“Black is too sombre, sir.” Edgar stared down his beak at the clothing Lucas had grabbed for the afternoon’s event.
“Nonsense. Black is formal, proper, expected even. I am known to always wear black. Besides, I don’t have anything else.”
“If you’ll forgive me sir, that is utter rubbish.” Edgar gestured at the wardrobe. “Since your arrival, I took the liberty of ordering several garments, since I believe your size has changed over the years.”
“Hmm.” Lucas considered that. “But colours? How long have things like this been popular?”
“Since humans discovered that men could look elegant in something other than black clothing. Since various sorts of cleaning methods were invented, which opened the door to garments made from different colours. And since now, here in Arcvale, quite a few excellent emporiums have been created with the sole aim of getting gentlemen such as yourself into clothing that doesn’t make you look like you’re going to a funeral.”
Lucas stared at Edgar. “Loquacious today, aren’t we.”
“Your papa would be proud that his vocabulary lessons have borne fruit.”
Undeterred, Edgar vanished into the wardrobe and reappeared seconds later with different clothes draped over his wings. “Now try these, Sir Lucas. I’ll wager you’ll find them both comfortable and attractive.”
Blinking at the soft camel-coloured jacket, and breeches in a shade lighter, Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yes, sir. With this waistcoat, I believe.” He produced a magnificently embroidered silk waistcoat in a deep rich brown. “There’s a cravat in matching tones.”
“You think I should wear this...” He waved his hand over the assorted items.
“Yes sir. With your tall brown leather boots.”
“And this is now the fashion in Arcvale?”
“SirLucas.” Edgar’s eyes widened in horror as the plates on his wings rattled. “Ashcombes do notfollowArcvale fashion. Theydefineit.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “All right. I’ll try it. Just try it, mind you. If I end up looking like an escapee from a circus, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Trust me, sir.” Edgar’s beak rose as he trundled from the room.
Oddly enough, Lucas did. But it was strange not reaching for one of his customary black jackets. Helikedthem, for Heaven’s sake. In Sectorvale, he had a tailor who had reserved a bolt of the finest black wool expressly for him.
But he knew he should at least try this lot on. Edgar might not beau courantwith Lucas’s preference, but he’d never given anyone reason to doubt his pride in the Ashcombe name, and its reputation for sartorial excellence.
Ten minutes later, Lucas had to shake his head and blink at his own image.
Damned tickerkin was absolutely right.
The fact that he completely failed to mention a single word to his master was yet another point in his favour. “I know you’re chortling beneath that avian exterior of yours, Edgar...”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Well, thanks where thanks are due. Yes, this is damned stylish.” He shot Edgar a glance. “But is it correct for a late afternoon at an art show, which is likely to be filled with those who have more money than sense and are willing to part with some of it for an abysmal painting that a three-year-old could improve on?”
“Great coggles, Sir Lucas. One might think you’re not particularly keen on attending this event?”
“One would hit it right on the nose with that opinion, Edgar.”
“So, if one may inquire, why on earth are you attending?”
Lucas stared at his image in the mirror but saw only a pair of wonderful grey eyes. “I want to make sure I support the good works of the Aetherlight Gallery, since a portion of the proceeds will go to charity.”
With that rather pompous retort, Lucas left his bedroom, and Edgar began to tidy it. “Support good works?” he mumbled under his breath. “My left wingnut.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Aetherlight Gallery was, in fact, rather lovely.
