“Would you want that?” asked Emily. “All those people coming in?”
“No, though I suppose it wouldn’t really matter. We don’t have much to make them stay, so they’d just drop off a few goods and leave. And I wouldn’t mind coming back to London sometimes,” Mrs. Baldwin said, very severe on the last word, “to see the sights.”
“You won’t be staying here?” Polly asked.
“Not forever, most likely. I’d imagine they’ll have the house kept open, of course, and come up from time to time as business demands, or for the Season.”
“He’d have to come up for the Season,” said Mrs. Hennings. “Oldest son and not married? They must be at him with hot irons.”
The cake felt very thick in Mina’s mouth. She swallowed it, a slow and painful process, and gulped too-hot tea until she could speak again. “We don’t know that he isn’t married. Or hasn’t been.”
“He hasn’t,” said Mrs. Baldwin, “but he’s not likely to take a wife from the London debutantes.”
“Poor fragile things,” said Mrs. Hennings. “They’d never survive a winter in Scotland. And he hasn’t seemed terribly concerned, at that. Does his family generally choose ladies somewhere nearer home?”
Mina didn’t let herself look away from the conversation. She did put her teacup down as casually as she could, while she waited to hear Mrs. Baldwin’s answer.
No answer came. The bell for the study rang before Mrs. Baldwin could speak, and the housekeeper excused herself to attend the call.
“The Season,” said Emily, when Mrs. Baldwin had gone. “Sounds divine, doesn’t it?”
“Sounds uncomfortable,” said Polly. “Not knowing if a man’s dancing with you because he likes you or because he has to. I wouldn’t mind one of those fancy white dresses, though. The kind with the train as long as me.”
“Imagine how long it would take to sew that,” said Mina, flexing her fingers and wincing. “But that’s art for you, isn’t it?” she added, on further consideration. “I bet Michelangelo’s hands were sore too, after he finished David.”
“A dress isn’t the same thing,” said Mrs. Hennings, mildly shocked.
“It’s something beautiful,” said Emily.
Mrs. Baldwin returned with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering. “Leisure’s over as of now, I’d say.” Suiting actions to words, she began clearing away the china. “His lairdship’s brother arrives on the nine o’clock train.”
Twenty-four
A cab deposited Colin MacAlasdair on his brother’s doorstep around quarter to ten, and Baldwin showed him into the drawing room a few minutes later. Stephen looked up from his correspondence—a particularly unctuous proposal concerning a bill in the House of Lords—and did not remark on the time. “Colin,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you, man.”
His younger brother looked much as he’d done ten years before: taller and more slender than Stephen, ash to his oak, with silver-gray eyes and a bluish tinge to his dark hair. His clothes were in the height of fashion, and the silver pin in his cravat was an old Viking rune: fair speech, if Stephen remembered correctly.
“And yourself,” said Colin, with his usual easy grin. He draped himself over a sofa. “Going over the accounts, are you? I swear I’ve not been spending any more than usual—and besides, I’ve been self-sufficient for years now.”
“Have you? How did you manage that?”
“Opals. Remarkable wee stones. Went to Brazil, dug out a fair lot when nobody was around to see me, and now I sell one off here and there whenever I need a new coat or the like. Limestone’s hardly a challenge if a man has privacy enough.”
“Technically, I think that’s theft.”
“Theft, nothing. I stayed well away from any open mines. And it’s not my fault if a man can’t tell where to dig, is it? Have you turned teetotal, Stephen, or might a weary fellow find a drop of wine around this place?”
Despite himself, Stephen smiled and rang for Baldwin. Wine arrived soon enough, along with a small plate of cheese and fruit. The kitchen had been anticipating Colin’s visit, evidently.
“It’s not that I don’t welcome your company,” Stephen said when they’d each had time for a few sips, “but what precisely are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d catch the Season, didn’t I? It’s been a few years. They must have added something new.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Stephen.
“The innovation or my motives?”
“Both.”
“You wound me, Brother, you wound me deeply.”
“We heal fast, as a rule. Who is it—father or husband?”
Colin grinned. “Uncle, actually, for a change. Very large, very unreasonable man with very large and unreasonable sons. Luckily for them, I’m a great believer in subtlety and restraint—and the family sells a fine quality of whiskey.” He sat up with the sudden change that marked any of his motions and looked seriously at Stephen. “And I do get the Times, you know. Loch Arach, Dublin, Bath—wherever I’m keeping myself. I keep up my subscription, and I have a fair memory for names. Colonel Moore is dead and I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Scarce enough evidence to go on.”
“Enough evidence to come down to London, surely. It hardly takes much. Am I right?”
Stephen sighed. “You are. Ward’s back, probably mad, and certainly a sight more powerful than when he ran off. He’s commanding demons now, not to mention more mortal forces.”
“Then I’ll be of use to you,” Colin took another, fairly large sip of wine and stretched himself out on the sofa again, staring up at the ceiling. “Let’s see. Baldwin said he’d find me a room and put my belongings there. I didn’t pack much for handling the occult, but I’m sure you’ll be able to supply what’s needed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve plenty to catch up on—unless the demons will come howling in any minute or you’re charging out to meet the cad on the field of battle.”
“No,” said Stephen. “I’m waiting to see a lady who’s out of town at the present. But there is one other person you should know about.”
Few things seemed to have changed about Colin, and one of the eternal constants was his inability to wake up before noon. Therefore, it was at dinner that Stephen introduced his brother to Mina, and he went into the meal with his nerves on edge.
As the dining room was distinctly out of service, they ate in the drawing room where he and Mina had breakfast. By night, it took on a different air, and an odd one: formal and intimate at the same time.
When Mina came in the door, Stephen found himself acutely aware of two things. The first was that she was stunningly beautiful; the second that her life had been very different from his. She wore a violet dress printed with tiny white flowers. The color made her eyes and skin luminous, and the cut outlined the trim curves of her body, but the neckline was high and the sleeves were long. Her hair shone the color of dark honey and fell more gently about her face than usual, but it was still done simply, and she wore no jewelry.
Of course Mina didn’t own a dinner gown. She wouldn’t have had any need of one. Stephen was a heel for not thinking of it. Even as he stepped forward to make the introductions, he saw Mina’s eyes go to his coat and tie, then drop to her own clothing. Otherwise, her face betrayed only pleasant interest.