From Lies Page 2

  Sighing, Rafe turned, and was glad to see Lord Shaften walking down the street with his youngest child. Perfect timing if ever there was. Casting a quick glance toward the back, Rafe left the bakery and strode toward Lord Shaften.

  "It is good to see you so well, Lord Shaften. And your children, I hope, are all in good health?" Rafe smiled at the child huddled next to his father's leg.

  Lord Shaften laughed, a sound that seemed to come from deep within his gut. "Yes, yes, everyone is doing well. And your family?"

  Rafe smiled, giving a small chuckle. "My sister, Raquel, is still wishing she could find a husband and settle down to have children, but my mother…" Rafe shrugged his shoulders, giving Lord Shaften a look.

  The lord nodded his head, and Rafe did believe that the man understood. "Yes, yes. Everyone with eligible children is talking about that ball. I am, of course, expected to attend, but I don't know what I shall do with my children, though I've been informed it would be lovely if they were to attend."

  Rafe grinned. It had taken much maneuvering to bring up his sister in past conversations, and now this would be perfect. "I'm certain my sister would be more than happy to assist you at the ball if you find yourself in need. She's nervous as it is to be meeting those of such a high station, and I imagine having children nearby to occupy her would help ease her nerves greatly."

  "Yes, yes. Children are good for easing one's nerves, but I'm afraid my children won't know her and would be disinclined to stay near her." Lord Shaften appeared genuinely saddened by this, and Rafe knew his careful words over the past year since he'd heard a group of old women discussing how the Lord Shaften needed a new wife were beginning to work.

  "Well…" Rafe let himself trail off, hoping he looked consternated.

  "Hmm, what is it?" Lord Shaften looked at him curiously.

  "I was just thinking… but it was a foolish thought." Rafe waved his hand as if swatting the thought away.

  "Oh, come now. You can't leave an old man waiting in suspense."

  "You, sir—old?" Rafe snorted. "I would think us all old if you were such."

  "You flatter me. But, please, tell me your thought."

  "Well." Rafe looked at the child tucked against Lord Shaften's leg and bent down to eye level with the boy. "How would you feel about meeting my sister? She loves children, and I believe she needs to get out of the house. She'll be attending the ball that's coming up, and I know she'll be grateful to have a dance partner she knows. Would you be willing to accompany my sister to the ball?"

  The child looked between Rafe and his father. Rafe carefully watched Lord Shaften from the corner of his eyes, nearly whopping in delight at the small nod Shaften gave his son.

  The boy looked back at Rafe and nodded. "Okay," he said in a small, childish voice.

  Rafe could almost hear the squeal of his older sister as she clasped him close at the prospect of being near children. Their mother was a fool to try and change that aspect of Raquel. "Thank you." Rafe held out his hand for the child to shake, smiling warmly when he felt that tiny hand in his own. "I will escort my sister to your home…" He waited for Lord Shaften to pick a time, not wanting to seem conniving.

  "Will next week, midweek, work well for you?" Lord Shaften asked as he settled a hand on his son's head.

  "I will arrange it," Rafe said, and rose, releasing the boy's hand from his own as he extended his hand to Lord Shaften. "Next week."

  "Yes, yes." Lord Shaften smiled wide as he shook Rafe's hand.

  They said a few more pleasantries before Lord Shaften bid him good day. Rafe stood there a moment longer then turned and headed back to the bakery, glad to see Greta standing at the counter waiting for him.

  "Quickly now," Rafe said and pivoted on his heel to head back out the door. "We are going to the dressmaker's next."

  He didn't wait for her, just strode across the cobblestone path that constituted a road. When he made it to the dressmaker's he turned, his stance stiff while he waited for Greta to catch up. She was practically jogging as she made her way to him, and Rafe wanted to tell her to slow down, he'd wait.

  Appearances. That traitorous part of himself whispered, the one that had told him as a child he couldn't defy his mother. He wondered if it wasn't that part of himself that was slowly strangling him in his sleep, causing him to wake cold while the moon still hung high in the sky.

  The soft panting breathes Greta released dragged him back to the here and now, and he walked into the dressmaker's, his footfalls heavy as he moved across the well-worn wood. The dressmaker, an older woman with white streaks in her hair who was getting ready to transfer her shop to her apprentice, a young gentleman who had a way with lace, glared at Rafe as if he'd dragged something foul into her store.

  "Yes?" Her old voice was raspy, a thread ready to snap.

  "My mother has bid me inquire if you still have my sister's measurements from the last time we were in." He made it sound less like a question and more a demand. Based on the sneer she gave him, he'd succeeded.

  "No." Her answer was clipped as she turned away, going back to telling her apprentice something Rafe couldn't hear.

  He nearly cheered in joy. This fit into his plans better than he could have hoped. "Then you will use her," he took Greta's arm in a firm yet soft grip and tugged until she moved forward, "to take new measurements." He turned away from their gaping mouths and gave Greta an apologetic look. She simply watched him in confusion. "I shall return after I have set up an appointment with the tailor." He didn't wait for a response before he left the shop, breathing deep while he moved down the cobbled road and strode briskly into the tailor's. At least this was one location he'd never had to take Greta and put up his act.

  He greeted the tailor warmly, taking a seat where the man indicated. He watched while a young boy was fitted in a smart outfit for his coming seventeenth birthday. The boy chatted excitedly to the tailor about what he would do with the new responsibilities his age would afford him, and Rafe had to wonder if he'd ever been that excited for a birthday.

  Rafe looked back, remembering his own seventeenth and how he'd finally be able to drink spirits, take an apprenticeship if he'd wanted one, join the service if that had been his preferred leaning, but he hadn't done any of that. He turned his gaze to the window, shutting out the nattering of the excited boy. His seventeenth had been a solemn affair, a time when his mother had been too busy attempting to make friends out of her circle of influence, his sister had been sick with a terrible cold, and none of the staff had seen fit to offer a kind word. Even Greta, sweet, kind Greta had been busy. His birthday had passed in silence, his memories of cruel words all that had kept angry, ashamed tears at bay.

  He startled at the loud noise of the boy hopping off the podium to walk around, stretching the fabric to make sure it fit right. At least he was no longer surrounded by his memories. Rafe smiled at the boy when he turned toward him, complementing the lad, and receiving a wide grin in turn. It was only a few more minutes before the tailor was ready for him, quickly confirming Rafe's measurements which hadn't changed that much. They discussed what he'd wear—something relatively plain, even if his mother had strictly written he should pick something bright, since that was the fashion, and the tailor apparently agreed with her—and when Rafe would come in for his first fitting.

  Not long after Rafe left the shop, the first few raindrops began to fall. He made his way quickly to the dressmaker's, glad he arrived just before the rain fell in earnest. When he opened the door, he heard a few notes of laughter, then it was cut off, a deafening silence ringing through his ears. He turned his nose up at the group, Greta looking apologetic behind the stiff forms of the dressmaker and her apprentice.

  "It's raining," he declared, as if they could not hear the pounding of droplets crashing into the roof. He watched the apprentice roll his eyes. Rafe forged on. "I will need an umbrella once our business has been concluded here."

  "And if I don't have an umbrella?" the old dressmaker aske
d sickly sweet.

  Rafe curled his lip in distaste, something he didn't have to feign, at the old woman. He was a customer, and no matter what she felt toward him, she should still act with manners instead of hostility. "Greta." He waited for her meek response. "I believe the tailor has an umbrella. Go fetch it and inform him that I shall repay him for the kindness."

  Greta rose to follow his order, but the dressmaker snarled, snapping at her apprentice, "Go get an umbrella." Her hostile gaze never left Rafe's face.

  Rafe refused to be baited and stared at the woman blandly. It didn't matter what she thought of him, though he might have to begin looking into the other dressmakers in the area. They might not produce clothing as fine as this woman, but they would certainly treat him better, especially if he decided to let this little encounter spread. It wasn't truly like him to do that, but this old woman was being too rude to ignore. He might even have to tell Duncan to change the dressmaker he should go to.

  "About my sister's dress," he started, pausing for a moment when the apprentice returned with two umbrellas. "Bright colors are in this season, but I want something unique for my sister, something that will set a new fashion trend."

  The woman snorted at him. "What would you know about fashion? If you want a new trend, then it will be extra."

  Rafe wanted to snort at the audacity of the woman, but he held it in. "We will negotiate the price. Greta, come." He turned away, knowing Greta would take both umbrellas from the apprentice.

  "She's not a dog," the old woman shrieked.

  Rafe turned around, giving the woman a cold look. "And you have no say in any of this." He turned his gaze to Greta. "Pay the man." Then he strolled from the shop as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  Outside, he paused beneath the slight overhang and breathed deep the scent of rain and dampening earth. He had never done anything to warrant that sort of behavior from a business person. Certainly some of them glared at him, tried to inflate the prices, but none had ever been as hostile as the dressmaker. It seemed her old age was reminding her of memories better left buried. An arm brushed against his, and he looked to the side, the concerned frown on Greta's face something he didn't deserve.

  "Are you all right?" she whispered, handing over one of the umbrellas and opening her own.

  He didn't respond as he opened his umbrella and stepped out into the storm. Making up his mind, Rafe strode quickly to a nearby dressmaker. If the old dressmaker was happy showing her hostility, then he would be more than happy to take his business elsewhere. He kept his mouth firmly shut as he entered the new shop and looked around, taking in the bright colors. There was a part of himself that was tempted to stomp back out, but he wasn't a child, and he needed to make sure his sister would have a dress that would impress Lord Shaften at the ball.

  "Can I help you?" a young girl, most probably a new apprentice, asked, nervously wringing her hands.

  "Yes. Take her measurements." He indicated Greta as she set her umbrella aside, concern poorly masked on her face. "My sister is unable to be here today, but she is close enough in stature to this one that adjustments should be easy at a later date."

  The girl bobbed her head, ushering Greta to a curtained off area. Rafe settled himself in a seat and gazed at the fabric around him. What would look best on his sister? His mother wouldn't settle for anything less than bright colors for her dear daughter, the one who clearly had more of a chance landing a spouse than Rafe. Though Rafe wasn't sure he wanted a spouse, not if he ended up treating them similar to how his mother had hers.

  A soft cough drew his attention to a middle-aged woman who looked at him with curious eyes. She looked vaguely familiar.

  "Yes?" Rafe watched her take the seat beside him without a word.

  "What has a young man such as yourself so deep in thought?" she finally asked. Another young girl came scurrying over, offering a plate of warm drinks and fresh cookies.

  Rafe couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed fresh cookies. He took one and bit into it, closing his eyes as chocolate coated his tongue. "My sister." The woman made a noncommittal noise. So Rafe continued. "Our mother wants us in bright colors for the royal ball, but I believe my sister needs something… different."

  "Something that will set her apart?"

  Rafe opened his eyes and smiled at the woman. "Exactly."

  "And what would you have in mind?" she queried kindly.

  Rafe eyed the woman, but there was genuine curiosity in her expression. He rose slowly, finishing off his cookie as he looked at the fabrics more closely, occasionally holding out his arm and imagining his sister's skin, a shade lighter than his dark tan.

  "Maybe this dark green—emerald?" He looked to the woman for confirmation of the color. "As the base, with this lighter blue at the cuffs and neck as well as folded into the skirt." He picked up the two pieces and showed how he imagined the green would almost hide the blue until someone moved, then the blue would peek out, giving that bright color everyone seemed so entranced with. It would be enough of a fashion statement without being too outrageous.

  The woman nodded her head, looking thoughtful. "I believe I can manage that. Ah, and here comes your sister now."

  Rafe had to bite his tongue against saying Greta was his sister, and he was so tired of pretending. Appearances. "Not that sister. My sister this dress is for couldn't be here today, but they are of a similar build, though you may need more room in the chest and hips."

  The woman, obviously the owner of this establishment, looked at him sideways but nodded her head nonetheless. "I believe I can do that. When would you like to set up an appointment?"

  Rafe settled in to hash out the details, glad to see when they were done the rain had let up a bit. "Thank you for your kindness," Rafe said before he led Greta from the store.

  They split up again, Greta to finish the shopping and Rafe to sneak back to the shoemaker and inform him of the change in dressmaker before heading to the hat shop, wondering if there was anything they had that would match his sister's dress. The rest of the day passed quickly, and Rafe found himself climbing into the back of the cart, ready to be home. Greta set the horse to an easy trot, not saying anything until they were well on their way home.

  "What have you been doing?" Her voice was soft, as if she hoped the gentle blowing breeze would snatch the words away before Rafe could hear them.

  It didn't work. He climbed into the front, bringing the blanket with him to wrap around her slightly trembling shoulders. She was much too skinny. "In which matter?" There was a lot he'd been doing lately, most of which he wouldn't tell her about.

  "With Lord Shaften of course." She gave him a sideways glance, as if he were foolish to think there might be anything else.

  If only she knew. "He has some good investment ideas I've been interested in." Which was true, though he doubted she'd believe him. He didn't just play the idiot to his mother. No, he played it to almost everyone. Better they should underestimate him than know he could change their fortunes in a heartbeat.

  "Uh-huh." She didn't believe him, but that was fine.

  He shrugged his shoulders, giving her a guileless smile. Appearances.

  Chapter Three

  Rafe stared up at the moon as a light rain misted around him. The flowers were beautiful beneath the full moon, reminding him he should look at the finances to see if there was enough money to increase the pay of the staff. It had been three months since he'd set in motion his sister's meeting with Lord Shaften and the outfit he hoped to have ready for Greta so she might attend the royal ball. Everyone seemed excited, except his mother. She'd been most displeased with the colors he'd picked for his ball outfit and Raquel's dress. They weren't bright enough, and any chance she had, she reminded him of his failure. But there wasn't enough time to redo the outfits, no matter how much his mother fussed, and Rafe couldn't help but smile at that.

  Soon he'd be old enough to stop hiding himself, to finally show the world that he was smart. He'd been s
lowly building up a shipping route, one he shouldn't have been able to do because of his age, but he'd learned how to disguise himself, to keep his meetings in dark places. Most thought him a little mad, but as long as they had no idea who he truly was, there was no harm. He had a nice little savings account now, enough to rival Raquel's dowry, should she ever get married. And based on today's meeting with Lord Shaften's family, it was looking more and more likely that he'd have a promising marriage for her.

  That was another point his mother held against him. She disliked the fact he was always taking his sister to play with children, even if Lord Shaften did have some sway in court, simply because he knew how to make friends. Rafe made sure he took the brunt of their mother's anger instead of Raquel; after all, she hadn't done anything wrong.

  He sighed then, because he was so tired, but fear gripped him about the throat and refused to let go. He'd learned early on that when life was going well, something was bound to crumble, and he wasn't sure it wouldn't be himself. He just wanted his birthday and the ball over with; then he might finally be able to sleep.

  With a final look around him, Rafe turned to head back into the house. Maybe he could warm a cup of milk. That used to help him sleep when he was younger. As he passed the stable, he heard a strange noise. It was soft, almost a whisper, and sparked a bit of curiosity since it was unlike any whisper he'd ever heard before. He looked for a crack in the wall but couldn't find any. Shoring up his courage, Rafe moved to a window placed high in the wall, a crate nearby. He tested the crate with a foot before scooting it beneath the window. It afforded him enough height he could stand on his tiptoes and peek inside the stable.