Five
Cecelia curled into a ball on her bed and hugged a pillow to her middle. She wasn’t a crier on a normal day, but she hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to see Marcus. To be forced to be in the same house with him.
A knock sounded against her door and she jumped to sit on the edge of the bed. She swiped furiously at her eyes and crossed to the mirror, where she adjusted the hair that covered the tips of her ears. When she was satisfied, she called, “Come in.”
The door opened a scant inch, and Cecelia held her breath. Certainly, Marcus wouldn’t come to her chambers, would he? A brunette head poked through the door, and Cecelia’s heart leaped in her chest. “Ainsley!” she cried.
The brunette streaked across the room and ran directly into Cecelia’s embrace. Cecelia set the girl back from her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, you ninny,” the girl said with a laugh. Then she threw her arms around Cecelia again.
“But how did you get here?” Ainsley hadn’t traveled with the wind the way that Cecelia had. She had to have come a different way.
“I went by way of the fish, if you must know.”
Cecelia’s mouth fell open. No one went the way of the fish except the garden gnomes and people who wanted to negotiate. “What was that like?”
“A harrowing experience that I never want to go through again,” she admitted with a laugh. “Father thrust me behind him and wouldn’t let me so much as look over his shoulder. The fish traded passage for a watch fob Father carried and a few cravats he had in his luggage. It was the strangest experience.”
Ainsley pulled Cecelia into her arms for another quick hug and then set her back. “You look dreadful, by the way,” she said candidly.
“Thank you,” Cecelia said in a monotone.
“Only a good friend will tell you when you look positively wretched,” her friend reminded her.
Ainsley had been her best friend for longer than Cecelia could remember. She knew everything about her, and what she didn’t know, Ainsley would soon pry from Cecelia’s locked jaws.
“How’s Marcus? Have you seen him yet?” Ainsley asked.
“Mr. Thorne is well,” Cecelia said.
“So, that’s why you look like something the dog dragged to the door.” Ainsley flopped ungracefully onto Cecelia’s bed and kicked her slippers from her feet. “I hoped I’d find him maimed by one of the gavels in the House of Lords. Or trampled by a hansom cab. Or bitten by a rabid dog.” She shrugged and smiled. “I assume I can’t look forward to seeing him drooling and slobbering all over himself just before he dies a slow and painful death.”
Ainsley was nothing if not candid. But she did make Cecelia laugh. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Cecelia said with a sigh. A heavy weight had lifted from her shoulders the moment Ainsley walked into the room.
Ainsley’s brown eyes sparkled with mirth. “Perhaps we can hide some perfectly dreadful plant in his tea leaves that will make him use the retiring room over and over and over.”
Cecelia threw a pillow at her best friend. “I don’t want to cause him harm. I never did.”
“Yet he saw no reason not to rip your heart from your chest.” Ainsley tapped a long, slim finger against the tip of her nose. “Justice is sweet. And mine.” She cackled like a witch.
Cecelia began to drag a brush through her hair. “So, tell me, please, why you’re here.”
Ainsley sat up quickly, as though she’d forgotten something. “We’re here to see my grandmother.” She looked down her nose at Cecelia. “You know, that woman who never knew I existed until recently. I’m still not certain she likes me, by the way.”
“How could anyone not love you?” Cecelia scolded.
Ainsley’s gaze grew somber. “I could ask the same of you.”
Cecelia shrugged. “I couldn’t force him to love me.” She bit back a grin. “Although he did get rather upset when he caught his brother holding my hand this morning.”
“What!” Ainsley shrieked as she flopped back onto the bed. She sat up again just as quickly. “How could you have all this information and not share it with me the moment I walked into the room?” Her brown eyes narrowed. “Is his brother handsome?”
“Allen looks very much like Marcus. They’re only a year apart in age. And he’s very nice. Quite mischievous. I believe he likes to antagonize Marcus.”
Ainsley looked overjoyed. “I like this Allen already.”
“You’ll like him even more when you meet him.”
“Does he live here, too?”
“No, neither of the brothers lives here. They have bachelor’s quarters in town.” Probably where they took their whores. Cecelia’s gut clenched at the thought of Marcus availing himself of all the loose-moraled women in London. “Allen is very handsome. Like Marcus. You’ll like him.”
Cecelia hoped Ainsley liked him. Because she could sense that, deep down, Ainsley wanted to find her own happy ending. But being half fae and half human, Ainsley didn’t know where she belonged any more than Marcus did.
“You’ll be staying at Ramsdale House, won’t you?” Cecelia asked. She tented her hands. “Please say yes. If they have no room, we can share.”
Ainsley waved a breezy hand in dismissal of that idea. “No need. My trunk was already delivered to the room next door.” She smiled broadly. “I’ll be here to help you with Marcus.”
“And I’ll introduce you to Allen.”
“Mmm,” Ainsley mumbled.
“What?” Cecelia asked. “I think you’ll like him.”
“You also said I’d like Robert Winstead, and he liked to pull the wings off helpless flies.”
“We were six!” Cecelia complained.
“He still does it!” Ainsley exclaimed. “And he picks at his underarms and then sniffs his fingers. It’s disgusting.”
Cecelia dissolved into a fit of giggles. Goodness, she was glad Ainsley had arrived.
A knock on the door jerked them from their laughter. “Could that be Marcus come to fetch you?” Ainsley whispered dramatically. “Perhaps he wants to kiss you.”
Cecelia was sure that kissing her was the last thing on Marcus’s mind. “Come in,” Cecelia called.
A maid poked her head in the door. “Lady Ramsdale would like to see you below stairs in the parlor, miss,” she said. Then she curtsied and backed out of the room.
“How do you like Lady Ramsdale?” Ainsley asked.
Aside from pouring her heart out to her this morning, Cecelia hadn’t spoken to the lady very much. “She’s seems right enough.” She pulled her hair into a knot at the back of her neck. “Are my ears covered?” she asked as she arranged her hair to cover them.
Ainsley joined her at the mirror. “Yes, are mine?” She looked up at Cecelia. “One has to be careful to maintain appearances in this world, doesn’t one?” she asked.
“Yes, appearances are everything.”
***
Standing across the parlor from his mother, Marcus pulled his watch fob from his pocket and glared at it. “Claire should have been here by now,” he groused.
“She has twins, Marcus,” his mother scolded. “She’s allowed to be late on occasion.” Just then, a picture frame appeared on the wall. “Speaking of the twins,” she said, clapping her hands together with excitement. Marcus would never get used to the way Claire could come and go through paintings. She’d been able to do it ever since she was a child, and she availed herself of every opportunity to use her power now. Claire could paint a picture of a room and then walk into that room as though through a portal.
His sister’s head appeared in the painting, all strawberry blond curls and flashing eyes. “Don’t just stand there,” she barked, holding out a squirming baby. “Take one of these.”
She leaned over the edge of the painting, and Marcus had no choice but to take the babe. He held it far away from him and grimaced. Babies smelled bad, and they made a lot of noise. Claire disappeared into the painting and came back with another bundle, this one wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep. Cindy was only quiet when she slept, and that never lasted long.
“I only have two hands,” Marcus complained.
“Oh, my,” someone breathed from the doorway. Marcus looked over to find Cecelia looking toward the painting and then over at the struggling bundle in his arms, which was starting to turn a little purple.
“Some help here,” Claire said sharply as she held Cindy out.
“Here,” Marcus said, as he thrust little Lucius toward Cecelia. The baby’s little body floundered, and he grew even redder. Cecelia winced and reached for him. Marcus’s mother reclined on the settee and didn’t lift a finger. “Take one,” he said, “so I can get the other one.”
“I think I’d rather have the one who’s not screaming,” Cecelia said, and bypassed the squirming baby. She took the one from Claire with a grin and made a little tsk, tsk, tsk sound in the baby’s direction.
“Don’t wake it, unless you want it to scream,” Marcus warned. He’d spent enough time with Cindy to know. Once the child was awake, she would do nothing but make noise.
“Speaking of screaming,” Cecelia said, as she nodded toward Lucius, who was turning a startling shade of purple. “You should do something about that.”
“I plan to,” he said smugly. “As soon as his mother gets herself through the painting.” He shot Claire a heated glare. She climbed over the border of the painting as though she was climbing through a window and landed in the parlor. Then she reached a hand back into the painting and pulled Lord Phineas, her husband, through the opening. The man landed awkwardly beside her and smoothed his disheveled hair.
Marcus still stood with his arms outstretched. If he wasn’t mistaken, Lucius smelled worse now than he had when they’d arrived. “Someone take this,” he said. But no one came forward.
He looked over at Cecelia, who’d taken Cindy and sat down on the settee with the baby burrowed tightly in the crook of her arm. He sat down beside her and tried to balance Lucius on his knee. But the little guy was not happy. Not at all.
“He doesn’t like me,” Marcus complained.
“If you hold everyone at arm’s length like that,” his mother warned, “the rest of the world will dislike you just as much.”
Ouch. She should just pull that knife right out of his chest. And replace it with a dull spoon. One that she could jab into the aching wound over and over. “I don’t hold everyone at arm’s length,” he grumbled. “Just those who smell atrocious.”
The soft, clean scent of Cecelia’s hair rose up to tickle his nose. He looked down at her. She regarded the baby tucked into the crook of her arm with an air of contentment. His heart dropped toward his toes. He wanted that to be his baby in her arms. “You smell so much better than he does,” he whispered to Cecelia with a smile.
She harrumphed at him and went back to looking at the baby. Well, that was an abysmal failure. He couldn’t even deliver a compliment well. Allen came to stand at his shoulder and took the baby from his arms. Thank God. At least his brother saw fit to save him. Allen placed the baby in his mother’s arms, and the little one ceased his wailing immediately.
“I told you he hated me,” Marcus grumbled.
“He’s not the only one,” a voice said from the doorway.
Marcus looked over and couldn’t keep the corners of his lips from rising at the sight of Ainsley. “Ainsley!” he cried. He got to his feet and rushed toward her. He wanted to swing her around in his arms, but the loud clearing of his brother’s throat stopped him. Actually, Allen sounded like he was choking to death on a chicken bone, so Marcus turned to look at him midstride. Allen shook his head quickly. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly but sternly.
Marcus had forgotten the rules of this world for a moment. Instead, he took Ainsley’s hand and bowed low before it. “Ainsley,” he said, trying to maintain his composure. Ainsley was a sorely needed taste of home.
“Mr. Thorne,” she replied with disdain.
Good God, she hated him too? “Welcome to Ramsdale House,” he said.
“I’m not here to see you,” she warned. “In fact, I could never see you again and be just fine.”
Cecelia issued a subtle warning to Ainsley with a nod of her head. Ainsley lifted her nose in the air and ignored Marcus entirely. But she hugged Claire and Lady Ramsdale, and let Finn take her hand. Then she stopped in front of Allen and said, “Goodness, they do look quite a bit alike.”
“Yes,” his mother said. “The family resemblance is striking, is it not?”
Ainsley’s mouth fell open in a most unladylike pant. “It’s nice to meet you,” she finally stammered when Cecelia made a motion for her to close her lips.
Allen bowed over Ainsley’s hand. “Miss…?” He asked the question subtly with a raised brow.
“You may call me Ainsley, Allen,” she said. His brow shot up even farther. And then he bowed over her hand.
Claire clapped her hands together. “I believe we’ve a mission today. Who’s coming?”
“You’re not taking the children?” Marcus asked.
“Now we know how to get Marcus to stay at home. We should take the children everywhere we go,” Ainsley whispered to Cecelia. She laughed and covered her mouth.
“The children are staying with me,” his mother said, as she took the baby Cecelia held in her free arm. “You all run along now. Have a good time. Find a killer. Take a walk in the park, if it’s not too late. Then come back and get the children.”
Everyone knew that Claire wouldn’t leave her children for long, not even with her mother. “Who all is going?” Marcus asked.
“You, me, Lord Phineas, and Cecelia, since she speaks French.” Claire patted her husband’s arm. “Finn doesn’t want me searching for killers without him.”
“Can I go?” Ainsley asked.
Claire shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Mr. Thorne, would you like to join us?” Ainsley asked.
Allen tugged at his cravat, and Marcus forced himself not to roll his eyes. “I’m not certain that would be wise,” Marcus said.
“Why not?” Allen barked.
Marcus heaved a sigh. “Because you’re not fae?”
Finn clapped Allen on the shoulder. “We humans have to stick together. I vote that we take him.”
“I just came to collect Cecelia for our ride in the park,” Allen said. His brother raised a brow at Cecelia.
“I’m so sorry, Allen,” Cecelia rushed to say. “We have a mission.” She shot a quick glance at Marcus. “But we’d love for you to join us.”
Marcus thought Allen looked much too pleased by that invitation, damn his hide. “That settles it.” Claire reached into the painting and pulled out a separate painting of Sainte-Chappelle. She hung it on the wall and then said, “Pick me up and put me in, Finn. It’s so much easier than climbing.”
Lord Phineas didn’t even blink before he picked his wife up and put her feetfirst into the painting. She held a hand back through the void and pulled him through with her. Then she held her hand through again. “Your turn, Ainsley?” Allen asked.
Ainsley lowered her eyelashes coquettishly. “Don’t just stand there. Be a dear and pick me up.”
Allen looked more than a bit uncomfortable, but he picked her up and gently shoved her through the painting as she held Claire’s hand. Then he followed.
“Cecelia?” Marcus asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said, as she hitched her skirts up a little higher and climbed in all by herself.
“You could have just let me do it!” he called behind her.
“If I’d wanted you to touch me, I would have,” she called back.
Good Lord, he was in for a long afternoon. He took Claire’s hand and dived headfirst into the painting.