Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] (6 page)

“I shall be glad to supply whatever proof you desire, my lady.”

Lady Eunice stood, and Julia, unable to do anything less, stood as well.

“Lord and Lady Dubrow are having their annual ball this evening, which was an event that you used to attend with great regularity.”

He began to look suspicious, but nodded and said, “Everyone did.”

“Indeed,” said Lady Eunice. “It is one of the great gatherings given each Season. Julia and I will, of course, be there. If you were to be in attendance as well, Mister Seymour, and prove that you can be trusted in society, I believe I will be far more inclined to grant your request.”

If it was possible, his already pale complexion went further white. But he gathered himself with admirable speed.

“I regret to say, my lady, that I have not had the pleasure of an invitation to the Dubrow ball this Season.”

“That,” she said, “can hardly be wondered at, sir. Fortunately, Lady Dubrow is one of my dearest friends. Expect an invitation to arrive on your doorstep within the hour. Whether you accept or decline is up to you. If you decide to come, which I hope will be the case, then you may have my final decision before the evening is done. Does this suit you, Mister Seymour?”

“Very much, my lady.” He bowed, first to her aunt, then to Julia. When he straightened, she thought she could
see more color in his cheeks. “I hope that Miss Linley will reserve a dance for me?”

“Thank you, sir,” Julia murmured, “but I no longer dance.”

“Tonight, however,” said her aunt, “you will. My niece will reserve the first waltz for you, Mister Seymour. I assume you know the steps?”

“I—”

“Good. We shall expect to see you then, sir. You will have my answer before the night is out.”

T
his coat, sir?”

Niclas stopped fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and glanced at Abercraf, who was looking rather pained upon presenting the garment he held.

“Where in heaven’s name did you find that?” Niclas murmured with wry amusement. He hadn’t seen that old coat in years.

It had been elegant once, a marvelous creation of dark green velvet, paired with matching breeches and a vest of gold paisley silk. He had worn it often when attending special events. It had been his favorite, in those long-ago days when he’d found so much pleasure in going out and being with others.

“No, not that one,” he told his butler, who also served as his occasional valet. “It’s out of fashion now. Far out of fashion.”

Like himself, he thought, turning back to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. He’d once been a desirable guest, but his final attempts at attending ton functions—all at
Malachi’s insistence—had been disasters. The curse left him so continuously weary that controlling his ability to feel the emotions of others had become impossible, with the result that being in even small gatherings was night-marishly chaotic. Niclas hadn’t been able to tolerate more than a few hours in society, and then he had spent days afterward forcing the memories away. Finally, he’d stopped going altogether.

But tonight would be different. He would make certain of that. It
must
be different.

Tonight, he would have to be what he once was, or as close as possible, no matter how difficult or unpleasant. He had to settle matters with Miss Linley and Lady Eunice, and if he showed up looking like a man who’d been living in a cave for the past three years, that would be impossible.

“I suppose it must be the black that I wore last night. Is it terribly stained?”

“Yes,” Abercraf said, his voice absent the displeasure Niclas felt emanating from him. “Terribly.”

“We must find something else, then,” Niclas told him. “I shall both feel and look a fool in the green velvet, but if that’s all there is—”

A knock came at the bedroom door, and Abercraf left the dressing room to open it. He returned in less than half a minute, bearing a large package tied with a voluminous quantity of elegant ribbons. His mood, Niclas felt, had lightened considerably.

“It is from his lordship, the earl,” said Abercraf, inspecting an attached note. “He instructs me to make certain that all wrinkles are absent before allowing you to
don his gift. He will meet you at the Dubrow ball just before midnight.”

The package was untied to reveal a stunningly crafted outfit, perfect in fashion and fit, ready—save for a few wrinkles that Abercraf deftly dealt with—for Niclas to wear. Best of all, it wasn’t the unrelieved black and white that Malachi always wore, but rather a sapphire blue, with a silk vest shot through with silver. Malachi had remembered Niclas’s old love of color.

“He’s a devil,” Niclas murmured, surveying his image in the mirror. “But for once I’m thankful for some of his more particular gifts.”

Abercraf’s eyes were filled with happy tears.

“You’re perfectly presentable, sir. I’m certain no other gentleman could possibly outshine you.”

Niclas thought his manservant a touch too optimistic, but he had to confess that his appearance was much improved from what it had been earlier in the day, when he’d foolishly assumed that a shave and combed hair had made him fit to be seen. How much he had forgotten of the effort required for a gentleman to achieve distinction.

But it was starting to come back to him.

For the first time in years he had given Abercraf free rein in the management of his grooming, with remarkable results. Niclas had been vigorously scrubbed from head to toe, then left for an hour soaking in a hot tub. Abercraf had then massaged him with a seemingly unending collection of oils and lotions, and, following this, he had spent a great deal of time utilizing clippers and scissors and blades. A shocking quantity of hair lay on the floor by the time his manservant was done, and Niclas had
looked into the mirror and seen the self he’d known so long ago staring back at him.

He’d done something else that he’d long resisted, as well. He had forced Malachi’s latest potion down his throat and reclined for a full hour, repeating a chant in the ancient language that his cousin had insisted would refresh his mind, body, and spirit. It had never seemed to do much good before, but tonight, perhaps because he wanted it so badly, Niclas rose feeling almost as rested as if he’d actually slept for a short while. Almost. But that would be enough.

“I’ll do naught to shame you, Abercraf,” he said, setting an assuring hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I promise. After all, I was once used to attending such functions every night. They can’t have changed as quickly as fashion has.”

He was surprised to discover, upon being let out of his carriage, that he was actually looking forward to the evening. The final ton event he’d attended—dinner and an operatic performance at Lord and Lady Bixby’s, where Lady Eunice had also been in attendance—had been endless and miserable. During dinner, he’d been seated next to Viscount Rosser, whose lustful thoughts had been fixed on Lady Ellison, sitting across from them, and not on his wife, who had been on Niclas’s other side. The viscountess had been thinking quite forcibly about killing both her husband
and
Lady Ellison, a fact that hadn’t shown on her lovely, smiling, perfectly serene face. Niclas had felt her distress and fury so keenly that it had been almost impossible to carry on polite conversation. He’d wanted to stand up, drag Viscount Rosser from the table by the scruff of his neck, and give him a good thrashing for being
so foolish and unfaithful. Or to warn Lord Ellison of his wife’s potential infidelity. Or even to advise the viscountess on the futility and unpleasant legalities surrounding murder.

But such revelations could only make matters worse. People outside the Seymour clan tended to be extremely upset—and rightly so, he knew—to think that someone else could divine their emotions. No one, apart from family members, had ever been thankful for his youthful utterances. Indeed, quite the opposite. They’d been frightened of Niclas. He became something of a monster in their eyes, at least until they convinced themselves that the whole thing was merely a foolish joke. Then they’d held him in contempt. Added to that was the constant fear of the family being found out. Society didn’t take kindly to those possessed of unusual powers, and not a few Seymours in the past had found themselves dangling at the end of a rope or tied to a stake.

And so Niclas had spent his final evening in formal society biting his tongue and silently cursing Malachi for talking him into attending the function. When it was over, he decided to never again attend another gathering of the ton.

Now, he was about to break that vow. Niclas told himself that it was only because Lady Eunice had forced it upon him, that he had come because he had no other option, but he wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth.

Julia Linley had intrigued him. Bothered him. And most certainly bewildered him. He’d felt nothing from her, no emotions or feelings, and the reason for it was a mystery that needed solving before their journey together.

Perhaps he’d been too distracted by being in the
company of a beautiful woman again, or perhaps Lady Eunice’s fierce emotions had simply drowned out whatever her niece had been feeling. Neither of those factors had ever deadened Niclas’s senses before, but, apart from them, there was no explanation.

The footman who took his invitation showed no surprise upon reading Niclas’s name, but there was a moment’s hesitation after that same invitation was passed to the butler. The pleasure that the man felt at seeing Niclas in attendance, though perfectly hidden behind a mask of correctness, warmed him considerably, and his mental approval of Niclas’s attire was just as encouraging. Bowing deeply, the manservant murmured, “Welcome, Mister Seymour,” then straightened to formally announce his arrival to those already gathered.

If the butler had been surprised, it was as nothing to the surprise on Lord and Lady Dubrow’s faces when Niclas approached to make his formal bow. But delight followed their amazement, and he was warmly greeted.

This had been his life once, and he had loved it beyond measure. Being back, even for a few precious hours, was intoxicating. He moved slowly about the crowded ballroom, taking in the music and colors and faces. People were dancing; women in their beautiful gowns and men in their finest formalwear. Individuals turned to look at him, then turned away to murmur excitedly. He sensed a variety of emotions, from surprise to pleasure to curiosity. It was all simple and easy thus far, as it had once been long ago.

“You’re causing a stir,
cfender
.”

Niclas turned to see Malachi standing beside him, perfectly attired and groomed, his handsome countenance relaxed and smiling.

“I’m glad you came, even if you were forced to it,” he said. “Your friends will be glad, as well, though shocked. It’s been far too long, Niclas.”

“Only if no one is plotting a murder,” Niclas told him, striving to keep his tone light. “Or worse. In which case I shall curse both Lady Eunice and myself for coming. Thank you for the clothes.” He glanced down at himself. “Your taste is excellent, as ever.”

“I would have bought an entire wardrobe just to see you in society again.” Malachi examined him more closely. “Why, Niclas,” he said with faint surprise, “you’ve had your hair trimmed. You look quite your old self. A veritable pink of the ton.”

Niclas gave a laugh. “I was merely weary of two of us in the family looking like pirates. People might think I was copying your odd fashion, rather than simply wishing to be left alone.”

Malachi nodded toward the far end of the room, where a group of women sat together on low couches. “Lady Eunice and Miss Linley are sitting there, among a fine gathering of spinsters and widows.”

“Why?” Niclas asked, gazing across the room with bewilderment. “She’s far too lovely to be sentenced to such a lack of merriment. Is it Lady Eunice’s doing? I confess that my memories of her include a certain diligence of duty and all that is right, but she never seemed so cruel as to consign anyone to such an unhappy, and far too early, fate.”

“I only wish it might have been so simple a thing as Lady Eunice,” said the earl. “She may be stubborn, as Linleys so famously are, but she is also quite reasonable when presented with a logical argument. You discovered the truth of that this very afternoon. No”—Malachi sighed
aloud—“I’m afraid Miss Linley is the one to blame. She has fallen into that most awful trap that women are prone to give way to. She has decided,” he said, gazing at her from across the elegant room, “that she is too old to experience such pleasures as dancing or flirtation or love.”

“Nonsense,” Niclas muttered angrily. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And most trying, as well,” said his cousin. “I’ve done my utmost—twice tonight alone—to charm her into dancing, but she refuses.”

“No one refuses the earl of Graymar when he exerts himself,” said Niclas.

“It is rather uncommon,” his cousin agreed. “There was a time, you know, when she accepted me as a favored partner. But that was well over a year ago. Her obstinacy now is remarkable, especially given Lady Eunice’s unhappy insistences that she oblige.”

“And still she refused you?” Niclas asked.

Earl Graymar nodded. “Still. It’s regretful, though. Miss Linley has bruised my tender sensibilities with her rejections.”

Niclas snorted at that, but refrained from informing the earl that only those who possessed hearts had “tender sensibilities.”

They were being stared at from all sides; Niclas could feel the beginnings of discomfort as the flood of emotions began to swell and blend. A few particularly unpleasant persons—Niclas had no idea who, exactly, since it was difficult in such a crowd—were feeling bitterness, jealousy, even violent hatred. But when he gazed out at the sea of faces glancing at him none showed anything more than polite curiosity and smiling welcome. That was how
it always was: sadness masked by smiles, hatred by blankness.

“She’ll dance with me,” Niclas vowed. “I won’t leave until she has.”

Malachi’s eyebrows rose. “Will you not,
cfender
? That is an odd thing to say. And what will you do if she refuses?”