The Duke's Decision

Stephen soared high over the city of York, the cold morning wind biting his face as he left behind the inner keep, flying over the double-loop of the moat fed by the River Foss on its way to feed the Ouse, the inner keep and the bailey forming a pair of islands within the greater enclosure of the city. The open scar of the site for the half-built mill belonging to the York Textile Company was clearly visible, a rare large open space along the crowded ribbon of the Ouse as it cut through the city from north to south.

And there, not far from the manufactory under construction, parked outside the Taylor mansion, was the carriage belonging to Lord Guilford de Lancaster, the Baron Penrose, fifth in line for the throne of Lancaster. Stephen’s father, in other words. Stephen flew down and landed, rubbing his hands to warm them. He'd not brought his flying gloves to dinner at the castle. He knocked on the door, and a butler opened it, peering skeptically at him.

A few short moments later, he'd been invited in for breakfast with his father, his father’s business partner Edward Taylor, and the Taylor daughter – what was her name, Beth or Bellatrix or something like that? He wasn’t sure. Stephen hadn't bothered much with learning the names of his father's business partners' families. The servants offered him mushrooms, toast, beans, fried eggs, and fried rashers of what almost looked like bacon. He accepted generous helpings of everything. Flying always gave him a hearty appetite.

“I'm sorry we were out overnight without sending a message, Father,” he said as the servants filled a second plate for him. “We were late enough that it made sense just to sleep over. Especially with the events of the previous night fresh in everyone's minds.”

“And where is your sister?” His father slowly chewed a rasher of meat, savoring the rich flavor.

Stephen shook his head and then swallowed. “She's still at the castle, having slept in. She may have drunk a little overmuch. I'll talk to you more about that later,” he added, shoveling more food into his mouth. Best not to say more. If he talked about Sabine's lost virtue in front of the Taylors and their servants, it would be all over town by nightfall, and all over Lancaster by next week. It would be the ruin of her reputation.

“Hmph. I disapprove. I'd say we're wasting our time, except that I have been keeping busy. You should take her home with you tomorrow, I think.” The older Lancastrian noble dabbed grease off his mustache. “Her idea has proven a waste of time, and you know it. We'll have to find a husband for her elsewhere.”

“Lord Guilbert, I daresay the duke wouldn't know a good woman if he bit into one,” interjected the Taylor girl, holding up a rasher on a fork and then vigorously chomping on it. “A great shame,” she added around a mouthful of meat.

Stephen ignored the girl’s rude attempt to inject herself into the conversation, not even looking at her. He turned instead to the man of the house. “Mister Taylor, thank you for breakfast, it was delightful, but I should be on my way.” Minimal courtesy to the host complete, he looked back at his own father. “Father, as I said, there have been some very important developments that I will need to discuss with you later. Privately. I would like to return to Lancaster tomorrow, but you know that politics can get complicated, and I’m not sure that will be wise. But I cannot tell you my news here.”

“I see,” his father said, uncertainty entering his voice. He clearly didn't see, but he showed an appropriate inkling of concern before shooting his host an apologetic look. “I have a full day ahead of me, but I will be back at the house tonight and you can tell me any news then. Be careful, Stephen.”

Stephen smiled. “I'll do my best.”

The walk back to the house they'd been renting helped him focus his thoughts. He knew what he needed to do, but his sister's words kept echoing in his head, holding him back from challenging the duke over his theft of his sister's virtue. If Avery was even half as powerful as the old Silver Duke, then confronting him on his own home ground was courting death. He was confident in his skills as a wizard, particularly with phantasms, but he was no archmage.

Today, he would have the house to himself. A good day to practice my phantasms, he thought. Perhaps bindings, as well. With neither his sister nor his father around, he had all three of his sister's maidservants entirely at his disposal at once – as test subjects or as entertainment. He smiled.

The dressmaker held the bolt of silk up next to Elizabeth's face and neck.

Maude frowned. “I do not think azure is the best shade on you, but your colors are azure and gold, and the alternative is worse,” she said. “Especially paired with the silver lamé. Any sort of yellow risks making you look jaundiced, and my budget does not extend to cloth of gold.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I like yellow,” she said. “Orange is my favorite, though.”

“Orange isn't one of your family's colors, dear, and your dress is making a political statement. The orange dress you wore to the ball simply will not do. Silver for York; azure and gold for Northumbria. Or at least either blue or yellow.” Maude frowned. She didn't like the fact that she was paying for the dress out of her own pocket instead of the earl's pocket, but Ricard had made it clear that he could not afford the kind of extravagance that Maude felt was politically appropriate.

“Red is quartered on my family's arms,” Elizabeth suggested. “I like red.” If her father had been able to afford to buy a new wedding dress, he probably would have let Elizabeth pick her own colors and styling.

“That's a recent addition from your grandmother's line, and red is the principal color of Lancaster. No red,” Maude said. “Azure silk and silver lamé.”

“Milady, I have two other shades of blue in stock,” the dressmaker said. “Though not in silk; this is my only blue silk. If you would like another shade of blue in silk, there is a transmuter in town who is good at matching colors. She does not work cheaply, though.”

“Hm. Possibly. The dress must be silk. Let's see them,” Maude said. “Perhaps if we match her eyes, it will be close enough to the Northumbrian azure.”

“Of course, milady. Of course,” the dressmaker said. She rummaged through her drawers and came up with two sample swatches of cloth, one in deep sapphire and one in sky blue.

“I like the light blue better,” Elizabeth volunteered.

The dressmaker held the sky blue swatch up next to Elizabeth's face, and then the sapphire blue.

“The darker one makes her look washed-out,” Maude said. “The lighter one is a close match for her eyes. Let's see the lighter one next to the silver lamé, though, before we bring in your transmuter.”

Johanna looked at the sketch carefully, pointing at the number scrawled at the bottom.

“Grandfather, are you sure I need a brand new dress? Everyone remembers the emerald gown from the oath-taking ceremony, and this one seems quite a bit more expensive. I'm worried about the fitting, too. For that matter, Madame Percy can't come to the keep to make any adjustments to a brand-new dress, and it's not safe for me to leave the keep.”

Her father leaned over to peer at the number. “Surely there's been a mistake,” he said. “That's more than your mother spent on clothes in the past two years.”

Her grandfather cleared his throat.

“I intend to make a statement. There are about two pounds of gold woven into that design, and Madame Percy will put the rest of her clients on hold until she completes it and any necessary alterations. The cost isn't as bad as it seems, she's giving me a better than fair price on a dye shop, and she still owes us interest on the advance we gave her to credit her shop rental costs for the season.”

“Can we use the same emerald color for the skirts, though, instead of lavender?” Johanna said. “And get rid of the lace, or replace it with something else. It's just distracting, the dress is very busy already with the cloth of gold and the goldwork embroidery.”

“Hm. I suppose you're right about emerald being the color you wore when we swore our oaths,” her grandfather said. “That helps the statement. And the emerald color does go well with the gold... your mother loves lavender and lace on you, though.”

Johanna groaned. “Can’t you just… not tell her about the change? I've worn three different lavender outfits this past month in front of the duke, but he didn't start remembering my name until I wore the emerald gown.”

The two men looked at each other. Her grandfather spoke first.

“I'll go write a letter to Madame Percy telling her about the changes you'd like, and tell her she's free to make any other minor alterations to the design that she thinks are needed to make it come together,” he said, looking away.

“Papa, can you please be the one to tell Maman?” Johanna looked at her feet.

Her father sighed. “Fine. I'll tell Charlotte the duke likes green better than light purple, and then later on, we'll just say Madame Percy was the one who decided to eliminate the lace.”

There was a soft chime, and Fiona’s voice sounded in mid-air. “Johanna, would you please come to the sitting room?”

Stephen heard a heavy knock on the front door downstairs. Who could that be? Surely not his sister or his father, he thought. Some caller who would go away, hopefully. The knocking continued, insistent.

He peeked carefully out of the curtains. There was a carriage out front, accompanied by half a dozen of the duke's men. He looked back at his sister's maidservants and at the clothing strewn around the dining room. The maids were in no state to answer the door right now.

There was one more knock at the door, and then the sound of the door creaking open. Hadn't it been barred? Stephen panicked. His magical reserves were low. He quickly cast a veil of invisibility over himself. After a second thought, he extended it to cover the table, the maidservants, and the chairs around the table.

The heavy tread of boots sounded on the stairs. He was trapped. The footsteps stopped at the door to the dining room. “Is someone there?” a deep voice called. Stephen didn't answer. He felt his heart beating wildly. He didn't dare move. The door to the dining room opened.

It was one of the duke's men. He looked at the empty room. “Strange,” he said. “There’s some women's clothing scattered around in here," he said over his shoulder. “Could be the lady's. Should I pack it up?”

The indistinct answer from the hallway must have been affirmative, because the man walked into the room and started picking clothing and shoes up off the floor, piling them in the hallway. Stephen held his breath as the man bent down to pick up a stocking and slammed his face into the invisible table.

“Ow!” he said. “Bloody hell!”

The man looked around the room suspiciously, bending down more slowly and holding his arm out in front of his face. He touched the invisible table. “Weird,” he said. He reached under the table with his other hand and picked up the stocking. Then he ran his hand along the top of the table. He started to walk back to the door, and then, as his heel caught on an unseen chair, suddenly spun around and dropped the stocking.

Stephen froze as the guard stared at the spot where the stocking had fallen. The man looked around again, and then slowly reached down and picked up the stocking. Then he turned around and then threw the stocking into the pile of clothes in the hallway. After the man walked out the door, he stopped, shaking his head.

“There's something weird in the room up here,” the duke's man said, talking to someone out of sight. “I got the stuff. Most of it, at least, I'm not going scouring the corners of some strange enchanted room. Did you find the lady's room yet? Or the servants that she's supposed to have around here somewhere?”

There was another indistinct reply from the hallway.

"Yeah, me too," the duke's man said. He closed the door to the dining room with one last wary look.

Stephen let out a sigh of relief, but didn't move and didn't drop the veil of invisibility. He waited and watched out the window as the duke's men loaded several travel chests into the carriage, followed by a harpsichord and several bulging sacks.

Hopefully, they hadn't taken any of his things, he thought to himself. He’d packed light, only two changes of clothing and what he considered the bare necessities for magical endeavors; missing any of it would be troublesome. He waited until the carriage rolled out of sight before he banished the veil of invisibility. He picked up a half-empty bottle of wine and drained it, then sat down heavily, jolting the table.

One of the maidservants fell over. The sudden impact shattered the grip of the phantasm locking her mind into an imaginary world. As she scrambled down from the table, she looked around in alarm. “Where have my clothes gone to, milord?”

Stephen rubbed his forehead. “The duke’s men took them away.”

She looked at him with confusion, glancing over at the other two maidservants, clearly neither understanding nor appreciating the artistry of Stephen’s arrangements.

“Go get dressed,” Stephen said, his voice growing sharp. “I’ll want you to fetch the makings for dinner. If, as I suspect, the duke’s men took all of your things, you may borrow something from my father’s wardrobe for the trip.”

She bowed. “Yes, milord. I’ll be right on my way.”

As the dining room door closed, Stephen sighed. The time for diversions was over. He needed to check over his own things and make sure the duke’s men hadn’t stolen those. Between his own indulgences and the duke’s men, the house was all out of order and in need of a deep cleaning, so his sister’s maidservants would need to get right to work as soon as he released them from their bindings, magical and otherwise.