Page 52 of Angel's Flight

“Here, you can match me,” Christine said as she pulled a sapphire-toned cravat out of Erik’s case and approached him.It made his head fuzzy when she pressed herself to him and drew the vibrant length of silk around his neck, fastening it tight.Like she was binding him again.Keeping him safe.Keeping him hers.

“It will be my honor,” Erik exhaled and went easily as Christine took him by the hand to guide him out into the night.

Howard had a carriage waiting for them (closed, thankfully) to take them through the city.Erik had not made much of a note of the buildings or landscape when they had arrived; he had been too tired.Now he looked at the city through Christine’s eyes as they rambled along among the gaslights.

Where Paris had been forged by Baron Hausmann into perfect, symmetrical order, bisected by grand avenues rebuilt in a symphony of limestone and slate roofs, London was a maze cobbled together over centuries.There was no rhyme or reason to the streets, and the buildings were a hodgepodge of ancient and new.It was charming, in its way, Erik had to admit.London didn’t hide what it had once been, the way Paris tried to.A thousand years of history was on display on every street, if one could make it out through the soot and grime from the coal fires and factories.It was hard to breathe here, compared to the salt air of the sea or the humble streets of Florence, but it certainly was lively.

“Where are we headed?Pretend like I know,” Christine asked as they passed through a large park.

“Belgravia, but the bad half of it,” Howard replied.“My friend is an itinerant Lord, or he was when last I left him.He’s probably bumbled his way into becoming a Baron by now.”

“That’s right, your nobles here have titles that matter,” Christine remarked.

“They don’t matter here either,” Erik sniped, and Howard gave him a look.

“Do you hate the upper class for a respectable reason or because you grew up playing with toy guillotines like a good Frenchman?”Howard remarked.

“I hated them in France because they took everything they wanted and left nothing but grief in their wake,” Erik hissed.

“Maybe they’re better here,” Christine said gently, stroking his arm and reminding him that he had made a promise to behave.

“Oh no, they’re not.Mostly,” Howard smirked.“But they’re English, so they’re quite polite about it all.The people you’re about to meet though aren’t for all that – the manners and decorum and propriety of our dear queen.We’ve made our own little Bohemia.”

“Where a man in a mask won’t stand out?”Erik asked tersely.

“You’ll be the least interesting person there,” Howard assured him, but what truly calmed Erik was Christine entwining her fingers with his.

The manor they arrived at wasn’t ostentatious, but it was still grand, with walls of white stone and dozens of windows shining with light.Erik braced himself for stares as they entered, giving their coats to a footman.He had no idea what he had been expecting – perhaps a formal supper or ball – but that was not what awaited.

The best way to describe what they walked into was a salon.There were groups of people filling the parlors, taking food from laden tables, and engaging in idle conversation and debate.But there was more than that.A woman was doing a painting of a man holding a monkey in a corner.Two men who were clearly a couple were draped together across a divan, laughing with a woman in silken robes with ebony skin.In another room, a professorial character stood in the corner with a turbaned Sikh.People laughed and mingled, and no one gave Erik and Christine more than a lingering look.

Erik...did not hate it.Christine smiled next to him, her arm entwined with his, and it occurred to Erik that they had never done anything like this.

“Let me introduce you to our host.Or hosts,” Howard said in French, and led them to the largest parlor.There was a small man there lying on a chaise longue with his head in a beautiful woman’s lap as she fed him grapes.“Dear God, Bernard, you’re going to choke eating that way,” Howard remarked.

“Is that Howard Ashe back from the continent?”the little man exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and blinking at Howard.The woman who had been feeding him laughed warmly and handed the man a pair of thick spectacles.As soon as they were on his face, he grinned.“It is!How are you, old chap?”

“A little worse for wear, like all of us,” Howard replied.

“Speak for yourself, Sir,” the woman purred.She was more than buxom, with breasts so robust her neckline could scarcely contain them.Her hair was blonde, styled in a mass of beautiful curls, and decorated with bangles that didn’t look like real jewels.A character if ever Erik had seen one.“Some of us are thriving.”

“My dearest Letitia, you are Venus herself descended to earth,” Howard said as he took the woman’s hand and bowed to kiss it.She smiled like a gracious queen.

“Introduce me to our new friends,” the blonde commanded.

“Voilà,” Howard replied, waving Erik and Christine forward.He spoke in French: “New acquaintances, discovered in the most delightful corners of Florence.Erik and Christine Gilbride: musicians, among other things.This is Lord Bernard Chumley and Letitia Trumbull.”

“Delighted to meet you,” Letitia said in perfect French, rising to embrace Christine and kiss her swiftly on the cheeks.“I love musicians.Have you been to the Opera at Covent Garden yet?I have a lover with a wonderful box who took me the other day to see their new production of Don Carlo.Their Eboli was a revelation.”

“What are they saying?”the Lord whined in English.“Howard, I do hate it when you do this.”

“We have only arrived today,” Christine replied in French with a smile.“Is Lord Chumley here not your lover?”

“Oh, he is, but I have many.My Lord here keeps me the most comfortable, but the affections of a woman such as I can’t be exclusive.”Letitia gave a provocative wink.

“You’re in the presence of one of the great courtesans of London,” Howard explained, and Chumley gave an annoyed huff.

“Do you really use that word?”Erik asked and noted the way both the Lord and lady of the night looked at him when he spoke, and how they finally took in his mask.Erik switched to English.“Do not worry, sir, we have not said anything about you.”

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