Page 12 of Plucked By the Orc

“I would imagine that turning this flower girl into a lady requires some expense. Oh, you have plenty of food and drink and all that to keep her in good spirits. But she will require jewelry and several gowns, including something positively sumptuous for Lady Bellingham’s to-do.” Albion leaned forward. “If you manage this feat, I shall provide you with compensation for those expenses, plus double the amount of the original cost. As I said, a tidy sum.”

Duncan waved a hand as though batting away a gnat. “Why should I care about that? Are either of us in want of funds, brother?”

“I’ll admit you have a point there.”

Albion shrugged. The Lords of the Hidden Realm—Duncan, Albion, and members of their extended family—had enough wealth to keep them in luxury over the span of several lifetimes thanks to the extraordinary desire of the English for the sapphires found in the deepest taverns of their homeland, as well as galena which sourced a silver of exceptional quality.

Wealth alone might not have been enough to ensure complete acceptance into theton. Lady Margaret Hathaway had made that clear when Duncan hadthe cheekto propose. But that, along with their keen talent for emulating the attire and manner of the English upper classes, was enough to gain them entrance into exclusive gentlemen’s clubs and the stuffiest parlors. Even to supper parties and balls.

No, money was hardly an obstacle, not to Duncan nor Albion. And his brother was clever enough to know it. He had something else in mind with this wager. Finding that he no longer had an appetite for the chops, Duncan pushed his plate aside.

“What do you truly have in mind regarding our terms, brother?”

Albion smiled. “You know me only too well.”

“Since you were a babe in the cradle. And then running around the hills back home in short pants, driving our mother nearly mad with your antics.”

“Ah! Why, maybe you did intuit what I had in mind, then. Speaking of our mother, is she not nearing her 60th year?” Albion casually traced a circle in his serviette. “You know what that means.”

In the Hidden Realm, women were honored as they aged, and in a way that befit the matriarchs they were: leaders of society, as likely to be placed in a position of governance as any man. Duncan’s father had taken the lead in opening relations with human society due to the curious English tradition of patriarchy.

Regardless, when the time came, they would honor his formidable mother with festivities and numerous gifts. The two brothers and their cousins would involve themselves, but only one of them would be charged with coordinating the affair: traditionally, the eldest.

Mother’s 60th birthday was still nearly two years away, but Duncan had already been dreading it. The rules of human society may have been tiresome, but Duncan often felt awkward among his people. He was not a duke around his family but merely Duncan. At times, that was the persona he felt the least comfortable inhabiting.

“If you present Iris Gabbert at Lady Bellingham’s rout, and Miss Gabbert is accepted into London’s highest social circles, I shall relieve you of your obligation as eldest. I know you find such social functions tiresome.”

“Mother will object.”

“Mother isn’t as bound to tradition as you, Dunc. She may have a comment or two on the topic, for when does she not? But she will not object.”

“How will we determine if Miss Gabbert has truly been accepted?”

“A man as well versed on the habits of thetonas yourself will determine this easily enough. Have we not both seen what these creatures do to someone they don’t accept?”

A sudden pivot to avoid an approaching woman whose fashion was not of the latest season. A disapproving arch of a brow from a matron if a gentleman slurped his soup. A barrage of embarrassing questions if one did not have the dulcet tones of the upper classes. Yes, Duncan was well familiar.

“And I know you to be a gentleman of honor who will not shy from the truth regardless of whether it is in your favor,” Albion added.

“So you trust my judgment on this matter?”

“Are you not a scientist? I am well aware that the integrity of your observations means far more to you than any wager with your brother.”

“And if Miss Gabbert fails to pass?”

“Ifyoufail to pass.”

“Very well. IfIfail to pass her off as a member of theton, what is the benefit to you?”

“That horse you stole from under my nose.”

“Wintermist?”

Duncan winced. The sturdy, dappled gray gelding was one of the few he’d encountered who could handle his form. Horses were as valued in the Hidden Realm as they were among humans, though the ones he was accustomed to were of a sturdier build than most of those in London. Wintermist had the wide girth an orc required for riding and could bear the burdenwhile still flying like the wind. Duncan enjoyed working him up to a gallop on the grounds of Kensington.

Which was precisely why Albion had his eye on the horse. And why Duncan had quickly outbid his brother when they both set their sights on the steed while visiting the horse stalls at Newmarket.

Dash it all if he hadn’t grown quite fond of the creature, who nibbled on apples and carrots from Duncan’s hands as gently as a dove and carried him with a strength and agility rivaling no other in the animal kingdom.

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