Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) Read online

  It did not take Aubranael very long to understand that the combination of wealth and beauty was a very potent one indeed.

  The novelty of being not only welcome, but actually in demand, was a significant one to Aubranael. Their first few days in Tilby were quickly beguiled away, under the charm of popularity; he found himself with a steady stream of visitors to contend with, as it seemed that almost every gentleman in the town wished to introduce himself and his family to the notice of the two young men. First and foremost amongst these were the older gentlemen, with—Grunewald soon informed him—daughters to dispose of. Not far behind were the younger gentlemen, quick to see the potential for suitable associates in the newcomers. For those first few, enchanted days, Aubranael was so busy with greetings and meetings, new friends, rides about the countryside and sports of various kinds that he almost forgot his true purpose in visiting the country in the first place.

  When he was recalled to his true aim, only then did the frustrations begin.

  He saw Miss Landon once during those heady, early days of popularity. Saw, that is; he was not permitted to speak to her, though he dearly wished to. The shock—the delight—of seeing her all of a sudden, walking in the street with a friend and smiling, had almost overcome him. He had been on the point of greeting her—confessing, perhaps, everything in his haste to restore their former, easy friendship—when Grunewald had intervened. He had all but dragged his wayward friend away, and Aubranael, confused and afraid of acquitting himself poorly, had dutifully left Miss Landon standing there in the street.

  He had consoled himself with the notion that it would not be very long before he could speak with her again, and then he might test the power of his new face. He whiled away some hours in pleasant daydreams, imagining all the former easiness between himself and Miss Landon, heightened still further by the charm of his infinitely more attractive appearance.

  He soon found that daydreams were all that he was to be permitted, for the present. Wealth and beauty could not buy absolutely anything, he was dismayed to discover, for there appeared to be an endless series of obstacles between him and Miss Landon’s society.

  As an unmarried man, he could not converse with an unmarried woman such as Miss Landon without the presence of a suitable chaperon (and he had quickly learned that, whatever Miss Landon herself might have permitted in the strange surroundings of Aylfenhame, in England a household brownie most definitely did not qualify as suitable chaperonage). He could not talk to her at all without an introduction, but he could not simply introduce himself; the introduction must be of the proper kind, performed by a suitable third party. He must find someone else to introduce him to Sophy, which of course meant that he must first become acquainted with someone who had the right of introduction to her. But who? Her father was the obvious choice, but he was never seen outside of church. Aubranael had not been able to think of a plausible reason to visit Mr. Landon at the parsonage and Grunewald had prevented him from merely presenting himself there anyway, saying it would cause talk. And talk was absolutely to be avoided, apparently, if one was to be taken seriously by society.

  This did not concern him a great deal, at first. Society already seemed to be taking him very seriously indeed, and he could hardly imagine that an occasional departure from the absurd rules they considered necessary would banish him forever from their good graces. But Grunewald assured him that he must be considered respectable, if he was to be permitted any access to the likes of Miss Landon, and that too flagrant a disregard for the social mores would soon tarnish his glowing reputation.

  In short, he could only rely on his wealth and beauty to carry him so far. He must rely on good behaviour for the rest.

  But as Sophy could not be got at through her father, and as she had no mother, no siblings and no friends to whom he could have any access either, his respectability and his good behaviour did him little good. He still could not see her. What was the use of his handsome face if he could not approach the one woman he had hoped to impress? The charm of his newfound popularity soon wore thin after that; he cared little for the good opinion of the neighbourhood if it could not afford him any access to Miss Landon.

  His spirits sank lower and lower under this enforced separation, and his patience wore thin. The marks of special favour that had so delighted him several days before began to irritate him instead; he realised that even he had been temporarily beguiled into thinking himself of consequence, and that made him a fool.

  ‘This is not what I had in mind, Grunewald,’ he said on the morning of his eighth day in Tilby. He had been pacing the drawing-room carpet for some time, having failed to find any occupation to interest him much within the confines of Hyde Place.

  ‘I daresay it isn’t,’ replied Grunewald cheerfully, ‘but it is rather excellent in its own way, is it not? You cannot tell me you are not enjoying yourself.’

  ‘I was, for a time. But it is all so absurd.’

  Grunewald raised his elegant brows at him from across the room, where he was seated in an armchair. ‘What is? Oh, you mean society! Yes, of course it is. But it is absurd in an entertaining way, and therefore I shall not hold its inherent ridiculousness against it. Do you not appreciate being universally adored?’

  ‘For no particularly good reason,’ Aubranael retorted. ‘If they knew what lies under this borrowed face, they would reject me again soon enough.’

  Grunewald pondered this. ‘No,’ he said at length. ‘Probably not, entirely. You are still wealthy enough (at least by report) to merit an invitation to any drawing-room in the town.’

  ‘Ah yes; money. Perhaps that is where my mistake lies. Instead of securing a new face, I should have bent all my efforts towards the noble goal of acquiring more things.’

  Grunewald chuckled. ‘How very cynical you are today.’

  ‘It is a cynicism born of years of hard experience.’

  Grunewald rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘You are perfectly right, of course, but since neither of us can do anything about it, I suggest you try to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I cannot. The time for that is past. I care only to see Miss Landon.’

  ‘I am unable to assist you there.’

  Aubranael kicked vaguely at a log in the fireplace, too sunk in gloom to reply. Was this how he was to live out his month in England? Fawned over for the things he did not really possess, by people he did not care about? And all the while kept at a distance from Miss Landon?

  ‘How do people usually go about these things?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘I am not sure what “things” you are referring to.’

  ‘Courtship. How in the blazes does anyone ever get married, if they are never permitted to meet with unmarried women?’

  ‘Of course they are allowed,’ Grunewald said in a tone of mild irritation. ‘I have already told you: once properly introduced, and always supposing they are not entirely alone, then conversation is perfectly allowable.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but how do they become introduced? Miss Landon cannot be the first young lady with no useful connections in that respect.’

  Grunewald did not answer. Aubranael began to suspect him of ignoring the subject altogether, when suddenly he spoke.

  ‘Balls!’ he announced.

  Aubranael blinked at him. ‘Balls…?’

  ‘Balls, parties and assemblies! Social events, you know. Gatherings. There is always someone to whom the duty of general introductions falls. In some places—you will laugh to hear it—there is a Master of the Ceremonies. His entire purpose is to manage the awkward business of introducing people to one another! Diverting, is not it?’

  Aubranael raised his brows.

  ‘Well, but in this instance it will most likely be a private ball, and the duty of introductions will fall to the hosts.’

  ‘What will be a private ball?’

  ‘Why, the ball that is to be held in our honour! It is quite the obvious thing; I only wonder I did not think of it before.’r />
  ‘Is there to be a ball held in our honour? I had not heard of any such thing.’

  ‘Not presently, my dear fellow, but there will be, of course.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I have arranged it.’ He smiled and jumped out of his chair. ‘The Adairs will do! Young Mr. Edward has been so very determined to become my most intimate friend; he will do anything I suggest. His parents will be very easily persuaded to throw open the doors of their charming house, and make themselves and their riches the centre of attention for an evening. Oh, yes! It will be perfect. And there, you know, you may request an introduction to any young lady you wish to dance with.’

  Aubranael began to feel excited. ‘Yes! Very good! How long will it take?’ Another thought occurred to him and he added: ‘Dancing? What manner of dancing?’

  Grunewald grinned at him and began to dance on the spot, bouncing on his toes and kicking his feet and turning in tiny circles. ‘Awfully complicated, I’m afraid, but since it must take at least a week for a ball to be made ready, you will have some time to practice.’

  Watching Grunewald’s antics, Aubranael felt faint twinges of alarm. He loved to dance, but he had never danced like that before. But he brushed these misgivings aside. ‘No matter. Do, please, arrange it! As quickly as possible!’

  Grunewald laughed and stopped dancing. ‘Very well, I will meet with young Mr. Adair at once. In the meantime, pray follow me to the library.’

  Aubranael followed his friend down a short passage into the small library of their borrowed house, and waited while Grunewald dashed about examining the books. At last he cried, ‘Aha!’ and extracted a slim volume from the shelf.

  He handed this to Aubranael with a brilliant smile and said, ‘Study it most closely! I will be back directly.’

  Grunewald left the library at a trot. Opening the book, Aubranael saw the words “The Art of Dancing” elegantly inscribed on the title page. Leafing through, he found pages and pages of written instructions, sketches of dancing figures and strange charts that made no sense to him whatsoever.

  With a great sigh, he settled himself in the nearest armchair and began to read.

  When Grunewald returned, some hours later, Aubranael was still reading. That is, he was still working away at his book. He had read it through fairly quickly, and then progressed to trying out the steps he had read about, and seen sketched upon the page.

  Reproducing the steps of a dance from mere written instructions was more difficult than he had expected; and when Grunewald entered the library to find him dancing about in a space he’d cleared between the chairs, Aubranael found himself heartily laughed at.

  ‘My dear fellow,’ said Grunewald, ‘I do hope you are not intending to dance in that absurd fashion at our ball.’

  Aubranael stopped dancing at once, dropped the book—which he had been awkwardly trying to refer to as he moved—and smiled at Grunewald. ‘I take it, then, that you were successful?’

  ‘Oh yes! The easiest thing in the world.’ He flopped down into a chair and blew out his breath in an exhausted sigh. ‘I hope you are grateful, for I have been obliged to bear a great deal of rather tiresome company.’

  Aubranael shook his head, torn between amusement and chagrin. ‘I may not approach an unmarried young woman without special leave, but you may simply request a ball, and be granted one immediately. What a strange place this is!’

  Grunewald laughed again. ‘One does not request a ball, my dear sap-skulled friend. Had I done so, I am sure I would have been sent packing at once. No, no; it was a mere matter of suggestion. I had only to talk longingly of dancing, and confess that it is many months since I last had that pleasure, and the charming young people were all eagerness to rescue me from this sorry situation.’

  ‘People,’ repeated Aubranael. ‘Am I to collect that you also saw Miss Adair?’

  Grunewald’s grin widened, and he nodded. ‘Delighted at the prospect of a dance, as one might imagine. All the more so, I’d say, at the prospect of a dance with one—or, very likely, both—of us.’

  Aubranael shrugged his shoulders. Elizabeth was accounted very handsome, and she certainly tried hard to be agreeable, but he did not find her an appealing partner. ‘You will take pleasure in such a duty, I’m sure.’

  ‘Quite so; though I rather fancy you are her particular favourite.’

  Aubranael raised his eyes heavenward.

  ‘No matter,’ Grunewald said hastily. ‘The thing is done, the Adairs are all excitement and they have promised most faithfully to send invitation cards as soon as may be. All that remains, my good fellow, is to rescue you from this intolerable state of ignorance as regards dancing.’

  The conversation lapsed for some time as Grunewald lent himself to the task of correcting Aubranael’s many mistakes. The steps, once properly demonstrated, came easily to him—he was, after all, extremely fond of dancing, in any manner—but the exertion was more considerable than he had expected. He soon found himself out of breath, and eventually very tired indeed. Since Grunewald was in a similar state, he called a halt to the lesson and ordered refreshments to be brought to the parlour.

  These were delivered with pleasing celerity by a young footman. Aubranael was almost sure that he, like all of Grunewald’s household staff, was truly a goblin underneath; but if he was, then the glamour upon him was very good indeed.

  His friend and host was a quick study, indeed, and when he found that most households in Tilby had brownie helpers in residence, he had even bewitched a few goblins into that diminutive form instead. It was all rather odd. Aubranael had the perpetual feeling that nothing he saw was as he saw it; nothing was real, precisely; and anything might change into anything else at any given moment.

  Sometimes, he missed the simplicity of the days before he had met Miss Landon.

  ‘Now,’ Grunewald said, after he had suitably refreshed himself with tea and cakes. ‘I had better do more than teach you to dance. It is to be a very grand affair, I understand, and so you will need to be well up on good behaviour.’

  ‘More good behaviour?’ Aubranael said, with a slight groan.

  Grunewald’s smile was positively wicked. ‘Oh, yes. Dancing is only a small part of the business. There is a great deal more of etiquette to be learned; you must know whom to speak to, and how, and when; you must know how to ask a lady to dance, what to do if she refuses, and so on; and there is the matter of dinner, too.’

  Aubranael had no intention of dancing with anyone except Miss Landon, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say so. He stopped, however, conscious that Grunewald would probably find a reason why he should not stick to this resolution. Instead, he said: ‘A very grand affair?’

  ‘The grandest possible, I understand, in so short a time! They wish to make a show, you know, and prove they are up to the standards of wealth and display that they consider us to have brought to the neighbourhood.’

  ‘I begin to understand the workings of this place,’ Aubranael said. ‘A very grand affair will of necessity begin by inviting only the worthiest of guests, will it not?’

  Grunewald agreed to this with a spirited nod, his mouth too full of tea and cake for speech.

  ‘And the worthiest guests tend to be the richest, the most well-connected, and, if at all possible, the most beautiful?’

  Another enthusiastic nod from Grunewald.

  Aubranael sat back, fixing his eyes on the distant ceiling as he considered this. The worthiest guests. He had already learned that Miss Landon was not rich. Nor was she of high “status”, as far as he could gather: as the daughter of a clergyman, she did at least rank as part of polite society, but as her father was a decidedly impoverished clergyman, she did not rank very highly within it.

  Seeing as she was not blessed with any other connections—he had learned that the hard way—he began to fear that she would not be considered very worthy at all. The thought prompted a flicker of rage, but he thrust it down and said in a reasonable tone:

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nbsp; ‘Grunewald. Do you suppose Miss Landon will merit an invitation, on those terms?’

  He waited for another of Grunewald’s easy assurances, but none came. Instead, his friend frowned—pursed his lips—seemed about to speak—and finally sighed gustily and put down his teacup. He pointed one long finger at Aubranael’s nose and said: ‘It is fortunate that you are such congenial company, otherwise I might say that you are more trouble than you are worth.’

  This odd manner of compliment pleased Aubranael more than it had any right to. Was he congenial company? He had never had a close friend before—at least, not one that talked back. Would Grunewald still find him agreeable, he wondered, after Hidenory had taken back his pretty face? He began to think maybe he would.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said with complete sincerity. ‘I could not possibly have predicted all these difficulties, otherwise I might never have—‘

  Grunewald held up a hand, and Aubranael stopped. ‘Do not say it, pray. I know very well that you would not have acted differently. Except, perhaps, in being rather better prepared, and therefore you might have made less of a foolish picture later.’

  This speech was given in a grave tone, and might have sounded awfully severe if it were not for the merry twinkle in Grunewald’s leaf-green eyes. Aubranael smiled.

  ‘I am much obliged to you, truly, and if I can ever be of assistance to you, I hope you will—’

  Grunewald held up his hand again. ‘Did Hidenory teach you nothing? Beware of promises without limit! If I were not such a good-natured soul…’

  His words echoed Hidenory’s, and Aubranael felt a moment’s uneasiness. But Grunewald was still smiling with every appearance of good cheer.