Page 26 of My Fae Lady

“You’ve seen us together for less than an hour, all told.”

“And usually you are suppressing yawns within five minutes with a gentleman. It seems this Unseelie fae holds your attention better.”

“It’s a passing case of curiosity,” I protested. “Sylvan is so very Unseelie, and apart from House and you, I am never around the Unseelie. And you and House have both adopted Seelie customs.”

Caro didn’t look convinced. She squinted at me until I looked away, certain my eyes had turned amber with nerves. Finally, she sighed. “I’m torn, Giselle. I know what your mother would want me to say. She’d want me to point out that Lord Sylvan is not a proper match for the daughter of the Duke of Plantagaia. But as your friend, I can’t help but notice you are more alive with him—more yourself—than you ever are in company.”

“It is only a paper marriage,” I pointed out, discomfited at the thought my closest friend believed I might want more than that. Discomfited in a way that would only happen if she was right.

“And Lord Sylvan agreed to that? He didn’t demand more?”

“Yes, he agreed. He’ll sign the papers, convince the solicitors, and be on his way. I had to promise him my firstborn in exchange, but since I never plan to have a child, that is immaterial.”

A furrow formed between Caro’s brows. “He wants a child?”

“Isn’t that standard for Unseelie? Bargaining for a firstborn?” I had never thought to question it. So many stories about the perils of fae bargains revolved around exactly such an exchange.

Caro hesitated. “I wouldn’t call it common—even before the war. The Unseelie would still need a reason to want a child.”

“Sylvan claimed he needed a servant.” It didn’t really matter why he wanted the child, since I wouldn’t be providing him with one.

Caro stared over my shoulder in the direction Sylvan had gone. When she looked back at me, her lips were pressed tightly together. “Your bargain only specifies your firstborn; there is no chance it requires him to be the father, correct?”

My cheeks flushed. “Of course not!”

I didn’t want to know what color my eyes had turned, but Caro, of course, paid close attention. My friend had probably memorized an encyclopedia of Seelie characteristics and knew exactly which shades meant what for every natural eye color. She knew what emotion I felt, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it myself.

“Oh dear. You are interested in having a child with him.”

“I am not!” I protested, and it was the truth. I had no desire to ever have a child. I kept a contraceptive talisman on hand at all times in Faerie, even while living alone at Rook Manor. I drank the appropriate mixture of herbs with my breakfast every day in Alidra, even if I didn’t have any plans to invite anyone into my bed, and even if the tea was so bitter I had to eat a spoonful of marmalade after each gulp to chase away the flavor. It simply wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

Caro tilted her head and gave me a look that said she wasn’t fooled. “Fine, you don’t want to have a child, but you are interested in sleeping with him. Are you certain this is going to be a marriage in name only?”

“Absolutely,” I said with a nod that was far more decisive than I felt.

Eleven

Sylvan

⊱❀⊰

Apparently, this Mr. Hilferty fellow was a former mayor and had served as a magistrate of great importance amongst the Seelie. Before he would agree to cooperate in full with our quick wedding to save our home—my home! I meant my home, of course . . .

Giselle predicted that, before he would entertain her demands, we would have to impress him at dinner in the hotel first. Hopefully, we’d all be leaving together to settle this matter at long last at the town’s lower courthouse.

She’d ordered separate suites for us, and she followed me to mine to supervise my efforts to dress like a proper gentleman. The packages had arrived from the tailor but a moment ago. She’d shredded the brown paper like a deranged kitten in her haste, leaving the carpet dotted with remnants.

Giselle stuffed me into more layers of clothing than I’d ever donned in my life. Undershirt first, then thick, soft, leather suspenders to hold up the fall front of my trousers. Another shirt came next and a stiff waistcoat in a light indigo that matched her dress. The tailcoat was a charcoal black that blended well with the feather boutonniere she slid into my buttonhole. The top hat came next.

“And for the love of light and all that is bright and good, don’t put your lips on anything that isn’t a glass or a utensil in front of the former magistrate,” Giselle scolded as she redid my silk cravat. My attempts to tie it weren’t straight enough, apparently.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, you’ve said already. I’m not to lap from a bowl like a dog in front of Mr. Hilferty, or he’ll never do his part. I do know how to drink, you know. The Unseelie use glasses.”

“You drink dew out of flower petals and lap water from rivers and—”

My burst of laughter cut her off. “You should stop reading story books about my kind. Those human tales are nonsense. Well, most of them are . . . I suppose for the Unseelie who lack opposable thumbs, dew from a flower petal is preferable.”

“You have thumbs, so please act accordingly.” She looked me over, eyes dragging down the front of me. The nervous golden color softened briefly into that strange lavender shade before she finally declared me fit. She strung her reticule from her elbow. It matched her large, silly hat, and it bobbed as she tangled her fingers anxiously in front of her. She kept finding wrinkles in her dress to smooth that didn’t look at all like wrinkles to me.