Page 42 of Claiming the Tower
“I have been thinking about it since I set off back here. I know I said he wouldn’t notice, but I suppose he would notice me being happy. Contented, deeply contented, as he put it. Which I am. Besides the more visible parts of enjoying your company. If you made me put it into words, it was about his approval, in all spheres. Without ever coming out and saying so.”
“Ah, well.” Bess took a breath. “Will you come to bed so we can talk for a little? You’ll be interested in some bits of the gossip.”
“Will you read to me for a bit after?” Hereswith liked that as well, the part where she could drift off to the sound of Bess’s voice.
“If you like.” Bess stepped back, so Hereswith could get up. Within a few minutes, they were curled up on Hereswith’s bed with the charmlights just bright enough to allow for reading comfortably.
Chapter 28
August 3rd in Trellech
Thursday was not Bess’s usual day in Trellech, but the Lammas celebrations had somewhat upended the usual schedule. More to the point, she had a delicately timed potion to pick up from the household’s preferred apothecary for Hereswith’s father. It would be ready at four. Better that than waiting for the apothecary to send a messenger along.
Bess had volunteered to come in, give them the needed payment for the final stage, do a handful of other errands, and bring the potion back. She’d stopped in a bookshop, picked up more of Hereswith’s preferred hair oil and a bar of soap that smelled like a summer garden, before going on to the Field.
The club was not terribly busy. Those of Horse House who worked a regular day’s schedule were not yet done with their work. Those who tended their homes and families had gone along to do that, all the arrangements of tea and supper and whatever their children needed.
Bess thought about drifting to the quiet room, but she instead turned right toward the conversation room, after asking Adelaide for tea. Hereswith had made it clear with the staff that Bess’s requests now went on the Rowan account, not that it made Bess inclined to be grabby about what she ordered.
She settled in one of the comfortable chairs, close enough to the set at the end she could join that conversation if she chose. For a while, she let the pleasant background burble of the chatter keep her company while she read a bit more of her book. But then, one voice got louder.
“Well, of course, Edric Fitzroy seems the most likely.” They were talking about the Challenge. Bess was sure Hereswith’s ear would have picked that up earlier. She was more attuned to hearing a name in a passing and shifting her attention. Now, though, Bess listened as attentively as she could, making the small sigil on her palm that would bring some of the memory charms she preferred into play. They were linked to a small brooch pinned to her corset cover, not the sort of thing even those attentive to magical enchantments would notice without particular cause.
Whoever the woman was talking to snorted. “Fitzroy’s skilled enough, I suppose, but you know that doesn’t mean much in a Challenge. Have you actually looked at the results? The favourite only comes through about one time in three. Wonderful for the bookies but not a good measure of actual success.
“Edric Fitzroy’s a talented duellist.” The first person sounded affronted.
A male voice cut in. “No one’s saying he isn’t. We are, however, arguing the idea that perhaps duelling skill isn’t all there is to it. Groves, for example, could give him a good run on the duelling.”
“Pah.” Fitzroy’s partisan dismissed that. “A fop.”
“A fop who has won every duel he’s fought for the last year, at least in public. And that’s what, two dozen, Donal?” The second woman addressed the man, and that gave Bess an idea of who the two of them were. Donal Harris was older than Bess was. They’d overlapped for two years at Schola. That made the woman likely his sister-in-law, Sabina. They’d been a year apart at school, good friends, and then Donal had married Sabina’s sister.
They had a comfortable way with each other, they always had, the kind grown out of long-standing jokes and mutual understanding. Mutual priorities, too. The Harrises and Copleys— Sabina’s husband— ran a materia business of all sorts. Bess knew from previous conversations this was their quieter season, as they waited for the harvest to be made and the materia to be dried or processed or whatever was involved.
The woman they were with waved a hand. Bess had turned now to catch enough of the motion, though not so much she was obviously eavesdropping. She wasn’t the only one, she thought. A couple of other people on this end of the room had gone quieter or let their own reading material settle to table or lap.
“What about Euphremia Sibley, then?” That was Sabina, challenging a little more.
“You know her well, don’t you, Sabina? She’s in your line of work.” The other woman made it sound casual, but of course Bess recognised it as the opening volley in something sharper.
Sabina was no fool, of course. “And I asked you first, Leda.” Leda. Leda. Bess searched her memory. Leda Collins, maybe. She’d be around the right age. Not of Horse House, however. She was one of Owl’s. If that was the case, she was here at someone’s invitation. Presumably Sabina or Donal. Bess tucked that information away.
“Oh, well. Soft, surely.” That comment from Leda made Sabina snicker.
“You’ve obviously never had a professional conversation with her, Leda.” Donal leaned back, stretching out one arm along the top of the sofa he was sitting on. “Besides, it’s the quiet ones who are deceptive.”
“Next you’ll be arguing that Hereswith Rowan has a chance. Most of what she does isn’t even magical. Arranging tea parties for the incapables in London.”
Bess stiffened, but she was not alone in a reaction. Around her, there was a chord of inhales, pitched slightly differently, as if everyone who heard the conversation were about to burst into it.
Sabina’s voice cut across all of it. “Don’t you think a certain amount of negotiation and understanding of protocol might be handy to have on the Council?”
“You can’t imagine she’d do better than Edric. Or even Antinous!” Leda leaned forward, as if she were now a terrier going after the argument. “She’s— what has she even done with herself?”
“Do remember where you are, Leda.” Donal’s voice was a drawl now, the sort that would warn most people with any sense. Bess refused to speak up. She was in an awkward position about it, at least as things were at the moment. But she was glad Donal was right there.
“What, do you actually mean that as some sort of threat?” Leda’s laugh was shrill now. “You wouldn’t.” Sabrina coughed just once. Leda went on, “Come on, you don’t even much like her.”
