“So Lord Valemount is also a member at this club where you shoot things,” Sebastian said. “Why is a marquess inviting ahuntingclub to aball?”
Wesley cleared his throat. “Because it’s, ah. The, um. The Beckley Hunt Ball.”
There was a loud moment of silence.
Sebastian stared at him. “Afox hunt?”
“No,” Wesley said, immediately and firmly. “It’s a huntball, not an actual hunt.”
“But you’re celebrating fox hunting.”
“Well—yes. Because it’s tradition—”
“Traditions can still bebarbaric.” There were several walkers out on the promenade, strolling briskly behind them. Sebastian gritted his teeth, leaning on the ship’s railing and trying to keep his voice down. “Were you ever planning to tell me what kind of ball this is?”
“Truthfully? No, I wasn’t, not unless I absolutely had to,” Wesley said, lifting his chin. “I was hoping we would arrive too late and wouldn’t have to attend.Clearly foolish of me, to do anything so out of character ashope.”
“I told you hope only makes disappointment sting harder,” Sebastian muttered.
“Oh no,” Wesley said, pointing at him. “No, no, no. You are not allowed to become cynical; I will turn my entire Yorkshire estate into a bloody fox sanctuary before I let that happen.”
“What foxes will even be left if men and dogs are hunting them atballs?” Sebastian said.
“You have my word that this hunt ball will not involve any actual hunting,” Wesley said. “Drinks, dancing, games, and gambling, yes, and it will be perfectly miserable as all parties are, but no one will be picking up arms and heading for the hills. Men will bring their daughters, not their dogs.”
“But everyone will be celebrating hunting,” Sebastian said quietly.
Wesley sighed. “Yes, they will,” he admitted. “We have thus far spent all our time in your world of magic. But now we are looking for someone with a vendetta against magic who may be frommyworld, and many of my peers consider hunting the height of sport.”
And Sebastian would have to blend in with those peers, pretending to be an aristocrat himself. There was no way they could miss this Beckley Hunt Ball, not now that they knew Valemount would certainly attend. Sebastian had to go, because this was how he could help—because Sebastian wasn’t part of the world of magic anymore. “Fine,” he said abruptly. “Then we can look for this doctor doing trap shooting. And you can also teach me how.”
Wesley blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve fired a gun before,” Sebastian said, trying to seem casual even when his stomach was in knots, “but not since I was under blood magic. It’s obviously very different now.”
“Do youwantto learn to shoot?”
“It doesn’t matter what Iwant,” Sebastian said. “How am I supposed to talk to guests at a hunt ball if I don’t know anything myself?” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I couldn’t even hold my own in a bar fight, Wes. What am I supposed to do if someone has a gun?”
Wesley pursed his lips. “But if you don’t want to learn—”
“My life isn’t going to get easier,” Sebastian said, his throat gone slightly tighter. “I have no regrets, but I also can’t wait around and hope my magic comes back. I can’t wear the rose-colored glasses, as you like to say; I have to be able to hold my own in both of our worlds.”
Wesley frowned. “Countless men know how to shoot. The ones who wear rose-colored glasses are the rare ones.”
“Probably because they learn the truth about life and become wiser,” Sebastian said, swallowing, “and they have to take them off.”
* * *
When early afternoon came around, Sebastian and Wesley made their way to the recreation area of the ship to pick up supplies. The crewman who gave them shotguns offered to throw the traps, but Wesley turned him down.
The stern on B-deck was open to the wide skies above, making it cold, and very windy. On the promenade of the deck above, the occasional passenger could be seen at the railing, but around them, every deck chair was empty, Lady Nora’s companion nowhere to be seen.
“This is really more of a summer activity, but I suppose this Dr. Wright may still show,” Wesley said, but he sounded dubious to Sebastian’s ears.
He watched as Wesley found a spot to secure the trap thrower and then picked up one of the guns, hefting it in his hand. Sebastian kept his face neutral, but Wesley was right: he didn’t have any real desire to learn more firearms skills. There was nothing Sebastian wanted to shoot, not animals and certainly not people.
But they were rooting out a plot to destroy magic. Hyde had disappeared from his secure prison. And the bruise on Sebastian’s cheek still smarted. He was going to have to get used to the idea of fighting without magic; that was his reality now.
