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Three of Swords Short Stories:
Gentlemen Like Drowning People in the Thames, But a Lady Prefers Good Old-Fashioned Manipulation
(Part 1)

In Which Serena Morgan Is Not Much of a Lady But Quite the Manipulative Siren

As one might expect, the night Lucien took the Duchess of Everington home for the night (Vol. II: Chapter 11), there was a lot more going on behind the scenes. Little did Lucien know that he'd once again been caught in a plot--albeit one that was more elaborate and far cleverer than the Fairfax brothers' plot to question him and toss him into the Thames River.

When the Fairfaxes failed at finding Helene Prideux "their way", the Morgans decided to take care of business in the fashion they do best. The Morgan sisters are powerful witches, skilled enough in magic (particularly potion-making and divination) to have made it onto the Witches' Council, but they also specialize in a very charming brand of manipulation. Lucien is not the first, and certainly won't be the last to fall victim to their efforts.

Part I: In Which Serena Morgan Is Not Much of a Lady, But Quite the Manipulative Siren, begins at the party, some time after Lucien and the Duchess left, and the Morgan sisters discuss the plan with their henchmen, the Fairfax brothers. Part II: In Which Stephen Fairfax is a Vulgar Brute With All the Trappings of a Gentleman (to be released May 2) describes what the Morgans and Fairfaxes do when the Duchess returns bearing tales of a dangerous fat rat and a rude Irishman.

Arithmomancy - Divination using arithmetics, usually with the help of an abacus.

November 2, 1888 - (the night of Volume II: Chapter 11)
London, England

“Devona’s so lucky—if I’d have known how handsome and charming Lucien Baptiste was, I would have volunteered. The boys made him sound like such a boor!”

Winna rolled her eyes and flipped open her green moire fan irritably. “Rena, you’re being ridiculous. You don’t have to be alone tonight and you know it.”

“If you are referring to the eldest Fairfax brother,” I said airily, “it is really quite over between us. Whatever small pleasures we have enjoyed together are in the past. It was all very lovely in Vienna, of course, but we are back in England now, and I must focus on finding a husband. The eldest Mr. Fairfax should also concern himself with finding a wife before he becomes a penniless beggar in the streets. I have no intention of doing anything more than curtsying and saying ‘how do you do’ to him from now on, as I informed him several weeks ago.”

“I seriously doubt you will hold to that,” Winna said, smiling knowingly in a way that I did not like.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when Stephen ignores you, you can’t help but do everything in your power to regain his attention. And when you flutter your lashes at him, he simply is incapable of resisting. Neither of you can stay away from each other for longer than a month at most.”

“That is not true!” I defended hotly. “Last year, there was a point where we weren’t together for a month and four and a half days.”

“Regardless. I doubt this little sabbatical will last very long at all.” Winna flicked her fan closed. “I’m going to go see if they’ve come yet. You wait here.”

It was fifteen full minutes later when a servant finally came to look for me and tell me Winna was waiting and the carriage was outside. I hurried to the foyer, where Winna was standing impatiently, already in her cloak.

“Where is your cloak?” she asked, and just as I opened my mouth to answer, I felt my cloak come over my shoulders.

Turning about in surprise, I saw Ernest Brinkley standing there, his boyish face pink. “Lady Serena,” he stammered. “I hope to—that is—would you mind if I wrote you next term?”

“Oh, I don’t know….” I lowered my eyes, but glanced up at him through my lashes. “What will the letters say? Sweet romanticisms?”

“What about poetry?” he managed to choke out, turning an unsightly shade of red that contrasted dreadfully with his blonde hair.

“Only if it’s poetry about me,” I said seriously, fingering a button on his waistcoat. “Write me a verse about my ankles. I am almost sinfully proud of them.” I lifted the hem of my skirt to show him. “Aren’t they fine?”

“Very fine indeed.” Ernest swallowed hard.

I dropped my hem, and smiled up at him. “Maybe I will write you back…but I don’t know what I shall say…I am horrid at romanticisms and poetry. But,” I said so quietly that he had to bend to hear me, “they might be a little bit…naughty.” I undid the button on his waistcoat that I had been touching, and Ernest went pale.

“Rena! The carriage is waiting!” Winna was impatient to be with Allan.

“I am coming! Mr. Brinkley—or, may I call you Ernest?—would you walk me outside?”

“Absolutely,” he breathed, taking my arm and leading me out.

It was frightfully cold, even for November, and I wished Ernest were a larger man that I could lean against and be warm. The Maverly carriage was just in front, and Geoffrey was outside of it, helping Winna inside. I could just make out the shapes of his brothers within.

“I must go, Ernest,” I said, infusing my voice with regret, just as we reached the bottom steps. “Au revoir! You may kiss my cheek.”

With a sudden burst of newfound confidence, Ernest kissed me just on the corner of my mouth, and his hands went under my cloak. When he released me, I smiled, trying not to look too surprised.

“Goodbye, Lady Serena,” he said, and smiled back, a smile that was actually quite handsome, before going past me up the steps into his house.

I walked over to where Geoffrey stood, slowly however, as my shoes were beginning to hurt.

“Good evening, Geoffrey,” I said coolly. There was something in Geoffrey’s eyes that told me he’d seen every bit of what had just happened, and did not approve. Geoffrey had a tendency to over-react about small things—he actually concerned himself with what people said about us Morgans and Fairfaxes.

“There is no need to look at me that way, Geoffrey,” I added, and he scowled, flushing furiously.

“Your bodice,” he said shortly, and I looked down at where my bodice was all crooked, showing quite a bit of chemise underneath.

“Oh.” I adjusted it, and with a huff, Geoffrey took my hand and helped me into the carriage. Winna and Allan were sitting on one side, and Stephen sat on a seat by himself, next to the farthest window, out of which he was staring, seemingly oblivious to my arrival. I sat beside him, and Geoffrey came in after me, sitting on my other side.

Sitting between two Fairfaxes is warmer than any cloak, which was nice, but they had dreadful big elbows that kept knocking me once the carriage started moving.

“Peppermint stick?” Allan offered, holding out a red-and-white striped candy. He had one stuck in the side of his mouth like a pipe and Winna had one in her hand that she wasn’t eating.

“Yes, please,” I said, taking the stick and licking it delicately. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stephen shift, though he did not look away from the window.

“How did it go then?” Geoffrey asked gruffly, taking a peppermint stick from Allan and biting into it.

“It was too easy,” Winna said, smiling and shaking her head. “He was so completely enraptured by Rena and me, he didn’t even notice me slipping the potion into his champagne. Then, once Devona came, that was the end of it.”

“He took Devona to his house?” Geoffrey inquired, leaning forward. “Idiot.”

“Well, what man could resist a Morgan?” Allan asked no one in particular, sucking noisily on his peppermint stick, before biting it in half. “I’m surprised though…Lucien was so…intu…intu-i-tu—What’s the word, Win-Win?”

“Intuitive?” Winna suggested, and Allan nodded vigorously.

“Exactly. Intuitive. Lucien was so intuitive about the Tarot, but he was tricked so easily into this. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now.”

“He’s a moron,” Geoffrey declared. “I said that from the start. Wish he’d’ve drowned in the Thames. Would have saved us all a bloody lot of trouble.”

Allan shrugged. “I don’t think he’ll be much trouble anymore. If it all goes as planned, Devona will give him the sleeping potion, he’ll be out, then she can just find the kid, give her some potion and take her. Then we can send that horrible old Marzouk woman a telegram, and it’ll all be taken care of.”

“That’s optimistic, dear,” Winna said, placing a hand on Allan’s knee. “Of course, Devona will work it all out, but I don’t expect it will be easy. There is another warlock remember?”

“Oh, that Irishman?” Allan said, around the entire peppermint stick he’d crammed into his mouth. “Didn’t Lucien say he was dead? Those bloody mad Dawkinses killed him, he said.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Are you so thick that you believed that, Al?”

“Devona will take care of it,” Winna repeated, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. “Honestly, Mr. Baptiste was a complete and utter simpleton. I watched one of those performances he does for those silly desolo girls…it’s all foolish tricks, nothing extraordinary.”

“But he’s brilliant at Tarot,” Allan insisted. “Did he do any of that?”

“Yes…and told every single girl she was going to meet her true love soon.” Winna rolled her eyes and sighed. “I do hate pretentious magic, when it’s all show and little actual power.”

“Well, not every chap—or bird—can do arithme—arithna—That marvelous thing you do with your abacus, love.”

“Arithmomancy, darling,” Winna reminded him.

“I thought Mr. Baptiste was charming,” I said loudly, glancing at Stephen, who appeared to have fallen asleep.

“He was ridiculous,” Geoffrey huffed. “Damn pansy.”

“What would you know?” I said pointedly, waving my Italian lace fan in his face. “Mr. Baptiste is a gentleman with the most impeccable manners—and he flirts so nicely. I was quite taken with him, I was a bit envious of Devona, to tell the truth!”

Stephen opened his eyes, and blinked lazily at all of us before looking back out the window.

“My goodness, Winna—I thought he was going to be a ninny, but he was quite possibly one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen,” I gushed, leaning forward.

“What!” Geoffrey looked disgusted.

“He was hardly remarkable,” Winna said, tilting her chin upward. “Rather fine eyes and he had very good bearing, but he was so pale and skinny, and I do think all that awful black he wears washes out any color he might have.”

“I’ve got color,” Allan announced, pulling her closer and kissing her cheek.

“Yes, you do, darling,” Winna cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice. “However, your beard is sticky from candy. Hold still.” She held his chin in one hand, and rubbed at his beard with the other.

Allan’s face flushed red, and I could see him swallow hard. Men were so easy to fluster, and we Morgans were just so very good at that sort of thing.

Geoffrey groaned. “For God’s sake, you two….”

“It is a pity,” I began, fanning myself, “that Mr. Baptiste is such a nobody. If he were a noble, or even someone with a great lot of money, he would be a perfect husband for me. I daresay I have never met an Englishman who can speak French as well as a Frenchman—but Mr. Baptiste certainly manages it. And such manners! I do believe he actually respects women, unlike so many men in our acquaintance, Winna.”

“He simpers,” Winna stated, shaking her head. “I personally don’t see the appeal, Rena.”

“How could you not?” I smirked. “I think you’re too wrapped up in Allan to notice other men! Lucien Baptiste does have fine eyes and a lovely form, but what is really his best feature is that mouth, with those full lips…” I closed my eyes and clasped my hands to my bosom. “Just imagine kissing that mouth.”

“Bloody hell! I’d rather not, thank you very much!” Geoffrey clapped his hands over his ears, accidentally elbowing me in the side of the head.

“Oh shut it. I wasn’t talking to you,” I said loftily, poking him in his stout side. “Lucien Baptiste is a beautiful man, and I have every right to say so.”

“You flirted with him unneccessarily enthusiastically,” Winna remarked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I giggled behind my fan. “Oh, I was just shameless. But he liked it…he couldn’t keep his eyes off me. If we hadn’t given him that potion, I think he would’ve been pursuing me for the night!”

“Could we have a subject change, please?” Geoffrey whined. “I am so tired of this godawful conversation.”

“I can talk about it all I like—”

“Serena, just shut your mouth and be quiet,” Stephen said suddenly, turning to look at me, with a fierce look in his green eyes.

I felt my stomach tighten at that look, but I recovered quickly. Though Stephen may look wickedly desirable when he’s angry, the best thing one can do about it is to not let him know. “I shall not shut up. No one else has anything of interest to say, so I might as well talk about what I like.”

“And what you like is Lucien Baptiste?” he said, his voice deep and scornful. “An effeminate idiot who crawls about using magic tricks in order to obtain whatever scraps of attention he can from the wealthy?”

I crossed my arms and tossed my head. “Scoff all you like. I know you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” His face flushed slightly, and he leaned closer. I could smell his cologne and could feel the warmth coming from his body—I had a sudden impulse to take hold of his collar and pull him closer. “Why the hell would I be jealous?”

I smiled at him. “Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what I mean, Stephen.”

“Serena, I swear,” he sighed, shaking his head and leaning even closer, “if I spent a minute being jealous of each and every fool you were willing to climb into bed with, I’d have a full-time job.”

“We’re here! Finally!” Geoffrey barreled out of the carriage before we’d even properly stopped.

Allan followed, helped Winna out, then hurried to the front door. I jumped out myself, stumbling a bit in my heels, but walked briskly to the door. Stephen was behind me, but I had no intention of being alone with him. He was such an exceedingly horrid man at times, and utterly unbearable. I was glad that, after our return from Vienna, I had made the wise decision of breaking with him completely. Our on-and-off-again relationship was just not worth the trouble it caused to maintain.