He wanted her. It was something he had to face. She was beautiful and desirable and they were cooped up in the house together. It was bound to happen. He recalled the Whispering Room at the Hell Ruelle. He had kissed her there, though it also seemed faded in his memory, like the time at Cirenworth. He rubbed at his right wrist, which ached; he knew he must have been out of his wits, then—Grace had just ended things with him. He had sought comfort with Cordelia, which was not fair to her. In fact he had behaved like a starving animal: seizing her up, throwing her down on the desk, clambering on top of her.…
He put his hand to his head. It was splitting. Desire and love were not the same, he reminded himself, and Cordelia was innocent. He could not take advantage of her. He would have to control himself better. He would have to—
There was a noise at the door; he looked up, expecting Cordelia.
A harsh astonishment went through him. Risa was there, a look of consternation on her face, but it was not Risa who had surprised him. Standing behind her was Elias Carstairs, wearing a threadbare brown coat of a style that had not been in fashion for years.
The shock that went through James was nearly painful. Whatever he had been thinking about was entirely derailed; fortunately, a lifetime of control and good manners asserted itself. He stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Good evening, sir.”
Elias returned the handshake, glancing past James at the food spread across the low table. “Ah—you are at dinner? My apologies.”
“Is everything all right with Mrs. Carstairs?” James asked, wondering what could have brought Elias calling with no notice.
Elias seemed unconcerned. “Of course. Never better. I don’t wish to keep you, James, and I require only a moment of your time. But perhaps we could retire somewhere briefly to discuss an important matter? Between father and son. Between men.”
James nodded and led Elias to the drawing room with a whispered aside to Risa. He didn’t want Cordelia wondering where he had gone.
Upon reaching the drawing room, Elias closed and bolted the door. James stood before the cold fireplace, hands locked behind his back, puzzling through the situation. He supposed he shouldn’t be quite as surprised as he was. It was natural for a father to want to talk to his son-in-law—there were all sorts of ordinary things that weren’t considered women’s business: finances, politics, mortgages, horses, carriage upkeep… not that he could imagine that Elias had ventured out on a snowy night to discuss carriage upkeep.
Cordelia’s father roamed the room slowly, taking his time, squinting owlishly at the fine paintings. As James watched Elias knock over a small ceramic figurine—then try to right it, before giving up and turning away—his heart sank. If Elias was attempting to seem sober, he had chosen the wrong person for his performance. The past years with Matthew had taught James well: Elias was quite drunk, indeed.
After his little tour, Elias rested a hand on the piano lid and regarded James appraisingly. “So richly appointed, your new home. What wonderfully generous people your parents are! We must seem beggarly in comparison.”
“Not at all. I assure you—”
“No need to assure,” Elias said with a chuckle. “The Herondales are wealthy, that’s all! It’s hard for me to ignore, I suppose, after all I’ve recently been through.”
“A difficult time, indeed,” James said, casting about for the proper response. “Cordelia is so happy to have you back home.”
“Home,” Elias said, and there was a faintly ugly tone to his voice. Something almost mocking. “Home is the sailor, home from the sea, eh, James? Home, with a new brat on the way and no way to feed it. That’s home, for me.”
A new brat. James thought of Cordelia, so determined to save her father, her family. If it hadn’t been for her bravery, Elias would have gone to trial, not the Basilias. And yet nothing in his father-in-law’s behavior—at the wedding, at dinner, now—betrayed even the slightest sense that his daughter deserved his admiration. His gratitude.
“What do you want, Elias?” James said flatly.
“I am, if I may be frank, in debt. Cirenworth, you see, was an investment in my legacy. It was far too expensive, but I thought, quite reasonably at the time, that given my history I would soon be promoted within the Clave.” Elias leaned against the piano. “Alas, I have been passed over for promotion multiple times, and due to my recent troubles, I have no longer been drawing a salary at all. I do not wish to rob my children or my wife to pay down my debts. Surely you can see that.”