“That’s not it,” Victor said. “I absolutely guarantee that is not the case.”
Christopher was unwilling to accept this. “You cannot know for certain.”
“If that were the case, I would already be married to Angelika, and I would be presently draining the accounts dry, with her enthusiastic blessing,” Will said gravely.
He left a long pause for her to issue any type of denial. The flames crackled and Angelika cringed under everyone’s stare. She had been so brazen.
Then Will continued. “It is something I worry about. The way the Frankensteins trust so openheartedly? It terrifies me. What if I am a low-born criminal, someone cruel, someone who would indeed take advantage of kindness?”
“You are not,” Angelika said. “You are the best of men.”
Christopher heard her tenderness and straightened his spine. Two flyaway hairs on his head floated like insect antennae, illuminated by the torch at the back door. It was as close to disheveled as she’d ever seen him. “I am to understand that I am at a significant disadvantage in this scenario.”
Will laughed at that. “I said that to Angelika merely moments ago, but about myself. You are at a great advantage, Commander. You know who you are.”
“But Angelika knows you. You are around all the time, and she is clearly fond of you.” Christopher made a decision. “If I assist you back to your old life, and your existing family commitments—”
Will finished: “I will be content knowing that Angelika will be able to move forward with her life, her reputation untainted, and she can be wed to a man of high status.” The pain in Will’s voice was evident to the group. “I would not ask her to marry me, even if it were what she wanted.”
“I, apparently, have no input into this matter,” Angelika said dryly. “The horse sale has become an auction.”
Lizzie gave her a warning look, and mouthed, Larkspur.
“This is natural science,” Victor informed the group. “In nature, the males compete for the female. Here we have two fine peacocks, posturing for the plain brown peahen.”
“I was a horse and now a peahen? I hate you with all my heart,” Angelika told Victor. He threw a piece of cheese at her in response. She ate it.
Victor continued. “I will tell you a well-kept secret about myself, Chris. I am not a formal, snobbish type of person.” The group let out an identical guffaw. “If Will is revealed to be a street sweeper, but he proposes to my sister and she accepts, I will not stand in their way. It is Jelly’s choice.”
Christopher replied, “All I ask is that I am considered fairly. I want to get to know you, Angelika. I feel we have an interesting attraction. Do you deny it?”
The fire crackled more.
“You are allowed to confess it,” Will told her. “I will not be angry.”
Angelika took a deep breath, hating herself for this betrayal. But the truth was required.
“I do not deny it. Christopher, you are dreadfully handsome. I like your liquor cabinet selections, and you are a laugh. Since the second I met you, I have ached to scrunch up a handful of your perfect shirt in my fist.”
Christopher’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, and a new kind of energy passed between them. “I would not object. And how I wish we had met at the ball.”
Angelika decided to be brazen once more. “But I will be clear on one point: I prefer Will. He is the one who has my heart.”
“You prefer a nameless man,” Christopher pointed out. “I am willing to wait until all is revealed to see what your final choice is. I do believe I am still a good option.”
“That’s all we’ve ever wanted for Jelly. For her to have a choice.” Lizzie was writing in her official secret society notebook. “I undertake to be a neutral umpire in the courting of the fairy queen.”
“I would put everything I have into this,” Christopher threatened Will. “None of you know this, but I am a renowned hunter. There is nothing and no one I cannot find: foxes, stags, missing horses, or absconding officers. I have found everything I’ve ever hunted for. The very first thing I will need is a likeness of Will.”
“I think I could help with that,” Clara blurted out, surprising the group. “I’m—I’m rather good at . . .” They all leaned forward. She finished weakly: “Drawing.”
“Excellent,” Lizzie praised her. “Come back and we shall have Will sit for a portrait. Do you use charcoal, lead, or oils? We shall get what you prefer.”