Page 21 of Hold Me Fast
Matters could change, and almost certainly would. Tammie was seldom so deeply in her dream world that she forgot Guy might change his mind at any time, especially if she behaved in any way that the toffee-nosed upper classes regarded as scandalous. Little did they know how scandalous Guy was! Or perhaps they did not care. He was, after all, an earl and a man!
And an elf king. That realization was lodged in Tammie’s brain, and though the rational part of her mind wanted to argue that elves were imaginary, the rest of her knew Guy behaved exactly like the faery folk of the songs and the stories—and got away with it, furthermore. Anyone else, even an earl, would have been caught and punished long since. What was that, if not faery magic?
As if to confirm her suspicions, or perhaps to mock her, the dark fire of his aura had coalesced into a crown. He was an elf king.
Her perfect behavior was rewarded early in the second week of such engagements. Guy had a request for Tammie that he really wanted to fulfill, but it was at a time when he needed to be elsewhere. The boy he had given Tammie to a couple of weeks earlier was showing signs of cold feet, and Guy planned a drunken afternoon with trimmings that would take the poor boy’s freedom of choice away forever.
Tammie didn’t want to know the details, but she hoped Guy failed. The boy was a naive fool, but not naturally vicious. The consequence of his preoccupation, however, was that Guy planned to send her to an afternoon concert with only her maid, two footmen, and one of Guy’s muscle-men as escort.
Perhaps Jowan would be there.
“At least that Cornish fool won’t be there to bother you,” said Guy, seeming to read her mind. Typical faery magic, she thought. “He has somehow managed to gain entree to the Marquess of Deerhaven’s crowd, and Lady Bevan has nothing to do with any of those.”
Tammie spread her hand and studied the back of it. As always, she was only one step away from the dreams in which she preferred to live. She had never noticed before, but the blue veins formed letters. A “B” and an “L”. Or perhaps the second letter was a “V”. How interesting. Be Valiant. Is that what her hand was telling her?
She kept her eyes lowered for fear Guy would read the rebellion she planned. She had been searching the ballads for clues to an escape and had found some stories where the person stolen by the faery managed to escape, so it was possible.
She did not think she would be able to persuade Guy to sleep on her lap or come swimming with her, as the maidens in two ballads did, one killing the elf knight with the dagger he intended to use on her and the other also visiting the fate the elf knight intended on her, and drowning him. But there was still hope in the ballads, for some escaped, with help.
Not all rescues were successful, and none of the rescued were ever quite the same. Still, better to be free and damaged, or to die trying, than to remain enslaved to Guy.
Jowan would help if only she could reach him and convince him. She did not know how she would manage it, but somehow, she planned to see Jowan. Lady Bevan’s would be a good opportunity if he was there. She had looked for him at every entertainment, but Guy’s explanation of how he chose where to send her explained Jowan’s absence.
No matter. If not this time, then another.
“Go, then,” Guy said. “I will see you at dinner this evening.”
Lady Bevan was one of those who thought herself too important to bother with politeness to a performer. Tammie’s carriage was directed to the back door and met by a butler who echoed his mistress’s superior attitude.
He led them to a little room lined with cupboards. It had three uncomfortable chairs and no other furniture. “You will stay in this room until you are called, as will these others,” he instructed. “You will sing four songs while the guests are eating luncheon. When you have finished singing, you will return to this room, and your carriage will be called. You will not mingle with your betters.”
“Miss Lind,” Tammie said, in her most aristocratic accent.
The butler reared back in offense. “I beg your pardon?”
“Not granted,” Tammie snapped back. “I find your tone offensive. If you are relaying your mistress’s instructions, then I find Lady Bevan offensive. Henry, will you send for my carriage, immediately please.”
Henry bowed. “Yes, Miss Lind.” He turned towards the door, but the butler moved to intercept him.
“See here,” said the butler. “Lady Bevan is expecting you to entertain her guests. She has told them you are coming.”
“You may inform Lady Bevan that I am an artist, and I do not sing for those who do not give my art the respect it deserves. Singing while people are eating, indeed! You might also tell her that an insult to me is an insult to the Earl of Coombe.”
The butler backed away. “Wait here,” he said.
“No,” said Tammie, and she led the other four from the room, turning along the passage in the direction away from the door they’d entered by. The butler grabbed her arm, but Guy’s brute put his massive hand over the butler’s thin one and the butler fell back, wincing.
“You cannot go out there,” said the butler, as Henry the footman opened the green baize door.
Tammie ignored him. Lady Bevan was in the entrance hall, directing footmen who were moving vases of flowers according to the lady’s direction.
“Henry,” Tammie said, “my carriage.”
“Yes, Miss Lind,” said Henry again, and negotiated a path across the room through the chaos of flower movers. Tammie seated herself in a comfortable chair and the rest of her minders gathered nearby.
“You!” Lady Bevan shrieked, pointing a finger at Tammie. “You cannot wait there. The butler will show you where you can wait.”
Tammie smiled serenely. “No, thank you. I am comfortable here. But do not be concerned, Lady Bevan. My carriage will arrive shortly, and I shall be gone before your guests arrive.”
