“Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, such sparkles go well with Bolo. Good evening, Bolo, my pearl.” Dimity was in a froth of layered cream muslin, demure except that the sleeves were transparent and the hem had a band of lavender embroidery. Of course, she was also wearing a great deal of—supposedly—amethyst jewelry. Bolo, a shorter, stouter individual with an angelic round face and the most stunning dark eyes, wore black velvet and gray and no jewelry at all, not even a pin.
“You are the moon to his night sky.” Lord Akeldama ushered them off together.
Sophronia swallowed down a smile.
“Now, for Miss Woosmoss, perhaps Dingle?” Dingle stepped forward. If being matched with Agatha was an insult, his expression showed nothing but pleasure at her company. He was blond with blue eyes, his evening suit of chocolate brown. Sophronia had to admit that if anything were to go with Agatha’s unfortunate ruffled orange gown, that was it. Together they looked like a pumpkin patch.
While the others were led away, the vampire turned on Sophronia. “Which leaves you, my dearest kitten.”
“Lord Akeldama, it is such a pleasure to see you again.” Sophronia attempted to retain some of the conversational territory, which the vampire, in a remarkable imitation of a military invasion, had taken into his possession from the moment they pulled the bell rope.
He smiled, showing fang.
Sophronia took it like a girl who had been educated by a vampire. She gave him her best wolfish grin back, showing all her teeth and making certain it did not reach her eyes.
“Like that, is it? More lioness than kitten now.” Lord Akeldama inclined his head.
He had given her an opening. “So unexpectedly kind of you to extend an invitation to three lowly schoolgirls.”
“’Twas all for you, my little posy of teeth.”
“You may find I also have claws.”
The vampire laughed and extended her his arm to lead her in himself—quite the honor. “I shall take the risk, my vicious pet. I find you terribly intriguing.” He waved away the rest of his drones and they vanished about other tasks.
“You find me intriguing? I should have thought that impulse passed by now, my lord.”
“Now, now, no one, kitten, has ever called me impulsive. Many things, but never that. Time has so little meaning for me, I can afford to take it slowly. Carefully research any subject of interest.”
Sophronia wasn’t certain how she felt about being a subject of interest, but she wished to make her situation clear—for everyone’s safety. “My lord, you did receive my letter?”
Lord Akeldama allowed his face to fall. “Crushed, my dearest moggie. It’s not often I offer for a female drone, you do realize?”
“I am aware of the honor. Circumstances, my lord, forced another choice upon me.”
Lord Akeldama’s perfect forehead crinkled. “Coercion? My dear, I do not like to hear that at all.”
Sophronia hastened to prevent disaster. “It is not an unwelcome position. I am satisfied with my future and my bargain.” With the Picklemen on the move, the last thing she wanted was Lord Akeldama, powerful vampire rove, and the dewan, powerful werewolf loner, at each other’s proverbial throats.
Her letter had declined Lord Akeldama’s offer of indenture without specifying who had won her instead. So far as she knew, the vampire remained ignorant of the fact that, when she left school, she would work for the werewolves. Sophronia was hoarding that story as ammunition. Lord Akeldama desired information above all things. There might come a time when she could use gossip about herself to bargain for his help. No sense in giving anything away. Lord Akeldama was no charity case. Even this dinner was no doubt in pursuit of some end to which her presence was a means. She was not so foolish as to believe it was actually an honor.
The vampire watched her closely. She hoped none of her thoughts showed on her face. Lady Linette had schooled them in impassive expressions, but she knew her eyes were hard to control. And Lord Akeldama was very good at perceiving without showing that he did. I wonder if that is a product of his age or if he, too, once had training.
Without further private communication, they followed the others into a large back parlor. The house was decorated in a baroque style, but what intrigued Sophronia was how many of the gilt frames, decorative lamps, and pretty vases were also deadly. They’d studied some of the makers. The gas lamp that detached and exploded on impact was from a Swiss clockmaker. The frames with the leaf corners that became knives were from a private dealer in Manchester. Lord Akeldama was a vampire after her own heart. Although, to be frank, her taste was less ornate. Dimity, however, was in raptures.
The back parlor was arranged like a music room, with couches and armchairs all facing a small performing area.
“This play, my lord, what is it called?” asked Sophronia, aware that they were now easily overheard by the others.
“It is a witty little invention of Bolo’s. Currently, he is calling it The Importance of Wearing Ermine, but the title may change. Shall we sit?”