And with a grin that had grown weaker since the scandal, Mr.Grant grabbed the toddler, tossed him into the air, then caught him and held him tight.He spun them in circles, and they collapsed in a giggling pile on the rug.
Temple’s head pounded harder.Not because he’d been potion poisoned, but because his father’s entire life had been decimated with a single decision.Temple’s decision.His father had been Master of the Alchemist Guild, owner of the largest forge in London, his children with the brightest careers and strongest skills in metallurgy.His daughters pursued by the most successful men in their sphere, his wife respected, his eldest son set to take over for him after he retired.
Temple could have been Master of the Guild after his father in a decade or two.Instead, he’d spilled alchemist secrets to the king and he, and his father, his entire family, had lost everything.
The handle snapped off the cup in Temple’s hand.
“Oh, you’ve done it again,” his mother grumbled, then louder, “Helen!Bring your brother another cup!”
From his bed on the floor, his too-long hair spreading like a dark halo around his head, their father said, “The damned king?—”
“Charles!”their mother cried.
“That man,” Mr.Grant corrected, “thinks he can control everyone.Notmyson.”He grunted.“Not Temple.Not even family scandal can bring our boy down.”
Jax crawled on top of his father’s belly and sat.“King!”
“That you are, Jax.”Mr.Grant chuckled.“Where’s Arty and Althy?”
“Still abed,” Mrs.Grant said.“Lazy little bugs.”
Temple’s younger sisters were only lazy because they’d stayed up late, no doubt, reading the penny awfuls they loved so much until dawn had crept through the door.Temple had seen the candle flickering in their bedroom when he’d crept in himself.
Barely lifting his head off the floor, Mr.Grant met Temple’s gaze across the young boy’s unkept hair.“You marry whom you please.The king’s not a total nincompoop.He saw your worth and rewarded you despite how your own people have turned their backs.”His father always did that—talked about how the alchemists had cut Temple from their social and business circles.Even though it had been all of them.Every single Grant ostracized by almost every alchemist in England.Wouldn’t know it to listen to his father talk.“That shows some wisdom after all.But don’t let him control your heart.”
Temple forced a smile.“I do not mind.I am thirty, after all.It is time I took a wife.”
Sybil snorted, her nose almost touching the notebook as her hand moved frantically across the page.What was she drawing?He envied her, entirely lost in her own pursuits, no duty to speak of.Any time he spent in his workshop these days was dedicated to the king’s desires.The summoning stone could be so much more than it was.In its current form, it was too vague.It told you someone wanted you but not what for.He could figure it out, though.If he had time.And didnothave a potion hangover.
The coffee didn’t scald him this time, and he took a deeper, steadying draw to wake him up and banish the potion.It seemed to whisper through him, still, conjuring images of a soft, warm body behind a curtain.
His father sat up as Jax sped toward the eggs his mother wiggled on the end of fork tines.“I would love to see you happily wed.”He wagged a finger in Temple’s direction.“Emphasis onhappily, son.”
Considering how well transcendents had accepted him among their ranks so far, that was unlikely to happen.The nameless woman from last night was one ofthem, and she’d stoutly rejected his proposal, apologized profusely for drugging him, then fled from the room as quickly as her feet could carry her.He rubbed his temples.Damn that potion.His heart sped up at the mere thought of the mischievous mouse.
“Have you danced with any ladies?”Helen asked, curtsying to Helios.
“No,” Temple said.He should have danced with at least one.But he’d not been able to findherwhen he’d left the library, and no other lady had been able to steal his interest.
Helios swept Helen up into a boisterous waltz across the room.“Do any ladies make eyes at you, brother?”
“None.”Not even her, the little mouse with the lovely lips.
“Are there any ladies youlike?”Sybil asked, not looking up from her sketchbook.“Any you can see yourself getting to know better?”
One.And he had no idea who she was.And his interest in her was probably entirely manufactured.
“Hell,” he hissed.
“Yes?”Helen and Helios asked, spinning to a stop.
“Not you two.”He pushed to his feet.“I must get to the workshop.”He pulled the summoning stone from his pocket where it always resided.Still a dull gray.Good.He did not have time for the king’s whims.“Good day, everyone.”
He found his coat and slapped his hat on his head, but before he could make it out the door, his mother caught him, kissed him on the cheek then patted it.
“Take your time, dear heart.When you meet the right woman, you’ll know.”
His boots were entirely fascinating.They wouldn’t take him toward the door.“How do you know,” he grumbled, “when you meet the right one?”He must marry, not simply to please the king.A wife could help his family navigate the transcendent ton, help them fit in, find new suitors for this sisters, new apprenticeships for his brothers.A wife could find a new place in society for his family to belong.
