forced to suffer that isolation. Or, when in public, to bear the looks, the whispers, the coldness that others, out of disdain, are so able to project. Would you have her endure that for your own satisfaction?”

Rafferdy slumped back into the chair. A moment ago he had felt a kind of jubilant defiance. He had thought himself brave to flirt with the idea of defying his father. Yet his only consideration had been what he wanted for himself and what he feared his father would do. Never for a moment had he thought about what
she
might want, or what would be best for
her
. No, it had not been out of bravery he had thought to defy his father.

He set down his glass and held his hand to his brow.

“I think you understand,” Lord Rafferdy said.

“Perfectly,” Rafferdy said with a grimace. “You need deprive me of nothing, for society will do your work for you. How excellent it must be to take nothing yet receive everything you wish.”

He had flung the words at his father, intending them to induce anger. Instead, his father’s expression was one of sorrow.

“If you think I take pleasure in this, you are mistaken. Why should I not want to see you happily situated? It is yet my hope you will be, with one who is both charming
and
suitable. Regardless, it is not merely for society’s sake that society’s approval must be sought. There are other reasons why one should not draw unwanted attention to oneself.”

These words struck through the grim fog that clouded Rafferdy’s brain. He looked up at his father. “What do you mean?”

Lord Rafferdy glanced toward the window. “I was surprised you never asked me at Asterlane,” he said at last.

“Asked you what?”

He turned his gaze back toward his son. “Why I have decided to enclose my lands.”

“I thought you were…” Rafferdy shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. Now you are putting up walls, and you are like every other lord.”

“Just so. For were I to follow my own wishes—as you would follow yours—and not enclose my lands, I must necessarily bear the scrutiny and attention of others. They would wonder why I chose not to do as they did; indeed, they would see it as a criticism of their own decisions. Their only choice would be to repudiate their actions or repudiate me—and the latter is far easier done than the former. However, even as you must not be separated from your society, I must not be separated from mine. A man who is like his peers can move freely among them, and there is work to be done—work that cannot be performed under the watchful eye of suspicion.”

Rafferdy sat up in his chair. “What sort of work do you mean?” A strange feeling came over him, at once curious and dreading. “What business is it you do for the Crown?”

“How often in the past I have wished you would ask me that question!” Lord Rafferdy said with regret. “Yet now that you have shown interest, I find I cannot be forthcoming with you. But I will, when the time is right. Until then, I will say only that there is much to do, that serious matters lie before us—indeed, before all of Altania. All the more reason why it is better not to distance ourselves from society by our actions, not to separate us from those who might help us—or those who might…” He shook his head.