Silence descended on the street.
At least, it was almost silent. He could hear the whispered comments of horror and the muffled chuckles as people tried not to laugh right in his face.
Hugo swallowed hard, trying to ignore the bead of cold water hanging from the tip of his nose. He lifted his gaze to meet the wide-eyed stare of the handsome stranger as he regained his own feet.
“Are you okay?” Hugo inquired, trying with all his might to sound normal while he burned on the inside with embarrassment.
“Yes.” The man cleared his throat and smoothed out the shock from his face. “Yes, I am. Thank you for saving me.”
“Not a problem. I’m sure anyone would have done it.”
“Are…are you okay?” he asked. His eyes traveled down Hugo’s mud-coated clothes as if he still couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Or maybe he was simply grateful that it hadn’t happened to him.
Hugo tipped up his chin and forced a smile. “Oh, yes. This is nothing.” Touching the brim of his hat, he tipped it to the man and his companions, wishing them a good day before spinning around and heading the way he’d come. He did not let himself think about how the back side of him had to be a hundred timesworse than the front side. Already his pants were sticking to his slender legs, and all his wet clothes clung to him in the worst way while icy water slid along his body into his boots so that they made a horrible squelching noise with every step.
There was no way he could continue through town like this. He had no choice but to make the ten-minute walk home and change. He could make a second attempt to see the tailor for his parcel.
Maybe it was one of the worst starts to a day, but Hugo could at least say he’d spoken to the world’s most beautiful man.
Two
“Good grief, Hugo. It’s like the gods forgot to bless you with any brains. How are you ever going to find a suitable husband walking around like that?”
Hugo bit his tongue to hold in his acerbic response. It wasn’t as if he’d walked out of the house in one of his best suits covered in mud. No, that had happened when he’d pulled the most handsome man in the world to safety as a runaway carriage had charged pell-mell at him.
“And I see by your empty hands. You couldn’t even pick up the parcel from the tailor,” his mother continued.
“After being splashed with mud, I turned back and came home. It seemed the wiser course instead of wandering about town in wet, muddy clothes where everyone could gawk at me.”
Jessamine Baker winced. “Did anyone see you? Or recognize you?”
Hugo bit his already sore tongue a second time and gave his mother a look. Of course, people had seen him. How could they not have? The young man he’d saved and his friends had gaped at him, but there was no benefit in pointing that out.
His mother’s expression softened, and she reached up to pat his cheek, but stopped at the last moment, the number of wrinkles on her face tripling with her frown. He couldn’t blame her. It felt like there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t coated in mud. “I don’t mean to be harsh, my darling, but the Season has just begun and you’re twenty-two. Dorian turns twenty this winter. If I don’t have you properly married and settled this Season, I’ll have a devil of a time trying to find a suitor for both you and your brother next Season. Don’t get me started on Augustine.”
“Augustine isn’t even eighteen yet. You have two years before you need to concern yourself with him.”
“Yes, and since your father’s death, money isn’t pouring into the house like it used to. Why you and your brothers couldn’t have been blessed with more useful magic, I’ll never understand. But it is what it is. Go clean yourself up and change clothes. I’ll see to your garments later. I’m off to the tailor to pick up the parcel.”
Hugo had taken a step toward the narrow stairs leading to the second floor but stopped. “No need. I ran into Augustine on my way back and sent him to the tailor for the parcel in my stead,” Hugo stated.
“Augustine? He has even less sense than you!”
His mother hurried off, snagging one of her bonnets from a peg near the door. She stuffed it on her head, muttering the entire way about how her husband had been far too selfish and inconsiderate to die so young and leave her all alone to raise these three useless sons.
Hugo stood alone in the foyer for a moment, listening to the ticking of the clock, letting the familiar comforts of the old house seep into his bones. His mother could be caustic, but he knew she spoke out of constant gnawing fear. They were reaching adesperate tether in their lives. It was felt all the more keenly given how far they’d fallen in a short time.
Not long ago, they’d been a happy family of five. Their mother had run a small housecleaning service, thanks to her innate magical ability to control cleaning implements. For just one silver coin, she would have a modest two-bedroom home sparkling and smelling of pine in less than an hour. It took little more than a wave of her hand and occasionally a stern word for the mop.
But that business had lasted only until Hugo was born. By then, his father’s business had skyrocketed. Charles Baker’s magic had occupied the realm of baking. There wasn’t a confection in all the world he hadn’t been able to make. His pastries had been airy, delicate works of sweet art, his pies with the flakiest crust. He’d even made the wedding cake for Queen Lilianna and King Hubert.
After that momentous event, his bakery had sold out of all its creations before noon. Everyone in all the kingdom had demanded to have him cater their events. Money had poured into their home. Jessamine gave up her cleaning business and devoted herself to becoming a proper noblewoman, as she’d rubbed elbows with all the wealthy merchants and aristocracy.
Hugo and his brothers had grown up in a large, comfortable home in Frostbourne. They’d always had the best clothes, the best toys, and the best tutors. They hadn’t inherited their father’s magical skill with baking, but no one seemed to worry. With their father’s business, there had been no need to concern themselves with other magic.
At least, not until Charles died of an illness two years ago.
The bakery had attempted to limp along without him, but that had lasted only a year. Charles had been the magic of that shop, and if he wasn’t there to create the confections, there were plenty of other magical bakers willing to take his place.
