Page 32 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“Hopefully only positive things,” she said with a smile and a curtsy. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Don’t worry,” Merritt assured her, “this one is much simpler. This is William Blightree, of the Queen’s League of Magicians.”

Mr. Blightree was the oldest of the group, and he nodded his head respectfully. “I’m here to help oversee the contract and any questions that might arise with the arrangement. Mr. Fernsby has put all of us off, insisting he get your opinion.” He said it in a kind, almost teasing way. “He thinks very highly of you.”

Hulda felt herself flush. “Thank you. You must be the queen’s necromancer?”

Lady Helen put a hand on Mr. Blightree’s shoulder. “Yes, he is very esteemed at court. You won’t find a more skilled magician than he in allof Europe, I assure you that!” She grinned fondly at him. “Mr. Blightree is a longtime family friend as well. He’s put off his own personal business to stay with us.”

Merritt said, “I hope nothing too unsettling.”

Mr. Blightree opened his mouth to respond, but Lady Helen beat him to it. “More settling than unsettling! He’s finally come into a long-overdue inheritance. The whole mess was tied up in the courts foryears.” She turned toward him. “And we’re so excited to visit the place when things calm down. I’ve always wanted a tour of Gorse End.”

Hulda’s smile froze on her face.

Gorse End.SheknewGorse End. Knew it far too well. She’d dug through Hogwood’s family tree to find no direct relatives, and the Crown had yet to seize the estate. But if William Blightree was its heir ... heaven help her.

This man was Silas Hogwood’sfamily.

Chapter 12

March 3, 1847, London, England

Hulda had never lost her appetite more quickly.

Her manners kicked in even as her mind reeled; she nodded to the servants, sipped her soup in utter silence, smiled, and addressed her hosts graciously, always keeping one ear apprised of the conversation. She knew whom to turn to when and the best dinner topics for easy conversation, as well as tricks for turning attention away from her and to the hosting family. She’d been seated between Merritt and Baron von Gayl and, in a piece of luck, nearly as far from William Blightree as she could be. The only person farther from her was Lady Cora, who sat at the end of the table, nearest to Owein, who took his dinner on the floor. Still, despite Hulda’s automatic manners, she could not stop her gaze from shooting down the table between nearly every forced bite of food.

His name might not havebeenHogwood, but he was a Hogwood, and Hulda could not talk herself down from that very high limb.

Sudden warmth on her knee startled her; she glanced down to see Merritt’s hand there, then lifted her eyes to meet his. Leaning in closer, he said, “You’re tense as a spring hare.”

Forcing a deep breath to relax her chest, she said, “Nothing I can say here.”

“Gorse End?”

Hulda gave him a look that she hoped read,Please do not speak, and forced her attention onto her uneaten meal. A pity—it looked and smelled wonderful, but she could do little more than pick at it. Were they at Whimbrel House, she might have snuck a few morsels under the table for Owein, but alas, such was not proper, and he had his own elegant dinner to consume.

As the servants delivered the dessert dishes, Lady Helen said, “Miss Larkin, I believe you wanted to peruse the contract as well. I know your role in Owein’s story and his ability to come here was significant.”

Hulda set down her napkin, trying not to glance at the man beside Lady Helen. “Yes, thank you. My apologies, Lady Helen. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.”

Merritt’s gaze settled on her.

Fortunately, Lady Helen clasped her hands together in utter sympathy. “But of course! You’ve been traveling all day, poor thing. How could I not consider it?”

“You’ve been more than considerate,” Hulda assured her. “And might I add that the dinner was lovely and your home very accommodating.”

“Coming from a housekeeper, that is high praise,” Prince Friedrich said.

Lady Helen beamed. “Thank you.” She waved to the corner, and a pretty maid hurried over. “Anabelle, would you kindly show Miss Larkin to her room?”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” Hulda asked, neck growing stiff from the continued effort not to look at Mr. Blightree.

“None at all! None at all. Anabelle will take you.” Lady Helen gestured, Anabelle curtsied, and Hulda gratefully followed the younger woman out of the winter dining room, into the lobby, and then the grand hall, from which they took steps upward, away from the hall with the damaged room and down to where she believed Merritt and Owein were staying, very near the family quarters. She thanked Anabelle, accepted an offer of tea, and slipped into the space.

Cora’s mother referred to the pastry on Owein’s platter as a Genoese fancy, and it looked excellent ... but Owein worried that, should he scoff it down, he’d be retching shortly after. Too much food. His dog stomach could handle a lot—in fact, it was alarming what the canine side of him sometimes found appetizing—but something about all that sugar and pastry cream told him he was about to overdo it. Dogs weren’t meant to eat like people.

Yet another thing to look forward to, in a new body. The first thing he’d do was get the biggest Genoese fancy he could find and devour it. With a human tongue, it would taste amazing, he was sure of it.

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