No! This was a disaster. Jessamine Baker wasnotallowed to wander the ball on her own.
“My son, Hugo, is amazingly talented from a magical perspective.”
His mother’s voice cut through the din of conversation and music. Hugo spun, his eyes wide, heart in his throat.
While the statement appeared innocuous enough, Hugo knew his mother would not stop there. He needed to locate her quickly.
“Hugo gets his magical talent from his father. He was a world-renowned baker. The artist who created the exquisite wedding cake for Queen Liliana and King Hubert.”
There seemed to be some answering murmurs of interest, but people were far less impressed than they used to be, considering the king and queen had recently celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The Baker family’s claim to fame grew dustier with each passing year.
Hugo sidled through the crush and almost sobbed in relief as soon as he spotted his mother’s black lace and bombazine amid a cluster of other women dressed in dark gem-colored dresses. He didn’t recognize any of their wrinkled and powdered faces, but itwasn’t his job to know the mothers. At least not until he located a match, and then he had to win the approval of one particular mother.
“Oh no, Hugo’s magic isn’t in baking.” His mother’s voice once again rose above the others. “It’s a far rarer and unique magic. One might even think of it as a type of high magic compared to others. But we don’t speak of it. That would be rather unseemly of me.”
Hugo had nearly reached his mother. The giant boulder blocking his throat rolled away to allow him to breathe. He’d averted disaster. She at least knew when to stop with her boasting.
The other ladies chatted for a moment, and Hugo reached out to grab his mother’s elbow, hoping to draw her away from the edge of catastrophe.
“Well, my Hugo can spin straw into gold!” Jessamine Baker’s declaration was like an explosion in the room. The orchestra had just finished playing a boisterous polka, leaving the ballroom suddenly quieter.
Hugo snatched his hand back as if his mother had burst into flames. He could only stare at her in shocked horror.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t have.
Yes, she was prone to exaggeration, but he couldn’t believe she would tell an outrightlielike that. And such a ridiculous one. No one in their right mind would dare to believe such nonsense. This wasn’t helping his prospects but destroying them. There was no hope of an advantageous marriage now.
Hugo pushed through the queasy feeling that gripped his stomach and pasted a tight, tense grin on his lips as he gripped his mother’s elbow.
“Come along, Mother. It’s time for us to summon the carriage,” he nudged. It was a struggle to keep the tremors ofembarrassment and disappointment out of his voice. A glance at the other women showed malicious laughter and even pity in their eyes. Some even held fans in front of their lips to hide their smirks.
“There you are, Hugo,” Jessamine greeted with a laugh, oblivious to the havoc she’d wrought. “Finally escaped from your dancing partners?” She turned to the other mothers. “Eager dance partners have surrounded him all evening.”
“And I find myself quite exhausted now,” Hugo cut in, tugging even harder on his mother. “I’m ready to call it a night.”
Jessamine made some halfhearted arguments, but ultimately allowed her son to pull her from the ballroom.
When they reached the carriage they’d hired for the evening, Hugo discovered he no longer had the energy to chastise his mother. What was the point? The damage was done.
Besides, they’d been reaching too far above their station at the gala. There was no way he’d be able to win the favor of those eligible bachelors. Even if he caught someone’s eye, it would have been impossible to get his parents to approve of the match to a mere baker’s son.
No, they would just have to brazen it out. The aristocracy would have a good laugh at their expense and then forget the entire matter. If Hugo was lucky enough to find a partner and he’d heard of the incident, he would explain that his mother had indulged in a bit too much champagne.
From that day forward, he, Dorian, and Augustine would have to focus on saving their family the old-fashioned way—with jobs.
Four
Hugo stood in front of the mirror, fastening his cufflinks, feeling as if he’d been dragged behind the carriage they’d taken home last night. His mother had spent most of the ride singing praises about how well the gala had gone and who he should write letters to or invite out riding, as if he hadn’t heard her tell the world’s biggest lie.
He tried to remind himself that it didn’t matter. It was unlikely they would ever see those people again. After they had their laugh, they would forget about Hugo and his exaggerating mother.
Unfortunately, his brain didn’t get the message. He tossed and turned all night, harassed by nightmares of faceless people pointing and laughing at him as he ran through an endless ballroom.
A knock on his door made him turn. Dorian, who had been sitting on the bed talking about a book he’d borrowed from Mr. Cuthbert about growing roses, stood and answered the door.
Augustine was in the doorway, devilish grin on his face and a hand behind his back. Somehow his blond hair already looked windswept, as if he’d been out running in the woods since dawn.
