A Star Shall Fall

Seen any faeries lately?

Are we still betrothed?

Chilly morning, isn’t it?

Miss Northwood said, “Did you arrange that incident now so I would have time to find a way out of this marriage?”

Galen’s heart attempted to leap straight out of his mouth. It took him three tries to swallow it back down. Then he said, unsteadily, “I suppose it would be foolish of me to pretend I did not arrange it.”

“Yes. It would.” She rose, hands still clasped tight, and then stopped as if she did not know where to go. “Why did you do it?”

He looked down. There was a small muddy scuff in the carpet just ahead of his left foot, not fresh; the maid should have cleaned that away. “I wanted you to know because it seemed unfair to leave you in ignorance of the greater part of my life. It happened now because yes, I thought you should have the opportunity to escape if you wished to. And I arranged it in such roundabout fashion because…” The words clogged in his throat. “Because I could not imagine sitting in Mrs. Vesey’s parlour and explaining it all to you, as if I were lecturing on some foreign land. I wanted you to see. And I thought that would be a safe way to do it, for if you were terrified by the experience, then Mrs. Vesey would tell you nothing, and I would know this is not something I could ever share with you.”

But Mrs. Vesey had told her, clearly. That gave him a tiny bit of hope.

Her sudden exhalation made him realise she had been holding her breath. “How very characteristic,” Miss Northwood said, and sat down hard precisely where she had been before.

“Characteristic?” Galen said, daring to lift his gaze.

She met it with a rueful smile. “Of you. At Sothings Park you said you were a romantic, and I see that it’s true. A gentleman all in green, a duel in Hyde Park… much more interesting, I suppose, than a lecture in Mrs. Vesey’s parlor. Though that came later, once we had driven back.”

Gentleman? Duel? What in Mab’s name did Irrith do? Galen hadn’t gone to the Onyx Hall last night, too nervous to hear the tale. Well, whatever the disobedient sprite had done, it achieved this much; it showed Delphia what she must see, and Mrs. Vesey had told her what she must know.

Now the decision was hers.

He came forward to kneel at her feet, but not too close. “This is the business that occupies me, Delphia. It will occupy me until the day I die. There is a great deal that even Mrs. Vesey doesn’t know, which I’ll tell you about, if you want to hear; some of it is not so pleasant. But all the secrets in my life arise from this one. If you want no part of it—if you prefer a husband whose secrets are of a more ordinary kind—then say so now, and we will end our betrothal. I will help you find a way to avoid Mr. Beckford’s son.”

Miss Northwood’s fingers curled in at the name. Then they relaxed, one slow degree at a time.

“No, Mr. St Clair. I will marry you still—on one condition.”

“Name it,” Galen breathed.

She caught and held his gaze, and in her eyes he saw both steely determination and a hint of joyous curiosity. “That the secret belong to me as well as you. Take me to the Onyx Hall.”

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON

8 December 1759

Ever since ascending to the rank of Prince, Galen had rarely spared the time to really look at the faerie palace that consumed so much of his life. Though he spent long hours there, he almost never took notice of the place itself; he was too busy debating theories with the scholars, reporting to Lune, occasionally dallying with Irrith. His surroundings were of little import, compared with his concerns.

Delphia made him see it through new eyes.

Everything was a wonder to her, from the swift but gentle drop of the Newgate entrance to the grandeur of the greater presence chamber. She marvelled at the sleek elegance of the black stone, that never seemed to show any wear; she delighted in the faerie lights that followed in her wake. Even the most grotesque of the court’s goblins failed to discompose her. Of course, those she encountered were on their best behavior; Lune had seen to that. But their faces alone would have been enough to frighten any young woman with less steel at her core.

He presented her to the Queen, in the more intimate environment of Lune’s privy chamber. Lune received her kindly, showing no hint of impatience at her Prince’s decision to spend time on this matter. Galen himself said little. Some cruel bit of wit on Fate’s part—or perhaps Irrith’s—had put the sprite in attendance upon the royal person that day. The woman I love, the woman I am promised to, and the woman I am bedding, all in one chamber. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself.