Lady Wilde overlooked Miranda as her attention went to the door, always the gracious host.
“Alderman Yarrow Graves is waiting in the foyer,” Martin said.
Miranda nearly dropped her contraband, muscles freezing in place.
Graves was here.
She began to return the sandwiches and didn’t bother to brush away the crumbs as she let her top skirt fall back into place. Shewouldn’t leave her mother and sister with Graves. Not when she alone knew the truth of his character.
Her mother’s posture and demeanor changed instantly, her smile more genuine as she said, “Please, show him in and make sure cook knows to send up another round of fresh sandwiches and tea for our guest.”
Miranda’s eyes moved to Cordelia, whose expression hadn’t changed. How did no one notice? Her sister was not herself. Anyone who knew Cordelia could see it, why couldn’t her parents? Or were they willfully blind to their daughter’s feelings given that this was an ‘ideal match?’ For years, Unity had sought to garner harmony among the races. Ages ago—Miranda couldn’t recall exact dates and numbers—half-races weren’t tolerated, but scorned and hated. That was supposed to be in the past, and it mostly was, as far as Miranda knew, but there was still resistance to the idea. A marriage between a distinguished fae of the Night Court and a human was just the political move that her parents craved. It was for the greater good, after all. Their privilege meant they must serve as examples for others. The world would follow if they took the first steps.
Martin returned with Graves and everyone stood as he entered.
“Oh, Lady Wilde, my apologies. I was unaware you were in the middle of tea,” Graves’s voice was smooth as silk, jovial in a way that gave the illusion of good humor, and courteous to a fault. Miranda gave him the barest of acknowledgements she could muster given her mother’s watchful gaze, but she would not look at him. Not directly.
“Nonsense, you are always welcome, Lord Graves,” her mother said, “Please, do sit.” She gestured toward a chair.
Cordelia and her mother shared the love seat and Miranda sat in an armchair farthest from the door. The room was meant to be inviting and was constantly updated to the latest trendsin patterns and style. Currently, that meant wallpaper with floral patterns and soft, pastel colors of pink, green, and blue. Naturally, the furniture had been reupholstered to match.
“Thank you, Lady Wilde, tea would be greatly appreciated.” Graves removed his top hat—the brim a touch wider and material not quite the same as a standard hat. This one probably blocked out the sun. Night Fae didn’t burn or die in sunlight, but it was supposedly exhaustive and often led to headaches. “I’m here for business first, though, I find I quite miss my lovely betrothed’s beauty after so long apart.” He sent Cordelia a smile and her sister acknowledged the gesture with a mechanical ‘thank you’ and a dip of her head. “I was hoping to catch your husband, but he is not at home?”
“Yes, he had an appointment with Alderman North. I do hope I can offer assistance in his absence?”
Miranda narrowed her eyes. Graves was too smart to have miscalculated her father’s whereabouts. He was playing a game. Manipulating everything to his whims. Miranda set down the sandwich she’d crushed in her fist, wiping away the crumbs before her mother could scold her.
Graves appeared to consider her mother’s offer. “I’m sure it can wait. I’ll admit to an innocent deception, speaking with Lord Wilde was merely a means to admire my lovely bride. It feels…much too long until our marriage.” Now his sleazy gaze fixed on Cordelia. She shifted, but kept her posture because it was expected that she did not squirm. Couldn’t her mother sense the unease? Cordelia had the look of someone attending their dog’s funeral, not the glow of a happy bride-to-be.
Her mother laughed, a honed-practiced gesture and not at all a true display of amusement. “Now, now, Lord Graves. There will be plenty of time after the wedding.” Her mother brightened. “Speaking of, I’ve been discussing with my daughter about the flower arrangements—” She must have mistaken his shift inexpression for boredom at the tedium of wedding preparations because she quickly corrected, “Don’t worry, I have no designs to pester you with details, but they will require shifting the date back another month. Those blooms are not in season quite so early.”
Graves lifted his cup to his lips. He favored gold in his attire, gold trim, gold inlaid filigree, gold lining to his black coat. It matched the bright, luminous gold of his eyes. He was a Night Fae, with paler, almost ashen colored skin and grey hair neatly trimmed and styled close to his head, showing the prominent tips of his ears. The scent of his sickly sweet pomade overpowered if one got too close. He had been too close to Miranda once, a mistake he had not made twice.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll be satisfied with whatever my lovely bride desires. What is a month, after all, when we have a lifetime ahead of us?” His words and manners remained cordial, though the muscles in his jaw were strained. The news had disappointed him. Why?
Miranda’s heart was hammering like a sledge to heavy bolts. Why was he so eager to marry Cordelia? What was his plan for her? Miranda choked down a scream. Her limbs ached to flip the delicate tray and shatter the pristine china over the floor. Yet, she sat. Ankles crossed and her posture rigid. Her hands should be displayed softly on her thigh, but she had to tuck them in her side to hide the tremor.
“How generous, Lord Graves, I do hope it hasn’t upset your plans overmuch,” her mother continued, and Miranda nearly snorted. The change in date had upsetsomething, but he wouldn’t let his anger or true motives show here. Not before there were rings exchanged and a binding, legal contract holding Cordelia to him. “Isn’t that comforting, darling? Any woman would be lucky to find a man with such gracious character.”
Cordelia’s smile bared teeth.
“Oh, please, you are being too generous, Lady Wilde. I am undeserving, I assure you.” Everyone chuckled, but for endless layers of contrary reasons.
Graves’s eyes slid to Miranda for the first time since he entered. She froze, ensnared by the same eyes that had haunted too many nightmares since last year. All the fight drained out of her and she was somewhere else, somewhere dark with an overpowering scent of pomade. She swallowed, but her throat was too dry and she had to cover her cough with a sip of room temperature tea. Or, rather, she had meant to take a dainty sip—habit with her mother present—but had gulped the contents of the cup in two swigs.
Lady Wilde’s sharp eyes snapped to Miranda, but she would not scold her daughter in company, that would come later. Miranda resisted swiping at her lips and picked up a napkin to blot the corners of her mouth.
“Since I am here, Lady Wilde, and the weather is unaccountably fair, might I take a turn about the garden with Miss Wilde? I feel we’ve hardly had a moment to talk since the engagement.”
Miranda leapt to her feet. “No.”
“Miranda?” Her mother awaited an explanation for the outburst with drawn lips and wide, accusing eyes.
“I mean…it’s just…” Miranda was breathing too quickly to speak clearly. “I only…”
“My dear, please sit down.” Her mother spoke with calm authority. Her mother was furious. Miranda would not live down this afternoon quickly. “I do apologize, Lord Graves, my eldest does let her actions run away from her sometimes.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” He smiled at Miranda, in appearance a show of friendly understanding, but to her something much more sinister. “The young are always given to flights of passion. I was no different once, I’m sure.”
