Page 12 of Enchanted Net
They made the arrangements after considering their various obligations, settling on Thursday week. Vitus considered, then said, “Pardon, may I ask another question? Related to the Fortiers.”
There was another of those shifts, of Landry rearranging himself, as if he might need to act in some new way. “Yes?” The reply was entirely neutral in tone.
“I had the pleasure of meeting Mistress Lytton-Powell at the St George’s Day gala. She invited me to call on her for a professional consultation, but I—” His voice trailed off. “I did not wish to give offence, either to her, or to her fiancé’s family.”
“And I would indeed know something about that.” Landry nodded once, though he was silent for long enough that Vitus was sure he’d overstepped somehow. “If she made the invitation, she considers it within her bounds. I would not, however, seek a meeting in some private place. The seeming of the thing, you understand, rather than the risk of it?”
It took Vitus a moment to think that through. “I thought her illusion work skilful. And more than that, artistically innovative. As someone who looks to make works of magic that combine function and form, it caught my eye.”
Landry inclined his head. “Her family has brought her up well, in all the ways one means by that sentence. Call on her in her apprenticeship, when her apprentice mistress is available. But yes, I think you might have mutual interests, in the way your magic is expressed.” He shrugged once. “I would put in a word for you, but I do not expect to see her to speak to for at least a fortnight. I have a number of other obligations.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to extend yourself on that point. You barely know me.” Vitus nodded. “I appreciate that. I’ll send a message and ask her to let me know if there is a convenient time.” It would let her decide, or let her dissuade, if her comments at the gala had been pure politeness.
“I hope your family is also well? I suppose the next event of note will be the Midsummer Faire.” Landry offered it agreeably. “Or perhaps the Council rites?”
“The latter, I expect. We were honoured with an invitation this year.” It would be a fantastic opportunity to remind people that Vitus and his skills existed. Papa had exerted himself on that count, dropping a word in a couple of relevant ears. “Mama is quite looking forward to it. And then the Faire, yes, that’s always an enjoyable outing.” And a necessary place for him to begin to establish himself.
“I will hope to see you at one or the other, then. Please remember me to your mother. She has always been delightful to speak with.” Landry then touched his hat. “I should be off. Thursday next, you needn’t bring anything other than whatever you use for notes.”
Vitus nodded. “Thank you for your time, and the time to come.” He watched Landry walk off, further into the crafting quarter, before turning down into the courtyard that led to Niobe’s workshop. He had the sense, strong but hard to pin down, that Landry had been pleased to have a conversation about skill and knowledge that was comfortable for him. And that, simultaneously, that it was a change from other conversations in his life. The information about Mistress Lytton-Powell was, however, welcome, and he would figure out how to send a note round in the next day or so.
Chapter9
MAY 11TH AT BRYN GLAS, WALES
Thessaly had just finished the fourth round of drills when she heard her aunt. “Tea, dear?” It was a lovely day out, warm and dry enough that Thessaly had come to work through her duelling exercises outside in the meadow beyond Aunt Metaia’s more structured gardens.
She had not actually been able to set up a duel this month, either in the past or soon. And June would be worse, between the Council rites and the Midsummer Faire. Thessaly had hopes of one in a week or ten days, depending on whether a couple of people could get free. It had to be a couple, for propriety’s sake, and ideally at least one other woman. Palantina Monkton and her brother Decimus, maybe, or Eveline and Cuthbert North, but both pairs of siblings often had other obligations. She’d have to hold her thumbs for good luck and hope.
“Coming, Aunt Metaia.” She wiped her face off with her handkerchief, then looked around to make sure that everything was fit to be left. She undid one lingering cantrip in the southwest corner and mended a bit of torn up ground ten feet from her. Then she considered the knees of the pantaloons she was wearing under her calf-length frock. Aunt Metaia approved thoroughly of rational dress, especially for active pursuits, but she did not approve of grass stains at the tea table. Nor did she approve of letting stains set and making more trouble for the maids later.
Fortunately, another charm took care of that one. One final bit of magic pulled all the wisps of hair that had come loose into a tidier form. Thessaly felt quite suitable to be good company again. She had come up here in a burst of frustration, after a somewhat aggravating morning being quiet and attentive while Lady Maylis was at home to callers. Even though she’d just been sitting there - with Childeric beside her for about half of it - she’d turned up at Bryn Glas feeling exhausted and out of sorts.
By the time she made it back to the table on the garden terrace, Aunt Metaia had settled in. Three kinds of scones and several small decorative pastries stood on the tiered stand, along with neatly sliced sandwiches. “Oh, tea.” Thessaly let out a relieved sigh. “Please do thank Cook for me?”
“Are they not feeding you at home? I swear, Thessaly, every time you come here, you seem to be starving. Though you worked up an appetite, too.” Aunt Metaia settled into her own chair. She was wearing one of her favourite forms of aesthetic dress, a loose peacock tea gown over a darker blue underdress, uncorseted. The fabric, though, was radiantly gorgeous. The shade shimmered from blues to greens to a hint of purple like the bird, a far richer weave than Mama normally wore at home. “Has the tree stump been thoroughly defeated, then?”
Thessaly ducked her chin, because that was an edged question. “Thank you for the chance. I wanted to scream most of the morning.” She felt far more alive here, she realised, than she had at Arundel, or even at home. As if she could flourish here and not there. That was an uncomfortable thought, and unhelpful to boot, and she set it aside.
“A particular frustration?” Aunt Metaia poured the tea, without looking directly at Thessaly. That was pointed, too. Aunt Metaia might be Thessaly’s favourite aunt by far, and Thessaly was fairly sure she stood high in Aunt Metaia’s list of favourite relatives. But that didn’t mean Aunt Metaia wasn’t terrifyingly competent in her own right, and by the standards of Albion’s Council. She was an acclaimed Mistress of Illusion, far beyond Thessaly’s own skills at the moment. She also held an equal mastery of Sympathetic magic, and she was entirely adept in any social or academic duel.
“Lady Maylis asked for me to receive callers with her. It was,” Thessaly broke off, because there was no good way to say this. “It was very rigid.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Aunt Metaia’s voice was calm, comfortable.
Thessaly considered. “I know making a good marriage is expected. For my sake, for the family’s sake, for the sake of the next generation. Childeric can be charming, and I know I’m very lucky that his family thought me suitable.” Aunt Metaia knew all of that. The Powells had been a powerful family for many years. But neither they nor the Lytton’s - Papa’s family - had held the land magic, at least not any of the lines that led to Thessaly.
Aunt Metaia nodded. “The Fortier lands are flourishing, both magically and otherwise. They’ve had a charmed generation or two, as well. Two handsome sons in the current line. A nephew, and then of course there are Bradamante’s children.” That was the sister between Lord Clovis and Magister Dagobert. She’d married out of the family, but of course remained close with her brothers and mother.
“And Arundel is a stunning estate.” They’d talked about where Thessaly and Childeric would live, as part of the betrothal agreements. The time between the betrothal and marriage was partly to fit up the entire first floor of the manor at Arundel for their particular use. By the wedding, they’d have their own drawing room, workroom, study, and library, as well as adjoining bedrooms. Sigbert had rooms above, where Childeric was now, and the other end of that floor was the nursery. Lord Clovis and Lady Maylis had the ground floor on that wing, with the kitchens and staff spaces in a courtyard off that side of the house. “And Lady Maylis hinted they might also see about a town house in Trellech in due course. Besides the family one.”
Aunt Metaia nodded, tilting her head. She was considering saying something, Thessaly knew that look. “And you know, I’m sure, that there aren’t too many people your father considers suitable among people around your age.”
Thessaly grimaced. “No. Mama and I went over that. I know the lists as well as anyone, of the Heirs and notable families. Ignatius Knapton was promised young, and Temenos Sibley’s still in his Guard apprenticeship, it’s not suitable for him to marry. Lionel Baddock shows no signs of marrying yet, he refused any discussion of it.”
“Also, Lionel Baddock’s looking for someone with a larger dowry than your father would settle on you. As are a couple of my colleagues on the Council. The Grimly boys, or Gaius Roberts or Oswald Martin.” Aunt Metaia pursed her lips. “Has Harold ever discussed that with you?”
Thessaly blinked. She’d known Aunt Metaia was not entirely pleased with Father for some reason, but no one had said why. “Not in detail, other than that I’ve read the marriage agreements.” That had, in fact, been curious, but no one had included her in the financial discussions. “There’s a settlement for me, but no dowry.” The settlement would come from the Fortiers, with an increasing amount as she fulfilled the terms of the agreement when it came to children.
