The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (7 page)

Julian looked amused, at any rate, and he said,
“Emmy and I chose one of the longest ones, I believe you’re all supposed
to get letters about it tomorrow. I’ll have three dates with each of you before
I have to make the first decisions, an afternoon tea here at the house and two
dinners out.”

“So we’ll all have several chances to win
your heart,” said Pembroke, somehow managing to make it not sound cheesy.

Alex nodded. “I’m afraid I’m out of touch
with the fashions in these things, as I hadn’t really intended to take part in
one until I got your invitation.”

Julian seemed to take this as a compliment, and
Alex heaved a sigh of relief that he’d censored the comment about catching
Mandeville’s murder case. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be nearly so
romantic a notion.

“Planning on bachelorhood, were you?”
asked O’Connor, looking very pleased by Alex’s near blunder.

Alex shrugged. “Once you leave the upper
echelons of society, it’s all so much simpler,” he said, then quickly
added. “But yes, mostly I’d resigned myself to bachelorhood.” He
wasn’t sure how much Julian romanticised what little he knew of Alex’s
situation, and he didn’t really want to just announce that he was a terrible
boyfriend and would make a worse husband.

It seemed impolitic, at the
least.

More food arrived, this time a crispy-skinned
quarter of a chicken resting on a bed of creamy polenta. The chicken had been
flavoured with a delightful melange of exotic spices, and the meat beneath was
moist and delicious. “Your chef is really quite good,” said Alex,
glad that a sharp knife had been provided with the silver for this course,
along with a full-bodied, spicy red wine that complemented the chicken
perfectly.

“I’ll pass your compliments along,”
said Julian, but there was pride in his voice. All down the table, men were
tucking in with enthusiasm despite the first four courses already served,
proving that Julian’s pride was warranted.

“This is quite a unique dish for a
Courtship dinner,” said Pembroke. “Your chef has a bit of an Asian
flair to some of his cooking.”

Julian ate a bite himself before answering,
“Yes, he’s originally from Japan but he’s got an incredibly varied
repertoire. He’s been with us for years, but he still keeps up with the latest
trends.”

“Does he visit home
often?” asked Alex curiously.

“Once a year he goes travelling for a
month, but he’s got his staff well-trained,” said Julian. “We miss
him, of course, but he always comes back with new ideas.”

“A forgivable absence, then,” said
Willoughby, “if it allows him to create meals like this one.”

More compliments drifted toward both ends of
the table, and for a while the talk was entirely of food with a slightly softer
edge, or perhaps just a more hidden one. Alex was surprised to hear that
Willoughby was a traditionalist when it came to food, despite his obvious
appreciation for this meal, while Pembroke seemed like the riskiest of the
bunch.

Alex mostly kept his mouth shut, as he normally
ate whatever he could have delivered. His upbringing hadn’t prepared him to
cook for himself, and he’d chosen not to explore that avenue much despite its
supposed similarity to the brewing of potions. For one thing, cooking wouldn’t
have magic behind it to guarantee that once-noxious ingredients blended
together in a beneficial end product.

He rather thought it might
go the other way, in fact.

Victor was quite the stodgy traditionalist, and
so rare meals at home were full of exquisitely prepared sameness, without the
delightful originality that the St. Albans chef was allowed to display.

Alex enjoyed the creamy polenta, finding it
owed part of its texture to some tangy cheese, and had been lightly laced with
garlic as well, making it an excellent companion to the rich bird and its
crisp, spice-dusted skin. He even let himself drink most of the wine, figuring
that there would be tea or coffee with the sweet course, though likely also
more alcohol in the form of a dessert wine.

Soon enough his plate was taken away, though
he’d only managed about half of what was there. The conversation still swirled
and he was forced to participate, knowing that there was a good chance that, if
the murderer was a suitor, he’d be in one of the coveted top four spots, where it
was polite to engage Julian in conversation without having to talk through a
line of people.

Of course, it could be someone with an inflated
sense of their own importance, too, or even someone who’d arranged to be closer
to the sister. Or even the sister. Alex mostly used magic, not people skills,
so he felt a bit at a loss thinking that he was trying to winnow a killer out
of thirteen people so used to polite deception that it was nearly a reflex,
like breathing.

The next course was a single rack of herb-encrusted
lamb chops, leaning against a pile of cooked greens, with a swirling pile of
mashed something next to them. A taste proved it to be taro root, a very Asian
delicacy indeed and a delicious one, both sweet and savoury at once. The lamb
had its own sweetness, and was so tender it nearly fell from the bones, though
a second steak knife was provided. The greens were flavoured with juices from
the roasted lamb, as well as garlic and other spices, and the bitterness had
been cooked out of them, leaving them with a tangy sourness that helped keep
the plate balanced.

Alex thought he might have
to marry Julian just for the food.

CHAPTER
7

In Which Dinner is Concluded, and Drinks are Shared

The sixth course, while delicious, didn’t go
down as smoothly as the last one, because the conversation grew more dangerous
as the suitors became aware that the meal was nearly done.

“Have you ever had lamb so tender?”
asked Pembroke, as if of the room, though his eyes were on Alex.

“Victor is very fond of lamb,” said
Alex, taking a sip of wine, “as was Father. I believe Victor still has
tenants who keep sheep just for the main house, in fact.”

That had not been the answer Pembroke was
looking for, but Willoughby was the one who picked up the thread of
conversation. “I’ve always greatly enjoyed veal, myself,” he said,
voice silky.

“You don’t think it’s cruel?” asked
Julian, though his voice was curious rather than judgmental.

Willoughby shrugged. “I’m not some college
student, protesting for the sake of outrage,” he said. “Our cattle
are treated well enough, it’s quite a small herd so the culling keeps them from
overgrazing their allotted land.”

“Culling is an important step,” said
O’Connor, his tone reminding them that they were all in danger of the chopping
block, at least metaphorically.

The question was, would it become more than a
metaphor, if the killer was among them, but eliminated early? That was Alex’s
real fear, that he’d be too slow to assemble the social cues along with the
magical, and someone else would die.

He wished Lapointe was
there.

“But it’s also best if one has an eye
toward the stock that’s worth keeping,” said Alex.

Julian stayed silent, just watching the verbal
fencing with an impassive expression.

Pembroke nodded. “Of course,” he
said, then took another sip of wine. “But all this talk of animal
husbandry must be boring young Julian. I had heard that you used to enjoy the
theatre, is that still true?”

“This is practically theatre all on its
own,” muttered O’Connor, so that only Alex could hear him.

Alex had to suppress a
smirk.

“I do still love to see plays, though of
course I’ve missed the start of the season this year. We’ve got box seats at
many of the major theatres, though I’ve never been a fan of opera,” said
Julian, doling out another tidbit for his admirers to act on or not, as the
case might be.

“I find opera too much for my delicate
ears,” said Alex. “Good music is a magic all its own, you know.”

“So, you operate by
sound?” asked Willoughby shrewdly.

Alex inclined his head, cursing himself.
“Yes, I’ve always been one of those who hears rather than sees
magic.”

“That’s quite rare,
isn’t it?” asked Julian curiously.

“Not really,” said Alex. “About
seven in ten mages operate by sight, two by sound, and the last ten percent are
the really obscure ones, who feel or smell or otherwise sense it in a more
abstract manner.”

“I bet you’re glad you don’t have to go
tasting everything, given your line of work,” said Willoughby, his
expression blandly amused though his tone was at odds with it, almost hungry.

Alex shuddered delicately. “I expect I’d
have gone into a different line of work, were that the case.” Rather than
allow that to put them off their wonderful food, Alex forced himself to smile.
“Of course, not everything I’ve heard was awful, either, even at crime
scenes.”

“Really?” asked
Julian, subdued but curious. “Like what?”

Alex smiled, glad the boy had taken his bait.
“I got to hear your personal magic.”

Julian blushed quite fetchingly at that, which
made the other suitors look less than pleased.

Before Julian could ask more questions on a
topic that only made Alex look good, Pembroke jumped in. “I hear your
orchards are doing very well this year.”

“Oh, yes! The summer fruit trees are doing
so well, we have plums and peaches and nectarines,” said Julian, and Alex
made a note that this was a subject of stewardship that seemed to interest
Julian despite his protests to the contrary.

From the look on Pembroke’s face, someone had
already known, which was also worth noting. A servant willing to gossip about
the young master’s preferences was a valuable ally, especially since Alex had
already alienated Godfrey. For that matter, Godfrey could be the one talking to
Pembroke; he seemed like just the sort of man that would appeal to the stuffy
butler.

Alex forced himself to stay alert and
participate in this conversation, eating his lamb as an excuse not to talk too
much. He also made a mental note to call Victor’s man and see who he could go
to for a tour of their own orchards. He was dreading the idea that he might
have to ask Victor for a crash course in all of it.

He seemed to be dreading a
lot of things lately.

They talked about orchards and the upcoming
apple crops all the way through the rest of the course, which turned out to be
prophetic when the final offering of sweets, coffee and port came. The meal
ended as it had begun, with three items on a long plate, but these were
exquisite sweet creations flavoured with the fruits of St. Albans lands.

The first dish was a miniature peach cobbler,
fragrant and sticky-sweet in its fluted ramekin. In the middle there was a
petit gateau in the shape of a heart, made of layers of chocolate and summer
berry mousse, with a tiny wild strawberry perched on top, stem and all. The
final sweet was a shot glass full of the first press of cider, mulled and then
chilled, with a thin layer of whipped cream on top supporting a swirl of
slowly-sinking caramel.

“I almost feel as though you’re wooing
us,” said Alex, picking up a spoon and preparing to dig into the cobbler,
“by showing us all the bounty of your lands.”

Julian chuckled. “Perhaps I just want you
to work extra hard for me,” he said, preening just a bit.

Alex boldly took Julian’s hand and pressed a
kiss to the back. “You’ve always been a prize worth winning,” he
said, wondering where the smoothness came from until he remembered the story
he’d read it in. He let his smile at the memory come to the surface and soften
the look he was giving Julian.

Julian’s laugh this time was surprisingly wry.
“If one is to be a prize, it’s best to be a good one, I suppose.”

There didn’t seem anything to say to that, so
Alex ate his bite of cobbler, letting the delightful sweetness distract him
from wondering just how Julian St. Albans really felt about his own Courtship.

~ ~ ~

After dinner they went back to the parlour to
mingle over drinks. Ms. Fitzhugh decided to join them this time, and Alex made
sure to drift over to her when he got the opportunity. “Julian tells me
you’ve been keeping things running around here for the past year,” he said,
after they were introduced.

“Yes, I have,” she said, her voice
politely blank, as if she wasn’t sure how she ought to react to him yet.

Alex smiled and tried to remember if he knew
how to be charming after all the wine and barbed conversation over dinner.
“He’s lucky to have you in his life, I can tell he’s got little interest
in that side of things.”

She nodded, her face going a bit softer as she
spoke. “Julian never did have much of a head for business. I’d just
started teaching Cecil about things when… Well, you’d know better than most
what happened, wouldn’t you?”

“Despite how it seems, we’re all working
hard to solve it,” said Alex, his own voice going a bit hard. It bothered
him more than he’d admit to think that someone here had done this, but no one
else truly had motive, and it had taken means and motive both to create this
plot.

She looked surprised at his reaction, but
nodded. “It’s good they’ve hired you,” she said, her tone suggesting
that she hadn’t been sure of that, up until this moment.

Alex’s smile wasn’t particularly pleasant, but
he knew she would understand. “Not good for the killer.”

Her own answering smile was
just as humourless. “No, not for him.”

Alex wanted to ask why she would say ‘him’ but
of course if it wasn’t a him, it was likely Emmeline herself, so he kept
silent, instead changing the subject as O’Connor drifted over to them.
“Julian seems very fond of the orchards.”

“Yes, he likes the trees very much,
whether it’s mushroom-hunting in the forest or picking apples in the orchard
like a common worker. We always teased him that no one would believe he was the
young man of the house if he was always tromping around getting his hands
dirty,” she said fondly.

O’Connor stepped up, and it took Alex a moment
to realise he was waiting to be introduced. “Ms. Emmeline Fitzhugh, this
is Phineas O’Connor, he sat next to me at dinner,” said Alex, hoping he
was doing it right.

Right enough, it seemed, as they shook hands
and exchanged pleasantries. “So Julian picks fruit himself?” asked O’Connor,
with an amused disbelief in his voice that made Alex’s hackles rise.

Emmeline raised herself up, face blank and
polite just as it had been with Alex, though her eyes were colder. “Is
that a problem?” she asked.

“No, no, it’s just unusual, the, well, the
gossip makes him out to be rather soft, but I can see he keeps active,”
said O’Connor.

Alex rolled his eyes where Emmeline could see,
but O’Connor could not, and he could see her trying not to smile. He used to
bait Flora and Fauna this way when they were being lectured for tormenting him.
He felt it was only fair to try to get them laughing and in even deeper
trouble.

“At least he doesn’t climb trees like a
monkey, looking for just the right bit of mistletoe or the perfect acorn for a
spell,” said Alex dryly.

That got her, and she chuckled. “Not
anymore, though for him it was always the perfectly ripe peach for his
afternoon snack, still warm from the sun.”

“And what is making my darling sister
laugh?” asked Julian, stepping into their little group from behind Alex.
He pressed a soft kiss to Emmeline’s cheek before taking his place beside her,
looking happier than Alex had yet see him.

“Your charming suitors, of course,”
she said, giving Alex the eye. “It’s too bad they’re only here for you,
and not me.”

Julian gave her an affectionate look. “But
then they’d take you away from me, and I couldn’t have that,” he said.

“Will you do a Widow’s Courtship, once
your brother is settled?” asked Alex politely. They were less common, but
since she’d had no children before her husband died, it would be in keeping
with the tradition.

She smiled shyly. “I had been thinking of
it, yes, once the estate’s in good hands.”

“And Julian, of
course,” said O’Connor slyly.

Julian chuckled. “I’ll
have already made sure of that,” he said.

Alex’s mouth opened without his brain’s consent
and he asked, “And just how do you prefer to be handled?”

His cheeks flamed red when they all stared, and
he tried to think if there was any possible way to backtrack.

“I think that’s a question you should ask
again when you’re in more private circumstances,” said Emmeline, but her
eyes were full of mischief. “Assuming Julian allows such things during his
very proper Courtship.”

“Emmy!” protested Julian with a
laugh, and Alex shot her a grateful glance for taking the attention off of
himself.

“Well, it is part of the tradition, to try
them out before you buy,” she said, looking from one man to the other.

Alex schooled his face and said, “Not
every Courtship follows that part of the tradition, perhaps Julian wants to
sleep in peace.”

Julian put on an expression of mock dignity and
said, “Perhaps I’m planning on protecting my virtue.”

“Oh, Julian, it doesn’t grow back,”
said Emmeline, and Alex was amused to see O’Connor looking quite shocked at the
bawdy turn the conversation had taken.

It made him like Emmeline more, which was a
dangerous thing, but watching Julian smiling and joking with his sister, he
thought he’d take the risk.

~ ~ ~

Soon after that, Julian retired to a small
alcove off of the larger parlour, one of several available, though this was the
only one with the heavy curtains pulled back. Alex could feel the hum of
privacy spells around each one, and he guessed this room had been Julian’s
father’s, used for the sort of gatherings where businessmen would strike deals
behind the curtains that they didn’t want made public too soon, if at all.

There was a full bar available to them, and
many of the men circulated the room with a glass of very fine Scotch or a
martini in hand. Alex chose to stick to sparkling water with a bit of lime and
mint, reminiscent of the ice from earlier.

Alex drifted from conversation to conversation,
though he mostly refrained from participating unless Emmeline was involved. One
by one, a discreet servant would find each man and take him to sit with Julian;
the last spots were the most coveted here, implying that Julian wanted to sleep
with you in his thoughts rather than those who had gone before. No decisions
would be made tonight, or for many days yet, but it would be interesting to see
if anyone had risen or fallen in favour since the seating arrangements at
dinner.