Blackwood walked with me. “I hope you’ll dance the first waltz with me tonight. We’ve barely had a moment to talk on more pleasant things.”
“Of course. I wanted to speak with you, anyway, about Eliza’s—”
“My lord.” The butler found us. “There’s some discussion about what to do with the faerie greeters. The hobgoblin said that he’d some in mind for the job, but they don’t seem to have arrived yet, in the typical fashion of their race.” He sniffed.
“We’ll speak later, Howel,” Blackwood said, bowing before heading down the hall.
First, get through Eliza’s party. Then find some way to present my findings to Whitechurch. If I could do this—if we could track R’hlem and find a way to move swiftly—the whole war could end.
But with what I knew now, could I even go through with it?
That evening, Maria and I watched carriages pull up before the house in an elegant line. Heavy mist had fallen over London, giving the air around the streetlamps a soupy sort of glow. People came up the walk, and from my window I caught the glitter of jewels and the muted shine of silk. Maria pressed a steaming mug into my hands. She’d made a recipe of calming herbs, which smelled of cinnamon and tasted vaguely like a forest. It burned on the way down but warmed my belly. I leaned my head against the glass and stared out into the fog.
“If R’hlem died, do you think it would stop Rook’s transformation?” I handed Maria the mug.
“Well, Rook wouldn’t be changing if the Ancients hadn’t come.” Hell and damnation. What was I supposed to do? “Sure these are fit thoughts when you’ve a party downstairs?”
The door swept open and Lilly entered, her cheeks rosier than usual and her strawberry-blond hair curled for the occasion. She did love the energy of a ball, and there weren’t many to be had in the Blackwood house. She gestured for me to sit at the vanity. I obeyed, letting her work at fixing my hair into the tricky Apollo knot, curls on either side of my face and a high styling at the back.
“Must say, miss, I think the faerie outdid herself this time.” She oohed as I stood to make certain everything was in place.
Indeed, the splendid “flame” gown that Voltiana had designed was constructed like a dream. My shoulders were completely bare, the small sleeves hugging my arms, and while the neckline plunged low enough to be daring, it wasn’t indecent. The gown’s upper half was so tight it looked painted on, while the skirt was voluminous. Bright orange and yellow silk made up different lengths and layers, so that when I walked, it had the appearance of fire.
As a finishing touch, Lilly plunged an arrow made of solid gold through the back of my hairstyle to make it stay.
That was the most decadent part of my outfit, to be sure, a gift from Blackwood. I’d been surprised to find it sitting upon my vanity this afternoon.
“I wish you were both coming downstairs,” I told them, taking one last sip of the tea for encouragement. Lilly giggled at my absurdity, but I didn’t think it was absurd to have people one liked at a party.
Maria shrugged. “No offense, but I’d rather leap from the window. Wouldn’t know what to do, even if I’d a gown.”
“That reminds me.” I knelt, pulling two slim boxes out from under my bed and handed them over. “To thank you both for everything.”
I’d had Madame Voltiana design and deliver them in secret. Lilly’s was smaller, and after she blushed and said she couldn’t, she peeked inside. She’d mentioned several times how much she yearned for new gloves with autumn’s arrival. These were kidskin gloves, the leather pale as cream and soft as butter, lined on the inside with satin.
“Oh,” she gasped, her face going pink. Tears stood out in her brilliant blue eyes, and she could only pet the gloves against her cheek and stammer her thanks. Bemused, Maria took off the lid from her box, mouth falling open as she pulled out a peacock-blue cloak.
Voltiana had insisted on the shade of blue—she’d remembered Maria from earlier. Some red hair suits blue, not green, she’d said, and she’d been right. Maria swept the cloak around her shoulders, fastening the leaf-shaped golden clasp at her throat. She wrapped the garment around her body and buried herself in it. “Feels like wearing the air,” she murmured.
“You like it?”
“I hate it. How dare you?” She scowled playfully, then tackled me. I’d never been hugged so forcefully before.
Lilly, who was still petting the gloves, cried out, “Be careful of her hair!” She shooed Maria off me. After the uncertainty of the last few months, making people happy felt simply wonderful.
“Looks like they’ll expect you.” Maria knelt by the window, still wrapped in her cloak. “Best go down.”
Lilly wiped her cheeks, fluffed my skirts once more, and sent me on my way.
I arrived at the top of the staircase and looked into the hall below. A crowd was already milling about in the foyer, the buzz of conversation growing louder with every new guest. I frowned as I noticed Lady Blackwood was not there to receive them.
“You look lovely,” Blackwood said.
He walked to stand beside me, neatening his cuffs. His eyes widened as they tracked over me from head to toe. “Quite lovely,” he said.
I could pay him the same compliment—indeed, my mind went blank as I beheld him. He usually wore dark, somber clothes, which matched his hair—and his general demeanor. Tonight his coat was forest green, golden embroidery curling at his cuffs in the subtle shape of ivy leaves. The coat brought out the deep green of his eyes. His light-colored breeches had been tailored to his long legs. I didn’t normally notice the shape or strength of his body, but tonight I couldn’t help myself. Every line was elegant, the broad shoulders tapering into his narrow waist. He looked young and wonderfully masculine, a prince from a childhood storybook.
Damn, I could feel myself blushing. Giving him my hand, we began down the staircase.
“I need you to do something,” he said as we approached the bottom. “Play hostess in the receiving line.”
That was a role for the lady of the house.
“I’m not sure it’s my place,” I said.
“Normally, it wouldn’t be, but Eliza needs to make her entrance, and Mamma doesn’t enjoy parties.” Irritation laced his voice. She wouldn’t even come down for her own daughter’s debut?
“Then, yes,” I said. “Of course.”
We’d reached the entryway, and I could feel the guests noticing us. Weighing us with their eyes. “Thank you for my arrow,” I said as the first partygoers came toward me. “I don’t know what possessed you to have it made, though.”
“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered, and brought my hand to his lips.
I watched him as he walked away to meet with a few of the Masters on the other side of the room.
Somehow I remembered everyone’s name, smiled in greeting, and didn’t stumble over my small talk too much. Enough jewel-encrusted, starched, and perfumed people came through the doors to fill the whole of London. At least, it seemed like enough. I felt some gazes slide over me with puzzlement. Undoubtedly, it struck them as odd that I was playing hostess.
Finally, with everyone assembled, I stepped aside and into the crowd. This was Eliza’s cue to enter. A few minutes passed, then another few, and I feared Blackwood would go upstairs and drag her down.
Then she appeared at the top of the staircase, surveying the crowd as gasps greeted her arrival. I’d been rather proud of my dress, but it paled in comparison to hers. She wore a gown of royal-purple taffeta, the sleeves puffed and the skirt a billowing cloud. With her jet-black hair piled atop her head and loosened in artful tendrils, she looked like a Greek goddess who had descended from Olympus to mingle in London society.