Page 111 of Immortal Rose

I smiled, remembering Oliver’s words. Queen of all flowers, indeed. Ravishing in form, glorious in scent, and strong enough to survive nearly any climate. It was a regal flower in every sense. Venia might have been the Immortal Rose of fairy stories, but the white rose of Albion had been carried on the banners of kings for generations.

“Will the blend need to macerate?” Tommy asked. “It strikes me that there won’t be much time for it.”

No, indeed, there would not be.

“Some perfumes do need time to mature—four to six weeks, if possible,” I explained, setting my chassis aside and wiping my hands on my apron. “But the infusion of magic into the scent is . . .” I paused, trying to remember how Mama had explained this to me. “It’s a kind of alchemy. The magic and the fragrance transform and instruct each other. That’s why the Treasury is so precise in its instructions and why the Rosebournes have been so beholden to it to create these scents.”

“So if you truly cannot find the nectar . . .” Felicity trailed off.

“You’re in for a carry witchet,” Tommy finished.

I looked up in surprise at the bit of cant. Tommy’s hand stilled against the page of his open sketchbook.

“Or rather,” he said, not looking up, “a conundrum.”

It had caught me off guard to discover the Longmount brothers hailed from the Brickbats, in part because I hadn’t picked up on the hint of an east city drawl in either his or Willie’s voice until now, when I was searching for one. Clearly it had been some time since they’d lived there, or they’d worked hard at their elocution to be hired in a toff’s house.

“Should we fill the third?” Felicity asked, gesturing to the empty chassis.

“We might as well,” I said, reaching for the basket I’d set on the floor. “Can you line it with tallow? I’ll go gather more jasmine.”

Tommy and Felicity exchanged a sharp look I didn’t understand before Tommy set his sketchbook aside and pushed off the stool.

I held out a hand, unease creeping through me. “I’m just going to the garden. It won’t be but a moment.”

Another look.

My brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Felicity said. “I’ll just get started with the tallow, shall I?”

There was something in the way they carefully held their silence that made me want to look back to see if they were speaking with their hands. Brigadier, who’d stretched herself out in the doorway, leapt to her feet at my approach and trotted after me into the kitchen.

I stopped at the door to the garden. She sat, staring up at me expectantly.

“Not you, too,” I mumbled. “All right, you can see to any business you might have.”

The garden’s lovely perfume was as soothing as a gentle breeze. Brigadier ran out ahead of me, darting through the flower beds and along the gravel paths as if conducting a well-honed patrol.

Shaking my head, I wove a quick path through the lilacs and hyacinths to the sheltered spot on the south-facing wall, where the last Lord Foxcourt had planted the jasmine.

It had been an unexpected bit of good luck to find the correct variety at our disposal in the garden. The plant thrived in far warmer and drier climates than Albion offered, but I wasn’t surprised that Lord Foxcourt had made a success of it.

I knelt, setting the basket beside me as I went to work selecting which blossoms I wanted. It was best to cut them at dawn, when the scent was strongest, but a few hours later wouldn’t make much of a difference, I supposed.

That coil of tension in my gut had only just begun to relax when a chill stroked down the back of my exposed neck. A shadow fell over me, darkening even the bright blooms. The lack of essence told me at once Felicity had changed her mind about staying in the still room.

“Really, this isn’t necessary—” I began.

“I rather think it is.”

I twisted around, my heart dropping like lead.

The man towered over me, carefully positioned so that he was backlit by the sun, his face as shadowed as a demon’s. His tawny jacket and breeches were immaculately cut, revealing a floral silk waistcoat. I’d never seen a cravat so intricately knotted. His hair was burnished gold by the sun, carefully coiffed beneath his topper.

I had caught only a glimpse of him that night, but I would have known who it was even if I hadn’t.

A void in the soul, Reddy had said, as if some cold darkness opened inside of him, and now nothing can fill it.