A full day was the grace Eliza gave him. After arriving home so early in the state he had, only to… entertain Lord Cavish so shortly after, and all of everything that followed. When she opened the door the next morning with an armful of towels, Yirel knew better than to argue.

Under her fierce stare he dragged himself out from the bed and to the washroom. He pulled off his nightshirt and sat behind a screen while Eliza filled the bath. The silence was expectant. She’d wait for him to start. A soft ‘pop’ and the smell of lavender let him know the tub was almost full. Sighing, he looked down at himself, and then stepped out.
“Now, it’s really not as bad as it looks,” he said, taking a deep breath. It had been long enough that his manhandling was showing itself as bruises, not to mention the myriad of intentional marks. He looked away and quickly stepped into the tub while Eliza was too shocked to respond. “He found me out,” Yirel whispered, pulling his knees to his chest. “But he’s agreed to stay quiet as long as I play along with his game. So. That’s what this is. See? Nothing so horrible as what you must be thinking…” His chin quivered, and his chest was twitching so he took a deep breath and held it.

Eliza came to the edge of the tub and knelt down, hugging his shoulders. “Oh Yirel… I told you it was dangerous,” she whispered to him. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, letting his head fall forward as he clung to Eliza’s arms.

“. . .there’s a witch in the old town who’s good with herbs,” she shared hesitantly.

Yirel snorted and shook his head. “Lizzie, I didn’t take you for that sort,” he teased weakly.

“Then yain’t been usin’ ya head sir-a. I’m whatever sort is needed.” She squeezed him tightly. “What happened, Yirel? What really happened?”

And so he told her. Because he had no one else to tell, and Lizzie was his closest friend, and he hers. They were family in everything but blood. It was mortifying, and she had to prompt him to continue more than once. But finally the tale was told and he felt strangely better for it. “. . I don’t think your herb witch has help that I want. I don’t know what I want.”

“As you say then, Sir. But let me know if that changes. For now, there are herbs you can use to help ease the aches I know you must be feeling.” Another small squeeze and she was standing to fetch a jar, the contents of which were sprinkled into the steaming water. The strong scent of green things mixed with the lavender, and a hint of mint. Relaxing and rejuvenating all at once.

“Thank you Lizzie.”

“You’re welcome, Yirel.” She sighed and came to sit next to the tub again and began to wash his hair. He closed his eyes and let her, relaxing into the hot water as much as he could. He didn’t know what to feel and the resulting numbness was almost pleasant after the heartache. But it was a thin line. By the time his hair was clean, he’d gathered enough mental strength to open his eyes again.

“I’m sorry to drag you into this mess, Lizzie. But I’m thankful too. We’ll keep the truth from the rest of the girls though. The less people involved in this. . .”

She nodded. “I know. It’s bad enough they’re aware of the broad strokes. How are we going to explain yesterday morning then?”

“The best lies have truth at seed. Panic. I mean, who wouldn’t panic in my position?” He barked out a sharp joyless laugh. “Anything more complicated would just cause a mess I think.”

“You’re probably right. So I’ll tell the girls it was such an overwhelming and unexpected proposal that your sensibilities became a mess. I’m sure I can tell it to them in such a way they won’t have a thought to any other possibility. And they’ll spread the gossip to the rest like the chattering hens they are.”

“Oh they aren’t that bad,” Yirel said as he looked over. Eliza and looking at him with such a dry look that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, they are. But I like it.” He tried to hold onto the smile for as long as he could. “They bring more life into this place that way.”

“That they do.” She offered him her own wan smile and brushed her fingers through his hair. “The things we do for smiles.” She cupped his cheek. “We’ll figure out a way through this storm. Just like before. If we can survive your father, then this is nothing.”

“Where do you get your confidence Lizzie?” But he was feeling better, and he was still smiling. He brought his hand out from the water, and she took it. They clasped each others’ hands so hard they shook and knuckles turned white, but never looked away from the other. A few tears slipped down his cheeks and shimmered in her eyes. “More than blood?”

“More than blood.”

They brought their foreheads together for a moment, then let each other go. Lizzie sniffled and wiped at her eyes as she stood up. “Right then. Do you want me to send your sprig in then while I go about my tasks?”

“It’s not a sprig- Sprig is its name, as you know perfectly well. And yes please.” The smile faded at last, but it didn’t hurt to loose it. She nodded and left, the automaton coming in shortly after. The soft click of its footfalls let Yirel know. He knew it was sentimental but it did remind him a bit of hearing a small dog walking up.

“Hello Sprig. Fetch me a suit for the day, then go downstairs and have my desk ready for me please.”

He needed to go and pretend that it was a lovely day, and that yesterday had been nothing but a shock. He could hide behind the mountain of work he’d have to do, making his personal schedule more flexible; it was a decent enough excuse for why he might not be as peppy as the house keepers would expect.

Yirel sighed and nodded to himself, planning out his day and massaging the small aches in his lower back and thighs. Clicking footfalls let him know his clothes were waiting for him. A few minutes later he heaved himself from the tub and wrapped himself in one of the towels Eliza had left. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror for now, and went to the stack of clothes waiting for him.

It was one of his oldest suits.

A dark forest green with horn buttons, the hems and cuffs soft with age. The seams were relaxed but still strong, the fabric worn thinner in some places but with years left in it still. It could have been a coincidence, and yet this was always the suit he picked for himself when he was feeling low.

Yirel got dressed and went downstairs with a bit more hope for the day than when he woke. His tinkering with Sprig might be working. And if it was, then he might have a thread of hope to weave with.

Not that he had any time to test that idea. He took his breakfast at his desk and started to work at once. There was just no easy way to give himself breathing room when he wasn’t sure when his time would be usurped. Well not one that he’d use at any rate. There was always the possibility that he could send it to Cavish and have him deal with the resulting mess. But Yirel had some pride left, and he would not abandon it. And neither could he just beg off on the excuse that Cavish wanted either him or Darling in company. That was a perfect way to burn bridges and be seen as putting on airs.

Around midday parcels started to arrive. The first were mildly surprising but only just. He had requested a rush on some things, and it was more than possible some would have been ready to send off in short order.

After the first nine though, it was clear that wasn’t the case. Having the Cavish name on the bill did miraculous things it seemed.

Boxes of all shapes and sizes flooded his parlor, and Yirel felt the combined rush of euphoria and worry at his excess. The maids cooed over each box as it arrived, their voices filling the air with wistfulness and delight as they read out the tags and sorted them.

“Madam Shelvie again! You named it Alicee! This one is. . . Oh, damask satin in indigo and violet. Beaded veil included! Oh I just can’t stand it! What do you have there Cassandre?”

“Only the best undergarments to be found in the city. See? Muisch’s seal is right on the box, and there are at least six so far! Simple and the Fancy sets.”

There was a peal of giggles and Yirel was glad he was only hearing this from his desk and not witnessing it. He was sure he would die of embarrassment if he had to have their eyes on him while they fawned over the clothes he’d gotten. Hearing them was bad enough.

A loud and firm knock echoed from the front door during a well timed breath of quiet. Another rambunctious chorus of giggles rang out, only to be quickly stifled as Eliza brought them to heel. “Ladies, are we hens to be clucking and mindless, startled at a knock? Behave yourselves and hush.”

Yirel hid his grin behind his hand while Lizzie walked past the study to the front door. She wasn’t wrong. Moments later she came in and passed him a handful of letters, one standing out from the rest with its crisp snow white paper.

“Thank you Eliza. Are you handling things well enough?”

“Of course Sir. The girls are a silly bunch, but they’re not hopeless.”

“I should hope not. Thank you again. I’ll let you to your work and return to mine. Though-”

“I’ve tea and a tray being made up for you already Sir.”

“And once more you prove how lost I’d be without you. Alright then.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, and picked up the out of place letter. As expected the Cavish name was scrawled across the front, with a thick wax seal on the back.

The blade of the letter opener slid under the wax with a clean crack. Yirel wondered if he was opening a box of horrors.

Darling’s invitation to the ball was the first to fall out, and under it a folded paper addressed to him. He picked up the second and unfolded it, Eliza hovering by the desk waiting for him.

Hello Quaice.
I’m looking forward to seeing my Darling at tomorrow’s ball. Expect to spend most of the night in my company as you did our first. You need not worry about your carriage or driver for that matter, I will send my personal one for you. The bills for your wardrobe arrived not too long ago. I have to say I am disappointed. We will discuss it in person however. And do please remember my request for tomorrow. I want Darling to shine on my arm, and you will be wearing the watersilk. 
R