“You’re not setting up an appointment with anyone else from the Phantasm Bureau, are you?” Arabella asked in tones of great suspicion.
“Certainly not.” Trey rapped on the roof of the hackney. The carriage came to a stop, and he opened the door and jumped out. “Come on.”
He didn’t wait for her. It would look decidedly odd for him to hold the door open for an invisible lady. Trey flipped a gold coin to the driver for his trouble—that sweating, shivering horse needed a hot mash and clean straw more than anything else this evening—and joined a throng of pedestrians streaming up to the marble steps of Merrimack’s. Light blazed from every window, the seething murmur of vast crowds surged into the night. The columns of the portico were festooned with climbing plants, delicate blossoms glowing in rainbow colors. The carved reliefs on the pediment appeared to be in motion, acting out the well-known story of Astrid Hildottir befriending the pegasus Windswift.
Beside him, Arabella gasped at the sight of the edifice. Trey glanced down at her and saw her face lit up with delight. Gone were the dark doubts; she looked about with a frank wonder that the jaded would call gauche.
Well, none of them could see her now. She’d be able to enjoy the spectacle untroubled by their sneers. As well she should. He felt suddenly and fiercely protective of her joy.
Arabella looked at him and said gently, “I know that you’re here on business matters, Trey, but it is the Spring Assembly.”
He realized he was scowling at the mental image of bored society leaders looking down on his companion and instantly smoothed his brow. “You’re right, of course. Notice the undines in the fountains.” He nodded towards streams of water that arced into the sky, then formed into mist-masted ships sailing on a river of minute stars under a perfect, transparent moon.
A younger couple Trey barely knew gave him an odd look as they passed by. Trey bowed to them, and they responded with stiff bows of their own. From their expressions, Trey knew he had added to his reputation for strangeness.
It didn’t bother him. His family was known for being peculiar. And eccentricity had its uses.
He detached Arabella from the spectacle of the water elementals by moving on. She hurried to keep up, but her face was still turned towards the show as a multitude of fluid mermaids and fish, each tiny form perfect in detail, slapped their tails. Diamond droplets fell over a group of women. The ladies cried out in dismay and scurried away from the splashing.
Arabella giggled at this, and one of the undines, shaped into a sea horse, floated over and playfully batted her transparent cheek.
“And they’re a mischievous lot, too,” remarked Trey to no one in particular, “who don’t need the added encouragement.”
They joined the crush of people at the entrance. Arabella, forced between two slender columns, tipped her head up to where a multitude of sparks, the lowliest of the fire elementals, barely more than specks of light, moved in mesmerizing patterns.
Mesmerizing to those who paid attention, that is. All around Trey, peers greeted each other, complained about the crowd, and declared they were dying of thirst. A plump matron in purple gauze and a feathered turban caught Trey’s eye and smiled invitingly.
It took him a moment to extract the woman’s name from his memory. “How do you do, Mrs. Price?” He bowed, thankful the crush precluded him from taking the lady’s hand.
“Ah, Lord St. Ash, I feel quite faint already!” The woman fanned herself vigorously, but her bright eyes and red cheeks belied her claims. “Oh, did you ever see such a headpiece?”
Trey had no need to look over his shoulder to know who she was talking about. There was only one person who delighted in amazing and shocking the ton with her sense of fashion. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I have it on good authority that the creature on Lady Grafton’s head is, in fact, quite dead.”
He felt Barbara’s glare between his shoulder blades and knew he’d have to pay penance for the remark soon enough.
It had been worth it, though. Mrs. Price’s eyes rounded to hear him tease such an important personage as the Countess Grafton. But then, to Trey, Barbara was only his cousin.
There had to be some advantage, no matter how small, to being related to such vast numbers of the peerage.
“Oh, but I believe you are acquainted with my daughter, Priscilla. My love,” Mrs. Price took the arm of the tall, slender girl next to her, “here is Lord St. Ash.” She added, confidingly, “It is only because of Priscilla I am here at all. She must come to this assembly, and no wonder, for young girls are so energetic these days. Whereas I would be perfectly content to be at home with a book. Is that not so, Priscilla?”
“Indeed, Mama,” said the girl with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. From her expression, she was already heartily bored, but a speculative interest kindled in her blue eyes as she surveyed Trey. “How do you do, my lord?” There was a subtle emphasis on the lord.
Trey’s smile, already fake, froze. As a plain Misterhe had often been overlooked. But now he bore Damien’s title, and it wasn’t the first time previously uninterested parties looked at him in a matchmaking light. He gave a polite reply and ignored the sight of Arabella making faces at Miss Price.
Miss Price made a number of remarks in a grave tone at odds with their superficial content. Trey responded with noncommittal noises, while the translucent Arabella copied Miss Price’s languid hand gestures and struck the poses the blond was known for.
Abominable girl, he thought, trying not to laugh.
The line moved. Finally, Trey saw the doorman inspecting vouchers at the entrance. Grimm, the neatly-dressed gnome who managed Merrimack’s under the aegis of its patronesses, stood next to the liveried muscle, hands behind his back,
