Angel of Brass (22 page)

“So, Molly, I suppose you’re still attending
that...school?” her mother asked, her face screwing up as if she
had smelled something bad.

“Yes, Mother,” Molly said resignedly.

“Honestly, I don’t know why your father
insists on encouraging this—this ridiculous fancy of yours! Look at
Winifred—she married well, and did it without ever setting foot in
your precious institute!”

Molly felt the tips of her ears getting red;
her face was already flaming. “Yes, Mother.”

“You’re going to frighten away any eligible
man with all your talk of gears and-and cogs, and I don’t even know
what. I was happily married by your age, and so was Winifred. By
the time you get out of that accursed school, you’ll be too old for
anyone of quality to bother with. Why can’t you be more like your
sister?”

Despite the fact that this was probably the
five-thousandth time they’d had this very conversation, Molly’s
eyes stung and her throat felt tight.
Because I’m not Winifred!
And, thank all the saints, I’m not you, either!

“Well, enough of that,” her mother said,
perhaps sensing that Molly was properly cowed now. “I have a list
of men I want you to dance with. Now, stand up straight, don’t talk
about school, and for Saint Grimble’s sake, take off those
spectacles!”

“Excuse me, madam,” said a voice, “but I’m
afraid that Molly’s dance card is already full.”

Startled, she glanced up. Jin stood at her
side, his face grave. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat
and chased all the air from her lungs, leaving her breathless. He
looked absolutely...

Gorgeous.

He was elegantly dressed in high boots,
pinstriped gray trousers, a brocade waistcoat, and a formal black
velvet coat with tails. The outfit had been tailored to show off
his tall, lean form to best advantage. The gloves concealing his
hands were black kidskin, worked with silver embroidery. He’d taken
the bedraggled feathers out of his hair and tied it back into a
neat, short tail. On his head perched a top hat, his goggles
fastened around the band.

She stared at him, caught by too many
conflicting emotions to speak. After an awkward moment, Jin gently
prompted, “Molly? Will you introduce me to your parents?”

Although he spoke easily, his black eyes
bored into hers, seeming to ask a question that she didn’t know how
to answer. Clearing her throat, she tore her gaze away and turned
to her parents. “Mother, Father, this is Jin Malachi. Jin, these
are my parents, Mrs. Gwendolyn Feldman and Mr. Donald Feldman.”

“Charmed,” he said, executing a graceful
bow.

“And how is it that you know our Margaret,
Mr. Malachi?” asked her mother.

“I introduced them,” Gibson lied. “Jin’s
older brother was at the academy with me, don’t you know. Jin
happened to be in town and came by to pay his respects. As it turns
out, he has a keen interest in engines. I’m quite afraid that it’s
all too much for my poor head, but fortunately Molly was there to
save the evening’s conversation.”

Molly tried not to look surprised at this bit
of information. It warmed her to think that Gibson had used the lie
to cast her in a good light, and at the same time imply that a
knowledge of engines wasn’t so useless as her mother thought.

Mrs. Feldman gave Jin a penetrating look, as
if wondering what sort of madman he might be. “I hope that you’re
enjoying your stay in our fair city, then, Mr. Malachi?”

“Yes. I have. Parts of it have
become...special...to me.” Jin offered Molly his arm. “Would you
care to dance?”

A part of Molly wanted to say no. She was
angry with him, curse it, and he had the effrontery to ask her to
dance?
But it is an opportunity to get away from Mother.
And...he does look so handsome.

She took his arm, and he led her into the
crowd. As soon as they were out of earshot, Jin said, “Your mother
seems very...er...”

Molly sighed. “She has terribly old-fashioned
ideas, and her chief goal in life is to make everyone forget that
she wasn’t born into a family of bluebloods. Winifred’s marriage
allowed us to move to Brasstown, and now that she’s had a taste of
the noble life, Mother wants me to follow in Winifred’s footsteps
and marry even higher.”

Jin watched as a gaggle of women in elaborate
gowns passed by. “I wonder if all parents want to remake their
offspring into something they aren’t? Maybe Malachi had the right
idea, starting from scratch and building his own to spec.”

Molly winced. “I don’t think so. To be fair,
it’s only Mother. Father has never been like that.”

“But he doesn’t stand up for you.”

“In his own way, he does. He sends me money
so that I can stay in school, for one thing.”

Jin nodded. “That’s good of him, then.” He
tugged on his cravat, almost nervously. “Do you mind going out onto
the patio with me? It’s hot in here, and I thought it might be
easier to talk outside, where it isn’t as crowded.”

His words shattered the fragile truce of
their conversation. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about,”
she said coldly. “Besides, you’re supposed to be looking for
conspirators to identify. Unless you lied about that, too.”

He gazed down at her solemnly. “I can’t look
for them right now, because the only thing I’ve been able to see
since the moment you stepped into the room...is you. You look
beautiful tonight, Molly.”

She toyed with the lace on her skirt, unable
to meet his gaze. “Don’t, Jin. Please.”

Something seemed to go out of him, his
shoulders drooping beneath the velvet coat. “Forgive me. Will you
dance with me? Just this once?”

He sounded so sad that it wrung her heart.
“All right,” she agreed, even though she knew it was a mistake.
Is he going to try to talk me out of telling Gibson his secret?
And if he does...will I be able to resist him?

He led her through the wide glass doors and
out onto the patio. The night air was cold, the sky clear as
crystal, spangled with hard, bright stars. Gaslight gleamed off
watch fobs and hairpins, off the clockwork musicians absurdly
attired in formal wear, wigs perched on their brass heads.

When they joined the other dancers, Jin took
her fingers lightly, his other hand resting moth-like at her waist.
They swung into the steps of the waltz; it seemed that Malachi had
taught his charges dance as well as assassination. Jin’s movements
were sure and certain, filled with a grace she couldn’t hope to
match. The nearness of his body made her ache all the way to her
toes. She found herself memorizing his features, from his sculpted
lips to his high cheekbones and proud nose. He’d put on some sort
of cologne, and the smell of cedar and musk teased her senses. Her
heart beat hard in her chest, and the touch of his hand on her
waist made her legs go weak.

Saints, if only this could have happened
under different circumstances. She tried to remember that she was
angry with him, that he’d lied to her and betrayed her trust, but
it didn’t help. His dark eyes gazed down at her, sorrow in their
depths, as if he harbored similar regrets.

“You wanted to talk?” she asked past the
tightness in her throat.

“Yes.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering
his courage. “I want you to know that, as soon as this dance is
over, I’m going to Gibson and confessing everything.”

“You are?”
Have I wronged him by assuming
the worst?

The music ended, and he drew her away from
the other dancers, to stand at the edge of the patio. “Yes. I
am.”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

He nodded and stared down at his feet. “I’m
just afraid of losing what little I have left,” he said, so quietly
that she could barely hear him, even as close together as they
were. “I don’t want to lose Del...but I don’t want to lose you,
either.”

He let go of her and took a step back, toward
the glass doors. For a moment, she thought that he wasn’t going to
say anything further. Then he looked up, his black eyes blazing
with intensity as they sought hers.

“I love you, Molly,” he said. Then turned,
and walked quickly to the doors, leaving her gaping after him.

* * *

Jin hurried through the glass doors and back
into the heated interior. His hands shook, so he took a flute of
wine from one of the auto-waiters, swallowing it down in a single
gulp.

How could I have told her that?
Misery
pooled in his chest. He’d only meant to ask for the dance, nothing
more.

That’s what I get for being selfish
.
He could have just talked to her, just whispered in her ear that he
was going to tell Gibson, and then gone and done so. But the
opportunity to be close to her, to have one last chance to smell
her hair and touch her hand, had been impossible to pass up.
Saints, she’d looked so beautiful tonight, and maybe that was part
of the madness that had gripped him, the wild desire to confess his
feelings, even though he knew that such a conversation could only
end in a broken heart.

Setting aside the empty wine flute, he
grabbed a full one. Before he could down it, a hand wrapped around
his wrist.

“Steady on there,” Gibson said with a smile.
“The night’s young, you know, and I promise that they won’t run out
of wine.”

“Er, yes,” Jin said, feeling foolish.
Although Malachi had neglected some of the finer points of society,
he had certainly raised Jin better than to get drunk in public.
“I’m sorry, I just...never mind.”

“Shall I take you around and introduce you?”
Gibson offered.
He wants me to see if I can identify more
conspirators, of course.

“Later,” Jin said.
Here it is. No going
back
. “I need to talk to you first. In private.”

“Of course, of course,” Gibson said, clapping
him amiably on the back. “Shall we retreat to the garden, then?” He
drew cigar case from a coat pocket. “Can’t smoke these inside with
the ladies, after all.”

Gibson kept up a stream of inane patter as
they headed outside. Jin was afraid to look for Molly on the patio
and instead focused all his attention on the cigar that Gibson
passed him.

“Genuine Ciboney,” Gibson proclaimed, smoke
already trailing from the end of his cigar. Jin made an
appropriately admiring noise, and was glad they passed into the
quiet of the garden before he had to light his own.

Evergreen hedges turned the garden into a
maze, lit by torches and candles set at discreet intervals.
Eventually, they came to a small open space, bounded on three sides
by the hedge. A fountain, shut down for the winter, stood in the
center. “You don’t have to smoke the cigar,” Gibson said, sitting
his own down on the edge of the fountain so it could smolder
unattended. “The things smell like a burning privy, don’t
they?”

Jin found that he could still smile.
“Father—I mean, Dr. Malachi—didn’t approve of smoking at all. He
said that the Xatlians consider it blasphemous, although I don’t
know if that’s true.”

“More or less,” Gibson said evasively, and
Jin knew that he hadn’t missed the slip with Dr. Malachi’s name.
“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

* * *

Molly didn’t know how long she stood alone on
the patio, staring at the door through which Jin had
disappeared.

Jin loves me
. It didn’t seem possible.
He’s going to tell Gibson, he’s going to confess everything, and
he loves me. Where does that leave us?

Molly took a deep breath.
All right. I’ll
go inside to wait for him. Once he and Gibson have talked, then it
will be our turn. We’ll talk. And dance, maybe. And see where
things go
.

She went inside, where she spotted Winifred
almost immediately, finishing up an energetic line dance with a
partner Molly didn’t recognize. When the music ended and the
couples bowed to one another, they approached, laughing
delightedly.

“Oh!” Winifred said, fanning herself. Her
face was flushed, and wisps of her pale hair clung fetchingly to
her forehead. “That was invigorating! Sir Howard, forgive me, but I
need to rest after so much exercise!”

Sir Howard bowed and excused himself. Once he
was gone, Winifred said, “Why don’t we find the buffet and a glass
of wine, while we wait for the men to get back?”

They retreated to the enormous buffet, which
took up an entire interior wall. They filled their plates with bits
of fruit and cheese, admired an ice sculpture, and allowed a pair
of youths to fetch them drinks.

Eventually, Molly glanced at the pocket watch
tucked discreetly into her reticule. “Where are they?” she asked, a
touch worriedly.
What if Gibson decided that he doesn’t trust
Jin anymore, after this? What if he decided to imprison
him?

No, that’s ridiculous. Jin should have come
clean earlier, but better late than never, right?

A sudden stir at the other end of the room
caught her attention. Between the bodies of other guests, she
glimpsed a profusion of bright feathers, interspersed with jaguar
hides. “Ah,” Winifred murmured. “I had wondered.”

Molly tried standing on tiptoe, but it didn’t
help. “Wondered what? What’s going on?”

“I know you’ve had more important matters on
your mind,” Winifred said with a roll of her eyes, “but surely you
noticed that Prince Five Jaguar has yet to put in an appearance at
the fȇte supposedly being held in his honor?”

Feeling stupid, Molly kicked herself
mentally. “Now that you mention it.”

“That’s him, down there, with his guards.
Queen Rowena will be with him. After the incident at the festival,
they decided it more politic to restrict his attendance at the
fȇte. The queen’s political enemies would love to seize on the fact
that he was partying so soon after such a tragedy. Of course, now
those same opponents will claim that both he and the queen slighted
the gathering.”