Luther's Pride Part 08

The dinner party came too soon for Luther’s liking and too late for Criella’s comfort if the anxious swish of her tail on her departure was any sign. Criella and Wulfric worked tirelessly to arrange the dinner and guests for the following evening. Given the immediacy, the invitation list was shorter than it might have been, allowing for travel. 

The guests received their invitations in the afternoon by expedited messengers. Luther’s estate covered the expense of arcane communication. It proved necessary. Luther ate his dinner alone that evening and rose the following day before Will came to wake him. His daily routine proceeded uninterrupted until the late afternoon when he returned to the house to find the preparations completed by the staff. 

“Do I have to do this?” Luther asked as Will, his valet, adjusted his cravat. 

“Absolutely not, my lord.” Wulfric answered. “You may jump out the window to avoid the bevy of young ladies who have come hoping to bed you at any time. Yes, the work I’ve done getting everything prepared in record time will go to waste, but we wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, my lord.” 

Luther sighed. “Did you give my father this attitude?”

“Yes, sir. I was under the impression he enjoyed my candor and often joined me in witty banter.” Wulfric said, waiting for Will to finish preening over Luther’s clothes. 

“Why don’t we banter?” Luther asked. “Mostly, it’s just you sassing me.” 

“Much like the dinner party downstairs, you cannot blame me if you cannot rise to the challenge, sir.” Wulfric opened the door as Luther stepped toward it. 

“Touche, Wulfric. Touche.” Luther nodded to the older man. 

“Yes, sir.” Wulfric nodded in return. 

Luther adjusted his cuffs as he walked, pulling at the tight fabric. The formal nature of the occasion dictated he attend in full dress. Brighter colors were the fashion, but given the recent nature of his father’s death, he had to dress in full mourning. His jacket, waistcoat, breeches, and shoes were deepest black but made of the finest materials. The shirt beneath and cravat at his collar were silken white with a dull finish. The cufflinks, buttons, and rings were silver, befitting a more somber manner while still showing his personal wealth and station. 

Luther sighed to see himself decorated so, but he supposed the clothes were finer than he was used to wearing. He would have felt more comfortable wearing his dress leathers, but he did not doubt Wulfric would throw a barrel of water over him if he suggested such an atrocity. The old man was growing on Luther. 

The servants decorated the dining room with elaborate flowered centerpieces in an ornate fey style. Mage light crystals illuminated the dancing hall, dining room, and parlors. 

The main parlor Wulfric led him to was near the main entrance to the mansion and the most decorated. Its large windows faced the lawn, with the opposite wall decorated with a large painting of a mountainous landscape. The painting depicted a single figure standing in the center of the vast panorama. The oil paints were rich in color, depicting the wild grays and greens of the mountains. Luther identified with that lone figure, small in so large a space. The vaulted ceiling above him was lit by a mage crystal chandelier, illuminating the soft fabric chairs and sofas throughout the room. The fireplace against the wall opposite the hallway cast its dancing firelight a few feet and no more. Sofas and chairs, typically arranged in sections by the fireplace, the windows, and the painting, faced the central ornate rug, welcoming his guests. 

Servants entered the parlor, each carrying trays of drinks and morsels of food, but never the person Luther’s eyes sought. Criella had yet to arrive, but it would be improper for her to arrive before everyone else. 

Luther took up his position before the fireplace and posed. 

“How do I look, Wulfric? Contemplative? Austere? The very height of a young gentleman?” He rested his elbow on the mantle, a drink in his hand. 

“Like a young lord in mourning, sir. One distracting himself from morbid contemplations of mortality by seeking brides and consequent alliances with the local lords.” Wulfric said, his tone dry. 

“Do I?” Luther asked, surprised. 

“No, sir. You look like a buffoon.” Wulfric said. “Stand up straight, put down the glass, pick up the book Miss Criella left for you on the end table, and pretend you can read until the first guests arrive.” 

“I can read.” Luther said. He removed his elbow from the mantle and put the drink down. 

“Excellent, sir.” Wulfric said as he walked away. “I had hoped.” 

Amused, Luther glared at the old man’s back and took the book. It was familiar for the old man to banter with him, especially for someone so insistent on Luther’s propriety. Age and confidence must remove the fear of a younger employer. 

Luther read until the first guest arrived, and Wulfric announced them. His voice startled Luther from the old folk tales he was reading, and he sought Criella’s face but saw two new ones beside Wulfric instead. 

“Lord Lucas Burville and his sister Dame Emily Burville, sir.” Wulfric announced at the door. “His lordship, Luther Le Fey.” 

After marking his place, Luther put the book aside and stood to greet his guests. Lucas looked sharp-eyed and sharp-nosed. Every aspect of his features was sharp and narrow. His gaze reminded Luther of a hawk’s, especially when he turned his head to examine the room, and only one eye was in view. His sister Emily was a softer creature. Youth softened her face and rounded the harsh edges her brother displayed. Her attention was far more focused on Luther than the parlor surrounding him. 

She was a short, dark-haired beauty, and her dress was a modest but stylish sky blue with simple but elegant silver jewelry. 

Lucas nodded his greeting, and Emily curtseyed. 

Luther returned their gestures with a shallow bow, showing respectful deference before a lady. “It is my pleasure to meet you both.” He said. 

“The pleasure is ours, I’m sure.” Lucas supplied quickly. 

Emily glanced away from Luther to the book on the table before returning her gaze to him. “This is our first invitation to this estate, but we’ve heard news of it from our friends and news of you. It was a delight to receive your invitation.” 

Luther smiled and noticed the keen awkwardness of introductions. He’d hoped Criella would be here, but she was not. Her absence meant he had to think of small talk appropriate for mixed company. He settled on asking them questions about themselves. 

“Have you lived in Raefendale long?” Luther asked. 

“No, unfortunately. Our family is from the coast, but my brother wished for a house in the country, and I happened to be visiting him when your invitation arrived.” Emily explained. 

“What good fortune!” Luther said. “I should have been sorry to have missed the opportunity to meet you otherwise.” 

“Ha.” Lucas’ laugh was harsh. “You’re charming, sir, but it’s unsurprising for someone in danger of losing their position. You must be desperate for partners.” 

The remark was direct, sharp, and rude, but Luther’s smile didn’t flicker in the face of accusation. “My position is secure.” He said, waving aside any worry. “True, there are those seeking to prove their worthiness for my position as lord and defender of this shire. But I have not survived my many dangerous travels without my own prowess.” 

Lucas tilted his head at this, and Emily looked most intrigued. Neither could press him further as Wulfric appeared in the archway with an old man, middle-aged woman, middle-aged man, and young lady behind him. Still no sign of Criella. 

“Captain Petros Cerul, his wife Dame Regina Cerul, their husband Sir Lionel Cerul, and their daughter, Lady Helena Cerul.” Wulfric announced. “His lordship, Luther Le Fey.” 

After the introductions, Lucas and Emily excused themselves to take drinks from the serving staff while Luther greeted his new guests. 

Captain Petros was an older man but not infirm, far from it. He was a tall, broad man of noble bearing whose officer’s dress uniform was polished and kempt. His hair and mustache were snowy-white, making him appear older than he was. Luther spotted the black silk band below his elbow, recognizing it as a sign of mourning for his father. The sun had wrinkled and beaten his skin, but the stiff muscles beneath were visible in his jaw and neck, and his movements were militaristically precise. Luther recognized the trained movements of a fellow swordsman in the man’s bow. 

His wife, Regina, was a plump woman ten years his junior. Her raven black hair showed no signs of gray, and she swept her locks into a bun with ringlets framing her face. Her dress was elegant gray but immodest at the neckline, showing generous cleavage. 

Their partner Lionel was also a warrior in a dress uniform of the nation’s army. The badge of rank over his heart showed he was a retired sergeant. The jacket's red was crisp, and Luther noticed he, too, wore a black armband below his left elbow. As was their style, the women wore black ribbons in their hair. 

Lady Helena was, in many regards, like her fathers. She was strongly built and taller than Luther by several inches. Her arms and shoulders were nearly masculine in size, but she was feminine in shape. Her gown showed off a slim, cinched waist. Her breasts, like her mother’s, were large and heavy on her chest. Given her stature and posture, she appeared to possess the blood of giants. Her hair was ice-white, like the Captain’s, and pulled back into a simple chignon. She looked uncomfortable, or unfamiliar, with moving in her fashionable dress of silver-gray muslin embroidered with white lace, but it looked gorgeous on her. 

“My lord.” Captain Petros said as the party approached. “Our sympathies on the loss of your father.” 

Luther nodded in acceptance. “My sympathies on the loss of your friend.” He clasped Captain Petros’ offered hand. The man’s grip was firm, and he looked surprised to find Luther’s grip matched his own. “I found mention of you in his journals. You should know he valued your friendship very much.” 

The Captain’s initial stoicism for propriety’s sake blew away like dust in the wind, and the handshake became heartfelt in its urgency. “Thank you, my lord.” He said. “I only regret that I did not know him longer.” 

Luther nodded. “We have similar regrets in that regard.” He said. “I should enjoy hearing whatever stories you have regarding my father over dinner tonight. Perhaps I can trade you stories from when I was a boy.” 

“An acceptable trade.” Captain Petros agreed at once. 

“Your father would be glad to see you living here.” Regina nodded her greeting. 

“He often spoke proudly of you and what news he had of you.” Lionel added. 

Luther nodded his thanks and turned his gaze toward Helena. 

“You’re younger than I expected.” Helena said. “I understood your father was centuries old.” 

Lionel nudged her discreetly with his elbow. 

Luther laughed. “It’s a blessing from my father’s side of the family. Do not let my youthful countenance fool you. I’m willing to wager I’m older than you but not as old as your father.” 

Helena raised an eyebrow. “What other surprises do you have in store?” 

“I’m sure we’ll discover a few together.” Luther said. “I take it you’ve been to the estate before? Would a tour be boring to you?” 

“A tour would be most welcome.” Lionel said. “Helena has been especially eager to spend time in your father’s library.” 

Luther smiled. “An avid reader?” He asked. 

“Oh, yes.” Regina said. She patted Helena on the back. “Our beauty has both brawn and brains.” 

Helena glared at her mother for the prodding, but Luther only smiled. 

“Well, if either is equal to your beauty, you are unmatched.” Luther said. 

Helena’s blush darkened her face several shades, and she clamped her lips shut at the compliment. 

“You’re a charmer, sir.” Lionel spoke to distract from Helena’s silence. “And so beautiful yourself you’ll no doubt have a dozen proposals within the week, given your position and availability.” 

“Indeed.” Petros said. “Were you not so young, I’d offer you to join our union.” He joked. “But I wouldn’t enjoy Regina replacing me as her favorite.” 

Lionel and Regina scoffed in a good-natured way, making Luther realize there were no favorites among them. Still, he found Helena more appealing to his tastes than Regina or the men. They were handsome, but his inclinations did not lean that way. 

Luther smiled. “I look forward to proposing and entertaining proposals as my duties allow. But I see more guests have arrived. If you’ll excuse me?” He asked. He saw Wulfric approaching the room, but Criella was not behind him. 

“Of course, good sir, of course.” Lionel nodded, and the quartet moved further into the parlor, where Regina and Helena split off from Lionel and Petros. The women joined Emily by the fire, enjoying cups of hot cider. Lucas and Lionel spoke, discussing town business, while Petros did his best to appear interested. 

Over the next quarter hour, guests continued arriving, but only a handful of them. Luther kept his eye on the hallway for any sign of Wulfric, hoping Criella would be the next announcement. Instead, Sir Septimus Grey, Sir Colin Grey, Sir Archibald Grey, and their daughter, Lady Holly Grey, followed Captain Petros’ family. 

Holly seemed to earn her name through the blood-red hair that crowned her head. She wore a dress of darkest green. She was a small, diminutive woman. Blue ink tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of her dress. Her fathers bore similar tattoos but covered them as they could as propriety demanded.

After them, Priestess Jowangshin, whom he’d met at his father’s funeral pyre, arrived. She was a surprise for Luther, but being of noble birth, she’d received an invitation from Criella and agreed to come. Her white dress robes were modest, practical, and formal. The assembly in their kingdom did not forbid marriage, though priests and priestesses of Jo’s rank rarely pursued it. Most attempted to gain their station first and their unions second. Still, her smile bordered on flirtatious when Luther welcomed her. 

After the priestess, the final arrivals were new introductions to Luther. Lord Bertilak Verdell and his wives, Dame Demira, Dame Avery, and Dame Primrose. They brought their identical twin daughters, Eira and Rhosyn. The girls were younger than Luther but of marrying age and looked precisely alike except for their gowns. The gowns, despite being the same make, differed in color. Eira wore red, and Rhosyn wore white. Both gowns had low squared necklines and transparent sleeves. They were lovely, but Luther grew distracted during their introduction because the dinner hour was fast approaching, and Criella was still absent. 

“A word, Wulfric?” Luther asked, after excusing himself. He spoke to Wulfric in the corner. He appeared to his guests as the concerned host, verifying his new staff was up to expectations.

“Yes, sir? Is something the matter?” Wulfric asked. 

“Where is Criella?” Luther asked, glancing over the man’s shoulder to the hallway as if speaking her name might force her to appear. “Why is she not here?” 

Wulfric answered in a whisper. “Criella thought it best she not attend this dinner party. She is still in full mourning for your father and did not want to cause you any difficulties in pursuit of your brides, sir. That is all she communicated to me. Now, may I suggest you entertain your guests while I see to the kitchens?” 

Luther frowned but couldn’t argue with Criella through Wulfric, so he let the man attend to his duties. What difficulty could Criella lend him in pursuit of his brides? Did she mean because of their feelings for one another? Or was she referring to a latent prejudice in one of his guests? He returned his attention to the party, but knowing he faced it alone, he almost embraced Wulfric’s earlier offer of jumping out the window.