“Not far, my lovely Fleur.”
I leaned back into the carriage and practiced looking serene. In my heart, I felt anything but. Tomorrow night, the time would run out on Amelia’s watch. My friends would die, and the Vicomte would rise while wielding the power of a thousand Necromancers.
I gripped my hands together and twisted my fingers.
We simply had to find Ada and the others. Today.
It wasn’t long in terms of time. Even so, it felt like years passed before we approached the Havilland estate. A tall iron fence surrounded what looked to be nothing but green and rolling hills. There was no view of the mansion yet, only a small guardhouse that stood by the gate. As we approached, a man in golden livery stepped out to greet us. His brown wig sat slightly askew atop his head. It was an effort not to frown.
What? A wig?
I stared at the thing for an overlong time. I’d heard that some Royals embraced odd fashions. The flouncy gown I now wore was proof of that. And to their minds, such dress was progressive, something akin to their love of machines and learning. Yet to me? Things like wigs were simply not necessary. I shook my head. Give me a simple frock and a Necromancer spell any day.
“Good afternoon. What’s your business here?”
“Lady Amelia and guests are here to see the Marchioness and Marquis,” said Philippe. “We’re expected.”
Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the guard was an older man with tawny skin and long jowls. “I saw the names of Lady Amelia and her brother, Philippe, on the register.” He eyed me up and down. “It seems we have an unexpected guest along as well.”
“She’s our sister,” said Philippe.
“I’ll have to check if she’s on the register.” The guard meant the register of nobility, of course. Philippe and Amelia were included due to their mother.
“She’s a half-relation. Not Royal.” Philippe gave the man a sly wink. “Be a friend, Francois.” Clearly, this wasn’t the first time Philippe had snuck past the gate.
The guard awkwardly cleared his throat. “Strangers aren’t always treated well in the mansion.” Francois lowered his voice. “We’ve a Fantome on the grounds, you know. It’s not safe for her here.”
“But I assure you, the Marchioness is expecting all of us.” Philippe lowered his voice as well. “You know how her, ah, tastes run to the extreme.”
I rarely showed emotion, but that statement had my eyes widening. What kind of bedroom activities did Philippe engage in, exactly?
The guard looked unsure. “Well, if you say so.”
Philippe raked his hand through his golden hair. I hadn’t known him long, yet I knew that motion. It was his way of preening for his next encounter, all while saying the current one was over. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Francois frowned. Even so, he did open the gate that blocked our way forward. We passed on up the hill. I tried to ignore the nagging weight of foreboding on my shoulders. What did Francois mean about strangers and Fantomes?
It took ages for our carriage to navigate the winding road to the main estate. Every so often, a lone rider on horseback would pass us on the way down. All were handsome young men in simple trousers and tunics. I was starting to wonder how many lovers this Marchioness had.
One rider galloped toward us on a gray stallion. He had white-blond hair and a silver velvet jacket that reminded me of Philippe’s. Amelia grabbed my hand. “Don’t look now, but a handsome young man is coming our way. It’s Louis Villeneuve. The Louis Villeneuve.”
I kept my features carefully neutral. After all my issues with Rowan, the last thing I wanted was another attractive man on my mind. I shut my eyes. “I won’t so much as peep.”
She gave my wrist a friendly slap. “I was teasing. You must take a little look. He’s breathtaking.”
I reopened my eyes as Louis slowed his horse to a walk. As he moved past us, Louis gave polite hellos to Philippe and Amelia. I nodded in greeting. I must admit, I was a little surprised at Amelia’s definition of handsome. The lad had a pimply face, thin frame, and too-large ears. Perhaps in a year or five he might be handsome. Now? Not a chance.
Once Louis passed, Amelia actually flushed. “I can’t believe it.” She fanned her face with her hands. “The Louis Villeneuve greeted me. Did you see that?”
“I did.” I angled myself to get a better look at her. “Although, I must admit, I thought him a little young for you.”
“Why would you think that? He’s seventeen. I’m twenty. I like a sweet-faced lad. Don’t you?”
More like a burly giant with rugged features, rough hands, and a warm touch. “I’m a Necromancer. We are trained to focus on logic instead of feelings.”
“Sounds wise. Men are no end of trouble, I find.”
Philippe brought his stallion closer to the window. “I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”