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Galen bit back his own chuckle; he could only imagine what that might’ve been about.
He liked that about Azriel, how he chose his words carefully and waited for the perfect strike. His surety of things too—like his passion for his work and his principles—despite seeming the opposite in other ways.
“At least he’s not a loudmouth like you,” Bellamy said, and before Oscar could toss an insult back, Madam Langley was at the door.
“The evening is about to begin,” she said, looking each of them over, perhaps to make certain they were suitably washed and dressed, much like his aunt would line up his cousins and him to check their hands before dinner. The similarity was jarring, but it was not the first time he’d noted her almost maternal nature.
To Galen, she said, “You will assist in the kitchens but also observe how the men interact. And once the men are retired to their rooms, you may choose to watch if any of the viewing apertures remain open.”
His cheeks burned at their scrutiny and the sound of delighted titters echoing through the room. Given their previous conversation, Galen would essentially become the voyeur, and he had trouble meeting the others’ gazes—especially Azriel’s, who was suddenly busy picking a piece of lint off Wren’s shoulder. The idea of watching any of them in the act was not something he’d considered, but he had to admit—even if he felt slightly guilty—that it appealed to him. If it were him in the room with a gentleman, would he leave the viewing slot open?
Thankfully, Miss Celestine slipped inside just then, carrying a silver tray of moon flowers, thus moving the evening along.
“Would you care to assist?” the madam asked Galen, and he eagerly stepped forward. Anything to keep his mind and hands busy.
He held the tray as she moved down the line, placing the flowers behind their ears. The action appeared to transform the lads one by one. Even Oscar stood straighter and with more poise.
“They wear the fresh bud as they serve the men tea and cakes,” Madam Langley explained. “Then they are deflowered, if you will, when chosen to resume their evening in private quarters.”
Miss Celestine threw him a cursory glance, likely remembering that he’d already been able to observe that part of the ceremony. Galen swallowed, grateful she’d kept his confidence, because he felt self-conscious of his prying now.
As she placed the final flower behind Azriel’s ear, their eyes met.
“You look lovely,” Galen said without forethought. He cleared his throat. “You all do.”
Chapter 10
Galen followed Miss Celestine to the kitchens to help with last-minute details, such as loading the small tea cakes and tarts on trays before making their way to the sitting room, where the others were anxiously waiting. The gentlemen were brought up by a footman who looked unfamiliar to Galen. The madam did not employ many staff, possibly for discretion’s sake, which was likely why Galen saw little of them besides Miss Celestine.
He recognized some of the gentlemen, either from about town or because of his prying from the kitchens. Mr. Blackburn, Galen now noted, was quite handsome, in his black pinstriped coat that accentuated his white waistcoat.
All the gentlemen were impeccably dressed, and some were more pleasing than others. Mr. Walters was a bit thin and pale, and Galen tried not to focus on the more ample parts of him Oscar had pointed out. He would be mortified if the man caught him staring.
Madam Langley introduced Galen as a temporary guest at Moon Flower, who would not be partaking that evening but would be of service if anything was required from the kitchens. He tried not to fidget too much as the men greeted him—kindly enough, but also blatantly looking him over, which he was certainly not accustomed to from society men. He almost preferred furtive glances and dark alleyways right then, and was relieved when Miss Celestine beckoned him to the kitchens.
He watched as Miss Celestine poured boiling water into a large teapot, then asked him to retrieve a tin canister from the shelf so she could prepare the tea.
“What is that?” he asked when she sprinkled dried herbs into the pot.
“It’s Madam Langley’s signature moon-flower tea.” She arched an eyebrow. “A favorite of the gentlemen who visit.”
He recalled Miss Celestine explaining that the moon flower had many purposes, but he did not imagine she meant for a tea. “Why is that?”
“It helps the men feel relaxed. And according to Madam Langley, that sometimes assists with…nerves and such.”
His eyebrows rose to his hairline.
“The rule is to caution against more than one cup,” she whispered, though it was only the two of them in the kitchens. “Too much can cause drowsiness—or worse.”
He wanted to ask more, but she moved him along to help with the teacups, spoons, and sugar. He followed her back to the sitting room, where the men had arranged themselves in pairs and small groups near the fireplace or on the many chairs or settees.
