Page 126 of Confounding Oaths
From anybody else it would have been malice, or at least wilful obstinacy. From Miss Bickle it was just what she was like, and Mr. Caesar took it in the spirit it was intended. “You and I have personally met a goddess and the queen of the fairies and they were both terrible people. Why would you expect fate to be any less vicious?”
Miss Bickle considered this. “Because I am a foolish girl who prefers to choose hope.”
When she said it, it seemed easy. And so Mr. Caesar delicately dabbed his tears away with a handkerchief. And chose.
I will admit, reader, that I have (or I suppose from another perspective quite literallyam) an imp of the perverse that urges me to leave the story here. As I intimated at the end of my last novel, once the central conflict is resolved, I like to bring things to an end as swiftly as possible. Ordinarily, I lose interest the moment everybody has been turned back from whatever they’ve been turned into and everybody is in love with the right person (by my standards, at least, I will freely admit that I am not wholly above leaving a gentleman under the effects of a love potion if it will lead to his making better choices—this happened once in Athens, as I am sure you remember).But narrative convention, in this instance, dictates that I should provide you with just slightly more information.
Of course, what narrative convention demands is not always within my power to give. Since I collect these stories by observation, I could not simplyinventdetails in order to provide closure to a reader some two centuries after they took place. I would have needed to be present at some event at which I could authentically observe that, for example, Captain James either did or did not die at the end of a French sabre at the Battle of Quatre Bras.
By great good fortune, however, I was present at just such an event.
Napoleon had fallen once again, to the great joy of all those who cherished freedom from tyranny and the rights of hereditary aristocrats, and the ton was alive with celebration. And with the Bourbon monarchy restored to their definitely entirely rightful throne, the great and the good of England were once again able to engage their passion for the Parisian without feeling like traitors to their nation and their class.
Thus, the Vicomte de Loux was able to host another ball and was, once again, somewhat incentivised to invite as much of the army as he could, in order to remind everybody that he’d been on the right side all along.
There had, initially, been something of a question over whether the Caesars would be invited at all, given the fracas that had unfolded last time. But since the man most likely to make a scene at their inclusion had been eaten by a bear, it did not in the end prove much of an issue.
“For the hundredth time,” Miss Caesar was telling her brother, as they rode in a still-borrowed carriage to the vicomte’s new let, “go and speak to him.”
It was not a conversation Mr. Caesar wished to repeat. But then he hadn’t wished to repeat it any of the other times either. “He hasn’t come to speak to me.”
“He’s been at war. He’s probably had other things on his mind.”
“Then I should not intrude.”
Miss Anne, who had been watching the countryside roll by outside, gave her brother a sharp look. “You need to be bolder, John.”
“I’m really not sure I do.” This was a lie. He was very sure he did indeed. It was just so much harder on his own.
The carriage rolled to a halt alongside a dozen others and the Caesars alighted. Mr. Caesar made his habitual scan of the crowd and noted that his uncle had yet to arrive, which he counted as a small blessing, and that the regiment had yet to arrive, which he counted very much otherwise.
But he pushed the thoughts aside. Either the captain would be there, or he would not. Either he would have returned from the war still wishing to be part of Mr. Caesar’s life, or he would not. In the meantime there were still Miss Caesar and Miss Anne to consider. And here Mr. Caesar consoled himself with the thought that at the very least it would be hard for things to go worse than they had last time.
Even so, the spectre of recent events hung over all three of the Caesar children as they made their way to the ballroom. The ton had a frankly inconsistent record when it came to supernatural scandal. At times they would do their best to forget it lest they be uncomfortably reminded of their own cosmic insignificance. And at times they turned sharply against the victims for essentially the same reason.
“And you’re sure,” Mr. Caesar checked with his sister for the hundred and third time, “that you want to risk this?”
She nodded. “I have tried being ignored, and I have tried being what society asks. Tonight let them take or leave me as I am.”
So Mr. Caesar led his sisters to the ballroom and, once they had been announced, he let Miss Caesar lead the way.
Her demeanour had changed greatly since her return from the Other Court. She had taken to dressing more brightly, and in styles that better suited her. This evening she wore a white chemise beneath a gown of red draped asymmetrically over one shoulder. She looked almost classical, at least to her brother’s eyes. To her own eyes she looked only like herself, and that, she felt, was enough. For the past several weeks she had taken to wearing her hair tied in styles she’d learned from Amenirdis, but for the evening she had let it loose, and free, framing her head like a sunburst. As she walked into the ballroom with eyes—some cruel, some welcoming—turning towards her, she felt like every queen and every goddess.
She was not sure if she hadhopedthat Mr. Bygrave would be the first to approach her. But he was.
“Miss Caesar.” He bowed stiffly. “You—that is, I—it has been some time.”
Changed as she had been by her experiences, a lifetime of training could not be overwritten in a hundred days. Miss Caesar dropped into a flawlessly executed curtsey. “It has, sir.”
“I confess,” he went on, “my memory of the last few months is a little … muddled?”
That, Miss Caesar had expected but did not like to hear. “It was fairy magic,” she said. “I believe it clouds the mind.”
Mr. Bygrave developed a sudden and intense interest in his own shoes. “I suppose I am feeling less muddled now.”
“Then I shall be happy to introduce you to my sister.”
At that, Mr. Bygrave coloured. “No. I mean, your sister is lovely also and, well, it wouldn’t do to dance with only one lady at a ball. But, well, would you …”
