The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (38 page)

“Why is it always so
warm at these things?” asked Alex rhetorically.

“That’s one advantage to my costume,”
said Barnes, who had approached Alex while he was turned away talking to the
waiter.

Alex chuckled, glad his Guardians, at least,
were paying more attention. “Are the fountains cooling?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, there’s a little breeze from the
spell that cycles the water, you can feel it,” offered Barnes. Alex was
once again struck with the man’s invitingly submissive qualities, and wondered
how it was he came to be Courting rather than Courted.

Alex raised a hand near one of the streams, and
sure enough, there was a slight cool breeze and, when he took a breath, the
faint smell of ozone and water. “Very refreshing,” he said. “I’m
sure Julian appreciated it.”

Barnes chuckled. “He said he would have
waited on me until later if he’d known how delightfully cooling my costume
would be.”

Alex listened for a moment to Barnes’ magic,
finding it soft and shy with little tinkling hints of magic.

Barnes gave him an amused look. “Are you
wondering why I’m here?” he asked.

Alex flushed, not realising he was being so
unsubtle with his silence. “Honestly, yes,” he said.

“My household can’t really afford a
Courtship, not like Julian’s, and now I have met a dozen eligible bachelors
interested in having a consort.” A shadow passed over Barnes’ face.
“Eleven now, I suppose.”

“Oh!” said Alex with a laugh.
“That’s actually quite clever, weighing the lesser expense of Courting
against the greater one of holding a full Courtship.”

Barnes leaned in and said slyly, “I’m
quite taken with Mr. Chilcott, but I’m afraid he’s only got eyes for
Julian.”

“I’ll have to find some gauche way to
mention it to Whitby,” said Alex with a wink.

Barnes giggled, and for the first time he looked
relaxed and in his element, flirting instead of Courting. “You’re quite
the dark horse yourself, Mr. Benedict.”

“You may call me Alex, but I’m afraid I
don’t come with the sort of fortune most of them do. I live in a flat in the
city and support myself as a mage,” replied Alex, his voice gentle despite
the blunt words.

Barnes’ chuckle was more wry this time.
“My mother might object, but a happy life with a handsome master is worth
more than money and land,” he said, stepping just a little closer.

Alex actually blushed.

He was saved from responding to Barnes’
flirtation when Julian stood up, and everyone’s attention turned to the dance
floor again. Barnes faded politely back into the crowd, and Alex stepped
forward again, flanked by his Guardians. Julian was more certain this time,
spine straight and head up as he went straight for Flynn’s hunting hound.

Alex took the opportunity to circulate in the
crowd a little himself, chasing threads of magic rather than conversation,
trusting in his Guardians to poke him if he needed to respond to someone. That
dissonant melody he associated with the evil mage was here, somewhere, as was
the secondary song of the person who had donated ingredients to create the
insect constructs. Alex kept getting snatches of it, but nothing conclusive, so
he took a different tack and intruded himself on Leslie Winston-Smythe’s
conversation with George Entwistle.

Up close, it was clear that Entwistle’s mask
was a rental rather than a designer’s creation, though the suit itself was bespoke.
It was a standard half-mask of the sort worn in traditional comedy
performances, with a long nose and cheerful expression with just a touch of
wickedness that didn’t suit Entwistle at all. “…not so foolish as to
think I’ll still be in the running after this,” Entwistle was saying
defensively.

“Still, it won’t do
your reputation any good,” said Winston-Smythe.

“I suppose it depends on whose repute he’s
looking for,” said Alex wryly. “After all, realism and practicality
are quite valuable, to some.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and
tried not to look too much like he wasn’t paying any attention to their words.

Entwistle looked pleased at that. “If I’m
not going to win Mr. St. Albans, then I wish to be known as frugal and
not,” he paused to sniff at Winston-Smythe’s bubble-illusion,
“extravagant.” Entwistle stalked off, but not before Alex caught a
snatch of his song, a martial sort of air with very little embellishment.

“You’re trying to figure out my
costume,” said Winston-Smythe, amused.

Alex chuckled. “I’m not used to hiding my
expressions when I’m listening to spells,” he allowed, which
Winston-Smythe took for admitting guilt.

“My designer says it’s a simple modified
illusion charm, he expects it to be all the rage for holiday fancy dress parties
once someone else figures it out, so go ahead.” Winston-Smythe looked
indulgent and just a bit condescending, but Alex wasn’t going to balk at
permission to listen to both him and his fascinating costume.

Alex gave a soft little hum and let his senses
flip around, examining the spell which was, as he said, a familiar illusion
given an anchor in reality that allowed it to reflect his contours
realistically while still giving the appearance of transparency. Deeper beneath
that, Winston-Smythe had a surprisingly whimsical feel to him, though that note
of superiority was there, too, not just a façade but an ingrained trait. Alex
let the note die and his hand drop away from the charm in his pocket, and
smiled. “That is very clever, your designer is correct,” said Alex.
“Thank you for letting me listen.”

Winston-Smythe smiled. “Well, it would
hardly do for me to deny such a secret to magic himself.”

Alex chuckled, as he was meant to, and was glad
when the end of the song and Flynn’s dance took their attention, and they moved
back into the spotlight.

Julian chose not to bestow Flynn with a kiss,
which Alex thought was rather bold and a pleasant surprise, though the hound’s
nose would also have made it awkward to attempt. He turned toward Alex and for
one moment Alex thought it was his turn, but instead Julian came over to the
man next to him.

“Leslie, I’m fascinated by your
costume,” said Julian, leading him out onto the dance floor.

Alex suppressed another surge of jealousy at
the flirtatiousness in Julian’s tone, and instead made his way over to where
Flynn was looking less than thrilled at the implicit rejection. “Tough
break about that nose,” said Alex, nodding to Flynn’s mask.

Flynn took the face-saving lie and smiled
wryly. “Not as clever as I’d hoped, I guess. Our little fox wasn’t as
impressed as my designer seemed to think he’d be.”

“I can’t imagine the falcon will be
getting a kiss under that beak, either,” said Alex, nodding to Henry
Strathmore’s elaborately feathered mask with its wicked-looking beak for a
nose.

“Nor the comedy mask,” said Flynn
with a chuckle. “You went the smart route and kept all your stuff,”
he gestured around his head, “away from your face.”

“I’m very keen on getting my kiss,”
said Alex. He turned as if to watch Julian, and slipped his hand into his
pocket to fondle his watch fob. “How’d the dance go?”

He tuned out Flynn’s answer, concentrating on
the man’s personal magic, which was disorderly and not particularly appealing,
but didn’t hold the studied disharmonies of their culprit. He sighed and let go
just in time to hear the end of Flynn’s tirade.

“…didn’t even bother to try to kiss me.
Ah, well, I’ve got a nice bit on the east side I can go visit when this is
over, she’ll enjoy getting hounded.”

Alex did not roll his eyes, but it was close.
“Always good to think ahead,” he replied neutrally, allowing the
crowd to part them and then move him away while another Suitor cornered Flynn
about his chances.

“He’s really not smart
enough,” said James, amused.

“But he’s not harmless, either,” said
Jacques, though his tone wasn’t any less amused.

Alex sighed. “They’re both here, I just
haven’t managed to catch up with them.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say to
that, so they wandered through the crowd while the song finished up, then stood
out front as Julian gave Winston-Smythe a kiss, giggling after and making a
comment that was no doubt about the illusion. Winston-Smythe left looking
pleased, and Julian steeled himself and went for Henry Strathmore and his
sharp-looking falcon.

Alex sighed and went on
circulating in the crowd.

“He does seem to enjoy the magical
costumes the best,” said Duckworth, who had drifted up silently into
Alex’s sphere. His fog slithered out to cover Alex’s toes, chilling them for a
moment before it moved away.

“That’s not surprising, Julian’s shown a
very appealing joy in magic all along,” said Alex. He leaned on his cane
and slipped his fingers into his pocket, then said. “Did you design the
spell on your costume yourself?”

Duckworth looked surprised, and not pleasantly,
before he smiled with a false smoothness and said, “Yes, how did you
guess?”

“We were in classes together at school,
remember?” said Alex. The fog was masking something, but that familiarity
was there, hiding beneath the bland, almost staticky magic. “You were
really quite good, for someone who was just dabbling.”

“Well, we can’t all make a career of
it,” said Duckworth, and there was that sharpness to his expression again.

“I bet he doesn’t get a kiss, with that
thing on his face,” said Alex, nodding to Julian dancing with Strathmore.
Julian seemed to be holding himself as far back as possible, as though afraid
of being mauled by the great beak.

Duckworth looked away, and Alex let out the
quietest hum he could to focus himself for one good stab past the fog to the
man’s personal magic. “No, I don’t suppose he will, at that,” said
Duckworth.

Alex chuckled, but underneath his smile he was
certain. Whoever else had been involved, Duckworth was their mage. “I’m
for a drink,” said Alex, fingers still on the charm. There was something
about the fog that he didn’t trust, something besides the way it masked
whatever magic was hiding beneath it, though that one good listen had assured
Alex that there was something there besides just Duckworth.

“You do enjoy your
gin,” said Duckworth, his tone jovial and amused.

Alex just smirked and moved off toward the bar.
He ordered his usual sparkling water “cocktail,” then got out his
phone and texted everyone he could think of, starting with his Guardians,
trying to make it look like he was checking the gossip sites.

Jacques pulled out his phone while Alex sighed
and pulled up one of them. “Well, I’m on someone’s list for something,
anyway,” he said wryly and just a touch too loud.

Jacques nodded, chuckling. “You do look a
bit like a dandelion, they’re not that far off,” he said.

“A half-blown one, at
that,” put in James.

Jacques poked his phone a bit more and then
grinned. “You’re still ranked pretty high, though there’s definitely
gossip moving Winston-Smythe up in the rankings now,” said Jacques,
looking quite as though all that concerned him was the gossip.

A text came in, and Alex breathed a little
easier, knowing Smedley at least had gotten his warning. He hadn’t texted
Julian yet, but he felt like he ought to warn him somehow that Duckworth had
something up his sleeve, possibly literally. “I don’t know how they rank
us anyway,” he said instead, hoping Jacques would understand.

“I’ll work it out,” said Jacques with
a grin. “Don’t worry.” He bumped Alex’s shoulder, and Alex felt
something weighing down his jacket pocket.

It didn’t really reassure him when he figured
out it was one of Jacques’ many knives.

CHAPTER
28

In Which Dances Are Danced and a Decision is Made Rather Publicly

As predicted, Julian didn’t try to kiss under
the falcon’s beak, and his second set of dances ended with another unhappy
Suitor stomping off to the bar. It wasn’t polite to approach him while he was
resting with Emmeline, but Alex saw him pull out his phone and show Emmeline.
He just hoped it was Jacques’ message and not just gossip sites they were
sharing.

Alex ran through the list of Suitors-
cum
-suspects in his head again, and then
let the crowd meander him over toward Archibald Cruther, the cheerful hedgehog.
“I’m having a hard enough time not poking anyone with my outfit, you must
be going crazy,” said Alex casually.

Cruther laughed, but it was light and happy.
“Oh, yes, I’ve had a couple of ladies complain I’ve snagged their
dresses,” he said. “Still waiting on your dance, I see.”

Alex chuckled, passing his empty drink off to a
waiter and then casually hooking his hand into the pocket with the watch fob.
“He’s worth the wait,” said Alex, glancing out to the dance floor so
his unfocused expression wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“That he is,” said Cruther, and this
time there was a soft quality to his tone that reminded Alex that he wasn’t the
only one who might have grown fond of Julian.

Alex shoved the thought away and hummed a soft
little note under his breath, letting that and the charm bring Cruther’s magic
into focus, but the man had little to hide. His personal magic was quiet and
simple, and Alex thought he was perhaps the most un-magical person Alex had
ever bothered to listen to. They stood together a moment longer watching Julian
with his sister, then drifted apart by mutual consent, neither allies nor
enemies.

Alex found himself over with Whitby Chilcott
again, and his smile was genuine as he said, “You know, you’ve got an
admirer of your own.”

Chilcott blinked, then cocked his head. “I
do?” he asked, looking around as if the person in question would suddenly
appear.

Alex grinned. “You do, one of our fellows
with hopes of being a consort rather than master.”

“Barnes?” said Chilcott, though the
tone wasn’t so much shocked as intrigued. “How do you know he fancies
me?”

“He told me so,” said Alex.
“He’s quite relieved to be done with the Courting business tonight, one
way or the other.”

Chilcott’s eyes had found Barnes and his
sparkling fountain, where he was talking to Willoughby around the other side of
the dance floor. “I shall keep that in mind, should I fail to win our
Julian.”

Alex smiled, enjoying the feeling of playing
matchmaker, a position he was rarely in. “He seems quite clever, in his
way.”

Chilcott chuckled, “Yes, I was sitting
closer to him at dinner than you were, we talked a bit. Though of course he was
still pretending to Court Julian then.”

“He seems happier now that he can stop
with all that,” said Alex. “Perhaps you two can chat while we wait
for our turn with Julian.” Alex had been moving a little, the conversation
pulling Chilcott along with him, so they were now much closer to where Barnes
was staring raptly at Willoughby and his flickering moth mask.

“Perhaps we can,” said Chilcott, and
he gave up the pretence of following and stepped right up to Willoughby and
Barnes, leaving Alex and his Guardians a few steps behind.

Barnes blinked and then turned a radiant smile
on Chilcott that made Alex both a bit envious and glad he’d made good on his
promise. Alex stayed where he was and gripped his charm, eyes on Willoughby as
he hummed softly, willing himself to actually focus on the man.

The first thing he heard was an insidious,
almost mesmerising little tune that he traced to the mask, those flickers of
moth-wings doing more than just adding a touch of realism. Beneath that there
was the same plethora of personal-care charms Alex remembered from the
Courtship dinner, a bland, impersonal barrage of sounds that further confused
the man’s personal magic. But this time Alex was determined, and he winnowed
out the thread, following it until he was nearly sure that he’d found the
second man.

His concentration was broken when James bumped
against him as if by accident, but when he blinked he realised that he was the
last of the remaining seven Suitors to take his place for the next dance set.

Julian looked around and, much to Alex’s
relief, he chose Chilcott’s green man for the first dance of the third set.

Alex stepped back into the crowd, feeling very
conspicuous as he toyed with his phone, texting Jacques and Lapointe that
Willoughby was the one to watch, and that they should spread the word for him.
He pocketed his phone and gave a little shiver. “I’m wound up tight as a
spring,” said Alex, sighing.

“You should get something with a bit of
sugar in it,” said James, brushing his fingers against Alex’s. “Your
hands are cold as ice.”

“I bet there’s hot spiced cider,”
said Alex, turning to head for the bar. “Julian loves it.”

“That would be good, or hot
chocolate,” said James. “You need to keep your energy up.” It
didn’t need adding that it wasn’t just for the dancing.

“Are you two allowed a cup of
something?” asked Alex. “I get the feeling it will all go quietly for
a bit longer.”

“He won’t risk disrupting things before
his dance,” agreed Jacques, and so Alex ordered three ciders. They could
have hot chocolate or even coffee later, for the extra caffeine boost.

Alex sipped his drink, and watched Julian dance
with Chilcott, trying to work out how he’d feel if Julian ended up with the
other man. Chilcott was likely a better candidate for the actual work of being
master-husband of the St. Albans estate, but Alex wasn’t sure he could stand to
watch it happen.

Fortunately, if he didn’t marry Julian, Alex
could go back to being the anonymous black sheep and drown his sorrows,
preferably in Dr. Tamlinson’s intriguing arms. As soon as they were both fully
healed, anyway.

Alex sighed and stepped forward as the song
came to a close and Chilcott got a rather longer kiss than most. If he made Julian
happy, perhaps Alex could tell himself that was enough.

Willoughby was the next tapped, and suddenly
Alex was glad of the sugar he was ingesting. He stayed at the front of the
crowd this time, watching as Willoughby turned and twirled Julian, that moth
fluttering the whole time. Julian smiled and laughed, his full attention on
Willoughby’s face, and Alex found it hard to tell if he was being enchanted or
not. He did seem to take on a bit too adoring of a look by the end, but the
kiss he gave Willoughby was short and chaste.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief as Willoughby
vanished back into the crowd and Julian chose Chudleigh’s warm sunshine for the
last dance of the set. He texted Lapointe, figuring she had the best chance of
getting close to Emmeline, to watch Julian for signs of enchantment, and then
went and got them all hot cocoa with a shot of espresso in each.

“An excellent choice,” said James,
amused as he traded his empty cider cup for the very fancy coffee drink. The
bartender had heaped on whipped cream and chocolate curls, and the whole thing
was served in a glass cup.

Alex chuckled. “Caffeine is good,” he
said, and then he sucked all the whipped cream off the top of his with
absolutely no manners whatsoever. “Sugar, also good.”

The Guardians laughed and managed their own
drinks with rather more dignity though just as much alacrity, the three of them
staying clustered in the lee of the bar while they did so. Alex had a feeling
this was the last chance he was going to get to sneak in a bit more caffeine.
They were done and standing at the edge of the dance floor with O’Connor and
Duckworth when Julian stood, and Alex even remembered to whistle a
breath-freshening charm to get rid of the taste of stale coffee.

O’Connor was tapped first, and Alex took the
opportunity to drag the Guardians off to the men’s room and make sure
everything about himself was ready to go. He double checked that the spell on
the headpiece was still sparking as it should, and would recede and fluff back
up when required, and then made it back out just in time for the song to end.

Julian walked over to him with a warm smile on
his face, and for one moment Alex forgot everything about why they were there
except for Julian. He handed his cane off to Jacques and smiled right back, stepping
forward to meet Julian just inside the empty circle.

“How long did you argue with your designer
about this?” asked Julian, brushing his fingers over the dandelion-spread
of magic waves.

Alex laughed. “Not long enough,
apparently,” he said, leading Julian out onto the dance floor. “Does
it look that silly?”

Julian giggled. “No, it’s just odd, I know
it’s meant to be magic but since you hear rather than see it, it’s
just…”

“Not what you were expecting,” said
Alex, amused. He whistled a little tune at Horace, who trilled right back, and
then whistled another to add a tiny suggestion into Horace’s already-complex
range of functions.

Julian giggled when Horace trilled back again,
and then said mock-sternly, “You’re meant to be talking to me, not my
costume.”

Alex grinned. “I’m not the one who decided
to wear Horace,” he teased, and then his face softened. “How are you
holding up?”

“I am so tired of this stupid
jacket,” said Julian with a chuckle, “and the apple jokes! Ugh. And
did you see that horrible falcon mask?”

“Still not as creepy as Duckworth’s fog,
though,” said Alex with just a hint of seriousness.

Julian sighed. “I wanted to save you for
last, but I wasn’t quite brave enough. It’s too bad I can’t just forget him
entirely.”

“Horace will protect you,” said Alex,
warm and affectionate. “And then Emmeline, she’d punch him somewhere the
fog can’t hide, I expect.”

Julian laughed, delightfully scandalised, and
for a moment it was like they were at home and none of the rest was important.
“And you, wouldn’t you?” he asked softly, eyes searching Alex’s face,
or what he could see of it under the mask.

“To my last breath,” said Alex,
“And my Guardians would help, too.” James and Jacques weren’t at his
back now, which made Alex feel terribly exposed, but they were prowling the
edge of the dance floor in opposite directions, alert for any danger.

“It’s hard to be this close and not kiss
you,” said Julian quietly, looking up at Alex rather adoringly.

Alex blushed. “It is, you’ve spoiled me
with all our visits,” he said. “But if I win you, you can have all
the kisses you want.”

“Promise?” asked
Julian, giggling.

“Promise,” said Alex, and then he
paused and added, “Horace will witness.”

They laughed together, and talked about silly
little things for the rest of the dance, which struck Alex as far better than
being forced to go over their plans for the future there in front of dozens of
guests and gossipers. When the song came to a close, Julian reached up and
cupped Alex’s cheek, tugging him down for a soft, lingering kiss. “I’ll be
careful, I have your charm,” he whispered, then kissed him again.

Alex straightened, blushing as if it had been a
proposition that Julian had whispered. “I know you will, love,” he
said. He touched Julian’s cheek, then made himself turn away, breathe deeply,
and allow Julian to walk right into Duckworth’s fog.

For all the suspense, Duckworth’s dance was no
different from the others, a waltz that ended in a quick, chaste kiss before
Duckworth handed Julian off to Emmeline for their rest before the final dance
set.

The unassuming Entwistle got the coveted last
spot, which Alex enjoyed because it confused the gossips. He wondered if anyone
else realised that Julian had wanted his last Suitor to be someone entirely
unthreatening, and was unsurprised when no kiss was forthcoming at the end.
Emmeline and Julian’s final dance was short, in deference to the long night,
and then back up the stairs they went, everyone applauding.

“So, what happens now?” asked
Jacques, as waiters began circulating with champagne and sparkling juice.

“Julian and Emmeline will decide on either
a single suitor for Julian to choose, ending the Courtship here, or a list of
seven Suitors to move on to the next round. With that list, later is better,
but also more nerve-racking,” said Alex with a chuckle. “They’ve only
got a little while, so most of the decisions would already have been made,
usually a Masquerade is the option for a consort who isn’t sure about the
middle of the pack and wants one more chance to be wooed before he makes his
final decision.”

“Which would make sense, given one of his
front-runners was just murdered,” said James in a low voice, too quiet to
carry past their little trio.

“It would definitely
muddy the waters, yes,” said Alex.

Alex accepted a glass of sparkling juice, not
wanting to muddle himself with any alcohol, and then he had to make sure not to
drink it all before Julian emerged. It was traditional to toast the
consort-to-be before he made his announcement. The minutes seemed to drag on
interminably, while the police worked on getting warrants or whatever else they
needed based on Alex’s magical identification, and the clock ticked down to
Julian’s decision.