I’m getting soft in my old age. But she liked the idea. It would be a challenge.
Miss Pagril still pressed her hand. “Oh, we know that now. You aren’t morally opposed and you genuinely don’t seem to care.”
Preshea pursed her lips. That was true enough. “Nevertheless, association with me will do neither of you any good.”
“But it already has. We’ve learned so much.” Miss Pagril would not be moved.
“How to waltz,” suggested Lady Flo.
“How to sneak about without being caught.”
“Now, Miss Pagril, there is a great deal more than my one-sentence explanation regarding misuse of candlelight.”
“So, you must teach us.” Miss Pagril’s eyes danced.
Preshea sighed. Were she a better person, she would be neatly trapped by such enthusiasm. Then again, Miss Pagril did have a certain aptitude, although she was a bit old to start training now. Preshea’s former finishing school no longer existed. It might be fun to teach someone what I know.
“Oh, very well, invite me to tea sometime, Miss Pagril, if your aunt will allow it. We shall test your mettle and go from there.”
When the young ladies departed the carriage at the station, they were smiling.
Preshea arranged to share a cab with the Snodgrove party and saw the duke safely ensconced in his townhouse. No guns were fired, although she was twitchy during the entire ride and kept a hand to the weight of her revolver just in case.
Making her final farewells on the stoop, Preshea recognized a group of dandies cavorting on a street corner nearby. Lord Akeldama’s vanguard. She nodded to them as she passed, now alone in the cab. They hooted in a boisterous manner. As they should.
Her own house felt lean and empty in a way it never had before. It was her fourth husband’s town residence, fashionable thirty years before, when he was in his prime. She’d never bothered to update it, since she didn’t host parties and was frequently away. She kept a minimal staff, daytime servants only, whom she paid well for their discretion and her privacy.
The parlourmaid opened the door without comment. She was a strapping young thing, imported from the country, as Preshea preferred ability over appearance. The maid brought up her bags while her housekeeper paid the driver.
Preshea’s dinner was waiting and she sat down to eat alone.
“I’ve a cold roast set aside for your supper, milady. Will there be anything else?” The housekeeper was an elderly Irishwoman, bespectacled and mostly deaf, but picky about accounts (a trait Preshea valued almost as much as her deafness).
“No, thank you, and tell the others they may go. I should like to be by myself this evening.”
And so she was.
An envelope was waiting on her bed. She turned it over in her hands. Inside, the file was exactly as she remembered, with all the papers there as promised. She’d no concern that someone had broken into her chambers. She never kept anything of value in her home, and she’d none of her servants trained as guards. Preshea had long since realized that if she kept little of worth around her, few came hunting.
She stood for a time holding her father’s fate, weighing it thoughtfully. Then, decisive, she addressed it to the Mooring Standard and put it out for the parlourmaid to post first thing. She set another letter atop it, directed to an obscure house in a posh part of town, asking if she might call an hour after sundown.
* * *
Lord Akeldama received Preshea in his drawing room this time. He wore a black velvet swallowtail coat over a silver and black striped waistcoat with inordinately tight silver knee britches. His hair, long despite current fashion, was queued back. The outfit was more modern than the ones he usually affected. But then, she had long since noticed, he tended to dress with more restraint when he was meeting with her.
Perhaps he is attempting to encourage sympathy by reflecting my own style back at me?
“You’ve read today’s Standard?” she asked without greeting.
“Indeed I have, star of the heavens. You look lovely tonight – I do adore you in red.”
She did not require a compliment, so she did not acknowledge it. She was well aware that her crimson evening gown was heavenly; it had cost the moon, after all.
“So, we are done now?” Her tone was not kind.
The vampire rolled his eyes at her abruptness. “The duke, as I understand it, is safely back in London. The situation with his daughter satisfactorily settled. I must own to some surprise that you felt the need to visit me at all. Surely, you know the matter was settled the moment you returned to town with him still alive.”
“It was an easy assignment. You will not require my services again? I have a feeling the Second Reform Act will pass.”
“Even I cannot control the masses. But yes, we are done. I shall miss you, my sparkling ruby.”
“You have always enjoyed collecting pretty things.”
He inclined his head. “The time may come again when I have something you want, and you can do something I need.”
Preshea puffed out her cheeks. “And if I wish to retire?”
The vampire blinked. For the first time in their association, he looked genuinely startled. “How peculiar. Do you think that likely? You are not so old, my jewel. Or are you? I lose track of mortal time so easily.”
The old fangs wasn’t pulling one over on Preshea. No doubt he knew her age, likely to the month.
Preshea didn’t trust Lord Akeldama. She recognized a fellow predator, and she recognized that this one could best her. She did not like to be in the inferior position. But she did respect him.