“Oh, thank you.” Sophronia actually hugged her sister.
Petunia allowed it and then brushed her away. “Really, Sophronia, I’m not accustomed to such emotional displays. It’s quite exhausting. Now I must nap. Off with you three, go try things on. I know you want to more than anything. See about accessories.”
The girls did as instructed. Although it must be admitted they spent some time also discussing how to hide deadly little knives in their hair, whether Sophronia’s favorite carnet de bal garrote was too much at a dinner party, and if Bumbersnoot could be decorated to match the dress. They did not talk of Soap, although Sophronia could tell Dimity dearly wanted to.
The blue gown turned out to be exactly the correct choice. For while Lord Akeldama was a vampire who pursued excess in all things himself, he appreciated refinement in others. Although he appeared welcoming as he ushered them into his well-appointed home near Regent’s Park, his eyes were critical. The vampire uttered not one negative word, but Dimity suddenly knew herself to be wearing too much jewelry. Petunia realized that her condition was no secret to the discerning eye. And Agatha, poor Agatha, was convinced she was a failure in all things fashionable, although her dress was à la mode and her hair had taken three hours.
Sophronia’s subtle gown and understated pearls, however, met with approval. The ghost of a smile twitched at Lord Akeldama’s perfectly pouty lips as he evaluated her attire.
“How lovely to see such beautiful butterflies. My, but I do adore groups of ladies. They always balance out my table so very decorously. I blush to admit it, but my assemblies are too often weighted in the gentlemanly direction. Speaking of which, drones! Oh, where are my drones? You butterflies simply must have matched escort flowers.”
Lord Akeldama was dressed in emerald satin with a cream-and-gold striped waistcoat, and a cream silk cravat tied over with an emerald ribbon. He wore a gold-and-emerald tie pin that gave Dimity a small case of the vapors.
“Now, that,” she whispered to Sophronia, “is most certainly not paste!”
At Lord Akeldama’s summons, a group of stunning young men trooped down the stairs from their private chambers above. They were all dressed as impeccably as their master, if perhaps not quite so flash. Sophronia felt a pang of loss at having been forced to turn down Lord Akeldama’s offer of patronage. Only think, at one time I might have lived among all this beauty. The drones stood, untroubled, as the vampire evaluated them carefully and then paired each with one of the young women—based on color, of course.
Sophronia privately suspected that character was also taken into account. Lord Akeldama was shallow—or he liked to be thought that way—but not so shallow as to sacrifice conversational flow on the altar of fashion. Not for an entire evening, at least.
“Mrs. Hisselpenny, such a lovely rose pink, you would go well with Peanut here.” Peanut proved to be tall, with a shock of thick caramel-colored hair and a long, friendly face. He wore apple green, which paired with Petunia’s pink to look very like a rosebush.
“Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, such sparkles go well with Bolo. Good evening, Bolo, my pearl.” Dimity was in a froth of layered cream muslin, demure except that the sleeves were transparent and the hem had a band of lavender embroidery. Of course, she was also wearing a great deal of—supposedly—amethyst jewelry. Bolo, a shorter, stouter individual with an angelic round face and the most stunning dark eyes, wore black velvet and gray and no jewelry at all, not even a pin.
“You are the moon to his night sky.” Lord Akeldama ushered them off together.
Sophronia swallowed down a smile.
“Now, for Miss Woosmoss, perhaps Dingle?” Dingle stepped forward. If being matched with Agatha was an insult, his expression showed nothing but pleasure at her company. He was blond with blue eyes, his evening suit of chocolate brown. Sophronia had to admit that if anything were to go with Agatha’s unfortunate ruffled orange gown, that was it. Together they looked like a pumpkin patch.
While the others were led away, the vampire turned on Sophronia. “Which leaves you, my dearest kitten.”
“Lord Akeldama, it is such a pleasure to see you again.” Sophronia attempted to retain some of the conversational territory, which the vampire, in a remarkable imitation of a military invasion, had taken into his possession from the moment they pulled the bell rope.
He smiled, showing fang.
Sophronia took it like a girl who had been educated by a vampire. She gave him her best wolfish grin back, showing all her teeth and making certain it did not reach her eyes.
“Like that, is it? More lioness than kitten now.” Lord Akeldama inclined his head.
He had given her an opening. “So unexpectedly kind of you to extend an invitation to three lowly schoolgirls.”
“’Twas all for you, my little posy of teeth.”
“You may find I also have claws.”
The vampire laughed and extended her his arm to lead her in himself—quite the honor. “I shall take the risk, my vicious pet. I find you terribly intriguing.” He waved away the rest of his drones and they vanished about other tasks.
“You find me intriguing? I should have thought that impulse passed by now, my lord.”
“Now, now, no one, kitten, has ever called me impulsive. Many things, but never that. Time has so little meaning for me, I can afford to take it slowly. Carefully research any subject of interest.”
Sophronia wasn’t certain how she felt about being a subject of interest, but she wished to make her situation clear—for everyone’s safety. “My lord, you did receive my letter?”
Lord Akeldama allowed his face to fall. “Crushed, my dearest moggie. It’s not often I offer for a female drone, you do realize?”
“I am aware of the honor. Circumstances, my lord, forced another choice upon me.”
Lord Akeldama’s perfect forehead crinkled. “Coercion? My dear, I do not like to hear that at all.”
Sophronia hastened to prevent disaster. “It is not an unwelcome position. I am satisfied with my future and my bargain.” With the Picklemen on the move, the last thing she wanted was Lord Akeldama, powerful vampire rove, and the dewan, powerful werewolf loner, at each other’s proverbial throats.
Her letter had declined Lord Akeldama’s offer of indenture without specifying who had won her instead. So far as she knew, the vampire remained ignorant of the fact that, when she left school, she would work for the werewolves. Sophronia was hoarding that story as ammunition. Lord Akeldama desired information above all things. There might come a time when she could use gossip about herself to bargain for his help. No sense in giving anything away. Lord Akeldama was no charity case. Even this dinner was no doubt in pursuit of some end to which her presence was a means. She was not so foolish as to believe it was actually an honor.
The vampire watched her closely. She hoped none of her thoughts showed on her face. Lady Linette had schooled them in impassive expressions, but she knew her eyes were hard to control. And Lord Akeldama was very good at perceiving without showing that he did. I wonder if that is a product of his age or if he, too, once had training.
Without further private communication, they followed the others into a large back parlor. The house was decorated in a baroque style, but what intrigued Sophronia was how many of the gilt frames, decorative lamps, and pretty vases were also deadly. They’d studied some of the makers. The gas lamp that detached and exploded on impact was from a Swiss clockmaker. The frames with the leaf corners that became knives were from a private dealer in Manchester. Lord Akeldama was a vampire after her own heart. Although, to be frank, her taste was less ornate. Dimity, however, was in raptures.