She was legally married, something she had never believed she would be. Legally married to a man she was falling in love with yet she wasn't sure if he felt the same since while Charlton's actions said one thing, his words said another.
Even so, normal life went on. When the ceremony and celebration were over, everyone had to get back to work.
Charlton changed into grubby clothes, kissed Iolanthe goodbye with his apologies and returned to the village with Jorge and his headman, Paco. The manor house's servants began cleaning up, leaving Iolanthe to sit in the drawing room with a pad of paper and consider what she was going to do next. She could manage Orlov Castle with its staff of hundreds but that staff knew who she was and what her capabilities were. Equally important, she knew the exact condition of every room in Orlov Castle from the grand ballroom down to the meanest attics and their furnishings.
Having enjoyed a full day's residence, she could already see how badly Charlton's manor house needed a guiding hand and guess at how many much bigger problems remained hidden. She made a note on her pad to ask about insect infestations, vermin, and terraformers. There were more clues overhead. Those painted-over water stains on the ceilings would reappear in short order if she didn't have the leaks located and patched. Iolanthe cringed. She was sitting in a room on the main floor which said, as plainly as if the house had spoken, that the leaks were infiltrating the walls of the manor house: a three-story building with additional attics and basements. Leaks like what the stains were implying guaranteed mold, fungi, and terraformers grew inside the walls where they couldn't be seen. She made another note. Unfortunately, an entirely new roof would have to wait at the end of a long list of needs.
Perhaps Zachery was correct. The manor house would be repaired more completely if it was burned to the ground and then rebuilt. He, however, wasn't going to pay for a rebuild.
She looked around again, tapping pen on paper, wishing again she had a dowry of coin and not skills. Constance wouldn't be any help in deciding what to tackle first.
Her new mother-in-law had drifted among the peasants — smiling, chatting, and cooing at babies —then vanished back into her solarium to embroider more flowers. They were stunningly lovely portraits to be sure, but useless. Although. Iolanthe turned her attention to the wall opposite her while her hand went still. Shadows on the faded wallpaper shouted the locations of sold artworks, replaced by Constance's artistry in smaller frames. She'd never seen more gorgeous thread paintings and if Constance's work could be sold — at a premium because they were rarities representing the time, expertise, and talented hand of a lady of the Four Hundred — that would bring in much needed coin. Eventually.
Iolanthe made a note to discuss this possible source of income later with Charlton. Considering his desperate need for cash, she doubted he would complain about selling his mother's artistry rather than save it for future generations. If necessary, she could point out that selling a few embroidered paintings would patch the roof and save the rest of the heirlooms from water damage.
In the meantime, Constance was just as inadequate when it came to managing the manor house as Ulla had described. She was sweet-natured, generous, and oblivious to her surroundings because she remained absorbed in her own dreamy world of color and flowers and embroidery floss. Constance didn't notice when the sheets needed mending or the rain blew in through the broken windows.
Ulla had been depressingly accurate about Charlton's grandfather. He was best ignored for the time being. He (drunk but not nearly as bad as the sot could get) had flatly refused to dress and leave his bedchamber. Iolanthe was unsure if he had bothered to stagger over to the window to witness the wedding ceremony and celebration of his only grandson.
The openly incompetent housekeeper wasn't a feeble crone yet, but she was rapidly heading in that direction and needed to be pensioned off so she could drink herself to death in peace. She had thoroughly enjoyed the celebration and was currently hidden, presumably sleeping off her binge. Iolanthe didn't know where the housekeeper was hiding, but it was quite possible she'd smuggled extra alcohol upstairs to share with Charlton's grandfather in his bedchamber. Ulla was convinced that they tippled together and she was probably right.
The butler, Ruckers, was a wheezing ancient who should have been given a cozy cottage and a pension a decade ago. He spent much of the celebration shooting dice with the two footmen and any villagers he could coerce into playing. He won too, leading Iolanthe to wonder if he'd spent his golden years learning how to cheat without being detected. Appallingly, he got less respect than the housekeeper did. Matsuda or Grimaldi would never allow a household to disintegrate like this butler had. The same was true of the butler in Orlov Castle and she suspected it was true of DelFino Castle's butler.
The maids were like maids everywhere, whether they were scullery maids or parlor maids. They would work only as hard as they needed to. To do better, they needed direction, encouragement, and praise. A tiny salary for their very own would be nice too, although currently not possible. The two footmen were similar; they could work harder than they did. Ulla had provided plenty of information about each servant in the manor house. They all respected, even feared her. They had yet to learn what Iolanthe required from them and were waiting to see the kind of mistress she would be.
Ulla had also provided information about the gardener (hugely overworked and in desperate need of some under-gardeners), the coachman, and the two stablehands. Those men, while vital to the running of those portions of the estates, did not hold sway over the manor house itself.
The peasants' opinions, from the headman down to the goosegirls and the swineherd, didn't matter to the manor house servants. Unless they had relatives in the village, in which case how Iolanthe managed the manor house mattered very much since it would demonstrate how she would take care of the peasants' needs. They needed so much but one issue at a time. Iolanthe made a note to write to the daimyah and introduce herself and plead that a schoolteacher be assigned to Charlton's estates along with a request for a permanent village nurse if one could be found who would accept a transfer to the poorest, most isolated village in DelFino. She sighed. A dowry would be so useful because a tiny salary might lure a teacher or a nurse out to the hinterlands. The improved status, while valuable, did not mean better eating and a roof that didn't leak, nor would it encourage the teacher's family to relocate away from everyone and everything they knew.
That left one person who knew what the manor house needed, who knew everyone, whose word could be trusted, who was reliable, who was hardworking, who was respected by one and all, and who brooked no interference with her sworn duty from anyone. Iolanthe needed this person's backing and respect if she was to run the manor house and bring it back into good condition and prosperity. This person had the authority to ensure that Iolanthe's orders would not be ignored.
She needed to speak with Cook.
Who was right about Cook?
Charlton, Ulla, and Walter feared her and stated she was a demon armed with a cleaver. Constance insisted Cook was as sweet-natured as she was herself. Jorge considered Cook to be a professional worthy of respect and treated her as such. Charlton said Lannie was afraid of Cook but could sometimes coax her into cooperating. Terrence, Charlton's valet, claimed Cook was the sweetest woman on Mars and wanted to marry her the next day. Iolanthe had sent Susan to ask discreet questions about Cook and the answers had reinforced Ulla's opinion. Harry and Saul, the two DelFino servants who had arrived with Ulla and Walter and now reported directly to Jorge were wary of Cook. So was every other servant in the manor house, inside and out. They all mentioned her quick hand with a cleaver.
But without Cook's backing, she would get nowhere.
She wasn't Ulla, mowing down opposition like a newly sharpened and honed scythe while enjoying the full backing of the daimyo of DelFino. Susan had said that the manor house servants had learned from Harry and Saul how important the improvements were. If Charlton's estates weren't brought up to DelFino standards, then the estates would be given to someone else in the family and the servants wouldn't fare well with the new lord and his lady. Whoever got the estates would punitively sack the lot of them. Yet Ulla had still had difficulties enforcing her will.
Ulla wasn't on Cook's good side. She had managed to accomplish an amazing amount of work, leaving detailed lists addressing the even more monumental challenges that remained. What could Ulla have achieved if Cook supported her?
Iolanthe glanced at the tarnished clock on the wall, ticking away the minutes of several lifetimes of work needing to be done. Based on the afternoon sun streaming in, the clock was only off by an hour or so. Cook had outdone herself, providing a wedding feast for the entire village on an evening's notice. Her feast didn't approach the gourmet standards of Orlov. It wasn't in the same solar system as the astounding spread Sakamoto had put on for their open house. Yet Cook had, with her tiny staff and limited resources, managed to feed over one hundred people as much as they wanted and still have some food left over for supper tonight.
Cook would be exhausted and probably in a bad temper. What were her kitchens like? Cramped, dingy, and poorly equipped had to be the answer, based on how the rest of Charlton's home looked. Empty of provisions too, with larder, pantry, and cupboards stripped bare. There was her approach.
Iolanthe smiled at the clock. Cook would be resting from her labors. Should she ask Constance to go with her? No. That would mean climbing and then descending two flights of stairs. More critically, if she enlisted Constance — or anyone else — she sent the message that she wasn't in charge.
It was time to beard the lioness in her den. Iolanthe got to her feet, picked up her cane, and limped through the manor house to the kitchens.
***
They were nearing another waystation, a chance to rinse and refill all the waterskins and pick up more depressing mil-rats and mail a postcard home. Days had passed since the pickpocket had frightened Lannie. Fen kept fretting over what had happened to her in Barsoom at the hands of DelFino. She'd retreated into her shell, saying as little as possible and flinching at every loud noise.
Her feet were healing up nicely and the risk of blood poisoning had passed. That was an answered prayer. He would have to buy her boots soon. The long legs of her coverall were shredding from being used as makeshift foot covers and would soon have to be cut off and then it was boots or barefoot. He glanced at the rough, filthy gravel underfoot. Going barefoot on this road surface would rip her feet back to shreds. Lannie went barefoot often but she didn't have the leathery calloused soles of someone who never wore shoes.
But despite her feet healing, Lannie herself wasn't happy. They had traveled together for almost two weeks and he thought he was getting to know her. Something was eating at her, even as she adjusted to the rigors of traveling the Pole-to-Pole corridor.
"We'll be stopping soon."
"Okay," Lannie responded.
She rode Coppertail while he walked and they were making better time than he'd expected. The weather had decided to be cooperative, remaining dry with enough of a breeze to take the edge off the heat. Despite not speaking, Lannie was learning fast. She was getting quicker at setting up camp, breaking it down, and handling Coppertail so he didn't have to do everything.
But she wouldn't talk.
"I remember this waystation from my ride down the corridor from HighTower. It's got a real post office and not just a mailbox."
"Okay."
"You said you could read and write. You got anyone you want to write so they know you're alive and okay?"
Lannie stared over Coppertail's ears at the red sandstone building on the horizon. A tiny settlement surrounded it, probably the reason it had a post office.
"I will think about it."
"I got plenty of stamped postcards. You can use what you need."
"Okay."
Fen suppressed a sigh. At least he'd gotten her to say something other than 'okay'. That pickpocket had terrified her worse than he'd thought.
***
A post office. Lannie's mind raced. If Fen gave her a postcard, she could write to Charlton. If she was very neat with her printing, he'd be able to read it even if her letters were tiny to fit everything in. She had to tell him two things. She was alive. She suspected daddy was poisoning mama and why. The problem with a postcard was that if daddy saw it first, Charlton would never see it at all.
She suddenly realized that she didn't know if Charlton or daddy had gone back to their rundown estates. On the other hand, where else could they go? She had publicly humiliated Rastislav and stolen the Pearls of Orlov. DelFino's own daimyo, Zachery, wouldn't be happy with either daddy or Charlton. So. They both had to have gone home; daddy to continue poisoning mama while Charlton tried (ineptly) to salvage what he could from the wreckage daddy had made of the place.
She wondered what happened to Dimitri and Iolanthe Orlov. The harsh fallout from the loss of the Pearls would destroy them, if Rastislav ever found out that Dimitri and Iolanthe helped Charlton with his plan to steal the Pearls and depose that awful geezer. Would Charlton tell Dimitri she was alive? Everyone would assume that if she was alive, she had the Pearls. Should she admit to stealing them? No, Lannie decided instantly. She'd be hounded forever, even if she scattered them along the Pole-to-Pole corridor for anyone to find. As long as she didn't admit to stealing the Pearls, there was room for doubt. Not much, but some.
She also didn't have to admit where she was or who she was with. The Martian post office handled mail all over the settled side so she could be anywhere.
Her mind was whirling in circles again. She had to concentrate. A postcard to Charlton that daddy might read first. But it was a postcard which meant anyone could read it. The postcard would end up in the village where the Postmaster (whoever that was — Lannie wanted to groan in chagrin because Ulla would know) would tell everyone so Charlton would be promptly informed and the village would be buzzing with gossip. It didn't even matter if daddy got the postcard first at the manor house. Whoever brought it to the house (Ulla would know who was assigned that duty) would tell all the servants what it said. They all had to know that she had fled the cathedral rather than marry Rastislav. One of them would tell Charlton and he would believe them rather than daddy.
But Charlton needed more than a postcard. He needed money to save the estates and help mama. How long would the effect of Mistress Vaughn's poisonous tisanes last? Even if Charlton stopped mama from drinking them the moment he arrived home, the damage might be permanent. He needed money to take mama to the Great Hospital in Barsoom.
She had no idea if he married Iolanthe Orlov and might not find out until she reached Northernmost and could read the back issues of newspapers. Did they have newspapers or books in Northernmost? Lannie pushed that concern aside. Also, didn't Charlton admit Iolanthe Orlov had no dowry? That was what daddy said, but it must be true because why else would anyone with better prospects marry her brother? Assuming Iolanthe Orlov did something that stupid and desperate. But she might, if she really was ugly, stupid, and penniless.
She kept circling back to money. Charlton needed money desperately. His entire ridiculous plot revolved around stealing the Pearls of Orlov in order to depose Rastislav to benefit his friend Dimitri and getting paid with some of the Pearls. Lannie pursed her lips at the approaching waystation. Maybe she was wrong, but her interpretation fit all the facts she knew.
Much as she disliked Charlton, her brother was trying — however badly — to save the estates and their peasants. He needed more than good wishes to succeed. He needed coin while she carried treasure beyond counting in the Pearls of Orlov. Lannie glanced over at Fen. He hated thieves. He had very little money. He wouldn't give her a bent copper penny to mail stolen goods to the man who beat him up in the yard of a livery stable. And how much coin did Charlton need? She didn't dare send all the Pearls because it would be wasted. Daddy might find out and steal them himself. And she would be left penniless.
Maybe she could mail a few pearls, assuming she could figure out how to pay for it. What should she send? Lannie ran through the inventory of the Pearls of Orlov. Rastislav had draped her with pearls; a tiara with streamers of pearls to adorn her hair, a collar with attached ropes of pearls hanging to her waist, bracelets galore, big fancy brooches, rings....
The earrings.
Rastislav had stolen mama's opals when he removed them from her ears and pocketed them and slid the ear-wires through her lobes with those horrible, lewd suggestions. She'd never see mama's opal earrings again. Daddy had stolen mama's daisy earrings and given them to Mistress Vaughn. She was sure she was right because the more she thought about it, the more those enameled daisies looked just like mama's earrings. Mama would never get those earrings back either unless Charlton retrieved them from Mistress Vaughn.
These earrings looked just like clusters of grapes. There were a lot of small pearls, some diamonds, and jade leaves. Charlton could break apart the earrings without any difficulty and sell a few pearls at a time in Telduv. That would make selling the pearls less noticeable. Orlov had to be looking for anyone selling large quantities of pearls. He wouldn't make a wagonload of money but it would be enough to take care of mama while he figured out what to do next. And when she reached Northernmost, she could write and see if he needed more.
She glanced at Fen again. She'd planned to give him an earring to get her to Northernmost but this plan sounded better. Fen might —might! — accept a few pearls without turning her in for thievery but the earrings screamed theft. If she cut apart a bracelet, she could claim she'd found a few loose pearls. She didn't have to admit how many loose pearls there were. She should lie like Charlton did; by omission and misdirection. Daddy would recommend adding as much of the truth as possible so it was easier to remember and be convincing and darn him, he was right.
The next question was how would she do it? Lannie sighed. She'd have to hope she got lucky at the post office and found money on the floor.
"Fen?"
"Yes?" Fen answered eagerly, like he'd been waiting for her to say something all day.
"I would like a postcard, please. I have a brother. I know he would like to know I'm all right."
"Of course," Fen said. "You got to let your family know. They must be worried sick about you."
"I suppose they are," Lannie said. She hoped they were. But she didn't know.
She glanced over at him again. He might see who she was mailing the postcard to. "We'll be faster at the waystation if I go in by myself while you take care of Coppertail and get water. I can drop off your postcard while I'm there."
Fen looked dubious. "You'll be alright?"
She laughed suddenly, making his face light up. "I think I'm in less danger in the post office than Coppertail would be if you left him tied up alone."
"Isn't that the truth," Fen growled. Coppertail regularly garnered admiring comments and while he hadn't seen horse thieves yet, he had been told at the livery stable to be wary during the trip home just like the Hands of Krangland had told him to be wary during the trek to Barsoom. Like slavers, horse thieves kept a low profile until it was too late.
***
Lannie stood off to one side inside the dim post office, watching how things were done. She wrote letters all the time and received them too, but a servant had always ferried them to the post office, just like someone else provided paper, envelopes, pens, stamps, and anything else she wanted. Where was Ulla when she needed her?
This seemed like a small operation. The other customer left. No one was inside but her and the bored young woman behind the counter. The postal clerk was busily buffing her fingernails and her rings flashed with the movements of her hands. Her hair was immaculately styled to the point of fussiness and her uniform was pressed crisp, each button shining with polish. Her earrings were shiny brass balls to match her uniform buttons.
This post office looked like it catered to travelers, with boxes in an array of sizes, plain paper, envelopes, and such on shelves behind the clerk where they couldn't be stolen. The pens were chained to the countertops, next to their embedded inkwells. The floor was swept clean and no one had thoughtfully dropped loose change so Lannie could buy a small box.
She stood at the customer counter, carefully filling out the postcard for Charlton with one of the chained pens (Fen's was already in the mailbox; he wrote that he was making good time and expected to be home in a few months) and dropped it in after Fen's.
How much time did she have? Fen would expect her to return quickly so they could be on the road again, ending in another night spent sleeping on the ground and then more endless weary days of trudging northwards.
Lannie studied the postal clerk again, holding her hand up to admire her rings. She was proud of her appearance and prouder of her rings, that was plain enough. She wore one on almost every finger.
Rings. Where was one of those darn pearl rings? She moved to the darkest corner and patted herself down quickly, hastily inspecting pockets without dumping the Pearls of Orlov onto the floor, while thinking madly of how the conversation could go. When she thought she was ready, she headed to the counter.
"Hi," Lannie said to the postal clerk. "I like your rings."
"Thanks. What do you want?"
"I would like to trade a ring for a little box and some paper and the postage to mail the little box," Lannie said carefully. Daddy would be so proud. She'd spent a few minutes thinking over what to say and then rehearsed her lines so she didn't giggle madly or start sobbing.
"I can't do that," the clerk said. "Against postal regulations."
"I don't have any money but I do have a pearl ring."
"You're gonna try and tell me it's real pearls?" The clerk's eyebrows were up against her bangs.
Lannie let herself giggle. "Look at me. You think I got real pearls?"
The postal clerk laughed. "No." She stopped laughing and frowned. "The post office doesn't accept cheap jewelry. You have to pay with money."
"See, that's my problem," Lannie said earnestly. "I don't have any money. Yet. But I can sell you my ring in exchange for enough coin to buy a little box, some paper, and pay for the stamps. Your rings are very pretty but you don't have one with pearls, not even fake pearls, like this ring."
Lannie held out a ring, turning it so it caught the light. The row of four pearls glowed like moonlight on new snow. The gold band shone too, a hoop of sunshine.
"Ooooh." The postal clerk leaned in for a better look. "That is gorgeous."
"Isn't it beautiful? I really have to send a package to my brother and like I said, I don't have any money. Yet."
She waved the ring around, watching how the postal clerk's eyes never left the ring. "I think this might fit you. You've got a bare finger needing a ring."
"I can't sell you mailing supplies in exchange for a ring."
"I know. But you could buy my ring and then I could buy my little box."
Lannie watched the clerk's face carefully. Like virtually everyone else who saw the Pearls of Orlov, she was entranced. Time to seal the deal. Daddy would applaud. "But if you don't want it, that's okay. Maybe I can try at the next town at the pawnshop." She tucked the ring back into her top pocket and made a move towards the door.
"No. Wait."
"Yes?"
"Let me see it again."
"Okay." She handed the ring to the postal clerk and it tugged at her heart, seeing the beautiful pearls in someone else's hands. Lannie firmly squashed the pangs.
The clerk turned the ring over and over in her hands and then slid it onto her empty forefinger. The pearls glowed against her drab olive skin like they were lit from within, making her other rings look like the cheap glass imitations they were. She never removed her eyes from the ring and Lannie might as well have vanished.
"This is a gorgeous ring. You could get serious money for it from a jeweler," the clerk said, longing and duty warring in her voice.
"I know." Lannie sighed theatrically. "But I'm here right now and I need to mail something to my brother and there aren't any pawnshops or jewelers nearby. I'll take the ring back please."
"I'll buy it." The clerk reached down into a pocket and fished out some change, putting it on the countertop. "All I have." The pile of coins was tiny and all low denominations.
They were still more than what Lannie needed to buy a little box and pay for postage. A thought struck her, one that she wouldn't have considered before running away. "This is all your money? I can't take all your money because how will you eat and pay your bills? I just need enough to buy a little box and some paper and enough stamps."
"I'll be fine," the postal clerk said, holding her hand to admire the glowing pearls. "I can eat mil-rats all week."
"Don't eat the raisin kind," Lannie said. "They taste like they've been flavored with mold."
"This is true. This box the right size?"
"Yes, thank you," Lannie said and took the coins, the box, and the paper. "I'll be right back."
She hastily printed a note to Charlton and after several moments of hesitation, wrapped the earrings in it and stuffed them into the box, sealing it shut with the post office's gummed tape and string, then addressed the box and went back to the counter.
The clerk looked at the address and the spell broke.
"Charlton DelFino? DelFino? Your brother is a rich risto DelFino and you're walking around in a raggedy coverall that is ten sizes too big and you expect me to believe this tripe?" she asked indignantly.
"No," Lannie said with the sincerity granted by perfect truthfulness. "Charlton's not rich. He's really poor and so am I and we have the DelFino last name because we're the children of a lying, cheating bastard who lied to our mother."
"Making you and your brother bastards?"
"Yes, my brother is a bastard. And I guess I am too, even though I don't like to admit it," Lannie said. "You know how mean people can be."
The clerk made a face. "Isn't that the truth. Damn DelFinos. You keep the change." She leaned over the counter to study Lannie's feet, wrapped in the ragged remains of the too-long legs of her coverall. "You need it more than I do to buy some boots."
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart," Lannie replied and left the post office with a happier heart. If the postal clerk mailed the package instead of stealing it, her brother would get two very nice surprises. She was alive and he had some money.
Best of all, even if he told Dimitri Orlov she had the Pearls, they'd never know where she was nor could they guess where she was headed.
***
She found Fen by the watering troughs, rinsing and refilling the last of his waterskins.
"I was starting to worry about you," he said. "Mailing postcards took some time."
Lannie smiled at him. "I thought carefully about what I wanted to say. There's not a lot of room." On impulse, she flung her arms around Fen and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you," she whispered, gazing up into his brown eyes. "My brother will know I'm alive."
"Sure," Fen said, his mind empty of rational thought. Sensation flooded over him. Lannie was smiling up at him. She had her arms around him. She felt wonderful and he felt wonderful and he'd made her very happy and he didn't want this moment to end and it wouldn't have except Coppertail whickered, stamped a hoof, and flicked him with his tail, jolting him back to dreary reality.
"Any time you need a postcard."
Fen was having trouble focusing. She hugged him. He knew how long Lannie's hair was, the beautiful curve of her calves, the feel of her arms around him when they were riding and now he knew how it felt to have her oddly lumpy body pressed up against his chest.
"Okay."
As they left the waystation, Lannie mounted on Coppertail again, she thought about what to do next. If she wanted Fen to get her to Darnay, she didn't have to do anything. But if she wanted Fen to get her all the way to Northernmost, she had to pay him somehow and that meant revealing a tiny portion of the Pearls of Orlov. She would cut a bracelet apart but she had to do it when he wasn't watching. The Pearls were strung with knots between them so she didn't have to worry about the entire strand coming apart and betraying her. She could take only what she needed. How many pearls would Fen want to take her to Northernmost? For that trip, she'd have to have boots at a minimum and a coat for when they got closer to the North pole and it got colder and eventually train tickets for both of them. And Coppertail too because Fen wouldn't leave his horse behind anymore than he would leave her behind.
He wouldn't leave her. Perhaps he could accept what she had done as long as he only knew the barest minimums.
***
"Where is my lady Iolanthe?" Charlton asked as he stripped off his sweaty shirt.
He'd returned to the manor house to clean up after a long afternoon in the village. He was in a good mood. The granary, to his immense relief, was not a total loss. Paco had begun salvaging the harvest right away and shored up the walls and roof of the granary against rain. His good mood made him more tolerant of his new valet's quirks. He'd never had a valet before, fussing over his appearance as if the valet was the one going out in front of a disapproving public. Terrence had fresh clothes ready and was being irritatingly insistent about a shave and a wash before dressing for dinner.
"She's with my sweetheart, my lord," Terrence replied.
"Who?"
"Cook, sir. You recall. I'm marrying her tomorrow!"
Charlton thought his heart would stop.
"Iolanthe is in the kitchens with Cook?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Oh Gods," Charlton said and bolted, half-dressed, for the door. He took the stairs two at a time, tearing through the hallways and reached the swinging doors to the kitchen. For the first time in years, he didn't hesitate or knock or in any way warn the lioness he was entering her den.
"Hurt my wife and I'll kill you!" he screamed as he slammed through the swinging doors into the suspiciously quiet kitchen. Gods. She was already dead, a cleaver through her head.
"Charlton," Iolanthe said with surprise, looking up from her seat by the broad work table. "Is something wrong?"
He skidded to a stop in front of her and snatched her up from her seat. "You're alive!"
"Well, yes. Cook and I were discussing what her kitchens need and how best to tackle the repair list."
"You were?" Charlton kissed her fiercely, desperately, like a man who was sure he'd rescued his true love from certain death.
Cook pointed a meaty finger at Charlton from the other side of the table. "And what else do you think I'd be doing with the new mistress of the house?" she snarled. She reached with her other hand for her ever-present cleaver, the carbon steel blade glowing dully and the handle polished smooth with use.
"If you hurt my wife, I will make you pay forever," Charlton replied over Iolanthe's head. He clutched her to him as though he'd never let her go.
"You are an idiot," Cook spat back.
"I'm fine. Really, I am," Iolanthe said mistily as she snuggled against his broad bare chest, shockingly exposed to the view of the gaping and giggling scullery maids surrounding them. Charlton did care, deeply, even if he didn't say the words.
He did not let her go, pulling her against himself as he sat with her in his lap.
"Would you like some tea?" Iolanthe asked.
"Uh, sure," Charlton said, adrenaline coursing through his veins while he struggled to regain control of himself. Cook hadn't attempted to murder Iolanthe like she'd tried to kill Ulla all those weeks ago.
"No cookies for you," Cook added.
"Oh, no, Cook," Charlton replied automatically. "I don't want to spoil my appetite for dinner."
"See that you don't."
"Yes, Cook. You're not going to harm Iolanthe?" Gods but he sounded like a moron.
"You are a daft fool if you think I would hurt Miss Iolanthe any more than I'd harm your sainted mother."
"You were worried?" Iolanthe asked.
"I love you," Charlton said. "I couldn't bear to lose you." He kissed her again more gently. "I was terrified that Cook...."
"That I would do what?" Cook demanded, interrupting him.
"Put a cleaver in my wife's head like you tried to do to Ulla," he snapped at her.
"That harpy wasn't the lady of the manor and if she'd been nicer, she might have got somewhere with me," Cook said stoutly.
"Yes, Cook," Charlton agreed, since Cook was accurate, at least about Ulla not being the lady of the manor.
"Tea, sir?" one of the scullery maids approached, a cup of fresh mint tea in her hand. She was young and pretty, despite her work-reddened and chafed hands.
"Thank you, Mimi."
"I appreciate you standing up for my Mimi with that cad, Master Walter," Cook grunted.
"I wouldn't do anything else," Charlton said.
"Not like your dad, are you."
"No, Cook. I'm trying very hard not be him." Charlton took a sip of tea, followed by a hard look at the dessert plate on the table. "Iolanthe has a cookie."
She giggled in his lap. "Just this once. We were discussing menu options too."
"That's right," Cook said stoutly. "Cookies are for dessert."
"We've had a very fruitful discussion, my dear," Iolanthe said. "Cook has wonderful suggestions for how to make improvements."
"I expect nothing less," Charlton said in bemusement. "She is very capable. And, may I say, Cook, you outdid yourself for my wedding ceremony. Everyone was deeply impressed by your skills." He paused. "I have to ask. Terrence insists that the two of you wish to marry. Is this true?"
"Course it is," Cook said, frowning. She reached for her cleaver again.
"I want to be sure you want this," Charlton replied. Iolanthe could feel him begin to relax. "I'll give you away to him tomorrow, if that's alright with you. And you and Terrence can take the day off."
Cook pursed her lips. "Thank you, my lord," she said at last. "I'll arrange a cold collation for the family's meals tomorrow."
"Very good, Cook," Charlton said.
"I didn't know you had a pelt. Put on a shirt," Cook ordered. "You're upsetting my girls."
He didn't move.
"I'll be fine, my dear," Iolanthe reassured him. "Cook and I have barely gotten started. We have to decide on who will replace the housekeeper."
Charlton groaned. "Not another drunk, please."
"Do I look like a fool?" Cook growled.
"No, Cook," Charlton replied promptly, eyes on Cook's ever-present cleaver.
***
"I was impressed how you came charging to my rescue," Iolanthe said. She and Charlton were sitting on the veranda after dinner, enjoying the cool breezes of the evening. Jorge and Constance had left them to walk in the gardens, something they apparently now did every evening because, as Jorge said, Constance needed more contact with the real world and less with her imaginary one of embroidery floss and perfect blossoms.
He groaned.
"You didn't think I made a fool of myself?"
"No. Your mother, Jorge, and Terrence form a party of three. Cook intimidates everyone else."
"But not you."
"I don't believe she sees me as a danger," Iolanthe said thoughtfully.
He burst out laughing. "She doesn't know you yet. You're becoming the most dangerous person I know."
"You are being silly."
He regarded her thoughtfully. "No. You think before you act. You think about what the results will be. You're not afraid to wait or to be underestimated. You are very clever."
"You are very kind." She stopped and stroked his hand, laying possessively on her thigh. "Did you mean it?"
"That you're smart?"
"That you love me."
Iolanthe waited for him to answer and when he didn't, she waited some more while staring out at the star-lit gardens and suddenly the words poured out of their own accord.
"You said you thought you could, back in Barsoom when we returned from the justice of the peace and then you never said anything again and I thought that you found you couldn't and I can't bear it because I'm falling in love with you and it would break my heart if you tell me you can't. I'm sorry."
He leaned closer to her. "Don't be." He brushed his lips across her cheek. "Words are — hard for me. Words like that."
He pulled away from her and stared out at the lawns stretching towards the weedy gardens where his mother and his uncle strolled in the dusky, dusty pearl-gray light of evening.
Iolanthe thought her heart would break. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have kept her foolish mouth shut and waited and perhaps, in time, he would care. She gave herself a mental shake. Charlton did care. He'd raced into the lioness's den to save her. He had done everything for her, except say the words she wanted, needed to hear and didn't those actions speak louder than any words?
But she wanted the words too.
He leaned over again and ran a finger across her bare cheek. "Don't cry."
"I am not," she protested and blinked her eyes clear of humiliating, stinging tears.
"Doesn't look that way to me," Charlton said. "I meant it. I love you. It's just that words like that can be lies. My dad told mama all the time how much he loved her. Right up until the day we left for Barsoom and all along, he was cheating with Mistress Vaughn and trying to poison my mother. My dad said all kinds of things, wonderful things, and you never knew what was real and what wasn't. What he meant and what was a performance to make you clap your hands and then be disappointed again. Words are cheap. Actions aren't."
"I think I understand," Iolanthe said. "You don't want to be him. Like Cook said, you are nothing like your father."
"I will never be like him. I could have. I was failing. I screwed up a while back. He didn't care because it proved I was a failure just like he'd always believed. But Paco and Hedda thought differently. I couldn't disappoint them. Or the rest of my peasants."
Charlton gazed into her eyes. "I don't want to disappoint you. Or fail you. I can't give you anything but myself and the poorest corner of DelFino and you deserve so much more."
She giggled. "You have given me everything I've wanted. Except a kitten." And a baby but that would come in time, or not.
He grinned widely. "I'll ask around tomorrow. There's always a litter so you'll be able to pick the kitten you like best." He kissed her again, that light fluttery touch reminiscent of silver-winged moths dancing above cereus blossoms that promised so much more, later, when they were private. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I love you, Iolanthe Orlov DelFino. My beautiful, smart, capable wife."
She sighed with relief and joy.
"You mean everything to me."