Seleste, Then

SELESTE

E ar fixed on the sounds of the upper floor of Whitehall, Seleste was met with silence. At this hour, the cooks would be busy with the preparations for luncheon, Susie would still be with his lordship—who had taken a turn for the worse in the night—and Frances would be knee-deep in laundry. No one else came upstairs until teatime, and hardly anyone came into the small parlour next to the tearoom at all. She was alone.

A giddiness came over her as she reached into her apron and pulled out two pieces of parchment. Her current cypher conundrum and the letter it was meant to decode. Gently laying the letter on the desk and smoothing it out, she inwardly chastised herself for putting such a delicate thing in her apron, but she'd come so close to cracking the next bit of the code last night and had waited all day to give it a go again. Dropping into the plush desk chair, she reached for the quill and inkwell, telling herself she would only work on it for a moment, then return to her duties.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but it had been far, far longer than she meant to sit hunched over her cypher when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. The young Lord Bardot's purposeful footsteps.

With a little gasp, Seleste jumped up, returning the quill to its place. She was attempting to gather her papers as Lord Bardot entered the room, pulling up short when he saw her. His brows rose ever so slightly before knitting together in a scowl. Seleste paused her gathering, feeling flushed, and dropped into a small curtsy. "Milord."

He was across the room in three long strides. Seleste gripped one of her hands in the other and squeezed, willing herself not to reach out and snatch up the parchments or, worse, try to conceal them with magic when it was clearly too late. The lord rested the pads of his fingers on one of the parchments, looking over it carefully. By the time his gaze lifted to meet hers, Seleste's heart was beating wildly. If he dismissed her for doing frivolous things during her assigned working time, she would fail her Order. She'd never failed an Order before.

Failure wasn't an option in her world. Sure, one could argue that failures were only a falling forward. But failing an Order was not a falling forward. It would mean facing her Sanction—a specific retribution for failure, specially tailored for her. Though she did not even minutely believe the Goddess Three to be anything but good and holy, she did completely believe there was a force that would inflict that Sanction upon her, should she fail .

And this…this was not a good start to befriending the grumpy lord in front of her.

He looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. She could never tell what he was thinking, which simultaneously unnerved and thrilled her. The questions hanging in the air between them threatened to do her in. No one was this unreadable, not for Seleste. Lord Bardot was a living enigma.

Her lips parted as she stifled the words that might tumble out if he did not say something soon.

"Are these yours," he broke the silence, looking back at the papers, "or someone else's?"

His tone did not sound accusatory. In fact, there was a hint of curiosity dangling in the words. It was far easier to discern what little she could about him when he wasn't looking directly at her.

"Mine, milord."

After regarding her for another moment, causing her palms to go clammy, he finally spoke again. "This is a cypher."

It wasn't a question, but there seemed to be one hidden there. He was surprised she had the intelligence for a cypher? He thought she was lying and had stolen it? Damn . She wasn't certain where he was concerned, and it was driving her mad.

"It is." She folded her hands together behind her back. If she were to befriend this man, she would have to be herself. Vulnerable. "I enjoy puzzles, my lord."

The spark that danced across his eyes at her response was a puzzle in and of itself. It almost seemed like excitement mixed with fear. But that didn't make any sense. Why would this future earl fear her ? He looked back at the desk, gently sliding the cypher scribblings over to reveal the second piece of parchment.

"And this?" He regarded her with one brow raised.

"A letter, milord."

He huffed through his nose, a pleasantly amused sort of sound, and Seleste almost baulked it was such a surprising occurrence coming from him. "A letter?"

My goddess, he's nearly smiling. Nearly.

"In a dialect no one has spoken in Seagovia in at least a hundred years?"

Seleste suddenly felt hot. And completely unaware of herself, for the first time…ever. Was she nervous? Confused? Intrigued? Yes . A little mad laugh chimed in her head.

"I enjoy difficult puzzles," she finally answered candidly, her mouth feeling a bit parched as if she'd been chewing on the papers on the desk instead of looking at them.

"May I?" he gestured to the notes as if she hadn't been using his family's time, desk, inkwell, and quill.

"Of course," Seleste answered a bit too loudly.

The lord unbuttoned his coat and sat in the desk chair. Seleste looked over his shoulder at a distance as he ran a finger over her work, tracing words here and there. He wore a gold ring on his right hand, one that she'd noticed on several occasions, but had never been in close enough proximity to see what was on it. She assumed it was a signet ring and was correct on that count—finally correct about something to do with him—but the seal itself she still wasn't able to make out. His hand stilled and she leaned forward so far she almost toppled into him.

cBm .

The first and last initials matched those in his textbooks. C and B.

C. Bardot.

Suddenly, he looked up at her and she fought the insane urge to giggle or jump backwards. What was she, a witchling? She pinched her arm behind her back and merely smiled, awaiting whatever he was going to say.

"I do not have much experience with cyphers." He stood and re-buttoned his coat before pushing the chair in. Seleste found she was rather disappointed he had nothing else to say on the subject, but then he spoke again. "Nor much experience in discussing existentialism." He offered her a true smile, and she felt the desperate need to swallow, but her throat was too dry. "I much prefer science. Or what is left of it."

Seleste shook her head, muttering more to herself than anything, "It's such a shame."

Lord Bardot recoiled. "Come again? The aristocracy may frown upon lords having anything to do with science, but it is not a shame ."

"Oh!" Seleste couldn't help but put one hand to her cheek in dismay. "No, milord. My sincerest apologies. I only meant it is a shame that the beau monde thinks so little of science and that one woman could have caused the downfall of an entire art form." She huffed a humourless laugh. "And the downfall of women in Society along with it—" She stopped, her eyes going wide. She wasn't thinking clearly around this man. "Oh my, I'm so sorry, my lord, I?—"

But he was smiling, true and wide, at her outburst. "You're referring to Morgana the Archane?"

In truth, she wasn't certain how to answer him. She was a maid, not exactly someone who was supposed to have ancient letters and knowledge of cyphers and the downfall of science. Morgana was before her time, though not by much—a hundred years or so. After the Witch Trials, what was left of their kind began to hide their magic, never gathering to live in covens again. Her and her Sisters' coven—their parents'—had been the last known coven before they were burned in the fires of Helsvar. When witches began to hide, one of the best ways to still practise magic was with the healing arts and alchemy. But it was tricky business, as alchemy had also become outlawed after Morgana the Archane's Academy of Alchemy began practising dark arts. There was little written about it, but anyone interested in hidden sciences or alchemy knew that her descent into the dark had ruined the light science could bring to the realm.

The Grimoire's Order flashed hot through her mind.

Befriend the future Earl of Bellvary.

Seleste sighed inwardly and answered with the damning, honest truth. "Yes, milord. I do mean Morgana the Archane."

Lord Bardot did not answer for a moment, studying her with those Summer sky-coloured eyes. They reminded her of the depth of the sea, where the great expanse of sky and ocean reflect one another.

Finally, he pointed to the papers, all his previous sullenness long gone. "Could I make a copy of what you have of the cypher thus far?"

It was the last thing she thought he would say. "O–of course. Please, feel free."

He gave her a gentle smile, a complete contrast to his usual demeanour, and took the parchment, folding it with care as he left the room.