Will this drudgery never cease?!
Elizabeth, Dowager Marchioness of Clare, sighed inwardly, artlessly arranging a pleasant smile on her face and feigning interest in the young gentleman on her right. The tedious conversation, the monotonous dining ritual so common among her peers, was practically second nature to Elizabeth. To keep alert, she mentally began checking off the many refined behaviors required for this dinner party. My evening gloves? Folded neatly in my lap, under my napkin. Perfect.
"I have recently been awarded a colonelcy, so I am now properly invested in His Majesty's armed forces." The dining companion to her right prattled on amiably. She smiled agreeably, taking great care not to bare her teeth and appear too invested in the chatter. Another exchange arrived from across the table.
"I am afraid that the Viscount Merton's small talk was quite small indeed!" The impertinent Lady Spell confided none too quietly in the guest to her right. A sharp intake of breath from one of the elder, higher ranking women at the other end of the table brought a genuine smile to Elizabeth's lips. The tips of Lady Spell's fingers were resting on the table. The smile faded briefly as she glanced down to check her own deportment. Hands and arms must never rest on or near the table. Sit straight and do not lean into the back of the chair. Impeccable. The stays of her corset were laced very tightly again, the diabolically accurate work of her maid, so remaining upright would be no problem at all. Gracefully rising from her chair at the end of the meal, however…
"My Lady, it is time to turn." Elizabeth steeled herself to keep from jumping at the sound of her butler Sebastian's subtle voice close to her ear; the whalebone material of her stays pressed into her lower back forcefully, and she barely concealed her wince. One glance in the direction of her poised hostess showed that she now leaned to the dinner partner on her left, signifying for everyone to follow suit. Most every member of the peerage fervently prayed to procure an invitation to anything hosted during the London season by the chestnut-haired beauty Rosella Griffith, Duchess of Kedington. While the Duchess and the Dowager Marchioness were sociable with each other, it hardly warranted an invitation to an intimate soiree. Elizabeth imagined with a mental smirk that Her Grace had been pressed into making the invitation by His Grace. And she didn't mean His Grace, the Duchess' besotted husband the Duke of Kedington.
If Elizabeth delivered anything less than perfection at this party, her mother would be irate. Because Leopold Grey, Duke of Grimsbury and Rosella Griffith's bachelor brother, sat directly across from their hostess. His Grace was Elizabeth's most serious suitor, and probably solely responsible for prevailing upon the Duchess of Kedington to invite her to dinner. As a marchioness, her rank was not high enough to allow her to sniff at his audacity. Apparently, one must no longer wait for the customary period of mourning to end before pursuing a lady.
The footmen present served sumptuous course after course, practically invisible to the guests and their charismatic hostess. Sebastian's little foray into the kitchens and last-minute substitution for one of the footmen would likely never be noted. While covertly surveying her hostess and potential second husband, Elizabeth gingerly served herself from the platter of thinly sliced potatoes that Sebastian held at her side. God help me, I've lost count. Which course are we on now? She studied the tiny roasted snipe on her plate helplessly, as if the bird would pipe up and let her know which pieces of silverware to pick up.
A small huff from the other end of the table let her know that Lady Spell had failed to change conversationalists, and she smiled again while tuning out her own partner. Gladly, she did not have to suffer intimate social encounters with the capricious woman often, since Lady Spell was the second wife of the Earl of Brighton and therefore a degree below her in rank. Her head began aching as her eyes roamed over her set of glistening polished drinking glasses. The sherry glass had accompanied the first course, cream of celery and carrot soup, and lay empty. The good white wine had accompanied the fish and was also finished. Champagne had provided a delicious compliment to the sweetbreads served earlier. The relevé had been a substantial meat pie lavished in a burgundy sauce with parsnips. The lights refracted through the glistening glasses and her headache steadily got worse. The claret glass was full at the moment, which meant two courses at least were left.
"Lady Atherton, how are your children faring?" Rosella Griffith took advantage of the changing courses to call out softly from across the table. Despite the sting of her headache, Elizabeth stoically inclined her head in her hostess' direction with a polite smile.
"Both Anne and Edward are doing very well. Thank you, Duchess. Edward will be spending the duration of the London season at the Marquess and Marchioness of Midford's country estate. He is looking forward to the fresh air." Of course, 'fresh air' meant more than just a change of scenery to Lady Atherton and the Duchess. It meant 'better health.'
"How delightful! My son the Marquess will also be spending the season at our country estate." The Duchess beamed and reached for her claret. No soul but Elizabeth paid heed to the tinge of relieved color on the Duchess' face.
Elizabeth had found an unexpected if distant friend in the Duchess many years ago. Rosella's eldest child Alfred was asthmatic and constantly ill. Those experiencing the constant anxiety of caring for and thinking about a chronically ill child found few sympathetic ears in London. Especially when said ill child was the sole heir of an expectant aristocratic family, support was harder to come by because secrecy dictated who could be told.
With an inward sigh of resignation, Elizabeth reached for the stem of her glass of claret and brought it to her lips. Her eyes closed, not to savor the dark chocolate piquancy with hints of raspberries swirling around her tongue, but rather to sneak in a very brief respite from the inane chatter. Dear heavens above, will this be over soon?
"Ow!"
"Will you shut up?!" The – to put it politely – rotund head cook elbowed one of her charges in the ribs quite forcefully as the head butler of the Griffith household walked by. The young maid rubbed at her chafed knuckles, already turning red from one blow with the butler's measuring rod. But the head butler was not quite finished with the cooking staff.
"Stop your simpering! I'll have you out on the street if you cannot do your job right." He raised the rod a second time. At the last minute, his arm jerked back, and the battalion of staff in the spacious kitchen gasped. After yanking his arm free, the head butler turned to face the tall lecherous-looking footman who had stayed his hand so effortlessly. His face an irate red, he beat a meaty fist on the man's chest.
"What insolence is this?!"
"With all due respect…" The footman's sarcasm could have dripped into a sizeable puddle at his feet. After a syrupy sweet smile aimed at the butler he continued.
"I believe that rod is only meant to be used for measuring appropriate distances between the dining utensils, sir, not terrorizing the underlings." The butler snorted indulgently.
"Think yourself above them, do you? Show this household how superior you really are."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but the-"
"He can prepare what's left of the meal, Mrs. Tout. Step aside!" The butler's stiff command sent the kitchen staff scurrying like mice to the wall farthest from the counters and appliances. The footman brushed an unseen speck of dirt from his jacket and tossed his black hair back with an enigmatic smile that provoked the quickened breathing of the female staff who happened to be quite single. The head butler grumbled and pointed his measuring rod at him.
"You provide anything less than perfection, and the only job you could ever hope to hold again will be that of a chimney sweep in East London. Are we clear Mr…?"
"Sebastian, sir." The sultry reply made all the single ladies sigh.
Like a noble king surveying the most downtrodden of his subjects, Sebastian eyed the lemon-balm leaves wilting near the sharp cutlery, obviously past their prime. He offered the butler a stiff bow.
"If this is to be an excellent lemon-balm cake then there first must be good-quality ingredients at hand. Excuse me…" Affecting a distracted air, Sebastian made a hasty exit through the kitchen doorway by the ice box. The butler guffawed.
"Couldn't handle the heat, I wager. The poor soul abandoned his post rather than face dismissal, and rest assured any of you lot who attempt the same cheekiness will-"
"My apologies for being gone so long." Sebastian smoothly directed his silky voice at the crowd observing him and returned to his position at the island counter. He spread a thickly wrapped bundle across the counter and carefully began unrolling it.
"What?! How…" The butler spluttered as the dark butler expertly tossed the wilted leaves behind him and out the window without as much as a glance over his suited shoulder. Deftly reaching for a pan and dusting it with flour, Sebastian began to lecture his captivated audience.
"Those deplorable excuses for lemon-balm leaves would have made for a blander taste. Keep in mind that we are attempting to delight the lady of the house and her guests. Notice the healthy green of the samples I have provided, reminiscent of fresh mint's hue. After a light but thorough flowering these leaves are to cover every inch of the bottom of this baking pan."
Another foot of the unrolled tarp revealed stainless white chicken's eggs and three bright yellow lemons. He smiled again.
"Really, using eggs directly from the chicken coop are the best avenue to take when creating the batter. The mixture must be palpable of course, but simultaneously frothy, so I shall also add a single yolk and beat in the granulated sugar a teaspoon at a time. Your recipe demands vanilla, but I think you will find lemon rind a more toothsome substitute." Sebastian, armed with an old wooden spoon, churned the mixture quickly. When he finished, he let the mixing bowl spin onto the counter without so much as a drop spilling. The butler tossed one lemon into the air and caught it with the angled edge of his clean index finger and twirled it. The awed eyes of the Griffith staff saw the rind fall onto the chopping board just as the peeled lemon hit the counter. With three swift strokes the rinds were fine and wispier than a tendril of hair. He showered the rinds on the top of the egg mixture.
"For a more uniform texture the flour and salt must be sifted together, and then folded carefully into the egg mixture one third at a time. I mean precisely one third. Do likewise with the melted butter." No one had seen the butter arriving at the table, nor had they noticed its melting, but the golden liquid frothed as it mixed with the contents of the mixing bowl. Not a single air bubble dared show itself, and the cake dared not collapse, as Sebastian deposited the batter into the pan and delivered it to the gaping hungry mouth of the oven. He moved to the abandoned saucepan creating an unpleasant signed smell in the kitchen. That also found its place on the ground outside the window. Sebastian's following admonishment turned the butler's face cherry red with embarrassment.
"The milk base for the custard sauce is to be scalded, not outright burnt. No matter. The more delicate lemon-balm sprigs are not meant to be used in the batter because it must accompany the milk to provide a slightly sour tang. Then sugar and cornstarch to thicken consistency…"
His strides delivered him to the pantry in a mere second and back to his station in even less time.
"The egg yolks are to be stirred in gently, the entire mixture heated until its consistency matches that of maple syrup, the contents strained into its bowl and then complimented with a tablespoon of the rum over there on that table."
He slid out from behind the counter and returned his gloves to his long tapered fingers. Swiftly pacing out of the door, he called out to his audience, still rooted to the floor.
"The batter will be a perfect golden-brown in precisely eighteen minutes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've glasses to refill."
That night, the head butler of the Duchess of Kedington's household retired early, begging a severe, unsurmountable indisposition. It might very well have been because of the innumerable and supremely heartfelt accolades relayed to him about the enchanting flavor of the lemon-balm cake and custard sauce prepared for dessert.
"May I call a hansom for you, Lady Atherton?"
"You have my thanks, Your Grace, but that will be unnecessary. I've my own coach at my disposal this evening."
"Would you kindly permit me to escort you to it?" There was something so calm and mild about Leopold Grey that Elizabeth hesitated. Rather than a brisk refusal veiled in compliments and courtesy, she nodded at him and offered her arm, which he took gently.
"I was glad to hear at dinner that your children are faring well, my lady."
"As am I, Your Grace." She replied without thinking and could have kicked herself for such an informal remark. His laugh was a cheery and unperturbed rumble, which brought a surprised blush to her face. Her previous interactions with him – at the time she had just wed the late Marquess of Clare – suggested that he would do naught but get a violent nosebleed upon attempting to interact with her. Her optimism in his maturity wavered a little when he opened his mouth again.
"Of course, my lady. I-I…it is perhaps presumptuous of me…"
"Your Grace?"
"Ah, I beg your forgiveness! I suppose I am a little nervous making such a request…We have known each other for many years. Though the timing may not be…the best, I am sure your mother has notified you as to my intentions?"
"Quite." It took a great amount of effort not to sound rueful. Her mother had been unceasingly reminding her of just what the Duke of Grimsbury's intentions were.
"Might I be allowed to call you Elizabeth?"
It was a good thing the Duke was too self-conscious to spare a glance at her, otherwise he would have seen the wry smile. My mother might very well die of glee.
"Of course, Your Grace-"
"Please, Leopold will suit me well…Elizabeth. Perhaps you may even find the confidence to call me "Leo" as my sister, our delightful hostess, always has."
"I shall have to thank your sister again for the lovely evening." Even if I don't really mean it. Thankfully the walk to her waiting coach was too short to invite further conversation. She turned, and nearly gasped when he spontaneously bent to kiss her hand. And then her wrist. And then her knuckles as he clasped her hand in both of his. The Duke of Grimsbury…Leopold appeared to have just a bit of the devil in him, and her heart puttered momentarily at the realization. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes as he straightened and grinned. Oh, those expressive blue eyes…
"Perhaps it can be arranged for us to sit nearer to each other at another engagement. I enjoy your company Elizabeth."
"And I yours…Leopold. I bid you goodnight."
"Goodnight." He finally released her hand as she settled herself on the seat inside her carriage. With one last smile he shut the door quietly and retreated. Only after the coach rounded a bend in the road and bumped over some cobblestones did the door on the other side open to allow Sebastian access. Elizabeth raised her brows sharply.
"Have you decided to let the cab drive itself?"
"Of course not, madam. That would be terribly remiss of me. I've hired a local driver to see you home."
"Thank you, Sebastian. On another note, as delightful as it was to have something to shake me out of my apathetic state, you really should not have shown off so flagrantly." Sebastian leaned back in his seat across from his mistress, enjoying his pretense of ignorance.
"I beg your pardon?" Lady Atherton sighed crossly.
"I have been in attendance at the Duchess' townhome before. The cake, as you well know, could not have been the work of the kitchen staff hired by the Duchess. A social call from Queen Alexandra herself could not inspire them to perform above mediocrity."
"I have not yet signed a formal contract, my lady. Therefore, I regret to inform you that I may occasionally be uncertain as to the limitations surrounding my duties as head butler of the Atherton household."
"I may rectify that soon so long as you don't provoke me." At this sing-song promise, Sebastian smiled grimly and noiselessly breathed in, savoring what could very well be his dessert.
"So, you did enjoy your dessert?"
"Don't go fishing for compliments, Sebastian."
"Excellent, madam. What of your companions, my lady?" Her gaze had been directed out the window, but then her head swiveled so that she could frown at him.
"What of them?"
"Lady Spell was invited. I was…stunned that any above her peerage should pay her the attention suggested by that of a dinner invitation."
"And as a butler, your opinion is everything." Sebastian smirked as his mistress' gaze returned to the passing townhomes of London. Something had put her very out of sorts, and he might get the chance to chase it away via an appropriate method. Or perhaps an inappropriate method…
His chuckle invited her to scrutinize him once more; this time, Elizabeth only sighed and pressed a hand to her aching head. He silently switched sides and removed his gloves. He placed his index fingers at her temples and began to rub. After a futile attempt to slap his hands away, Elizabeth slumped as much as she could with incurring the inanimate wrath of her corset.
"So impertinent, Sebastian."
"Regardless, permit me to help you my lady." A moment of taut silence was followed by a soft, breathy huff of consent.
"I highly doubt you were in the least bit stunned by Lady Spell's inclusion. You already know the situation that woman is in. It is further complicated by that fact that the peerage invites her simply to inject a little scandal into an otherwise dull season."
"Is it conceivable that she is the one marketing information to our foreign competitors?" She watched him carefully, even as he mindlessly raked a few stray curls over her eyes in an effort to soothe her temples.
"While I would like to point out that she doesn't even possess the wit to keep her gloves properly in her lap… I have severe reservations as to her capability. But neither of us should have any such reservations about her access to places where she might obtain the information. Anyone is capable of espionage."
"Even the Duke of Grimsbury?"
"Why? Did you uncover anything new recently?"
"Not precisely. But, as the sole executive of the Atherton interests, you might want to be thoroughly sure you could tolerate "Leopold's" involvement. He may choose to interfere outright."
"Sebastian, this is merely a diversion to keep my mother from breathing too hard down my neck."
"I see." The butler sounded slightly displeased, and Elizabeth was very careful to hide her unholy glee at the prospect. She couldn't restrain herself from teasing him a little.
"The Duke has nice, expressive blue eyes…"
"How do you fancy the thought of being his third Duchess? The first two passed away during the stressful ordeal of childbirth."
"I do believe I might fare better than them. Presuming that His Grace is that serious, of course."
"No doubt he is."
"Speculation and jealousy do not become a butler, Sebastian."
"No, my lady. My apologies."
"Accepted-"
Without any warning, the carriage smashed into something large and metal with an unholy crunching sound. It titled precariously to the side, almost spilling them out. Elizabeth tumbled directly into Sebastian's arms. He gripped her in his arms tightly, and as a sharpened spike tunneled through the sitting area it only barely missed her head. A second sharp spike tore through the carriage. It pierced Elizabeth's evening dress but could not penetrate the whalebone corset. Trying to steal deep breaths to stop her alarm, Elizabeth began to convulse under the pressure of her stays. Her hand shook as she pried the spike free and unsheathed her dagger. Sebastian looked up sharply to see the cabby he'd hired scurrying away, throwing his payment back at Sebastian through the shattered window.
"Take it back! The coin ain't worth it mister!" The door of the carriage was ripped from its hinges to reveal a thug of freakish size, an ugly tattooed bat displaying its wings on the left side of his face and under his thick beard. He lunged for Sebastian's lapels and tugged him up so that they were face-to-face.
"Little lady is mine." The thick, flawed English words landed flatly at the black butler's shined shoes. Sebastian was utterly still for a moment, and then showed him a passive smile.
"As you wish." The thug grinned for a moment at Sebastian's reply, revealing the few yellowed teeth her had left. Sebastian brought his fist up to connect with the underside of the assailant's chin, a loud crack piercing the atmosphere. The thug staggered back and helplessly tried to fend off Sebastian's lightning-quick reflexes. Blow after blow rained onto the thug, making his lips and the skin of his eyes well up, drawing blood from his cheeks and chin.
The muscles on his broad shoulders tensed as the thug hauled himself to his feet and swung a mighty blow in Sebastian's direction. With the grace of a lithe panther he sidestepped it and turned to his mistress, who had stumbled out of the overturned carriage, knife in her hands.
"Give her or you die."
"My mistress-"
"Give or you both die!"
"Your orders, my lady?"
"It's self-defense. Have at it." A dismissive wave of her free hand had the same effect as a gunshot sound on racehorses. Limber, silent and deadly, the butler parried the heavy battering of the attacker and returned the violence in kind with his own speedy, slicing movements. The thug's vision turned from a clouded gray to a murky black as white gloved hands moved over his throat.
Sebastian released the oversized attacker just as an impossibly slim shadow melted into Elizabeth's view. She lunged without hesitation, knife still in her steady hand. The shadow yelped and leaped under the streetlight. This attacker was little more than a scrawny, starving man. He offered a grim smirk of recognition but dared not speak aloud. As the two began their dance of violence, their hooded eyes spoke for them.
I never thought I would see the hideous face of a shadow demon again.
Surprise! Nice seeing you too. Wondered what you're up to with this chit, Sebastian.
Never fear, Remington. Soon you won't have anything to be concerned about. They lunged and sidestepped like the most elegant of fencers, deadlier than the ninjas of the East. Subtly, the attacker's head bobbed towards Elizabeth finished off the greatly weakened thug.
Too much fire in her to be a natural blonde. Not your usual bit of stuff.
Please. Humans are not my type.
This one seems to be quite your type.
You're always been too discerning for your own good Remington. Sebastian's arms were around this new assailant's neck.
I'm glad we've caught up. I'll call on you sometime. My best wishes to your mistress. As sudden as a flash of lightning a previously concealed dagger sliced through the air, its mark being Elizabeth's pale chest.
A red haze across his vision, a cracking sound like slow thunder, and the subtle click of steel colliding with bone all registered in Sebastian's mind slowly. He heard a gasp from far away, and only realized that he'd made the sound as Elizabeth tore a glove from her hand and placed it on his shoulder gently. He looked down, surprised to find himself on his knees, the blade nestled deep in his chest, very close to his black heart. Ears ringing, he looked at Lady Atherton unseeingly, disturbed at the sudden turn of the tables. I should have predicted the blade. My hunger is depriving my judgment. What he assumed was the usual lecherous lick of his lips looked more like a gasp for air to his mistress.
Just as silently as he arrived, the shadow stole away into the night. Eyes narrowing, Elizabeth wrung her arm back, pinned the retreating figure with a murderous glance, and tossed her blade expertly…
A resounding ping off some unseen object sent her into a furious flurry of screaming and swearing. Of all the times to miss her target, this had been the occasion. Sebastian rose to pursue him; only the feeling of his mistress' tiny fingers, trembling with rage and clutching at his arm worriedly, stayed him.
"My lady, let me-"
"Sebastian! Look at how grave your injury is…" She was at a loss only for a second. Then, with a shocking amount of strength she wrestled her way under his shoulders, forcing him to lean on her and supporting all his weight as she half dragged him back to the carriage. Not as gravely harmed as she might suspect, Sebastian prepared to remove the blade himself. However, Elizabeth had swiftly lain him down on the floor of the carriage and gently cradled his head between her warm, now ungloved hands.
Startled, Sebastian took a moment to formulate his next move. Oblivious to his true nature and ability to heal quickly, Elizabeth's little fingers moved to his shoulders, caressed them, as she measured up the knife plunged into his chest. He smiled whilst she was otherwise distracted. The butler of the Atherton household…may require some coddling on occasion. Already, his thoughts were turning darker than the night from which the attackers had crawled. Perhaps, out of pity if nothing else, she would make a contract with him. Playing his part to the letter, Sebastian rearranged his features into a stoic mask and attempted to pick himself out of her lap.
"The carriage-…We are need of-"
"A driver, yes I know stupid!" Showing that apparently inherent temper of hers, Elizabeth smoothed his hair away from his face, rolled her shoulders back, and lightly set him down so that she could climb out of the carriage. Had he not been such an infernal creature, the jarring of the carriage as it was righted again would have pained him greatly. He was sure to pretend such a typical mortal reaction as his mistress returned to his side. What he did not expect, and dearly hoped was nothing more than a weakening of his perceptions, was Elizabeth's gentle smile as she leaned down and pressed her lips to his brow, just above one of his black eyes.
"No fever, thankfully. You just rest quietly, Sebastian. I will see us home and tend to your wounds." He felt his black frozen heartbeat again as she offered him another soothing smile, then shut the carriage door. What the devil? His thoughts were racing as angrily as the hellish blood in his veins, too quickly for him to appreciate the irony of his psychological words. Do I want to eat the morsel or something else entirely? Hades, I'm too old to be this confused.
Out of sheer determination alone Elizabeth managed to put the horses up for the night correctly and stow the carriage. Sebastian, wading far too deep in his thoughts to notice his surrounds, did not have to feign weakness from blood loss. He allowed his mistress to guide him up the dark staircase of the Atherton townhome and to her private rooms. After a moment's deliberation she chose to lay him on her bed and began rummaging through her things.
"…hurt"
"I-I beg your pardon?" Sebastian heard her sweet voice from far away, but her swift yank on the knife imbedded in his chest brought him back into reality like a bucket of ice water. He inhaled in surprise, which Elizabeth took for a controlled expression of pain. Something damp was pressed onto his wound.
"I've some dried geraniums that I've just wetted down, and I've concocted a charcoal paste to dress the wound. Let me apply this cloth to see if I can staunch what bleeding there is."
"Charlatan's solutions, my lady. I could do better." In the process of lighting the kerosene lamp at her bedside, Elizabeth paused and eyed him disapprovingly.
"Glad to see that a grievous wound adjacent to a vital organ hasn't seemed to wound your impudence. You're in no position to criticize me. I've my nursing license if that is truly what concerns you."
Rather than drawing on his powers to close the wound as he normally would, the conniving butler allowed some of his blood to flow out, soaking his shirt and prompting Elizabeth to carefully peel it away. She offered a quiet, distracted hum of dissatisfaction. Sebastian did not take that kindly at all and glared at her strongly. She chuckled and tapped him on the nose.
"What have I done to offend now, my lady?"
"I suppose I expected…more muscles?"
"…Oh…really?" Her hair was brushing his face, her soul so close to him that he could taste the blooming corruption that made her such an appealing dining option in the first place.
"Well, as a child I always was of the opinion that you were invincible. I guess old age is catching up with you, Sebastian." She smirked at him mischievously as she wrapped the last of a long terrycloth across his chest tightly; her smirk turned into an "o" of surprise and a yelp as he pulled on her hair and held her captive on his chest.
"Such lecherous tendencies, really-"
"Thank you, my lady." Absently he moved his gloved hands through her hair. Elizabeth made to retreat, only he yanked the glove off with his teeth and moved his bare hand to her soft cheek. She felt the same sudden putter inside her chest as she had felt when saying farewell to the Duke of Grimsbury, though he was long gone from her mind at the moment. With a small movement of her fine hair, now falling out of its arrangement, Elizabeth agreed to her butler's wordless request. Getting up, she strode to the door, locked it, and returned to place her head against Sebastian's beating heart.
"Have a care, butler. This is only so I can make sure you don't stop breathing during the night."
"Of course…" He drifted into his thoughts, allowing his breathing to slow to a faint pace. She nestled closer, thinking he had passed out and obviously wanting to ensure he did not die so indecorously in her bed. Her fingers traveled to his left wrist to find his pulse before she relaxed. He waited without a sound, sprawled like a mangled wooden plank on Lady Atherton's canopied bed. Not even a grasshopper stirred outside, and every last polished floorboard remained silent as if in deference to them. Several hours later, when her own breathing had slowed and her eyes had shut, Sebastian cupped the base of her skull softly and stroked the little curls of golden hair away from the back of her neck. He could not bring her close enough to soothe himself no matter how tightly his arms wrapped around her smaller frame. Only then, in the stillness of the night, without any witnesses, did he utter one last thing before allowing himself to imitate the human action of sleep.
"My Elizabeth…"