Page 32 of Mistress of Lies
“Of course, my lady,” Jacobs replied. If he was put off, he didn’t show it. “She’s in the kitchen, right down this hallway.”
Shan nodded, turning away. Samuel watched her go, then turned to take in the Aberforth townhouse. While they had been talking, it had been easy to let his eyes go unfocused at the edges, to let himself ignore the opulence and the finery. But he had to learn to live with it, even if he could never allow himself to become comfortable with it.
He wanted to scream.
He didn’t.
He was so tired already, but he couldn’t be ungrateful. None of this was Jacobs’ fault—he was just as much a victim of circumstance as Samuel was, if not more so. At least Samuel had the money, the prestige, the power. Jacobs had nothing, could never have anything, and it was all terribly unfair.
He plastered a fake smile on his face and followed Jacobs through the foyer, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Directly in front of them was a grand wooden staircase leading to the upper levels of the home, where Jacobs said the bedrooms and family spaces were. But before they explored that, he directed them to a sitting room on the left, a room that was larger than the one Samuel used to live in, outfitted with the kind of delicate, carefully carved furniture that would have cost a fortune to outfit. Chaise lounges with hand-embroidered designs, a low glass table, paintings and fine statues along the walls—hells, a grand piano in the corner.
Samuel buried his hands in the pocket of his jacket, hiding the way he was clenching his fists.
“Perfect for casual entertaining,” Jacobs explained, then stepped past and into the first room on the right—a dining room with a table large enough to seat a dozen people, perhaps more. The walls were lined with portraits, and a quick glance at them told Samuel that he was looking at his family. It was a line of golden hair and pale faces, their cold eyes sharp and piercing.
How was he supposed to eat here, day in and day out?
He wanted to run from the room, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the judgemental faces of his ancestors, knowing that they all looked down upon him and found him unworthy.
Jacobs cleared his throat. “If… if it pleases you, my lord, this one here is Lord Nathaniel. Your father.”
Samuel hesitantly approached the last one, looking up at the face of his father for the first time. He had been young when he had ascended, not as young as Shan or even Samuel, but still. His face was unlined, his shoulders strong, his eyes clear. But even in this there was a coldness to him. It was in the way his eyes bored into the viewer, in the frown on his lips, in the haughtiness of his bearing.
Lord Nathanial had been a cruel man, and Samuel had to look away.
Jacobs didn’t push the matter—he just let Samuel lead them out of the room.
From there the opulence only got worse, and, bit by bit, Samuel grew cold and distant, smothering the rage that threatened deep inside. He couldn’t let this touch him, not now, or else he would break.
By the time he met the staff and had settled in, the sun had set and evening was upon them. At Shan’s request, the cook had sent up a plate of sandwiches and a pot to tea to the study, bypassing a formal dinner. The wine, she insisted, was just for her. It was exactly what he needed after the immensity of the day, and he could have kissed Shan for her thoughtfulness.
If he were being honest, he could almost kiss Shan in general. She was clever and capable and just alluring enough to make him forget she was a Blood Worker. But that was a thought he didn’t want to contemplate at the moment.
She was sitting in one of the large, padded chairs, her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked under her skirts. Her hair had begun to fall out of its pins, hanging dark and heavy against her skin, and her cheeks had a rosy flush from the wine. It was the most relaxed he had seen her yet, the mask slipping to reveal the woman beneath.
A half-eaten sandwich was on the plate balanced on the armrest, and she had his ledgers spread across her lap. She was cozy and contented, and she looked like she belonged here—lady of the house, already running his household and keeping things in line.
Another thought he didn’t want to contemplate. Could not contemplate. The memories of a mistake long past still haunted him, and he couldn’t walk that path again.
Instead, he steered himself towards safer waters. “You know I have a secretary for that,” he said, sipping his tea.
Shan scoffed. “As a bookkeeper, I thought you’d understand how important it is to double-check the work.”
“I do,” Samuel said. “And I was planning on doing that. But it’s not your responsibility.”
“I don’t mind,” Shan said, absently. “I like this kind of work. Books are simpler than people, and it’s easy to find the truth in numbers. Besides, there is a lot to manage and you haven’t been trained for this.”
Like she had. He heard the unspoken words, felt them claw into his gut, not because they were sharp or harsh, but because they were simply true. “I’ll learn.”
“Yes, but I’d hate to see you bankrupt yourself before you have the chance to.” She closed the ledgers, looking up with an easy grin. “Unless that’s not the reason. Do you fear I’m going to sell the Aberforth secrets?”
It made him smile. “I wasn’t before, but now that you bring it up…”
She laughed, standing to pour herself a fresh glass of wine. “Samuel, please. I want to earn the King’s favor, not lose it. So long as he favors you, you’re safe from me.”
“Until you’ve earned your own place,” Samuel said, “and then you’ll have no need for me.”
Shan shrugged, too casually. “Yes, but don’t forget I like you. So, you’d better be careful you don’t lose my favor.”