Chapter Text
Gale looked out over the ballroom, hands steadfastly at his side despite how the collar of his uniform was digging into his neck. The last thing he had wanted to do was attend this accursed ball. Sadly, his mother had insisted he chaperone her ward, and he had never been very good at refusing her.
Tara was currently taking yet another turn on the dancefloor. He watched her closely, thankfully unbothered so far by any debutante. Her dress was a deep green, conspicuously out of place amongst the pastels favoured by other young women of the ton. Then again, Tara had never much cared for what was in favour. He quite admired that about her.
He remembered when he had first found her, shivering by the family estate’s gates, a slip of a girl begging for scraps. He had concocted a story that she was an orphan of some far flung relative, and persuaded his mother to adopt her into the Dekarios clan. It was of a benefit to both of them; Morena had been rattling around the empty estate in his absence, desperate for both company and a project, and Tara had found herself with a family.
The Duchess had asked him to act as a guard of sorts for this ball when she’d heard he had agreed to chaperone, stopping any uninvited guests from slipping in. She had insisted, in fact, that he attend in uniform, mostly to make her look more important. Gale was very proud, and rightfully so, of the position he held as an officer. His original commission may have been bought, but he had earned his Captain’s rank. He was, however, not particularly proud of the fashion in which he was cheapening it at the present moment.
A few other members of his company had dressed the same, though he’d already noticed them peacocking around the ballroom to attract attention. Any single man in attendance at a ball was, by society rulings, there for one reason and one reason only, after all.
A hot breath suddenly blew directly into his ear, and Gale started, hand flying to his sword hip – before he remembered the Duchess had expressly refused to allow any weaponry into Elysium House, and he heard a familiar cackle over his shoulder.
“Ancunín,” he sighed, not bothering to turn round. “I am truly shocked the Duchess allowed you to attend after last time.”
“That’s Viscount Ancunín to you, Gale.” Astarion Ancunín rested his chin on Gale’s shoulder, his neckerchief a stark white against the crimson of the soldier’s uniform. He was slightly taller than Gale, barely an inch, although the Viscount acted as though it was a country mile. “The Duchess has once again forgiven me of all my minor sins.”
“If by minor sins you mean defiling her hedge maze last season,” Gale said with a roll of his eyes.
“Nobody ever found out who turned the foliage statue of David into a eunuch, and I resent that you would imply I had any hand in it,” Astarion replied with a huff. Gale jostled him hard with his shoulder, and he finally removed his chin. “Why are you in uniform? Did you not have any other suitable clothing?”
“I am in uniform to ensure that the ball runs smoothly,” Gale said, his tone flat. Astarion scoffed.
“What manner of trouble could there possibly be at a ball?”
“Well, for one, you are in attendance, and so the possibility of trouble increases ten fold.” The music came to an end, and Gale watched as Tara curtseyed politely to her dance partner before taking up a hold with another young gentleman he didn’t recognise. “Now go away.”
“Goodness, you are in a dudgeon tonight,” Astarion said, crossing his arms as he looked over the dancefloor. Then a grin that Gale did not like in the slightest grew on his face. “My, my. Would that be your little family ward about to dance with the Earl of Ramazith? He is a terrible rake, you know. And that is by my standards.”
“Ancunín, you are not helping,” Gale said through gritted teeth.
“How am I not helping? I am merely informing you that you should be a better chaperone to your darling sister.” The grin doubled in size. “I shall simply have to rescue her myself.”
“Astarion –“
But Astarion was already striding across the room, clapping a friendly hand on the Earl of Ramazith’s shoulder.
“Terribly sorry, old sport,” Astarion said genially, as though he wasn’t committing a grievous social faux pas. “I’m afraid I need to borrow you for just a moment.”
“I’m busy, Ancunín,” the Earl said, shrugging his shoulder away. Gale caught Tara’s eye as the Earl tried to spin her away. She looked more than a little uneasy.
“I understand that, my dear Earl, but this is really very urgent,” Astarion said, this time catching his elbow. Gale started across the ballroom at the sight; the Earl went from looking irritated to incensed in a blink. “I must insist. Tara can dance with Mr Dekarios in the meantime.”
“Ah, quite so, Lord Lorroakan,” Gale said quickly as Tara practically threw herself into his dance hold once he approached. “I’ll be sure that she saves you a spot on her dance card later in the evening.”
As Astarion dragged the Earl bodily off the dance floor, Gale felt Tara relax as they began to dance a reel.
“It was kind of the Viscount to step in,” she said, her steps practiced and refined and nothing like the wild hellcat Gale was accustomed to in their home. He wondered how long it would take for her true nature to show in public. Thankfully, she seemed to mind the Lady Dekarios’ plea not to disgrace herself so far. “Alfira told me last week that Lord Lorroakan’s hands have a tendency to wander. You aren’t going to make me dance with him later, are you?”
“I will ensure you’ve left before he can accost you again,” Gale replied. He frowned over in Astarion’s direction. He was talking very animatedly at Lorroakan, who was barely paying attention, staring daggers at Gale instead. “And the Viscount does not do anything with kind intentions. I’m sure he has some nefarious reason behind his actions.”
Gale quickly looked back at Tara, who was grinning up at him.
“Please, Gale, you cannot fool me,” she said, letting him spin her as the dance dictated. “Astarion is the best friend you have.”
“Tara, how many glasses of champagne have you had?” Gale asked with a laugh. “The Viscount and I are not friends. And do not let anyone catch you be so informal about him. Our family can ill afford a scandal at this time.”
“Like an officer sleeping with a Duchess?” she whispered conspiratorially.
Gale nearly tripped over his own feet at her words. He snapped his head around to see if they had been overheard. Thankfully, the music of the quartet was loud enough to drown Tara out.
“How did you –“
“You are not as subtle as you think, brother,” Tara smirked. “If you must insist on climbing the trellis back into our home when you return from her estate, you should learn to do it without grunting like a stuck pig.”
Gale tutted, spinning Tara as the music swelled. It was true, the climb back up the trellis was rather physically taxing on his knees, but it was better than coming through the front door of the townhouse and facing endless questions from his mother about where he had been. A man should be free to enter and leave his home as he wished, but the average man did not have Morena Dekarios for a mother.
“Perhaps I should dance with the Viscount instead,” Tara mused, returning to their dance hold. “He has a good fortune. Not to mention an excellent wit.”
“Absolutely not,” Gale said a little too quickly. “He has a new debutante on his arm every ball. He plays with women then discards them as soon as he is bored of them. Has done for years. The day Astarion Ancunín settles down is the day hell freezes over.”
“Gale!” Tara laughed, the pair of them now falling easily into step with the other dances. “Do not be so unkind!”
“The truth is more important than kindness in this case,” Gale said. “Please, Tara, do not test my nerves by chasing Ancunín. I am too old for such stress.”
“Alright, alright.” The music came to a lilting end, and Tara curtsied politely to him. “Although I cannot see why you should have all the fun cavorting and I must behave.”
“I am not cavorting, Tara,” Gale said, frowning slightly as he led her over to the refreshments table, out of Lorroakan’s eyesight. “We are in love, if you must know.”
“People who are in love do not feel the need to keep it a secret,” Tara said, rolling her eyes as she perused the finger foods. “I believe the term for you is a wife in watercolours.”
“I do not want to know where you picked up that particular turn of phrase, Tara.”
**
A wife in watercolours.
Gale could not get the phrase out of his head, even days later, as he walked through the bustling city streets. He had been struggling to shake the feeling that he was simply a passing of the time to the Duchess. Something that would dilute and dissolve at her whim with nothing to show for it.
He should have faith in her. Surely with a little more time, he could get her to see that their union would be strong. A good match, if a little unconventional. As a widow, she was free to marry whoever she pleased if she so wished. The title would pass to her and Elminster’s eldest no matter if she and Gale reproduced.
Gale winced a little, trying not to think about what the late Duke Aumar would have thought of all this.
Elminster had been a close family friend for all of Gale’s life. A soldier alongside Gale’s father, he supported Morena when Charles had been killed in battle, ensuring she and Gale were adequately provided for. He had even written Gale’s original letter of recommendation when he had purchased his commission.
The Duke had married late, solely for the need to provide an heir, and Mystra had swept into Gale’s life like a whirlwind. She was whipsmart, beautiful, and ran the household with a military precision Gale had no choice to admire.
When Elminster died, Gale stepped up to offer Mystra any help she might need, but he quickly found she did not require it. Instead, he found she would invite him over for things she certainly needed no help with. At first, he suspected it was for company. The estate being as large as it was, and her children cared for by an army of nurses and ladies’ maids, he had no doubt that she was lonely. It was only when she innocently requested he fix a loose panel on her four poster bed that he realised she had a different kind of yearning for company.
It would be proper to propose to her, he knew that. Tara was right in that they would cause a scandal if they were discovered without such an agreement in place. He could not understand why Mystra was content purely with the physical consummation of their relationship. If they were married, they could walk together openly, be seen in public and not cause a ripple through society.
Mystra would be a sensible match for him. Her intelligence rivalled his, and he found their conversations to be most enthralling. She knew his family well enough, and he was sure Tara would grow to like her in time once they were better acquainted. The lovemaking was perfectly adequate – pleasant, even – but that was by the by to a successful marriage in Gale’s view. They were in love, and so the next logical step was to marry. Such was the way of society, even if their beginnings were a little unconventional.
If only Mystra saw it that way. He had subtly mentioned the notion of marriage to her over the last few weeks, but had been swiftly rebuffed each time. He should be content with what they had. They didn’t need to complicate the matter with something as banal as marriage. She was content with their arrangement, why wasn’t he?
He was no longer a young man. His forties were on the horizon, and the perpetual questions from his mother over whether he was to become a confirmed bachelor and deprive her of grandchildren was really beginning to grate on him. It was time for him to find a wife, and he had no interest in the simpering debutantes that Tara called her peers. He needed a woman of substance, of smarts.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of jeering up the street, harsh words cutting through the breeze. A small crowd had gathered at the pillory, blocking his view from the poor bastard they were mocking. The voices were too layered to pick out much of what was being said.
He tried to push through the crowd, to see who exactly had been sentenced to such a punishment.
“I didn’t take you for someone who would be so eager to mock the downtrodden, Dekarios.”
Did Viscount Ancunín have someone following him? It was the only explanation Gale could think of for his appearance at any given moment at his side.
He was wearing an elaborately embroidered tailcoat, two phoenixes of gold adorning his chest. His breeches stopped at the knee, all the better to show off his overly polished boots. Gale suddenly felt rather scruffy in his short navy jacket and plain trousers, even if he looked much less out of place.
“I was passing by,” he said defensively, brushing his hands over his front to ensure he at least looked put together. “I haven’t seen anyone in this pillory since my return to the ton. Thought it had been decommissioned.”
“Sadly not,” Astarion said, folding his arms as he scowled at the crowd. “The patrons of Sharess’ Caress have merely been smarter at hiding their proclivities.”
“Sharess’ Caress?” Gale had never heard of the place, but given the wicked smirk blooming on the Viscount’s lips, it was not somewhere polite society should catch him in.
“I suppose I should not be surprised the great Captain Dekarios has never heard of the ton’s most notorious molly house,” he said in a mild tone. “Do you even know what happens in such an establishment? No, no,” he added dramatically, raising a hand to his brow. “I’d best not upset your delicate sensibilities.”
“I know perfectly well what happens in a molly house, Ancunín,” Gale said irritably. He had never been to one himself, but he had heard tales from some of the other men he’d served with who had spent time as Bow Street Runners. Debauched pubs and coffee houses, hives of sodomy and sin. Certainly not somewhere he would ever find himself in.
A shout went up behind them.
“Rolan!”
Gale turned to see a young woman in a ladies’ maid’s uniform, strands of her hair escaping from her scraped back bun as she shoved past them and elbowed her way through the crowd.
“Shit,” he heard Astarion mutter under his breath, as the viscount quickly followed her in the space she was carving through.
Rolan… the name was familiar to Gale. He dimly recalled meeting the downtrodden steward of the Ramazith estate before taking up his commission. He was young for the position he held. Gale had always had a suspicion his youth was what drew Lorroakan to hire him. The poor boy did not know how unfairly he was being treated. He had intended to suggest to Elminster and Mystra that they poach him for their own household, but it had slipped his mind, with all that had occurred since.
The crowd hadn’t yet filtered back into place, and Gale could now clearly see Rolan. He couldn’t have been in the stocks for more than an hour or so, considering how put together he still looked. His countenance was a little paler than Gale remembered it being on their last brief meeting. The young woman was scrambling onto the pillory’s raised platform, not a care in the world for how her skirt hiked up her legs.
“This is where you’ve been?!” she admonished Rolan, who went from pale to bright red in embarrassment.
“Lia,” he hissed, pulling slightly at his wrists, bound as they were by the pillory, “go home –“
“I will not –“
“Lia, was it?” Astarion hopped up onto the platform next to them, grabbing her arm and leading her off to the side before the Bow Street Runner posted next to Rolan could do the same. Gale noticed that his grip was light, despite looking as though he was manhandling the girl. “Rolan here is facing punishment. Likely only an hour or two.” He turned to Rolan, who was steadfastly looking at the floor instead of at them.
“Two hours,” Rolan muttered.
“See? He’ll be back at the estate in no time,” Astarion said, patting Lia’s arm in a manner Gale would have found incredibly patronising if he was on the receiving end of it. Lia clearly thought the same; she pulled free with a scoff, but she kept her distance from Rolan all the same.
“The Earl will be most displeased about this, brother,” she said quietly, rubbing at her face with the back of her sleeve.
“The Earl will not hear of this,” Gale blurted out. “You have my word.”
Lia, Rolan, and most of the crowd turned to stare at him. He heard Astarion barely disguise a scoff.
“A half crown to everyone here,” Gale said firmly. “And a round at Fraygo’s, on the Dekarios tab. Not a word of this, or you will have me to answer to.” He turned to look at the platform. Lia was staring down at him. “Lia, if the Earl asks, Rolan has been assisting my mother while I was attending on business. I will ensure Morena is informed should he ask any questions and will see to it that the record of his arrest is sealed.”
Lia nodded, mouth set in a thin line. Behind her, Gale saw Astarion slip the guard some denomination of note, murmuring something under his breath.
“Why don’t we wait at my estate?” Gale said, offering his arm to Lia. Lia very begrudgingly took it as she clambered down from the platform. “Tara is likely in need of a new ladies’ maid, if you would be amenable to leaving the Ramezith household.”
“Poaching servants, Captain? And here I’d heard you were a gentleman.” Lia was doing her best to conceal the wobble in her voice. “I couldn’t leave my brothers at Ramazith, sir, much as the offer is appreciated.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Astarion said cheerfully out of nowhere. Gale started, huffing as the surprise gave way to irritation. Could the man not leave well enough alone? He had the matter in hand! “That runner will be delivering Rolan to me once his punishment has been served. I’ve been in need of a new steward for some time. Feel free to have any other siblings tag along.”
That was certainly new to Gale. Lia nodded, blinking back tears as she hurried off into the crowd.
“What happened to Godey?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could muster, which wasn’t much.
“Dismissed him weeks ago,” Astarion said with a wave of his hand. “The man was an insufferable busybody. Couldn’t keep his bony nose out of my private affairs.”
“How would your father have felt about –“
“He wasn’t my father.” The rebuke was sharp and swift. Gale knew very little about Cazador Szarr, save that he had been married to the late Viscountess shortly before her untimely death. Astarion had inherited the title when he was only a boy, and Cazador had acted as steward for him and his siblings until Astarion had come of age. Within a few weeks of Astarion being old enough to assume his duties, Cazador had mysteriously disappeared from the ton without a trace. Back to his family in the country, Astarion had said, and left it at that.
Gale held his hands up in apology. The two walked in stony silence down the thoroughfare. Gale found himself scanning the shopfronts, wondering exactly which was hiding this mysterious molly house Astarion had alluded to.
“Sharess’ Caress doesn’t exactly have a sign on the door, Dekarios.” Astarion’s snide jab broke through his thoughts. “You have to be brought in by an existing member.”
“And how would you know?” Gale said exasperatedly. At the grin that broke across Astarion’s face, he sighed. “Actually, forget I asked.”
“Angling for an invitation?”
“Absolutely not.” He couldn’t help the blush that spread over his cheeks at the thought of it. “A molly house is a den of sin.”
“Hmm.” They walked in silence for a few more steps. “Well, if you change your mind, it’s in the abandoned public house on the corner of Sail Street. Password is Elysium.”
“Like Elysium House?” Gale said, appalled as he stopped in his tracks. “Are you quite serious?”
“The Duchess does not have ownership of the concept of Elysium, Dekarios,” Astarion said with a smirk. He practically skipped up the steps of the townhouse they were in front of, and Gale realised with a jolt that he’d accidentally followed the Viscount home. “Contrary to your opinion.”
“That – that is not – I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating, Viscount,” Gale spluttered, taking a quick step back.
“I’m not insinuating anything,” Astarion countered. “I say what I mean, Gale, instead of dancing around the subject. You follow the Duchess around like a lost puppy. She can do no wrong in your eyes, it appears. You do realise you wouldn’t inherit Aumar’s title if you stole his widow?”
“I am not stealing his widow, don’t be absurd,” Gale said crossly. “The Duchess is perfectly able to make her own decisions, if that were a decision she wished to make.”
He wasn’t quite sure why he was staying here to argue with a man who clearly wasn’t interested in his explanations. He wasn’t even sure why he was defending Mystra, either.
“I do not know what it is you have heard, Ancunín, but it is baseless rumour and nothing more,” he said primly. “Now if you’re quite finished, I have to inform my mother we are to take on a new ladies’ maid.”
He turned on his heel and left before the viscount could get any more barbs off.