Page 2 of Of Fate and Phantoms
I glanced at that man now and accepted his arm with a smile. "Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" I asked, eyeing his jerkin and doublet. He wore no coat.
"Charlie," he chided. "You promised."
"I promised not to ask if you were all right, not if you were warm enough. Besides, I saidatthe ball. We haven't arrived yet."
"Next time I'll be more specific."
"You have been ill, Lincoln, not to mention injured." And the evening air already felt icy. Frost would settle on the lawn overnight and into the bones of the homeless who could not find adequate shelter, as I knew all too well.
"I'm neither ill nor injured anymore."
"You may have recovered from your ordeal, but I have not." I left him contemplating that as Doyle, the butler, held the carriage door open for me. "Do you have enough blankets for warmth, Gus?" I called up to our coachman and friend. We really did need to find a proper coachman to take over his duties, as well as a housekeeper and maids. Lichfield was ready for them, and so was I.
"Thank you, Charlie." Gus patted his coat pocket where he kept his flask. "All set."
Seth leaned out of the carriage and spoke loudly enough for Gus to hear. "Don't worry about him. His skin's so thick nothing penetrates it."
"Unlike yours," Gus said. "It's so delicate you have to wear furs and feathers."
"It's acostume."
Gus snorted. "You told me you cobbled it together from pieces found in your own wardrobe. Costume, my ar—"
"Let's go!" I said, pushing Seth's shoulder. He retreated back inside the cabin.
The carriage was too crowded for five people, two of whom wore voluminous skirts. I didn't realize until Lincoln shut the door without joining us. The coach rocked as he climbed onto the seat next to Gus. I tried not to think of him sitting out in the cold, but memories of him lying unconscious in his bed after the kitchen explosion assaulted me anyway. That nightmare had occurred too recently for my liking. Not even he could be fully recovered yet.
As if she sensed my concern, Alice kept the conversation lively all the way to the Curzon Street residence of Lady Vickers' friend, Lady Hothfield. A footman opened the carriage door and we lowered our masks and shed the blankets keeping our knees warm.
"This is rather grand," Alice whispered as we stepped inside the house onto crimson carpet.
The spacious entrance hall was indeed grand, with the central staircase diverting into two at the landing and wrapping around the walls leading up to the next level. Lamps and a central chandelier blazed with light, catching the gilt in the frames, furniture legs and the tip of the spear clasped in a semi-naked statue's hand. The white marble Grecian's modesty was maintained by a flimsy red cloth that looked as if the flick of a finger could dislodge it.
I curled my hands into fists. "A little grander than the school," I agreed. "But don't tell the ghost of Sir Walter that I said so."
She grinned, I was relieved to see. When she'd first arrived at Lichfield, any mention of the castle prison we'd both been sent to in Yorkshire made her shiver with awful memories of her time there. It was good to see her putting that experience behind her.
Another footman—there were an awful lot of them—escorted us up the stairs toward the music. Lady Vickers introduced us to our host and hostess in the ballroom, but I had no illusions about our importance to them. We were merely there thanks to Lady Vickers herself, not because we held any interest for Lord and Lady Hothfield. Their greetings were polite enough, but it was Seth who earned most of their attention.
"It's been so long since we saw you, dear boy," Lord Hothfield exclaimed, slapping Seth on the shoulder. "You look as fit and strong as ever. What have you been up to?"
He didn't get a chance to explain, or lie, before Lady Hothfield spoke. "You haven't changed." She tapped Seth's chest with her fan. "Always such a handsome boy." She swapped the fan to her left hand, opened it then giggled behind it. "How we have missed you, dear Seth. How long has it been? Too long, I say."
Seth's face reddened. I bit my lip to stop my smile. He'd told me the day before that he wasn't looking forward to seeing Lady Hothfield again. Their last meeting had been in her bedchamber, over a year ago, before Lincoln had employed him. I'd been utterly flabbergasted by his admission, because she wasn't at all the type of woman he admired or desired. Indeed, she was much older than Lady Harcourt, one of his most recent lovers. It had taken a few probing questions before I realized that Seth had most likely slept with her for money. In fact, he'd only answered my questions after I promised to help him avoid Lady Hothfield.
I was about to do my duty and ask him to join me when his mother ushered him away. Lady Hothfield's gaze lingered on Seth until he disappeared into the crowd.
Lincoln, Alice and I followed, only to divert as Lady Vickers introduced her son to a small gathering of ladies. He cast a hapless glance at us over his shoulder, but I thought it best to leave him alone for the time being. He needed to get these initial introductions over with at some point. It was, after all, his mother's reason for attending.
"This room is lovely," Alice said, gazing up at the six dazzling chandeliers above. "And don't all the costumes look marvelous? Did you see Queen Elizabeth?"
"I couldn't miss her with that hair." I pointed my chin at a Roman senator and his wife, dressed in the outfit of an ancient Roman noblewoman. "I like what she's wearing. Next time, I'll try that."
"Do you recognize anyone you know?" Being taller than me, Alice could see over some of the heads and further into the ballroom.
"It's hard to tell with their masks in place," I said.
"There's Lord Gillingham," Lincoln said, nodding at one of several Georgian fops in the room.
