Hart Vale sat impatiently in the carriage.
The line of carriages winding up the hill toward the grand Thornwick mansion moved slowly as the guests for the reception arrived.
He pulled out his pocket watch.
It was already pass three in the afternoon.
He was late, but so was everyone.
“Thank you for giving me a ride, Mr.
Vale.
Without you, I don’t know what I would have done,” the lady in front of him said, smoothing her slim maroon silk dress over her knees.
She wore her hair in an intricate chignon, topped with a tiny maroon hat with a small veil.
Beside her sat a woman in a prim dress with a sour look on her face.
That was a blatant lie.
Her father, Mr.
Quentin, was one of the most trusted officials, so he surely would have arranged for a carriage from the Lovely Rose inn to the mansion for his daughter.
The inn had been packed, as Thornwick’s guests from afar had arrived in Tinyspring a day or two earlier.
“Not at all, Miss Genevieve,” Hart said, turning his gaze from the window to the woman and nodding.
“How is your father?
I had expected to see him here today,” Hart inquired.
He was genuinely interested.
“He is well, thank you for asking, but traveling aggravates his old injuries.
I have been representing him more and more at social events lately.
So when the Thornwick invitation arrived last month, that naturally fell on me.” “Please convey my best wishes to your father.” One thing he didn’t understand, though, was why she wasn’t staying at the mansion like the other distinguished guests were.
He wouldn’t have attended the reception without documents he needed to hand to the lord personally and a heavy trunk full of spices and rare wine.
Without the trunk, he would have ridden.
Without the damn trunk, he wouldn’t be stuck in this slow carriage in company he would rather have avoided.
“In fact, you may use this carriage for the return trip to the inn.
I will walk back.” He only had a couple of kilometers to walk from the mansion to the inn.
“In that case, I will walk back with you,” she declared, smirking.
“With those shoes, my lady?” Hart nodded toward Genevieve’s shoes, which looked as though wearing them would be worse than spending a year in a dungeon.
Genevieve’s companion, who was most likely chaperoning Genevieve at her father’s behest, snorted at the man indignantly.
“Hush, Miss Marion,” Genevieve said, waving one hand lightly at her.
“All right, I will be delighted to accept your offer, Mr.
Vale.” Genevieve flashed him her most charming smile.
Hart gave her a faint smile and then turned back to look out of the window.
He suppressed the urge to lean back and close his eyes.
Last night he had ridden to Waterfort to meet one of Lord Thornwick’s contacts and returned straight away, which had left him with only a few hours of sleep.
It had been a request from the lord himself.
Hart had known him well for ten years or so, maybe even longer.
Hart Vale imported exotic spices and rarities to the kingdom.
So, he had had his share of dealings with officials and the administration, but the lord had always been fair.
He should have declined, but hell, he had a soft spot for him.
After a while, the line of carriages cleared, and the guests crowded in the reception room.
It was a grand, ornately decorated hall with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
A small orchestra played soft music from the minstrels’ gallery upstairs.
Smaller tables were arranged in groups down the middle.
Even though the reception was not formal, tables had small place cards for the most important guests.
The rest of them had to settle for standing.
The gentlemen were handsomely dressed and the ladies were beautiful, but the place was in the middle of nowhere, so the majority of the guests were local or from nearby villages.
Hart could easily distinguish those who had arrived from Waterfort.
Interestingly, a few of them had arrived from the capital.
Hart hadn’t expected that.
Ah, but they must be from the Capital Academy, here for the lord’s son, for whom the whole reception was arranged.
Without the lord, who was such a prominent figure, no one would come here.
He was the Count of Verdantshire, after all, and governed one of the kingdom’s districts.
“How is your father, miss?” asked Mr.
Lamm.
Hart and Genevieve had entered the hall together.
The woman was glued to his arm, as if it belonged to her.
“Let me get you something to drink,” Hart said politely.
Genevieve let go of his arm and, smiling, she turned to resume her conversation with Mr.
Lamm.
Tables of sweet and savory treats as well as beverages lined both side of the hall, and Hart headed toward one of them, still shaking his arm.
There he picked up two wine glasses and asked one of the servants where he could find the butler.
He had to let the lord know he was here.
Hart found him near the main stairs, directing two servants carrying trays.
“Greetings, Mr.
Vale.
His Lordship will receive you in his study after his speech,” the butler said.
“Right.
I have a task for you, Miles.” The butler raised his eyes to meet Hart’s, but didn’t say anything.
“I brought the lord’s delivery.
It is in the carriage.
Would you kindly handle it?” “Thank you, sir.
I will handle it.” “Could you do me a personal favor?” Hart gave the stiff butler his sweetest smile.
He knew Miles didn’t appreciate it, but he liked to needle the man a little.
“It will benefit the lord as well.
Can you find a way to shake the lovely Miss Quentin off my arm?
She seems to like it very much.” The butler only nodded and turned back to his duties, and Hart went back.
“Finally.
Did you fetch the wine from the winery?” Genevieve asked when she took the wine glass Hart offered to her.
“And yet I found my way back,” Hart said, noticing a small twitch at the corner of Mr.
Lamm’s mouth.
He was clearly enjoying Genevieve’s company and didn’t appreciate that Hart was back.
And Hart wholeheartedly agreed with him.
It wasn’t long before a servant came to Genevieve.
“Miss Quentin.
Lady Thornwick has asked you to join her table.” And just like that, Miss Genevieve Quentin was off his arm, much to Hart’s delight and Mr.
Lamm’s obvious disappointment.
Hart moved to a quiet corner at the far end of the gallery.
He sipped his wine while he discreetly watched everyone downstairs.
The music faded as Lord Thornwick rose to speak.
Everyone fell quiet and turned their attention to the lord.
He began an affectionate speech praising his son, Cassian.
The boy kept his chin up, although Hart could tell from the tight set of his shoulders that it was too much for him.
Most of the ladies were wiping away tears, and even some of the men were secretly doing the same.
Everyone was watching the lord and his son… except for one man in a dark gray suit at the back, who was intently watching something else.
The man was the magistrate of the village.
Hart didn’t know him personally, but he had heard that the man handled village disputes fairly.
Hart followed the man’s gaze with interest and saw it land on a pair of girls.
A young miss and her maid.
The young miss, who whispered something to the maid, was a plain-looking rural girl, but her movements and posture were more elegant than those of most of the noble ladies.
The maid, on the other hand, was very pretty but kept glancing left and right.
He committed the pair to his memory.
The back of his neck tingled faintly.
Something was off about the pair.
Just then, the speech ended.
Everyone applauded, and that was his cue to meet the lord in his study.
Hart?
New Characters (in the order of dialogue appearance): Miss Genevieve Quentin The self-appointed owner of Hart’s arm Location: Waterfort Lord Henry Thornwick, The Count of Verdantshire.
Rive’s and Cassian’s father Location: Tinyspring, Waterfort