Feast of Stephen by K. J. Charles Page B

have
made an excellent justiciar one day. “I spent a long time wondering
that, actually. And at last I realised, the truth is…” He held out
his arm, crooked in gentlemanly style for her to take. “Lucien
likes clothes.”
    “He likes
clothes,” Saint repeated.
    “If he liked
cake, he would ensure there were plates of cake in every room, so
everyone could have all the cake they wanted, whether they actually
liked cake or not. But he likes clothes.”
    “Right. Got
you.” She gave a sudden, unladylike snort. “Good thing he don’t
like monkeys, then.”
    Stephen yelped
with startled laughter. Saint adopted a well-bred tone. “Good
efternoon, Mr. Day, end may I present you with a monkey?”
    “Thank you, but
I already have a very satisfactory orang-utan,” Stephen assured her
with a deep bow. “Come on, let’s go down.”
    She winced.
“Are we gonna eat with you and his majesty again?”
    “You’re going
to have to get used to it, you know. Honestly, he’s not that bad.
Hasn’t Mr Merrick told you about how they lived in China?”
    “Yeah, but he’s
still really posh, and… I mean, I know Frank. I know you.
But…” She scuffed her silken slipper against the floorboards. “Just
don’t feel like I ought to be here, you know?”
    “Yes, I do. But
if you’re going to marry Mr. Merrick, or at least—” He waved a hand
to indicate a relationship without benefit of clergy. “—you’ll just
have to get used to Lucien. There’s no separating them, and you
shoudn’t want to. I’ve got Mr. Merrick in my life as much as you
have Lord Crane.”
    “Yeah, but it’s
easier for you. You’re a bloke.”
    “Uh,” Stephen
said. “It really isn’t.”
    Saint’s cheeks
pinked. “Yeah, well, maybe not that, but you know what I mean,
right?”
    “Two
questions,” Stephen said. “Are you afraid of Lord Crane? And are
you going to run away, in front of me and Mr. Merrick?”
    Saint stuck her
small chin out belligerently. “No, I’m not, and no, I’m fucking not.”
    “Then stop
shilly-shallying and come downstairs. I’m hungry.” Stephen crooked
his arm again, and this time she took it.
    ***
    On the whole,
Crane felt, dinner could have gone worse. It had been a simple meal
mostly prepared and left for them by the servants he paid to come
at convenient times only. Saint had been nervy and self-conscious
but that could hardly be helped. He intimidated her, and she was
far too prickly to be put at her ease with courtesy or charm. She
was an uneducated, illiterate, untravelled girl; he was a wealthy
titled older man illegally screwing her superior officer. It was
obvious she didn’t know quite where to look between them, and her
discomfort made Stephen twitchy.
    Stephen had
done his manful best to get her talking, which was to say
determined yet inept. Merrick betrayed no sign of concern at her
obvious anxiety. He’d learned patience in the same hard school as
Crane; he would wait for her to relax.
    Well, that was,
among other things, why they were here. It was Crane’s intention
that by the time they left Rothwell, Saint would be part of his
household, quite used to his and Stephen’s relationship, and
wearing Merrick’s ring.
    Dressing her
differently had had surprisingly little effect. Some people could
be made free by changing their appearance, as if it released them
from the shackles of an old identity. Not Stephen, though, and
apparently not Saint. She had been a vision of fairness in pale
blue and silver as she entered, and Merrick’s appreciative whistle
had made her blush rather charmingly, but she made no effort to ape
society manners, and sat with as much awkwardness as she’d shown in
her scruffy old clothes. It seemed she would continue being
herself, regardless of trappings.
    Which meant two
things: that Merrick had made a damned good choice, and that Crane
would need to try another tack.
    With that in
mind, once dinner was concluded, he ushered them all into the
parlour, where