Page 31 of Mistress of Lies

He nodded at her. “Good day, Lady LeClaire.”

She showed herself out, the King already returning to his work. She held her head high, savoring the victory she had earned. She had faced the Eternal King, had bartered and bargained with him, and had emerged with his blessing.

And a most terrible threat, but she wouldn’t think of that now.

Chapter Eleven

Samuel

Samuel stood next to Shan, staring up at the townhouse with wide eyes. It was even larger than the LeClaire home, even grander, from the slope of the gables to the decorative trim painted in contrasting shades of blue to the rest of the exterior. Stained glass filled the windows, shaped in the familiar scene of Aeravinian roses, and Samuel didn’t even want to think how much that had cost when windows of regular glass would have served fine. And this was only the first of the Aberforth properties to be released to him.

It was still more than he had ever anticipated, and more than he could even understand. It was so much, and Samuel didn’t know how to begin filling it.

It had been built by Abigail Aberforth’s children, the first generation of the royal line, and maintained ever since, filled with a long lineage that Samuel could never live up to, a constant home until the death of Lord Nathaniel Aberforth and his children just over five and twenty years ago, when it had been closed up but not sold. Shuttered but not dismantled. Waiting for a new owner.

Samuel finally found his voice. “This is… mine?”

Shan’s hand found his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll be a bit of an adjustment, but you’ll have help.”

That was a relief. She had already informed him that this would involve more than just running a home; there were accounts and estates and investments to keep track of, money flowing in and out, constantly growing and changing.

He might have been a bookkeeper, but this was a step beyond that. Especially with everything else that would be vying for his attention.

Squeezing Shan’s hand again, he lifted his chin with a confidence he didn’t truly feel. “Let’s do this.” He dashed up the stairs, grabbed a hold of the knocker on the door, and slammed it several times.

The door opened immediately, revealing a stern and stately man who was old enough to be Samuel’s grandfather. That was, if his own ancestor wasn’t a fresh-faced man in the prime of his life, despite being over a thousand years old.

His head hurt thinking about that, and he focused his attention back on the man. He was pale and wrinkled around the edges, but his clothes were impeccably pressed and his grey eyes kindly. He showed them in, then immediately dropped into a bow, bending low at the waist. “Lord Aberforth. It is my honor and privilege to welcome you to your family home.”

Samuel almost didn’t realize that the man was talking to him—he still wasn’t used to being addressed by that title, by that name. He swallowed the urge to correct him, to beg him to call him by his given name, and stepped into the role that had been assigned to him. “It’s good to meet you…” he trailed off, uncertain.

“You may call me Jacobs,” the man supplied.

No title. Not sir, the polite way that nobles sneered down at new blood. Not even mister, the title given to commoners with no Blood Working potential. Despite the wage they earned and the security their positions afforded them, they were considered somehow even lesser. “I’m glad to meet you, Jacobs,” Samuel said, kindly. “What is your position?”

Jacobs smiled, clearly relieved, and Samuel wondered what he had done to make that so. How cruel his former masters must have been that even a drop of kindness made such an impact.

“I am to be your secretary,” Jacobs said. “And to help with the staff and household management while you adjust.”

“Did you serve…” Samuel couldn’t bring himself to say it, to really claim Nathaniel Aberforth as his father.

“Yes,” Jacobs replied. “I did.”

“Well,” Samuel said, jumping off the cliff without even thinking. “I’ve heard that he was a harsh master. I don’t intend to be the same.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a promise.

Jacobs smiled. “As you say, my lord.”

“Yes,” Samuel shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat—a loan from Shan’s brother until the rest of his wardrobe arrived. It was a little too tight around the shoulders, and far too flashy for him with its gold-trimmed lines. “I want to take a look around, but afterward I’d like to meet the staff. Do you think we could call them to the parlor in an hour’s time?”

He hoped that would be enough space for them. Because of the short notice, there would only be what Shan called a skeleton staff—a couple of maids, a handful of kitchen workers, a housekeeper and Jacobs. Even that seemed like too much.

“Yes, we can.” Jacobs hesitated. “Should I give you the tour?”

He glanced back at Shan, suddenly hesitant, but she nodded at him. “Yes, please.”

She smiled, then stepped aside. “I’d like to speak to the housekeeper, if I may.”