“Art history. All the painters in there are Cousins. None of them are still alive, though sometimes, it hasn’t been very long. There are people around who collaborated with them, who know their work. I thought you’d enjoy it in particular. And enough of the right period, yes?”
It was one of the privately printed copies, with magical copies of the artworks tipped in to the relevant sections. They were covered with a thin sheet of tissue paper to protect them. She saw his eyes widen as he got to the first of the prints. “Proper prints, so you can appreciate the art. A few of the pieces are in museums, most are in private collections. Not all Cousins, mind.”
Farran’s eyes got wider. “This is glorious. And no, I know about a couple of the ones in private collections. Lord and LadyCarillon bought this.” He opened it to a page of a landscape, with a group of people with falcons on their wrists. “Two years ago. Painted up near their Cumbria estate, I believe, in Lord Carillon’s grandfather’s time. Vivian knows them quite well. Lady Carillon worked for her for a year or so.”
“Ah, see, I was sure you’d know some of them.” Then she let herself smile warmly. “Now, shall we see if I am enticing enough to drag you out of the book for the evening?”
Chapter 30
THAT EVENING
“Oh, I think you might manage that.” Farran managed to keep his wits together. The book was stunning. It wasn’t just the book itself, it was the attention to detail implied by the book. It was a book where he could aspire to the knowledge inside, and make use of it, and also simply enjoy it. And it was a book that danced the line between things she could talk about and things she couldn’t, casting a light that wouldn’t damage the art in the process. As it were.
Now, he glanced back toward his bedroom. “Pudding? And then we can retire to the bedroom for a little and… well. We should talk a bit about that.”
“A fine plan.” Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to get up and help, but she waited for Farran to do so. He went off and came back with a smaller tray, with two glass pots of chocolate mousse, delicately topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.
Vega’s eyes widened at it. “Oh, how charming. Also, how delicious, I’m sure.” He set one down in front of her and gestured at the wine, but she shook her head. “I’d like to beclear-headed for the next bit. I drink less than you’d think, on average, for being a singer in a club.”
“I’d have thought that’s somewhere you wanted a clear head, ordinarily?” Farran offered, taking his own mousse and the tiny spoon that went with it, then trying a bite, letting himself sigh with the pleasure of it.
When he looked back at Vega, she was considering him. “You might actually understand this. People like the ones performing, especially women, and most especially singers, to behave as if they’re the only one in the room. Some men get ideas, they get jealous if the singer pays attention to someone else.”
“Hence why Madam Helena has excellent security,” Farran said. Then he watched her, and asked, because he wasn’t sure how else to go forward. “What has that meant for you, personally?”
“Not a lot in the way of lasting relationships or friendships. I get along with people, of course. It’s better that way. Some people make a show of being a diva, and I’ve never found that appealing. Or, fundamentally, a good idea. But most men, there’s always this sense that they like me for the me that is on stage. They expect that all the time.”
“Well, that’s no good.” It was, perhaps, not the ordinary thing to say. Certainly, she didn’t think so. Her eyes went wide again. “No one could keep that up forever.” He shrugged, once. “Or, I suppose some couples do. But I think it involves not sharing a bedroom, only being together when she’s all done up and dressed and whatever cosmetics and undergarments and charms and potions.”
Something in it made her giggle, and that was an entirely human sort of sound. “That. And I enjoy that fuss, for being on stage. But I also like not.”
Farran considered her. “And tonight’s somewhere in the middle?” He did not understand cosmetics, even though Maddie had tried to explain the different implications a number of times, and some of the women at Ormulu had as well. Vega looked lovely. He was sure she had lipstick and such on, but it was not overdone or obvious. It suited her. Mostly, it made more of what was already there, rather than how she’d been done up at the club. Of course, the lighting was different at the club too, and he understood well enough what that did to pigments.
She nodded, opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it to take another bite of her mousse. After she swallowed, she met his eyes. “You don’t make me feel like that. That all you’re seeing is the me on stage.”
“Well, no. For one thing, the you on stage does not dress for exploring caves.” It made her smile again, and that was grand. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve had some relationships in your past, not recently.” There was a tiny nod at that. “And that you don’t want this to become about just one of your faces.” Another small nod. “Then I suppose the Cousin part also has to be complicated. At least with me, you don’t have to decide if you’re going to explain it in the first place.”
“There is that advantage.” Vega glanced down at her plate, then ate the last spoonful deliberately. Now he was sure it was to give her time to think. “People make assumptions there too. That it will be particularly magical. Or that they’ll be permitted into all of our family traditions. I haven’t had that problem, but some of my cousins have. I mean, actual cousins, that generation.”
“Not the general term, yes.” Farran nodded. “All right. And we still need to talk about scheduling and all that. But I’m—” He swallowed hard now, because this was tricky. “Given that both of us have been on our own, I certainly would rather have a lifewith some of your time. Even if it wasn’t as much as I might like in an ideal world without necessary bedtimes and work to be done and music to be made. Better the time we can have than a life without you.”
“That, that...” Her voice cut off, then she tried again. “That is ridiculously romantic. Did you think about that in advance?”
“Oh, yes. I haven’t thought about much else the last day or so. Well, beyond work.” Then he stood, because otherwise he would lose his courage. “Shall we get more comfortable?” Farran offered his hand, and then they were walking back to the bedroom.
It was a serviceable bedroom. He’d added a blanket from home, and books, of course. At least the bed was a decent size, because sometimes these flats had married couples. He hesitated, then he reclaimed his hand, long enough to pull off the sleeveless jumper. She stepped back, watching him, before she shrugged out of her own jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless dress with buttons down the front.
He sat with more of a thump than he’d meant to. That put his head at her chest height, more or less, a chance to get a good look at the pendant she was wearing. “May I?” He gestured. “The stone?”
“Oh, you would be interested in the materia, wouldn’t you? It’s a talisman, but entirely safe to handle. Actually, I’m curious what you think.” Vega settled beside him, thigh just barely touching thigh, and that was utterly distracting, not much in the way of clothing between them. She twisted, so he could get a good look, her chin up and to one side to give him space. “Go ahead and touch.”
The sentence was completely full of innuendo. Farran took a breath and then let his fingers reach. He could feel the magic in the pendant pulling at his fingertips, guiding them, unerringly.A focal stone, obviously, “An aquamarine, pale blue, so much so it’s likely clear in some lights.”
“Easier to wear it with more things, though I do often have a flash of blue in what I wear.” Her voice was even the sort of modulation that suggested there was something tucked away in there. Farran looked at her again, caught her eye, and she added, “Alcyone is also associated with the kingfisher. A good blue, or blue and copper, those are a, mmm. Not a heraldry, but a sort of blazon.”
“Thank you for that information.” He made a mental note of it, for the benefit of future presents, especially with an eye to colour. Then he let his fingers touch the stone, getting a sense for it, before he let his thumb touch her skin. She was breathing shallowly, holding still, but it had a nervous quality to it before she took a breath. He felt the stone flex, and then everything settled. “Aquamarine is good for confidence.”
“It is. Good for performance. This one is designed for clarity of voice. It was meant for someone who did a lot of speaking, originally. But it works well for singing. A family piece. And the setting isn’t so dated.”
