Page 27 of Plucked By the Orc

“I have other callers, Duncan. You should have expected as much.”

“Marvelous,” he said, trying to summon some of Albion’s jolliness. “I’m sure Miss Gabbert will be pleased to meet them. You shall find that she carries herself with a demeanor perfectly suited for London’s parlors.”

“In other words, she says nothing of interest.”

“Should she offer an opinion, you will discover she has more than enough to say and intelligently at that.”

“Brother,” Albion gasped. “I cannot remember the last time you credited anyone with an intellect worthy of comment. Though I assume you still find yours superior.”

“I do not believe an opinion on that matter is either required or wanted.”

“Consider banishing judgment from your mind altogether,” Albion said lightly. “Then you shall be a happier fellow. For once, listen to your head rather than your heart. Your head’s going to get in trouble one day. I’d wager Miss Gabbert agrees.”

Duncan stiffened and wondered why he hadn’t insisted Albion remain at home. “While I admire Miss Gabbert’s refinement, I wish this society owned a more accepting attitude toward those of the female persuasion who might speak to the issues of the day.”

“I would welcome such discourse, Duncan,” his mother said. “But as I have three callers due to visit today, one being a vicar and presumably conservative in his opinions, I hope your acquaintance comports herself. Until they take their leave, anyway.”

“Oh, I know Dunc hopes she’ll comport herself properly,” Albion said.

“I don’t care for that moniker,” Duncan muttered. “It is a verb, not a name.”

As usual, Albion ignored the complaint. “As for myself? Well, if she lets loose with some brash language, I shan’t be disappointed.”

“How extraordinary,” Mother said.

Duncan knew his mother wanted to say more, but the tread of footsteps on plank boards disrupted their banter.

“This is it,” Albion said. “Why, I feel the curtain is rising at a theater.”

“I’m sure these are Mother’s callers,” Duncan told him, glancing at his pocket watch. Why was he so damnably nervous, anyway? “Miss Gabbert is not due to arrive just yet.”

Mother’s butler entered and held the door for the trio of guests.

“Vicar Swinton,” the butler announced. “Lady Augusta Maberly. And her son. Master Felton Maberly.”

If Duncan remembered correctly, Lady Maberly was the widow of a viscount. He may have been introduced to her at the horse races at Newmarket. But he couldn’t be sure. Duncan often found himself at a disadvantage in these situations. After all, Lady Maberly only knew of three orcs, all of whom were assembled in the parlor.

In contrast, Duncan had met many matrons just like her ladyship: medium of stature, bedecked in a gown and jewels that tastefully communicated her high-born station, and imperious of manner. And she did not look happy to see that both of Mother’s sons were present.

For the first time since proposing the idea, Duncan worried he had miscalculated. His pulse raced. He should never have placed Iris in a situation where she might embarrass herself.Lady Maberly might throw out the name of a person she insisted a lady like Iris Gabbert simply must have met or a musical performance that had been the toast of the previous season.

He tried to calm himself. Iris Gabbert was a clever woman. He had to trust her cleverness. Besides, Lady Maberly’s two companions appeared amenable enough.

Generally speaking, Duncan bore no love for men who wore the collar, many of whom were particularly wary of the Lords of the Hidden Realm. But this Vicar Swinton had kind brown eyes and a mild disposition. He reached up to shake Duncan’s hand and seemed glad to make his acquaintance.

The other gentleman, young Felton, was unfamiliar. He must have been Lady Maberly’s younger son. So it came as no surprise that the fellow had the same carefree demeanor as Albion, readily shaking hands and gallantly kissing Mother’s, pleased as punch to see orcs for himself.

Perhaps a tad too pleased, as some humans were, as though masking a discomfort they didn’t want anyone to know they felt. But Duncan had grown accustomed to such reactions.

“This is an honor, sirs. You see, I’ve followed the stories of the Lords of the Hidden Realm. Why your silver industry is just the ticket. And as for those sapphires that change color in the light? Mother simply can’t get enough of them.”

Felton pointed at a glittering ring on Lady Maberly’s finger. It was among the more expensive gradients with a pinkish-orange hue favored by English ladies. Albion was engaged in front-facing sales with the human world because of his forever affable demeanor.

“A fine choice indeed,” Albion told them. “Suitably elegant with just the right amount of … how would one put it? Flair?”

“Quite so,” Felton agreed. “I think you fellows will make London even more exciting for your presence, though I haven’t had the good fortune to meet you until now.”

“Felton has been well occupied with his studies,” Lady Maberly commented. “At Oxford.” She emphasized the last word as though her son had descended from heaven.

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