I couldn’t help admiring the deftness of that spell before I turned my attention to the people already in the room, most of whom had turned to peer at us on our entrance. From the photos Emeric had shown me yesterday, I could easily pick out the burly, bearded form of Wilhelm Acheling and his adult son Carmine, who was more on the outright flabby side. Poised near them with glasses of sparkling wine in hand were the gaunt, peevish-looking Haythorpes, Octavian and Barbara—constantly vying to top the Achelings in both wealth and reputation, according to Emeric.
Among the other couples present, the only other faces my guide had pointed out to me yesterday were Ernest and Harriet Mismeren. A trace of a shimmer around Ernest’s pale hair told me he’d used a less-deft illusion on it, probably to disguise a bald spot. Whether Harriet’s makeup was actual powders or conjured hues, she’d caked too much of it on. The two of them didn’t have quite the standing of most of the families the Achelings allowed into their circle, only just making the cut, which Emeric speculated was why they’d thrown themselves so whole-heartedly into this conspiracy. They were the ones so eager about it they’d let a telling remark slip in his hearing.
No one else from Emeric’s family had been invited. He’d mentioned that they weren’t all that highly regarded, after all. I’d gotten the impression that he’d only been invited because he was bringing me along like some kind of hostess gift.
The older Acheling strode over with a haughty air and looked me up and down. I suspected he’d have liked to make an expression of disdain, but I’d made sure my hair was perfectly sculpted into its French braid and picked a chic designer dress even my mother couldn’t have found fault with for this sort of occasion. If I was going to present myself here as a Warbury first and foremost, I’d damn well look the part.
“You must be Cressida,” he said in a careful tone that betrayed no enthusiasm. “I’m Wilhelm Acheling. It’s a pleasure to have you as my guest, even if the opportunity didn’t come about through the most ideal circumstances.”
I smiled at him, tamping down on my nerves as well as I could. “I appreciate the invitation. After everything… I wasn’t sure what sort of welcome I’d receive here. But Emeric assured me that Portland society would be willing to give me a chance, and I’m glad to see that’s proving true.”
We’d decided it would be best if I acknowledged the elephant in the room—my traitorous turn against my family and the former barons—rather than trying to gloss over it. Everyone in this room would be aware of my history. Better that I seemed contrite about it than defiant.
“Of course. I’m sure we’d all be interested to hear how you came to be here, and will reserve judgment until the story is told.” His tone had turned slightly wry. He gestured me farther into the room. “Make yourself comfortable. My wife should be around in a matter of minutes, and we’ll dine not long after that.”
He said that as if the conversation was over, but he lingered nearby as I ventured over to a table and picked up a glass of wine. I could tell from a sniff that it was good stuff, but after my vodka disaster just days ago, it seemed wise to go easy on the intoxicating beverages while I was undercover.
As I took a restrained sip, Barbara Haythorpe turned to me. “Tired of the new barons’ company, did you?” she said without bothering with introductions. “You couldn’t have been that far off from graduating.”
I shrugged, choosing my words cautiously. No one here would speak out blatantly against the barons in such wide company, and I should seem equally circumspect if they were going to trust me. “You could say it was more that they tired of me. And I realized some of the choices I made earlier might have been too hasty. I’ve learned all I could there, for the time being. It was more important that I see what I can make of myself out in the real world.”
Reading between the lines, they could easily interpret that to mean that I hadn’t been happy with my situation on the side of the new barons and was looking to reconnect with the loyalists. The fact that I’d made them read between the lines would help prove that I wasn’t going to be foolhardy about it.
A faint prickling sensation prodded the mental shields I kept up automatically, as every fearmancer learned to do as soon as they came into their magic. Someone had aimed an insight spell at me. I couldn’t appear weak, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let them get a tiny glimpse of my supposed reasons for abandoning our new rulers.
I adjusted the invisible walls, letting them thin in one spot just as I focused on a memory of Rory laying into me for imagining I might have a place in their world. It was impossible to know how much of that recollection and the emotions that came with it might pass through, but hopefully it’d give my silent interrogator the right sort of taste.
“What are you planning on occupying yourself with now that you’re here?” Octavian Haythorpe inquired, staring down his beakish nose at me.
I swirled my wine in my glass and took another sip. “I’d like to reconnect with my family, but I don’t imagine it’s any secret that they’re unlikely to welcome me with open arms. I’m going to be keeping an eye out for opportunities to regain their trust and respect. Warburys are nothing if not stubborn. I’ll figure it out.”
So if you all have some treasonous scheme you’d like to invite me to join in on, please do!
I couldn’t expect them to spill the beans that easily, though. Octavian simply took in my answer with a slow blink of his heavy-lidded eyes. “Best of luck to you then.”
A woman in a gauzy summer frock swept into the room then. The deep ruby highlights in her red hair and eyebrows must have been magically enhanced, especially considering she couldn’t have been younger than fifty, but the effect was subtle enough that the rich shade looked totally natural. Her gaze shot straight to me, and she made a beeline for me, beaming.
“Cressida Warbury, my dear, I heard you’d be joining us, but I hardly believed it. What do you think of my modest home? Oh, I’m Flora Acheling—I should have said that from the start.”
Her bright breeziness made a startling contrast with her husband’s sternness. Maybe it was a good-cop-bad-cop sort of routine, her affected sweetness opening doors that his forceful clout couldn’t.
Someone who hadn’t grown up a Warbury might have been disarmed by it. I simply beamed mildly back at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And your house is lovely.” I couldn’t help the hint of dryness that crept into my tone, a remnant from the days when I’d given my snobbery freer rein. This home was nothing compared to the ones I’d grown up in, but then, they wouldn’t really expect me to be wowed by it.
“You poor thing, off all on your own now.” Flora patted my arm. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
The gesture was both a power play and an attempt at garnering favor. She was reminding me that she was in much more of a position to help me than the other way around at this exact moment, but fully aware that in as little as a few days’ time, I might be back in my family’s good graces, and it’d be very useful if I looked back on her hospitality with gratitude.
I held my smile. “Thankfully I’m not completely alone. Emeric has really stepped up in helping me make the right connections while I get back on my feet.”