Page 53 of Immortal Rose

“It is often better to be underestimated than admired,” he said in answer to my questioning look.

“Is that why Reddy places those ridiculous stories about you?” I asked, enjoying his look of surprise that I’d pieced as much together. “I must say, I’m rather disappointed you never squared off against a dastardly lord in Royal Park.”

“I try to leave dueling to the idiots,” Foxcourt said. “I find it helps cull their numbers.”

“Shame.” Realizing I was smiling, I pressed my napkin to my mouth. “I suppose I should be grateful we won’t have to waste time fending off your lovers.”

“On the contrary.” Foxcourt tilted his head, regarding me with a smirk. “I never said all of those stories were untrue.”

I tried not to shift in my seat, my cheeks warming uncomfortably. Bothersome man—but one surprisingly willing to engage in a bit of coarse banter. That he could provoke such a reaction, that he had to have that face and a forelock that curled cavalierly over his brow.

I willed the rebuke to my mind, letting it flood my body like ice. Not him.

Not ever him.

“Are you still intending to pay a visit to Briarwood Palace?” he asked. “Though I would strongly advise against announcing yourself as its future heir.”

“I have no intention to.”

At least not until I had the funds to pay for my own protection. Moreover, I needed to be in control of whatever stories would be fed to the newsmen, rewriting as necessary. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe it wouldn’t be a scandal of the highest order that Mama hadn’t died, as Rosebourne had claimed, but by measuring out the details as I would drips of oil into perfume, I might be able to evoke sympathy rather than scorn.

“Am I allowed to know what it is you need there?” Foxcourt asked. “It may help decide how we arrive.”

It would be now or later, I supposed. “I am looking for a very old book—the Treasury, as the family calls it. It contains all the formulations for the known magical perfumes. If your theory is correct, Immortal Rose will be among them.”

Mama had spoken of it repeatedly. She’d begun her journal as a new Treasury, for my benefit. Rather than a record of her days, it served to catalog what formulations she could recall, as well as other instructions. The only thing she had been careful not to include were the bargains—those she taught to me directly or I had to intuit on my own.

“And you know where they might keep such a book?” Foxcourt asked.

“Yes,” I said. If Rosebourne had truly been as set in his ways as Mama believed.

“Excellent, then I have one final question for you,” Foxcourt said. “How do you feel about breeches?”

Chapter Twelve

As it turned out: splendidly.

“Are you quite finished?”

Foxcourt’s exasperation did nothing to stop my next experimental long stride, relishing the freedom of movement. The tassels on my too-large boots gave a charming little twirl as I kicked one leg out, then the other, simply because I could.

It was a testament to the past and present Lord Foxcourt’s peculiar work that no one, even the buttoned-up Fleming, seemed the least bit scandalized by my gentleman’s attire.

I twisted around to admire myself in the hall mirror, tugging at my linen jacket and striped waistcoat. They still smelled of the cedar chest they had been stored in following the late Lord Foxcourt’s death—that and the man’s fascinating essence: Vanilla planifolia, dribbling ink, the house itself, damp night, and what was either gunpowder in truth or merely a long, deep-seated anger.

“Thank goodness you’re close in size to his late lordship,” Felicity said, chasing after me to snip the thread she’d used to tailor the jacket. “You make a darling lad.”

I glanced in the mirror again. I did look rather jaunty.

A movement in the glass made me turn just as Tommy sidled up beside where Foxcourt leaned against the wall. He stooped, slipping a small missive into a satchel at his feet. Foxcourt’s nod of acknowledgment and the quick thank-you he signed had me curious.

“Do you really think the disguises necessary?” Willie asked, scratching at the neck of his stiff livery collar. “Seems a bit much. I could—”

“Yes, it’s unfortunately necessary,” Foxcourt interrupted. The way his brows rose, almost in warning, deepened my frown. Rude, as usual. “The house is being closed in advance of the estate moving through probate. The perfumery’s shareholders have asked the new City Police to guard the house against thieves in the meantime.”

“Really?” I’d forgotten that the new police would be out on the streets this week. “We’ll see how long they last at their posts.”

The newly formed police had the rare honor of unifying all of Linden against them. No one wanted yet another arm of the government skulking about, prying into matters of a personal nature—their mere presence was a threat to our freedom.