As the King’s cousin, his father had a set of rooms allocated to him here, but his parents hadn’t properly resided in them since before Archie could remember. Mother was in the middle of what she liked to call ‘orchestrating’, her favorite activity, where she directed servants on how to rearrange the furniture, what art she wished to replace, where everything ought to go and a dozen other tiny details Archie quickly lost track of. She gave him an absent-minded kiss somewhere in the air to the side of his face, and gestured to a door. “That room’s Oliver’s but why don’t you take it? You can arrange it to your liking.”
Archie took the hint, and got out of her way.
The indicated room was... small. His bedroom in their townhouse was the smallest in the house too, privileges of being the youngest child, but at least that had been decorated with all his personal effects. Their suite here was only four rooms, designated before he and Estelle had been born. Most of the space here was taken up by the bed, to the point where the wardrobe door hit it if he was not too careful opening it.
Here and there were a few odds and ends that indicated that his second brother, Ollie, had occasionally stayed in the room and left things here when he’d had reason to visit the palace, but otherwise it was clear. At least when Archie peeked in the wardrobe, it was his things that had been hung neatly by the servants. Since getting married, Oliver no longer saw the need to come to the city for the season, and had comfortably settled down at the family country estate with his wife and child, only taking trips every so often to conduct matters with their father or lawyer.
The only redeeming item in the room was the enormous gilded mirror that stood in the corner, no doubt placed to trick the eye into believing that the room was bigger. Archie grimaced as he caught a glimpse of himself. Definitely looked like a pumpkin.And then he frowned. There was a darkening at theedges of the mirror, wispy, like when a drop of ink was dropped into water. He leaned in to see if there was some discoloration under the glass, but then it moved. Archie flinched and stepped back, the back of his knees hitting the end of the bed.
The whole room seemed darker for a moment. Strange. Mage lamps weren’t meant to flicker like old-fashioned gas lamps. But when he glanced at the lamp on the wall, the yellow glow was steady. He looked back at the mirror. There was no discoloration now. It must have been a trick of the light, he told himself, ignoring the way his heart beat faster.
Nothing happened — until he turned to leave, and then from the corner of his eye he saw shadows rise out from his reflection, stretching over his head. He whirled to stare. He looked normal. Well, apart from the hideous waistcoat. Archie waited, his heart pounding painfully, but nothing else manifested. He laughed shakily at himself and backed out of the room looking at the mirror the whole way.
At dinner, Archie sat in dazed silence, trying to figure out if he was going mad or not, until his mother asked about Lady Prudence’s.
“Ah,” said Archie awkwardly. He should have spent some time rehearsing what he wanted to say, instead of wondering if he’d seen something move in the mirror. The entire afternoon with Amelia had thrown him off-kilter. “I thought she was very nice, thank you for arranging the afternoon, mother. But I suspect her attention has been caught by Victor of Thetson.”
“Harry’s boy?” said his mother, dismayed. Archie knew why, Harrison of Thetson was a family friend but his title was only Baron. By any noblewoman’s standards, Archie should have been a more advantageous choice than Victor, especially for someone like Amelia who wasn’t set to inherit a title of her own.
But Archie could hardly fault her. If he’d been given the choice, he would have picked Victor too. Victor had thickchestnut hair that he swept out of his face with large hands, strong eyebrows and lips permanently set in a smirk. He was accomplished in wrestling and riding and had the thighs to show for it. He could even turn a deft wrist with a sword, though nobles weren’t expected to fight their own duels anymore.
Thick hair, large hands, full lips. Thighs. Deft wrist.The thoughts came unbidden to him, an image of Victor rising in alarming detail in his mind. Gods, where had that come from?! Archie didn’t even like Victor. He hurriedly turned his attention to his potatoes, spearing one so quickly his fork slid straight through it with a clang.
“That’s the one. I’m sorry, Mother,” said Archie as his mother fretted aloud about what other connections she might be able to pull on.
A memory of this summer came to mind, of Victor bending over to strip his socks off when they’d gone swimming in the lake, as if plucked out from his head. Archie flinched. His elbow smacked against his chair arm, the pain lancing up his arm. He yelped, dropping his fork as he shook his arm out.
“Archibald, what in heavens,” said his mother, pausing mid-lament.
Archie shook his head, as if that could clear his mind as well. “Apologies mother, I just hit my elbow.”
“What a fuss. Perhaps we could preemptively talk to Charlotte, you remember my friend Charlotte, about her second daughter,” said his mother. Nothing deterred her.
Archie recoiled. “Mother, she’s a child!”
“Well she won’t be ten forever!” said his mother crossly, but her face indicated she also knew it was a poor gamble. “You’re a… a perfectly acceptable young man, I refuse to believe there is no noblewoman in the whole of the country who would want to match with you.”
“If nothing suitable comes up this year, perhaps you could help Ollie with the estate,” said his father, not unkindly. It was the first time he had looked up from his newspaper, and Archie rather suspected he usually kept it up so he could get out of participating in the conversation. The fact that he’d intervened probably meant he could see how badly Archie was floundering.
"Jeremy's invited me to join his box for the opera next week. I assume his wife and some friends of hers will be there, I will make an effort to speak with them," said Archie. A complete lie – he hadn’t spoken with his friend Jeremy in weeks since he’d gotten married and spent the autumn honeymooning. But his mother’s tentative, hopeful smile was enough for now.
Archie knew he should appreciate that his parents wanted to find a place for him. Their concern was no doubt because Charlie would inherit the whole of the estate as the oldest and he was… well, an ass. Ollie, as second son, had made himself indispensable by taking on the actual running of the estate, a mutually beneficial arrangement of exploitation because Charlie didn’t to do the actual work. And Estelle was happily engaged with a summer wedding planned.
Which left Archie, still in search of a lady with a decent enough dowry to supplement whatever stipend Charlie would allow him.He’d have to get in touch with Jeremy and see if he could wrangle that opera visit.
CHAPTER TWO
ARCHIE SLIPPED AWAY after dinner, before his mother could notice or comment that he had no plans. He didn't have a lot of friends to start with, and most of those had married in the last few years, moving the group all away from evenings at the gentlemen's clubs or the theater. There was probably some sort of party being hosted among the regulars at court, but that circle wasn't quite in his reach, it was more Charlie's set than his.
The rain had died down enough that a walk around the gardens seemed feasible. His father loved taking long walks by himself and the crush of wet grass and smell of damp earth was grounding, so Archie tried it out. Unfortunately, being left alone with his own thoughts left him more depressed than contemplative. On the palace grounds, it also meant Archie kept walking past brightly lit windows where he could see clusters of other people. Someone was hosting a card game in one of the side rooms, a different one had a troupe of musicians, a third saw a group sitting and drinking. He didn't even know any of these people, didn't want to spend his time with them,but he found himself wanting, nevertheless. Wanting someone. Wanting not to be alone.
Someone... Victor?The thought came to him again, this time a tickle as if someone had whispered behind him. Archie turned. He was alone, the only thing behind him the cultivated hedge that marked the side of the garden maze. He peered over the hedge, just in case, but there were no lamps within the maze and he could only see pitch darkness. A chill ran down his spine and he walked hastily closer to the better lit side of the garden, huddling at the corner of the palace wall to catch his breath.
Archie laughed at himself, his breath coming out in huffs. As he scanned the gardens, he continued to find nothing and told himself off for being ridiculous. His mind must have been playing tricks on him, a manifestation of the other things on his mind. It was bizarre for him to think about Victor like this, all of a sudden. Victor was weaselly and constantly social climbing and when they had been about fifteen, he'd made friends with Archie and then realized that Archie was of no use to him and promptly discarded him again. Now, they mostly came across each other in the way of people roughly in the same small social circle did, with bland politeness.
Not Victor, but... like Victor,said that insidious little voice, even closer as if into his ear, and this time Archie shivered. Then, images came to him haphazardly, as if his mind were a messy writing desk and someone was rifling through the drawers. A flash of a hand pushing loose dark hair back, the bulge of a bicep as a bow was pulled taut, a deep squat and lunge during a tennis match. Not all of the same man, and the memories came so quickly that Archie barely recognized who they were at all. And then, they were gone.
He was left staring at his reflection in the nearest darkened window. Even barely visible against the pulled curtains, his reflection had startled wide eyes and a pale face. And then it moved. Hisfacemoved. His lips stretched into an abnormally wide smile Archie had never seen on himself before.
