Siofra sat across from her solicitor Mr. Steadman and counted the number of books on the case behind him while he read her father’s will for the second time.
“Henceforth to be…” He mumbled, lifting the page.
It had been a simple request. Leave the village cottage to Mrs. Sgot in perpetuity, but he couldn’t come to terms with the notion of willing a house to servants.
He huffed, dropping the will. “I see nothing that would prevent it. The properties are yours, entirely.” His grey eyes studied her, never blinking. He reminded her of Lysander’s father. “Are you certain this is what you wish to do?”
“I am unmarried with no surviving relatives. May I not will the properties to whomever I wish?”
“You may, but…” He shook his head. “Why would you?”
In her best imitation of the queen, she raised her head. “That is certainly my business. I’d like to sign today.”
“I can come by your townhouse this afternoon…if that’s acceptable.”
Siofra rose. “Thank you.”
With her business conducted, Siofra returned to the carriage, answering Lady Gretchen as little as possible.
“Is it finished?” Lady Gretchen asked.
“It is. I think you said something about a ball tonight?”
“A small gathering after dinner.”
“And will there be a selection of eligible gentlemen?”
“The finest selection.” Lady Gretchen’s smile could be painted on the truest saint from the Sistine chapel.
“From the list, no doubt.”
“Almost all.”
“I feel a headache coming.”
“Siofra, we have been at home for two days, and you haven’t once accepted a caller.” Lady Gretchen set her reticule on the bench between them. What will people say if we don’t arrive at the party tonight? It’s well-known we’re in town.”
“You don’t fool me for a moment, Lady Gretchen. Maeve told me the number of letters that left the cottage in the weeks before our departure. Of a certainty, the ton knows we are here and the amount of my inheritance, no doubt.”
That stifled Lady Gretchen for the remainder of the drive.
That evening, with the signing of the will behind her, Siofra let Maeve fit her into one of the new dresses, the gold. It most reminded her of the gown the king had gifted her. If only she had once gotten to dance with Lysander.
She would do her duty. She would dance. She would smile. She would hide her breaking heart.
“Miss Blàrach, would you do me the honor?”
Siofra looked up from the glass of lemonade she didn’t really want. “The honor?”
Blast and feathers. It was Lord Englebright.
He smirked, his heavy-lidded eyes rather lazy as he assessed her. She read the unspoken words on his dissident face. How dare she deign to question him when she should be dropping at his feet like a lapdog.
“A dance. You do dance?”
“When I find the company desirable.” She walked away, her head high, her gait assured. How her hands itched to remove the gloves encasing her fingers, trapping them, preventing her from feeling the world around her. Oh, she was morose.
The musicians played a Country Dance, and Siofra was truly thankful she’d refused Lord Englebright. She hadn’t the energy for such a lengthy dance with a man she despised.
Someone caught her elbow, and she turned. Most improper of them.
“Miss Blàrach, my mother mentioned you had returned for the season. Lovely to see you again. Would you…might I sign your dance card?”
“Lord…Mayfield, I believe?”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, yes. I should have…” He wrung his gloved hands. Of all those on the list, he was the least objectionable. Unusually bereft of guile…and courage…and interest.
She put him at ease, holding out her card, keeping her finger over the waltz. She might have to act the genteel lady, but she didn’t have to dance a most intimate dance with a man that wasn’t Lysander.
As expected, Lord Mayfield added his name to the reel then bowed over her hand. “Until later, Miss Blàrach.”
“A pleasure.”
He was barely five steps away before Lady Gretchen caught her up. “Siofra, this is thrilling. Lord Englebright and Lord Mayfield in one night. Keep smiling, dear. Why the sudden scowl?”
“Lord Englebright and I found we didn’t suit, but I will be dancing the reel with Lord Mayfield.”
Lady Gretchen sighed. “There is that.”
“Shall I fetch you a lemonade? No?” Before she could be questioned further, Siofra stepped away.
There proceeded a rather elaborate dance of keep away. Lady Gretchen or one of the lords from the list advanced, and Siofra retreated. By the time the reel was called, Siofra was acquainted with every palm and column in the ballroom.
She met Lord Mayfield at the edge of the dance floor, and he offered her a smile that seemed almost grateful. Did a gentleman such as he have difficulty finding a wife?
“How have you found the weather since your return?” he asked.
“The usual,” she replied then waited until they came back together. “Are you expecting to attend the opera?”
“I hadn’t planned… Oh, are you?”
Siofra felt a sudden burning on her finger, as if the ring was being heated over a candle. “I hadn’t decided.” She missed the next step, but Lord Mayfield helped her through it.
Siofra searched the ballroom. Something was off, even more than usual. Had magic entered the room?
Mayfield snorted. “Who is that odd…shining fellow?”
Siofra twisted her head just in time to get a glimpse. Was it…
The reel ended, and Lord Mayfield bowed. Siofra dipped her curtsey, frantically scanning the crowds for another glance.
“Might I take you in for the supper dance, Miss Blàrach?”
“I believe I will be otherwise engaged, Lord Mayfield. I thank you.”
She rushed off as quickly as propriety would allow. “Lysander, where are you?”
He was before her in a flash, bowing over her hand. “My lady.”
He straightened, and the light in his eyes ignited a flame deep inside Siofra. “There’s a waltz starting. Do you have space on your dance card?”
“I do, Your Highness.”
“Shall we, Your Highness?”
Siofra allowed him to take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. Deep emotion clogged her throat and brought tears to her eyes. How had she become this woman who wept all the time? But she felt such joy!
“You look so very beautiful in the human world, Siofra.”
She noted his black tailcoat and gold waistcoat, more eye-catching than any gentleman of the ton. “You as well, Lysander. Brummel in his prime could not have been more beautifully turned out.”
“Is that important?”
“Not a whit.”
“What is important, Siofra?”
She kept her eyes trained on the brilliant white Osbaldeston knot of the cravat he had obviously learned to use. “Surely, that is for you to say.”
“I’ve missed everything about you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your teasing wit.”
His smile rested on her face as warmly as his hand rested on her back. Could she burst into flames from such heat?
“Nothing to say, my clever girl?”
“On the night we met, surely you figured out who I was. Why did you say you’d spend the rest of your life trying to forget?”
“I apologize for not recognizing you immediately. By the time I did, and I realized you were happy with the life you had, why would I take you from it? As you once said, Love must be given freely; it doesn’t take.”
Another couple twirled very near them, and Siofra held her tongue until they passed. “You could not possibly have loved me then.”
“Ah, but I knew I would, should you ever let me.”
Let him? “How could I stop you?”
“By leaving and never coming back.” He tugged her even closer, and Siofra avoided the disapproving glances that were surely directed at them. “Are you coming back, Siofra?”
The music came to an end, and Siofra noted Lady Gretchen headed their way as if not even the Crown Prince could halt her.
“Siofra?” Lysander tugged at her hand, pulling her into an alcove, where they stepped onto a balcony.
Upon finding no one there, Siofra faced him. “Tell me why you want me to come back.”
“So that I might do this whenever I please.” His head dipped until his lips met hers. The fire that had smoldered in her stomach flared even higher, but there were things she must know.
She pulled away, taking a deep breath. He kissed her like he meant it, like he loved her. “What does it mean to you?” She searched for his eyes in the dark. “You said you love me. What does that mean in Faerie?”
“That is not important. For us, it means honoring God. We will live and love by His precepts, if you accept me.” Lysander dropped to one knee. “Siofra Blàrach, you are free to decide your fate in every way. Will you take me as husband before God? I love you, and I have never said that to anyone. Will you have me? I will care for you, support you, and keep you safe to the best of my ability. I will give you my name, and it will be yours.”
He’s said that once before. He was offering his name in marriage. His eyes glowed in the dark with the intensity of his declaration. Siofra pulled him up toward her. “I love you, Lysander. I wish to live wherever you live, though I would rather it not be in the Unseelie Court, but even that is—”
“I would never ask it of you. I choose not to live there myself for obvious reasons.”
“Siofra Blàrach, what is the meaning of this?” Lady Gretchen marched out to meet them, her hands on her hips, irritation in every pore of her slight frame.
Siofra released Lysander to hug the other woman. “It is the most wondrous thing. We are betrothed.”
Lysander bowed. “Lysander Seelie. At your service.”
It took less than five minutes for Siofra and Lysander to convince Lady Gretchen they were in earnest. It was probably his debonair smile that captured the old lady’s acquiescence so quickly. And allowed them to converse in isolation in the parlor at home.
Within two days, Siofra had closed up the London townhouse, given an agent permission to rent it and send all payments and correspondence through her solicitor, then returned with Lysander to her village.
He stood at her side before Reverend Tàillear, the village rector, a man who looked as if he knew a thing or two about the fey, if his approving glance at Lysander was anything to go by.
Reverend Tàillear cleared his throat. “Lysander, I believe you had something you wished to say to your bride.”
“Siofra, you have amazed me with your resilience and steadfast commitment to oppose the tyrant and aid the downtrodden. Thrilled me with your daring acts of bravery, some a trifle too daring…”
Their small audience chuckled at this.
“…invited me into your life, and for that, I will always thank God. You gave me hope and reminded me what matters, when I had despaired. I love you. Today. Forever. Will you take my name?”
Instantly, Siofra found herself in a bubble of time as Lysander blocked the hearing of all others. “I, Lysander Conrad Lemuel, take you as my wedded wife from this day forward…”