matchmaker
Aug. 19th, 2008 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThe first 24 pages. Much of it you've ready, obviously, but there is a chunk of new stuff.
Joss played nervously with his lace cuffs, smoothing the velvet of his jacket, peering at himself in the mirror, wishing he could say for a certainty that he looked presentable and respectable. These clothes were strange to him, not being at all what he normally wore back home. So fitting; they left very little to the imagination, and that did not make him comfortable.
There was nothing for it, however. He was here, he had a job to do, and so he would have to adjust.
First, however, he had to get through introductions.
He only hoped the natives with whom he would have to contend were as nice as the Queen who had brought him here.
Glancing back at the mirror, he tried to reassure himself he did not look like an idiot.
The clock began to chime, making him jump. Grimacing at his reflection, resigned to the fact that it didn't matter how he appeared for it was too late to change anything, Joss took up his leather portfolio and left his suite.
He could feel the eyes on him as he walked through the halls, though this early in the morning, he thankfully had only to contend with the servants.
Until he reached the sunroom the Queen had shown him last night, with instructions to join her there for an early breakfast – and to meet those persons he needed to know.
As it was just past seven, he had hoped to be one of the first arrivals, feeling it was better to be in the room as they arrived rather than arriving last to be greeted by a sea of strange faces.
No such luck.
He hovered in the doorway, resisting the urge to mess with his lace cuffs or fuss with his hair. Such things were for privacy – in the public eye, he must always appear confident and collected. One in his capacity must never be seen to falter.
Queen Mariana smiled warmly at him from where she sat at a moderately sized round table, early morning sunlight shining behind her, drawing out the slight hints of red in her blonde hair. She was young for a Queen, Joss knew, only twenty eight. He knew she was popular and well-liked, for her competence and her compassion – and his own King would never have agreed to the current arrangement if he did not approve heartily of the Queen.
"Good morning, Majesty," he said, and sketched a bow.
She smiled at him. "Good morning, Matchmaker. Did you sleep well? Are your rooms adequate?"
"Yes and yes, Majesty. I thank you for the generosity you have shown me."
"Oh, la," Mariana replied. "I have taken you quite neatly from your home; the least I can do is see you are comfortable while my prisoner." She winked at him, and he felt a little less nervous.
Then she motioned to her five companions, and all the nervousness came rushing back trebled.
"Gentlemen," she said, holding her hand out with palm up toward Joss, "I introduce you to Jocelyn Worthington, a Matchmaker of Kevie. He is here at my request. Matchmaker, let me introduce you to my friends and closest associates."
She indicated the man to her immediate right, a man who seemed tall even sitting. He had dark brown, curly hair, pale green eyes, sun darkened skin. "This is Charles Boothby, the Duke of Corona."
Joss nodded, mentally ticking off what else he already knew – for the introduction, for his part, were merely to match real faces to the sketches and information he had long since been given – about the Duke of Corona.
Thirty one years of age, born to his late father's second wife. Enjoyed horseback riding, politics, ale. Disliked balls, was not good with money, detested extremely rich foods. Several lovers over the years, none for very long, all female. Seemed polite, had a pleasant smile, and a politician's demeanor.
Queen Marianna indicated the man next to the Duke. "Eustace Summers, Earl of Drake."
Dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles across the bridge of his nose. Young, only twenty six. Friendly, well-mannered. On the pretty side of handsome. Shrewd with finances, average in politics, took lovers infrequently and never for very long, both male and female. Did not spend much time outdoors, did favor cards and gambling, and was accounted quite skilled at both. Fond of wine, did not like sweet things. He smiled warmly, if cautiously, at Joss in greeting.
"Lyle Banks, Earl of Greymore," Queen Marianna continued on to the next one, who sat to her left, with one person between them.
Thirty five years of age, with black hair and dark brown eyes, set off by gold-framed spectacles. Appeared short, though height was hard to judge when seated. Sharp features, too severe to be handsome, but quite striking. Not much for politics, but was quite intelligent – fluent in three languages, competent in three more, was a professor at the Royal University. Dabbled in cooking, no known food dislikes. Not much for the outdoors or games, spend most of his time in his studies or helping her Majesty. No recent lovers, but one serious one in the past, male. Reserved and quiet, but well-liked and respected.
Queen Marianna smiled and rested her hand on the shoulder of the man to her immediate left. "This one is my darling cousin, Sorrel Dunkirk, Marquis of Bellow."
Twenty eight years of age, same as the Queen. He was the only son, and eldest of three children, of Queen Marianna's aunt, who had been youngest sister to Marianna's mother. Like the Queen, his hair was spun red-gold, though it was cut too short for any hint of curl he might possess to show. His eyes were a pale gray that reminded Joss of a cool, crisp winter morning. The deep blue velvet of his morning jacket was a perfect compliment…
And his thoughts were completely wandering. Sharply, Joss drew himself back.
Close friends with the Queen; they had grown up more like sister and brother than cousins. His skills were myriad – he was sound in politics, finances, academics, foreign relations…and all of those gave him a sound foundation for law, which was were he really shone. His athletic interests were purely at a social level, though he more than held his own. Frequented the Royal University, gave a lesson there from time to time, and rumors were he was considering accepting an offer of professorship. Many lovers, none lasting, male and female. Was fond of dancing, and had a passion for tea.
The Queen lifted her hand to indicate the man standing just behind her. "This is Michael Lowry, Baron of Cartwright. He is my personal assistant."
Joss eyed him critically, as closely as he had examined the Marquis. Of all those connected to his appointed task, these two would probably prove the most difficult. Like Bellow, Lowry had known the Queen since they were young – though not since childhood; they had only met in school. Like the Marquis, Lowry's strengths were wide and varied. He was also organized, focused, and sharp-witted. In other words, the perfect man for the role he had assumed.
Though only a Baron, his position as personal assistant to the Queen lent him much rank and authority.
He was pretty, Joss decided. His hair was pale gold, slightly overlong but it suited him. He was dressed in light blue to match the sharp eyes glinting behind silver-framed spectacles, and like Joss he held a leather portfolio – though it was currently open, and even as he nodded in greeting, he was obviously more interested in whatever he was penning. He liked to read, and swim when he was able. No known lovers, as all his time was spent with the Queen. Friendly, well-liked, though there was some resentment that a lowly Baron – and relatively new to the title, it having been in his family for only four generations – had been given so powerful a position.
"Gentlemen," Joss said, sweeping them a bow. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance this fine morning."
"Please, sit," Queen Marianna said warmly.
Moving slowly, feeling all the eyes upon him, Joss obediently sat. Sitting exactly opposite the Queen at the oval table, he had a perfect view of them all. He absently thanked a servant who set out a plate and poured tea for him.
Though he was hungry, he was far too nervous to think that anything would settle well on his stomach.
"So," said Charles Boothby, "what, precisely, is a matchmaker? Other than the obvious, I mean."
Joss frowned, not quite certain how to answer that – Queen Marianna had cautioned him that these men likely would not like what he was about, even if they were keeping the whole of it a secret.
"Now, Charles," Marianna said, "I know you are familiar with the Matchmakers of Kevie."
Lyle Banks adjusted his gold-framed spectacles. "Indeed, they are quite famous – infamous. Fascinating career, to be sure. Called masters at analyzing and understanding people, and use that gift to 'match' people together. They say there is no such thing as a disharmonious marriage in Kevie."
Joss almost laughed at that, for it was something everyone seemed to believe about his country. "Not everyone in Kevie chooses to use Matchmakers," he said. "However, when our services are called upon, we do our best to ensure that our advice brings lifelong happiness to all involved parties."
The men all laughed.
He wondered why, and fought not to slump in his seat. Reassurance had been his goal, not amusement.
Queen Marianna smiled reassuringly. "The Matchmakers are a fascinating lot; they study far harder than either of you ever did, Lyle, Sorrel."
Sorrel snorted. "Everyone studied harder than I did, unless it was a study of the lovely offerings of Micah House!"
"You are terrible," Queen Marianna admonished, "and it far too early for such crude humor. Behave, or you will have the Matchmaker thinking you quite hopeless."
"Why shouldn't he?" Sorrel asked lazily. "That is what everyone else thinks."
Queen Marianna rolled her eyes. "Indeed."
"So tell us more, Matchmaker," Eustace said. "Why has our Queen brought you?" He slid his hazel eyes to the Queen. "Are we all quite doomed to be marched down the aisle, Mari?"
Marianna sniffed and sipped her tea. She smiled as she set it down.
All the men groaned.
"Devil take it," Charles said. "I know that smile. You are Plotting."
"Indeed," Marianna said. "He is here upon my request, for reasons to which none of you shall be privy. He is a Matchmaker, that is what he will be doing, and that is all you are to know of the matter."
Now they all frowned, whatever levity they had been displaying vanishing like a match snuffed by the wind.
"What is going on, Mari?" Sorrel asked quietly, eyes like winter clouds. "We none of us are children; we do not require some foreigner to come in and tell use who we should be wedding."
Marianna gave a careless shrug. "I am Queen," she replied. "He was loaned to me for good reason, but I do not want that reason known. I introduce you to him, in his true capacity, because you are all my dearest friends. So far as the rest of the palace is concerned, he is merely my guest. Understood?"
The man all grumbled their agreements, but shot him looks that were both subtly and openly hostile.
"Oh, do stop acting like children," Marianna said irritably, sipping her tea again and setting it down with a loud clack. "Have I ever done anything to hurt the lot of you? He is here because I requested his services, and he is only doing what I ask. If you want to glare like boys denied dessert, then glare at me, not him."
Grimacing, they all eased back slightly.
"So what is that curious broach you wear?" Sorrel drawled, looking down his nose in a way only a noble could.
Joss ignored the attempt to be insulting, and lightly touched the broach pinned to his lapel – It was actually two pieces, attached at the back to appear as one from the front. Two halves of a heart, one made of ruby set in gold, the other made of diamond set in silver.
Though these men would not know, the jewels spoke of his Matchmaker rank – something else the Queen chose to keep back, for reasons of her own, and he was happy to comply in this case.
"It is the mark of my calling," he explained simply. "In your language, I am called 'Matchmaker' but a more literal translation would be 'heart matcher'."
Lyle looked at him with mild interest. "I did not notice it before, but you are correct. That would be the older form of the language, yes? I am rusty at best in the dead forms."
Joss nodded. "Yes. One of the few cases of our employing outdated modes of speech."
"Majesty," said Michael from behind her, a deep frown creasing his face. "Whatever you are about, are you certain it's a good idea?"
"Yes," Marianna said firmly, not turning to look at him. "You can stop pouting that I would not tell even you, my darling assistant. I have my reasons, and I expect all of you to understand that."
Sorrel grimaced and looked again at Joss, and there was nothing but frigidity in his winter gray eyes. "Oh, we understand," he said, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "However, that does not mean we have to like it."
"I expect you to be civilized," Marianna replied, looking at him coolly.
Sorrel returned her gaze, then shrugged indolently and looked at Joss again. "Civilized...an interesting word, that. Even a war can be described as civilized, if it is fought a particular way."
Marianna sighed. "Is that what you are going to make of this, Sorrel? A civilized war?"
"Yes," Sorrel said, and stood up. He was promptly joined by the other three. "We do not require a Matchmaker, and there is no other reason you would have brought in something so ridiculous. Good day to you, my Queen." He gave a short bow, bordering on rude – just barely, Joss supposed, being civilized. "Matchmaker."
Joss looked at his portfolio once the men had gone, not quite certain what to say.
"That went better than I could have hoped," Marianna said briskly.
"Interviews with each, at some point," Joss said. "Also with you, Master Michael, since you are also relevant to this matter."
Michael's brows went up, but he said nothing. "As you like," he said easily. "I will acquire their schedules from their secretaries, and see that appointments are scheduled. You may also want to send me a copy of your own agenda, so that I may match it with theirs and whatever – or whoever – you may require."
Joss laughed and spread his hands. "I have only arrived, there is no agenda to speak of. I will require a clean slate, for the most part, to observe and learn and interview. Majesty, did you want regular reports, or…"
She waved her hand. "No, only the final. Let me know if you will require an inordinately long length of time, or things of that nature, but otherwise I leave you to your own devices."
He bowed his head low. "Thank you, Majesty."
"No, Matchmaker, than you," Marianna replied. "As we have just seen, you will have a difficult time of it. I fear that their dislike will keep you from making real friends, and they will not cooperate overmuch no matter what I admonish. Your assistance means a great deal to me, and I hope I can repay it."
"My duty is to match hearts," Joss said formally. "It is an honor to serve in such capacity. If you will permit, I should like to begin my day."
Marianna nodded. "Of course. Michael will send round the schedules and interview times later today. You recall the location of your office?"
"Yes," Joss replied, and rose, sweeping her a bow before slowly leaving the room.
*~*~*
Even with his things unpacked and put neatly away, his office looked sparse. Barren, even. Nothing like the one had left two months ago to journey here, the one he sorely missed.
Still, it was not a bad office. Quite the contrary – technically speaking, it was nicer than the one he had left. This one even had a wide bank of windows along one wall, looking out over the sea. A long row of benches was built beneath the windows, deep and thickly padded with cushions, scattered about with pillows.
Rugs were everywhere, colorful and soft. There was also a small fireplace, perfect for the spacious room. The last wall, behind his desk, was entirely shelving, minus a small corner which had been given over to a bar, already stocked with fine liquors.
Before the fireplace were two comfy looking armchairs, a small table beside each.
Into another corner, near the windows, was another small table and chairs – perfect for breakfast or tea.
All the wood was a warm gold, with splashes of red and blue and green, gold and brown and cream, all over. His desk was large, with plenty of space to work, and well-stocked besides. Two more chairs were on the far side of it, made to be occupied for long periods of time.
He rather thought that he could become quite comfortable here. It missed only those things he had not been able to bring with him – gifts from grateful couples, rewards from grateful parents or guardians, awards from his own King, knick knacks from his family and friends.
Some of those items had come with him, those from which he could bear to be parted, but most had remained.
Sitting down in the deep leather desk chair, he reached up to remove his broach, curling his hand around it briefly before finally shutting it away in a drawer. He had worn it for his formal meeting of the Queen's men, but he had been instructed to keep his true profession a secret. The broach would be recognized by a few in the palace, and so he could not wear it.
All to the better, really. Constantly seeing it and being reminded of what he was would not endear him to men who had already chosen to dislike him.
He hoped it would ease; his time here would be difficult enough without being able to make so much as a single friend.
Shrugging off the thought, for he had work aplenty to keep him occupied, he opened up his leather portfolio and began to read through the papers inside. Dipping a pen in ink, he drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and neatly wrote 'Boothby, Charles' across the top, writing out his title below that.
Then he began to list general impressions, noting everything from speech to mannerisms to dress, and everything in between.
At the bottom of the sheet he wrote No?
Setting it aside to dry, he moved on to the next man.
Eustace and Lyle each got a Yes?
When he came to Sorrel, he did not hesitate but wrote No.
That, at least, was easy enough. If Sorrel had any reason, romantic, financial, power, or otherwise, to marry his cousin he would have seen to the matter himself. It did not take more than the brief meeting of that morning to see that one knew people.
Flirt said one of his impressions. Manipulative? Said another. Arrogant. Proud. Likely to impede process however possible said further notes.
He frowned at the page for a moment, added another note with a question mark, then set it aside.
Across this page he wrote Michael Cartwright.
Though Michael was not on his list, after this morning, he felt obliged to add him. Interesting that the Queen had not put him on the list herself, and he made note of such on Michael's sheet.
Once all the papers were dry, he placed each one into its own portfolio, these covered with simple cloth rather than the good leather of his general one. They were also each a different color – green, yellow, red, blue, and violet.
Stacking the portfolios neatly, he then picked up the green one – Charles – and drew several fresh sheets of paper. Dipping his pen again, he began to write out the different sections that he would fill out over the course of the next several weeks.
He had just begun to work on the third portfolio when there came a sharp rap at his door. He had left it open, as a show of invitation, and so all it took was looking up to see Michael standing there politely. "Come in, please," he said.
Michael stepped inside. "Settling in?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. Do let me know if there is anything you require. Her Majesty has said I am to assist as much as I may."
"That is deeply appreciated," Joss replied.
Michael moved closer to the desk and held out a sheaf of papers. "Here are copies of all their schedules, including my own and her Majesty's, for the next three weeks. I will see you are kept apprised of all changes; one of my secretaries has been appointed with the task. His name is Roger; you have only to send a note to him should you need to know anything, and he will of course come to me if my personal interference is needed."
Joss accepted the papers. "You are impressively efficient. I think it is a good thing you were not able to accompany her Majesty when she visited my homeland – my King may have tried to keep you, by whatever means possible."
Laughing, Michael finally sat down.
Hiding a smile, Joss glanced briefly at the papers he'd accepted, noting who was doing what before setting them aside to inspect more closely later.
"You said you needed to interview me as well," Michael said after a moment of silence. "I am free now, if that is amenable."
"Yes, quite," Joss replied, and put away the portfolio on which he'd been working to pull out the violet one he'd assigned to Michael. He'd not yet had time to draw up the forms properly, but that could be done later, for he knew them by heart.
Michael sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I confess I do not like whatever it is that her Majesty is plotting, but stomping around about it will help nothing. Nor do I see how I am relevant, but I am willing to cooperate. Please, ask your questions."
Joss was torn between amusement and frustration. Back home, no one was ever offended to be invited to interview with the matchmaker. It was simply a cultural thing – back home, it was regarded as helping; here it was regarded as interfering. Still, he wished they would not regard him as some sort of executioner.
"You have been her Majesty's assistant for a very long time, have you not?"
"Ever since she took the throne at sixteen," Michael replied. "I was astonished, for I always thought that position would go to Lord Dunkirk. Her Majesty and I have always been friends, but she is closer to Dunkirk. Even her husband, for the three years of their marriage, was not as close to her as Dunkirk."
That Joss had already known that, for the Queen had told him a great deal about herself already, but it was always interesting – and telling – who told him what. He nodded in reply to the answer. "Are you close to them in age?"
Michael smiled. "My birthday and her Majesty's are only two weeks apart. Dunkirk is a couple of months older than us."
Noting the age, for it was a bit of information he had been lacking, Joss moved on. "You were made Baron…?"
"At age fifteen, actually," Michael said, sadness flickering across his face. "My parents both died of the illness that swept the country that year."
"I am sorry," Joss replied. "My father died of illness as well."
Michael nodded.
"So you both have had enormous responsibility from a young age. Does the Marquis share that trait, as well?"
"Oh, lord," Michael said with a laugh. "Dunkirk is a class all his own. He took up the title formally only five years ago, but he has always carried the responsibility and authority. You shall have to ask him more about yourself, however, for that is family business of his I would feel uncomfortable disclosing without his permission."
Joss smiled and made careful note. "Of course. Those are not the sorts of questions I would unfairly press. I was merely seeing that the three of you have a number of remarkable things in common. It must make you quite close."
Michael shrugged. "I think the only one truly close to Dunkirk is her Majesty. She and I are close, though, yes. It is truly an honor to be her personal assistant."
"What do you like best and least about your job?"
"A complicated question. I work for a Queen, Matchmaker, and a great part of being a ruler is doing those things no one else can, and much of it is unpleasant. I do not like seeing that burden upon her shoulders, especially as it was put there when she was but sixteen. She does it well, but at great cost. As for what I like…there is a challenge to it, and I can help her in ways I would not otherwise be able."
Joss nodded, and made more notes.
"Could I ask a question?" Michael said.
"Of course," Joss said. "This not, contrary to popular belief, an inquisition. More like…simply getting to know you. As often as not, I simply meet people for tea, or a stroll in the park. I chose an office setting…"
Michael snorted. "Because the children stomped out before you could suggest anything?"
Joss' mouth twitched, and he coughed to cover it up. "I am certain they will mellow as they realize speaking with me today does not mean tomorrow they will be shoved into a gown and thrown down the aisle.
Choking, Michael then threw his head back and laughed. "If you can convince any one of them to wear the gown, I will pay any price you demand, Matchmaker. Oh, that is an image to amuse me for a very long time."
"So you are all friends, then? You and the other four."
The laughter slowly faded. "Yes, I would say so, though they are closer to each other than they are to me. I am…" Michael shrugged. "I am only a Baron, and fourth generation at that. Their families go back to the creation of the country, and they would have attended one another in places to which I would never be invited. Being her Majesty's assistant obviously changes things, of course, and it helped she and I were friends since classes…" He shrugged again.
Joss nodded and made further notes.
"So on the rare occasion you have free time, how do you spend it?"
Michael smiled in rueful amusement. "I don't remember; it's been a very long time since I've had any of that. Swimming, or reading. I think these days when it manages to come upon us, her Majesty and I take a quiet tea in her private sunroom, often with the Princess as well. Her Majesty is fond of her daughter, but seldom gets to spend real time with her."
Jotting another note, Joss then set his pen aside. "That is all I have for now, and I thank you for your time – and cooperation. I will likely have to speak with you again, and I should warn you now that if the questioning reaches a certain point, the questions will become most personal."
"Personal…how personal?"
"About as personal as you are hoping I do not mean," Joss said, mouth quirking in the faintest of smiles. "I will say that I would be a poor matchmaker if I could not coordinate certain tastes and preferences between partners."
Michael's brows went up. "I see. Does that mean you are attempting to match me?" He immediately shook his head, and held up a hand to forestall a reply. "No, we're not to know what is going on, exactly. Knowing her Majesty, she could be dooming the entire lot of us, or merely one and making the others suffer as some sort of buffer." Something flickered across his face, but it was smoothed away a moment later. "There is never any telling with her, even for me," he concluded. "I hope the questioning does not reach that stage, but I will try to cooperate."
Joss held his hands out in a placating manner. "For what it is worth, matchmakers are made to sign a great many contracts upon taking up our profession, and we face the most severe penalties for breaking those contracts. Even the King is not allowed access to the information we collect, and once matches are arranged and the information is no longer required, it is destroyed. We take our jobs very seriously. You have no reason to trust me, from your perspective, but I assure you I have never violated a confidence."
Light blue eyes locked with his for what seemed ages, but at last Michael nodded. "I believe you, Matchmaker, or at least am willing to believe you, until I have reason not. Now, I think I hear the clock chiming four o'clock. Unless he decided to be a brat – not unusual – I do believe your have an appointment with Dunkirk in half an hour."
"Thank you again for your time," Joss said, and walked with him to the door, and out into the hallway. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
"The same to you," Michael said, and his eyes shifted briefly to something past Joss' shoulder. "I think you will also need a bit of luck, and I give it." With a parting smile, he turned walked away.
Before Joss could turn around to see what had caught Michael's eye, a voice like crushed velvet purred in his ear. "My turn, Matchmaker."
His body tensed with a suppressed urge to jump and turn around.
Instead, Joss merely turned his head to meet the winter eyes, so close their noses almost touched, and he could smell tea and cinnamon on Sorrel's breath. "Marquis Bellow," he greeted politely, neither warm nor cool. "You're early, and here I did not expect you at all."
Sorrel rose to his full height, a good half a head taller than Joss.
He was, Joss suddenly realized, truly beautiful. The winter eyes against the summer hair, features elegant and refined enough to be worthy of being carved into marble or painted in rich oils. He wore haughtiness and arrogance like a second skin, and the twist to his mouth said he was used to getting what he wanted, and did not expect that to change any time soon.
Men who pretended to power and authority tended to be excessive in proving they already had it. Sorrel was dressed simply, elegantly, with only a small diamond in one ear, and a plain gold signet ring on his right hand. It was the sort of simplicity that said he had no reason to pretend anything.
Joss met the challenge in those eyes unflinching, and made a mental note to add further impressions to Sorrel's file: Hostile. Likely willing to use seduction to get his way.
"Shall we, then?" Sorrel asked. "The sooner this inquisition is over, the better."
"I would hate to keep you overlong," Joss murmured back, then turned around slowly and strolled leisurely back into his office.
He sat down behind his desk, and waited as Sorrel took his time in getting a drink from the bar and settling down in one of the seats in front of the desk. "So what would you like to know?" he finally asked, voice still holding a bit of that velvet purr.
Nothing like the cooler tones of that morning, which meant he was hoping to rattle or otherwise upset Joss' equilibrium.
It was nothing he had not seen before, and if the good Marquis wanted to play games – well, that told him more than Sorrel probably realized.
Though, it really did not matter. His first impression was not changing, and while he would go through all the motions to ensure he was correct, he did not see that impression changing. Sorrel would not be his final choice, or any choice at all.
Still, he could get information he needed on the others. "You have known the Queen your entire life," he began calmly. "Have you known Michael as long as she has?"
"Yes, and yes," Sorrel replied, looking amused. "What's your next question? Why haven't I married her? Am I jealous of him? You should ask the inhabitants of the palace, they have far better answers to those questions than I can provide."
Joss almost smiled. "While gossip provides information in its own unique way, my lord, I am not looking for lies and suppositions. I am looking for honesty." He looked down, then slowly dragged his gaze back up, looking through his lashes. "An interesting concept for you, I do not doubt."
Something sparked in Sorel's eyes, but whether it was amusement or annoyance, Joss could not quite say.
"I have no interest in marriage, even to a Queen," Sorrel replied, stretching his legs out, half reclining in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, whiskey glass held loosely in one hand. "I have never denied that I do not favor fidelity."
No, he was certainly not the type to trouble himself with something as bothersome as fidelity. Why settle for a rose when the whole garden is available for your perusal?
Joss made appropriate notes in the file, taking his time about it, feeling the cool eyes watch his every moment. "I'm told you are quite adept with law, my lord."
"Yes," Sorrel drawled, pale lips curving a wicked smirk. "Rules are an interesting game to play. Where to follow…where to bend…where to break…" He took a sip of his whiskey, and licked a trace of it from his lips. "I'm certain you must find rules just as interesting."
"It is true that I must follow a great man of them," Joss replied calmly, jotting further notes, telling himself he wasn't doing it just because it obviously annoyed and rattled Sorrel to see notes being made about him.
Except he got the feeling that Sorrel was seldom rattled by anything, and that was worth making note.
Sorrel's lip curled. "Must follow, yes. Question and harass and place people like so many pawns. I'm certain the rules for that games are most intriguing."
"People are not pawns," Joss replied and dipped his pen in the inkwell.
Trust issues? he noted, then looked up again, setting the pen aside for the moment.
"Her Majesty mentioned to me, not longer after we first met, that you greatly enjoy tea."
Sorrel looked at him, but said nothing.
Joss did not press him, refusing to rise to the bait. Sorrel wanted him to work for every single snippet of information, and that was not a game he intended to play. Let the bastard keep underestimating him; he'd already given away more than he would ever realize.
Realizing his own thoughts, he grimaced inwardly at his own bought of cockiness. Sorrel was not a man to be underestimated, either.
A pity, really. Back home, during her visit and after her initial request, the Queen had talked in detail about her friends. She had admitted her cousin was more than a little bit of a rake, and the living, breathing definition of arrogant—
—She had obviously also spoken with the familiarity of someone who had grown up with him, and so was immune or oblivious to certain aspects to which a stranger would be vulnerable.
Joss wondered, if he were to inquire, how many people would describe the Marquis as 'devastating' or something much along those lines.
He looked at general notes he had made on the journey here, and picked one that changed direction entirely. "Her Majesty's late husband – what did you think of him?"
"The King?" Sorrel shrugged. "He had excellent taste in women."
A flippant reply if Joss had ever heard one, and almost amusing – he meant it to be taken in the wrong vein, that the King had been a womanizer, yet in reality it was probably only a compliment to the Queen.
He picked up his pen again, and scratched out the question mark besides Trust issues.
Setting the pen down again, he stood up and smiled. "I believe that is all I need from you today, my lord. I prefer to keep the sessions short, though they will likely lengthen as you grow comfortable with me." He moved around the desk to escort Sorrel from his office, a reflexive gesture of courtesy.
Sorrel stood just as he neared, close enough their shoulders did not quite brush. His voice was all purr and velvet again as he dipped his head to Joss' ear once more. "As pretty as you are, Matchmaker…" He drew back as abruptly as he had moved in, voice suddenly frigid, "I doubt anyone could ever be comfortable with you."
He set his glass down with a faint click on the desk, turned sharply away and stalked from the room, gone as quietly as he had come.
Joss stood impassive for a long moment, then moved back to sit behind his desk.
Sorrel knew where to thrust the knife, that was certain. He had gone straight for the heart.
A man like that, however, always excelled at finding the weaknesses in others.
The trick was not letting him know he had found a weakness, and if there was one thing a lifetime of studying people had taught Joss, it was how to hide what he felt.
He shoved the self pity aside and drew his papers close, fleshing out some notes, adding in the proper, formal notations.
Looking over the schedules of the other three, and his own which Michael had been kind enough to write up, he saw that he would not meet with Eustace or Lyle until tomorrow, and Charles not until the day after.
Except…
He frowned in thought, weighing his options.
It looked as though they were all attending the affair listed as occurring tonight. A ball of some sort, he did not understand the brief notation made, one of those done unthinkingly because everyone who would see it was used to seeing it that way.
Dare he try it?
The longer he took to speak with them, the harder it would be to draw them out. Forewarned was forearmed, as the saying went, and they were already likely speaking with Michael and Sorrel over the matter.
While he could order them not to speak of their interviews with others, he did not think they would take well to such an order. Sorrel, especially, would simply see it as a rule to break.
His fingers clenched, crumpling the paper he still held. Frowning, he relaxed his fingers and smoothed the paper out.
Yes, the ball would at the very least provide a chance to observe.
Decided, he checked the schedules given him to see where her Majesty would be. Then he put his things away, locked the drawer holding the portfolios, and tucked the key into his jacket. Out in the hallway, he hesitated. He could get to the sunroom, his bedroom, and this office…otherwise, he was at a bit of a loss.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Hoping he did not wind up making a great fool of himself, he made his way back toward what he thought was a main area.
He caught his reflection in a heavily gilded mirror, and frowned at it as he passed. More than he liked of his inner turmoil was showing, and he paused long enough to ensure as best he could that he was firmly in control.
Matchmakers, by the nature of their following, could not be remarkable. They worked with a wide range of people, and in a capacity that could become extremely intimate – even the Kings and Queens of the world did not know all that a matchmaker might about various people, and when called upon, even those same royals would have to answer the same personal questions.
Nothing was worse than attempting to convey such information to someone who was too beautiful, too graceful, too well spoken – to anything. Matchmakers must be many things, but never too much of any of those.
They must be comfortable, like a familiar chair or an old blanket, his mentor had said once.
Joss had never found the comparison flattering, but he accepted the reality of it because he loved what he did.
He would never be a Marianna or a Michael…and certainly never a Sorrel. His hair was brown, cut neatly and simply. His eyes were also brown, plain and ordinary. It was only the sharpness of the mind, and observational skills, which were said to be above normal for matchmakers, and these were skills which could be hidden and downplayed to appear ordinary and therefore more comforting.
Despite all this…
Sorrel was far too correct.
No one felt comfortable around a matchmaker, even back home where it was considered an honor to have someone care enough to see to your happiness in such fashion.
Granted, not all the matches they were required to make were romantic in nature – in his rank especially, many wanted someone with the proper connections and whom they would not want to kill. Whether it went as far as love was immaterial, and often not even really possible. In those cases, Joss was expected to get as close as possible.
Such as right now.
He sighed as he passed another mirror, then realized what he'd done and gave himself a sharp, mental slap.
Perhaps it was simply being in a foreign nation that was causing him to falter. His task was difficult enough in a friendly environment, where he had to give bad news as often as good. Not everyone liked the outcome of his analyses, and some sought him out simply to have proof that a match was a bad one.
Well, no matter. He was not even a full day in and he had stricken one candidate from the list. If he had added one, well, that could be a good sign. It meant the foreign environment was not causing his abilities to falter, at least.
Reaching the main hallway he'd been seeking, he flagged down a servant and got directions to where he could find the Queen.
*~*~*
He forced himself not to hover in the doorway. Lingering would only prolong the inevitable, and it was not as though he had not been to countless parties before – and for this very reason. No reason it should not be business and usual.
Certainly no reason to feel anxious.
Then again, he was not accustomed to being the focus of so many stares.
Did he look so strange? No one knew why he was here – but he supposed being simply a 'guest' of the Queen was more than enough to warrant staring.
Making his way across the room, smiling politely when someone managed to catch his eyes, he at least reached Queen Marianna. "Majesty," he greeted, accepting the hand she held out. "You are as resplendent as always. Thank you for permitting my attendance, this evening."
"La, dearest," Marianna replied, pulling him forward to kiss his cheek. "Why would I not see that a friend is invited to this small fete? It is nothing."
Joss barely kept back a snort at the idea of a crowd of at least five hundred being described as a 'small fete'.
"Come, sit with me," Marianna commanded. "Michael—"
"Going, my Queen," Michael replied with a laugh, touching her shoulder briefly in a gesture that seemed to be of affection. "Have you a preference in beverage, Matchmaker?" he asked.
"No," Joss replied.
Michael nodded. "Then I will bring you a glass of our local wine, everyone loves it." Then he was gone, leaving Joss alone with Marianna.
"I will not pester you," Marianna said, waving a delicate fan back and forth, high enough that anyone who might be watching would not even be able to read her lips. "I want to, but I will not."
Joss smiled briefly. "Well, I can tell you that my initial analysis strikes the Marquis from the list."
Marianna gave an unladylike snort. "I gave his name for form's sake. Trust me when I say your analysis comes as no surprise. I do not think there is a man or woman alive who could tame that one. Even one of your skill, my darling Matchmaker, could not find a match for him." She gave a pointed look, more of a fond glare, at a figure across the room.
Despite himself, Joss felt something catch in his chest.
Sorrel stood near the far wall, one forearm propped against it, over the head of a short, birdlike woman. Even at a distance, it was impossible to miss the way they were flirting and playing – but Sorrel did it well, and beautifully. He wore a shade of dark gray that held just a hint of shimmer, accented with black lace at throat and cuffs, black breeches, with diamonds sparkling here and there in the profusion of candlelight.
"You'll only get burned," Marianna murmured gently.
Joss jerked, startled. "What?"
She looked at him, a too-knowing look in her eyes. "He's an open flame, Matchmaker. Beautiful, but he burns everything that touches him."
"I am old enough to know flames are to be admired, but not touched, Majesty," Joss said with a careless shrug. "Anyway, I am a matchmaker – your matchmaker. That eliminates me from any manner of dalliance."
Marianna smiled at him, and said nothing further.
Joss did not look across the room again, but focused on Marianna as he should have all along. "Do you ever dance with any of your friends, Majesty? Would it be out of place if you were to do so?"
"No," Marianna replied. "I often dance with them -- only them, really, minus the odd visitor here or there who requires a bit of special attention."
"Then, if it pleases you," Joss said, "dance with each of them."
Marianna nodded, and snapped her fan shut. "Even Sorrel?"
"For form's sake," Joss agreed.
"Then he shall be first," Marianna said. Standing up, she stood for a moment, then lifted the fan and motioned imperiously.
Sorrel was even more stunning up close, the cool of his clothes and eyes drawing the fire from his hair.
He smiled a slow, burning smile. "Majesty, Matchmaker. Am I being summoned to present myself for inspection? Do I pass muster, Matchmaker?"
Joss smiled blandly, and completely ignored the jibe. "Good evening, my lord."
Sorrel lifted an elegant brow at the subtle return jibe, but was prevented from carrying the battle of insults further by Marianna.
"Dance with me," she commanded, poking him in the chest with her fan. "Your little bit of lace will wait."
"If not, there is always another bit of lace," Sorrel said with a careless motion, and held out his hand. "I would much rather dance with you, my Queen, even if its to put myself on the auction block."
"Pah!" Marianna said as she took his hand. "I would love to see what would actually happen were I to do such a thing. I guess it would depend on the nature of the auction. A tumble, plenty of bids. Eternal bliss?"
Sorrel laughed. "I would not bid on that, certainly. Come."
They were gone a moment later, and just a moment later Michael appeared with drinks in hand. He looked at the dance floor, and shook his head in amusement. "People used to wonder, Matchmaker, why she never married him. They seem a perfect match, in many eyes."
Joss said nothing, but his opinion must have shown on his face, for Michael laughed and handed him a glass of jewel red wine. "Here, this is very good stuff. Even Sorrel cannot pierce the pleasantness this creates."
"Thank you," Joss said with a smile.
"Oh, there are Summers and Banks."
Immediately Joss followed the direction of his gaze, though he tried not to be obvious in his watching.
They both cut fine figures – Eustace in a dark jewel green tones, accented by cream and gold. He grinned and greeted various men and women as they made their way through the ballroom, turning occasionally to say something in Lyle's ear.
Lyle, older and dignified, dressed in basic black. He smiled whenever Eustace spoke to him, and only greeted a few men here and there, one woman who looked to be at least fifty or so years in age.
A couple of minutes later they joined Joss and Michael on the dais.
"Where is Boothby?" Michael asked. "I thought he would be here to harangue Grosser to death over the new bill. He is going to miss a beautiful chance at haranguing."
The other men laughed, then Eustace spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "He has run off again; I saw him riding away only an hour ago. Back home, no reason given."
"Hmm," Michael murmured. "Are you positive it is unethical to have him followed?"
Lyle raised his eyes to the heavens. "Sorrel was the one to suggest the idea, should that not be answer enough?"
"True," Michael said, and they all shared amused shakes of the head.
Then Lyle turned to Joss. "Matchmaker," he said politely, if with no real warmth. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"It is hard not to enjoy oneself in such civilized company," Joss replied.
Eustace gave a reluctant laugh. "Oh, well done." He raised his glass in toast. "The Matchmaker has a bit of a bite to him."
Joss smiled politely and raised his own glass. "I am not your enemy, you know."
"You are putting at least one of us upon a chopping block we do not desire," Eustace replied. "It is hard to accept that will anything past civility. Especially when she's got you being so deucedly mysterious about it."
Michael smiled. "Perhaps she's hoping to put a leash on Sorrel."
Eustace and Lyle burst into laughter.
"Now that I would like to see!" Lyle declared. He slid a look to Joss. "Is that why you are here, Matchmaker? No, you can't tell me, and I wouldn’t' want to have my hopes dashed anyway. Ah, now that would explain why he was particularly irate this morning. He must feel the noose tightening."
Joss glanced at the dance floor, where he could see Sorrel leading Marianna back to their little group.
"Ah, Eustace," Marianna said cheerfully. "You will come and dance with me next. We always do splendidly at this one."
"Everything you do is splendid," Eustace promptly replied, and handed his champagne flute to Lyle, then held out his arm for Marianna to take.
Joss watched them go, sipping his wine and listening as Michael spoke idly with Sorrel, but his eyes were on all of them, as best he could follow – and he had followed larger numbers than this.
Michael and Lyle were more interested in watching the dancers, though he could not tell who each of them was watching.
He had a guess, where Michael was concerned…but Lyle he was not yet certain. His one serious lover had been male, but that meant nothing.
A few minutes later, Marianna and Eustace returned, and Lyle was commanded to dance in his turn. Joss watched carefully as they walked away.
"Do you dance?" Sorrel's voice washed over him, jarring him from his thoughts.
Joss hid his start by taking another sip of wine. "Yes," he said, "I do."
Sorrel gave one of his wicked smirks, and held out a hand. "Then dance, Matchmaker. The Queen does not spend her time on dull men, and if you do not dance, you will appear most dull indeed. We cannot have you making her look bad."
There was, unfortunately, no tidy way out of that. Sorrel had trapped him rather neatly.
"I did not think I was your preferred type of dance partner," he said as he accepted the black-gloved hand held out to him.
Sorrel barred his teeth in a challenging smile. "I have no one type."
"Easy come, easy go?" Joss asked coolly as they left the group and headed toward the dance floor.
Really, he should be more circumspect, but Sorrel was off his list and he was not going to let Sorrel push him around.
Sorrel merely laughed. "That is not a type, Matchmaker. That is a failing." He lifted their joined hands high in the beginning position. "I hope you dance well, but I suppose I should have asked that sooner."
"Yes, you should have," Joss replied, and did not bother to say that he danced very well indeed.
The first turn drew him close, back not quite touching Sorrel's chest, the proper distance just barely obeyed, and he made a mental note to adjust his profile on Sorrel to Definitely willing to use seduction to get his way.
Joss was no fool, he knew when he was being taunted and provoked.
He caught a hint of civet and orange blossom before the dance forced them apart, the scent lodging in his nostrils, and he noticed it again when they were brought close again.
"So how does one become a matchmaker?" Sorrel asked, as they were put back to chest again, his hand curling briefly around Joss' hip in far too intimate a gesture.
Ignoring that, Joss focused on the question. "The same way one becomes anything."
"Now, there are many a reason one takes up his occupation," Sorrel countered. "Aptitude, desperation, right of birth…" Joss turned, facing him again, and Sorrel moved so they were barely a breath apart, way beyond the bounds of propriety. "Thrust into it."
Joss stepped to the right in the next step, head turned away. "Aptitude, my lord."
"Mmm," Sorrel murmured in acknowledgement. "Aptitude for what?" His hand tightened on Joss', sudden and painful.
Joss refused to wince.
"For dictating with whom a person should fall in love? With whom he should spend his life? I do not see what grants you the right to dictate the intimacies of another's life."
"It is not my duty or my right to tell a person whom he loves, or should love," Joss replied, pausing as the dance steps moved them apart, resuming the moment they drew together again. "It is my duty, or one of them, to tell a person where love might be found. I do not dictate – I do my best to provide the best options."
The hand on his was still too tight; his hand would ache tomorrow. Still, he gave no indication of the pain, refusing to give in even that small amount. "You have never seen me work, my lord, nor the results. Should you not at least be willing to judge me fairly?"
Sorrell laughed, and abruptly jerked him off the dance floor, out into the hallway, down the corridor and up a short flight of stairs.
When they emerged, Joss saw they were on the little balcony where normally the musicians would be. Her Majesty, for whatever reason, had them on the floor itself.
"Do you see the woman in ice blue?"
Joss looked where he indicated and then nodded.
"The man in hunter green?"
Again, Joss nodded.
"Six months ago they finally concluded a two year courtship that was the talk of the palace. Sweet, earnest, devoted, utterly charming when they spoke their vows of devotion and love and eternity. Two months after their marriage, she was bedding a visiting foreign minister and he let me seduce him in the garden." He gave a cold smile. "Not very talented, I can see why she ran to the minister."
Before Joss could reply, he pointed out another, two men – one in scarlet, one in simple black. "Betrothed, constantly declaring they love one another. A beautiful pair, everyone says. I had the one in scarlet over his desk just last week, at his request. Were I to approach the other…" He lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug.
He pointed out several couples, all of them 'in love' and at least one of every pair had been unfaithful, though it was not with Sorrel they always broke vows – though it was with him most frequently.
"Poor matches," Joss said when at last he fell silent, eying the various couples, settling finally on the men in red and black. "One should never judge at a glance, but sometimes a glance can say a thousand things or more."
Sorrel sneered. "Oh?"
"Yes." He said, pointing to the two men. "Every time they are left alone together, conversation lapses. If two people cannot talk with one another, they should not join in a lifelong commitment. There could be other reasons they do not speak, of course, which is the danger of trusting a glance, but still. That is a flaw to be noted, and further explored."
Sorrel, surprisingly, said nothing, but just as Joss turned to look at him, the Queen caught his eye.
She had returned to her seat, and was speaking with Lyle, Eustace, and Michael.
Why had she not danced with Michael?
Frowning, forcibly reminded that had a job to do, and that job did not include confounding conversations with Sorrel, he turned away to head back to the ballroom proper.
"Leaving so soon?" Sorrel drawled.
"You may not believe in love," Joss replied, "but it is my job to see people find it, so that those things you pointed out do not occur. Which means that at present, I have more important and interesting things to do than remain here with you." He immediately wished he'd curbed the impulse to get in that last little dig.
Sorrel laughed, voice dripping arrogant amusement as he replied, "Now, I may not be more important than her Majesty, but I am infinitely more interesting than matchmaking."
"Are you?" Joss asked. "You have just exposed your contempt for the promiscuity of others, my lord. Why should I find interesting in you what is despicable in others? Thank you for the dance. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
He left before Sorrel could get another word in, and permitted himself a moment of silent gloating for having achieved the last word this round.
Then he wondered sourly why he was stooping so low as to engage in Sorrel's petty games.
Returning to the ballroom, he swiftly rejoined the Queen and the others.
"Sorrel stole you away, we saw," Lyle said, in the tone of a scholar examining a dry text he has read a thousand times before. "I would have thought a matchmaker to be made of sterner stuff."
Joss shrugged. "Nothing transpired."
They looked at him in patent disbelief.
"Ignoring the fact we were in plain view upon the balcony," Joss said, motioning to the balcony, which was now vacant, "we were gone not more than ten minutes. Not even the estimable Marquis is that talented, surely."
Laughter erupted amongst the small group, and Marianna rolled her eyes.
He let them converse and laugh and idle after that, content to observe, offering a comment of his own only just often enough not to appear rude.
The men eventually wandered into a little group of their own, avidly discussing some recent hunting trip and the disaster which had struck it, leaving Marianna briefly alone.
Joss seized the chance, and moved to speak privately with her. "Majesty, might I ask a question?"
She looked at him in amusement, fanning herself in an attempt to cool off in the heat of the ballroom. "It is your job to ask questions, Matchmaker. By all means."
"Why did you not dance with Michael?"
"Michael?" Marianna repeated, and glanced at the man in question, whose back was currently turned. "I used to ask him, and command, but he always refused. Michael is very much about rules and place, which only makes sense, being a mere Baron yet finding a place amongst the greater lords. Being my assistant does not make it any easier to swim infested waters." She shrugged. "It would not be proper, typically speaking, for the Queen to dance with whom most see as a glorified secretary. So he will not, despite repeated requests."
Interesting. That did further explain the way he always said 'Queen' and 'Majesty' and referred to the others by their surnames, when they all used first names – even calling the Queen 'Mari.'
"So why did Sorrel drag you away to the balcony?" Marianna asked. "I saw you up there; he had a look up on his face which always spells trouble. You are getting under his skin, Matchmaker."
Joss shrugged. "If that means that I anger him, then most certainly. He disapproves of me. Is it possible he knows what I am really about?"
"If anyone were likely to figure it out," Marianna replied, still vigorously fanning herself, "it would be he or Michael. Should they deduce, that would not endear you to them." She slid him an amused look. "Anger, however, is not what I meant. When I said you got under his skin, I meant precisely that. The anger is merely a reaction to it, I believe." She winked at him. "He should look up the laws; I am astonished he has not."
Joss smiled briefly, amused despite himself. "He will think of it, I do not doubt it."
"Yes," Marianna murmured, eyes darting around the ballroom. "Then my goose will be cooked. Roasted to a cinder, likely."
Their conversation faded as the men rejoined them.
"Michael," Marianna said, standing and snapping her fan shut. "I believe I have had enough this evening. Escort me to my room, if you please."
"Of course, Majesty," Michael, promptly stepping forward and offering his arm.
They let a moment later, and Joss watched them go, making still more mental notes.
"So how much information have you collected this evening, Matchmaker?" Lyle asked with relative congeniality.
Joss smiled, and spread his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "You are all splendid dancers, this ballroom is insufferably hot, and the good Marquis does not like me one bit. Neither do you, at that, but you are still being civilized."
They laughed, and Eustace clapped him on the shoulder. "You are not entirely detestable, Matchmaker," he said with a grin. "If only because Sorrel seems to on the war path. He must really feel that noose tightening."
Lyle nodded. "Yes. Think how different this place would be without him seducing everything remotely human."
His eyes flicked to Eustace for a moment, a shadow passing briefly over his face.
Joss noted it with interest.
That was jealousy, plain as day.
But why?
It would bear further investigation, and he had the sudden thought this group was going to cause him a great many headaches.
He lingered a little longer, until Eustace and Lyle at last took their leave, watching them depart.
Then he made his way to his office, and stripped off his coat before settling behind his desk and pulling out the portfolios. He wrote down his observations and thoughts for each person, then read through everything again. Adding a few more notations, changing some already written, he at last returned them to the drawer and locked it.
Sighing softly, he retrieved his coat and wended his way through the palace to his bedroom.
The Matchmaker
Joss played nervously with his lace cuffs, smoothing the velvet of his jacket, peering at himself in the mirror, wishing he could say for a certainty that he looked presentable and respectable. These clothes were strange to him, not being at all what he normally wore back home. So fitting; they left very little to the imagination, and that did not make him comfortable.
There was nothing for it, however. He was here, he had a job to do, and so he would have to adjust.
First, however, he had to get through introductions.
He only hoped the natives with whom he would have to contend were as nice as the Queen who had brought him here.
Glancing back at the mirror, he tried to reassure himself he did not look like an idiot.
The clock began to chime, making him jump. Grimacing at his reflection, resigned to the fact that it didn't matter how he appeared for it was too late to change anything, Joss took up his leather portfolio and left his suite.
He could feel the eyes on him as he walked through the halls, though this early in the morning, he thankfully had only to contend with the servants.
Until he reached the sunroom the Queen had shown him last night, with instructions to join her there for an early breakfast – and to meet those persons he needed to know.
As it was just past seven, he had hoped to be one of the first arrivals, feeling it was better to be in the room as they arrived rather than arriving last to be greeted by a sea of strange faces.
No such luck.
He hovered in the doorway, resisting the urge to mess with his lace cuffs or fuss with his hair. Such things were for privacy – in the public eye, he must always appear confident and collected. One in his capacity must never be seen to falter.
Queen Mariana smiled warmly at him from where she sat at a moderately sized round table, early morning sunlight shining behind her, drawing out the slight hints of red in her blonde hair. She was young for a Queen, Joss knew, only twenty eight. He knew she was popular and well-liked, for her competence and her compassion – and his own King would never have agreed to the current arrangement if he did not approve heartily of the Queen.
"Good morning, Majesty," he said, and sketched a bow.
She smiled at him. "Good morning, Matchmaker. Did you sleep well? Are your rooms adequate?"
"Yes and yes, Majesty. I thank you for the generosity you have shown me."
"Oh, la," Mariana replied. "I have taken you quite neatly from your home; the least I can do is see you are comfortable while my prisoner." She winked at him, and he felt a little less nervous.
Then she motioned to her five companions, and all the nervousness came rushing back trebled.
"Gentlemen," she said, holding her hand out with palm up toward Joss, "I introduce you to Jocelyn Worthington, a Matchmaker of Kevie. He is here at my request. Matchmaker, let me introduce you to my friends and closest associates."
She indicated the man to her immediate right, a man who seemed tall even sitting. He had dark brown, curly hair, pale green eyes, sun darkened skin. "This is Charles Boothby, the Duke of Corona."
Joss nodded, mentally ticking off what else he already knew – for the introduction, for his part, were merely to match real faces to the sketches and information he had long since been given – about the Duke of Corona.
Thirty one years of age, born to his late father's second wife. Enjoyed horseback riding, politics, ale. Disliked balls, was not good with money, detested extremely rich foods. Several lovers over the years, none for very long, all female. Seemed polite, had a pleasant smile, and a politician's demeanor.
Queen Marianna indicated the man next to the Duke. "Eustace Summers, Earl of Drake."
Dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles across the bridge of his nose. Young, only twenty six. Friendly, well-mannered. On the pretty side of handsome. Shrewd with finances, average in politics, took lovers infrequently and never for very long, both male and female. Did not spend much time outdoors, did favor cards and gambling, and was accounted quite skilled at both. Fond of wine, did not like sweet things. He smiled warmly, if cautiously, at Joss in greeting.
"Lyle Banks, Earl of Greymore," Queen Marianna continued on to the next one, who sat to her left, with one person between them.
Thirty five years of age, with black hair and dark brown eyes, set off by gold-framed spectacles. Appeared short, though height was hard to judge when seated. Sharp features, too severe to be handsome, but quite striking. Not much for politics, but was quite intelligent – fluent in three languages, competent in three more, was a professor at the Royal University. Dabbled in cooking, no known food dislikes. Not much for the outdoors or games, spend most of his time in his studies or helping her Majesty. No recent lovers, but one serious one in the past, male. Reserved and quiet, but well-liked and respected.
Queen Marianna smiled and rested her hand on the shoulder of the man to her immediate left. "This one is my darling cousin, Sorrel Dunkirk, Marquis of Bellow."
Twenty eight years of age, same as the Queen. He was the only son, and eldest of three children, of Queen Marianna's aunt, who had been youngest sister to Marianna's mother. Like the Queen, his hair was spun red-gold, though it was cut too short for any hint of curl he might possess to show. His eyes were a pale gray that reminded Joss of a cool, crisp winter morning. The deep blue velvet of his morning jacket was a perfect compliment…
And his thoughts were completely wandering. Sharply, Joss drew himself back.
Close friends with the Queen; they had grown up more like sister and brother than cousins. His skills were myriad – he was sound in politics, finances, academics, foreign relations…and all of those gave him a sound foundation for law, which was were he really shone. His athletic interests were purely at a social level, though he more than held his own. Frequented the Royal University, gave a lesson there from time to time, and rumors were he was considering accepting an offer of professorship. Many lovers, none lasting, male and female. Was fond of dancing, and had a passion for tea.
The Queen lifted her hand to indicate the man standing just behind her. "This is Michael Lowry, Baron of Cartwright. He is my personal assistant."
Joss eyed him critically, as closely as he had examined the Marquis. Of all those connected to his appointed task, these two would probably prove the most difficult. Like Bellow, Lowry had known the Queen since they were young – though not since childhood; they had only met in school. Like the Marquis, Lowry's strengths were wide and varied. He was also organized, focused, and sharp-witted. In other words, the perfect man for the role he had assumed.
Though only a Baron, his position as personal assistant to the Queen lent him much rank and authority.
He was pretty, Joss decided. His hair was pale gold, slightly overlong but it suited him. He was dressed in light blue to match the sharp eyes glinting behind silver-framed spectacles, and like Joss he held a leather portfolio – though it was currently open, and even as he nodded in greeting, he was obviously more interested in whatever he was penning. He liked to read, and swim when he was able. No known lovers, as all his time was spent with the Queen. Friendly, well-liked, though there was some resentment that a lowly Baron – and relatively new to the title, it having been in his family for only four generations – had been given so powerful a position.
"Gentlemen," Joss said, sweeping them a bow. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance this fine morning."
"Please, sit," Queen Marianna said warmly.
Moving slowly, feeling all the eyes upon him, Joss obediently sat. Sitting exactly opposite the Queen at the oval table, he had a perfect view of them all. He absently thanked a servant who set out a plate and poured tea for him.
Though he was hungry, he was far too nervous to think that anything would settle well on his stomach.
"So," said Charles Boothby, "what, precisely, is a matchmaker? Other than the obvious, I mean."
Joss frowned, not quite certain how to answer that – Queen Marianna had cautioned him that these men likely would not like what he was about, even if they were keeping the whole of it a secret.
"Now, Charles," Marianna said, "I know you are familiar with the Matchmakers of Kevie."
Lyle Banks adjusted his gold-framed spectacles. "Indeed, they are quite famous – infamous. Fascinating career, to be sure. Called masters at analyzing and understanding people, and use that gift to 'match' people together. They say there is no such thing as a disharmonious marriage in Kevie."
Joss almost laughed at that, for it was something everyone seemed to believe about his country. "Not everyone in Kevie chooses to use Matchmakers," he said. "However, when our services are called upon, we do our best to ensure that our advice brings lifelong happiness to all involved parties."
The men all laughed.
He wondered why, and fought not to slump in his seat. Reassurance had been his goal, not amusement.
Queen Marianna smiled reassuringly. "The Matchmakers are a fascinating lot; they study far harder than either of you ever did, Lyle, Sorrel."
Sorrel snorted. "Everyone studied harder than I did, unless it was a study of the lovely offerings of Micah House!"
"You are terrible," Queen Marianna admonished, "and it far too early for such crude humor. Behave, or you will have the Matchmaker thinking you quite hopeless."
"Why shouldn't he?" Sorrel asked lazily. "That is what everyone else thinks."
Queen Marianna rolled her eyes. "Indeed."
"So tell us more, Matchmaker," Eustace said. "Why has our Queen brought you?" He slid his hazel eyes to the Queen. "Are we all quite doomed to be marched down the aisle, Mari?"
Marianna sniffed and sipped her tea. She smiled as she set it down.
All the men groaned.
"Devil take it," Charles said. "I know that smile. You are Plotting."
"Indeed," Marianna said. "He is here upon my request, for reasons to which none of you shall be privy. He is a Matchmaker, that is what he will be doing, and that is all you are to know of the matter."
Now they all frowned, whatever levity they had been displaying vanishing like a match snuffed by the wind.
"What is going on, Mari?" Sorrel asked quietly, eyes like winter clouds. "We none of us are children; we do not require some foreigner to come in and tell use who we should be wedding."
Marianna gave a careless shrug. "I am Queen," she replied. "He was loaned to me for good reason, but I do not want that reason known. I introduce you to him, in his true capacity, because you are all my dearest friends. So far as the rest of the palace is concerned, he is merely my guest. Understood?"
The man all grumbled their agreements, but shot him looks that were both subtly and openly hostile.
"Oh, do stop acting like children," Marianna said irritably, sipping her tea again and setting it down with a loud clack. "Have I ever done anything to hurt the lot of you? He is here because I requested his services, and he is only doing what I ask. If you want to glare like boys denied dessert, then glare at me, not him."
Grimacing, they all eased back slightly.
"So what is that curious broach you wear?" Sorrel drawled, looking down his nose in a way only a noble could.
Joss ignored the attempt to be insulting, and lightly touched the broach pinned to his lapel – It was actually two pieces, attached at the back to appear as one from the front. Two halves of a heart, one made of ruby set in gold, the other made of diamond set in silver.
Though these men would not know, the jewels spoke of his Matchmaker rank – something else the Queen chose to keep back, for reasons of her own, and he was happy to comply in this case.
"It is the mark of my calling," he explained simply. "In your language, I am called 'Matchmaker' but a more literal translation would be 'heart matcher'."
Lyle looked at him with mild interest. "I did not notice it before, but you are correct. That would be the older form of the language, yes? I am rusty at best in the dead forms."
Joss nodded. "Yes. One of the few cases of our employing outdated modes of speech."
"Majesty," said Michael from behind her, a deep frown creasing his face. "Whatever you are about, are you certain it's a good idea?"
"Yes," Marianna said firmly, not turning to look at him. "You can stop pouting that I would not tell even you, my darling assistant. I have my reasons, and I expect all of you to understand that."
Sorrel grimaced and looked again at Joss, and there was nothing but frigidity in his winter gray eyes. "Oh, we understand," he said, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "However, that does not mean we have to like it."
"I expect you to be civilized," Marianna replied, looking at him coolly.
Sorrel returned her gaze, then shrugged indolently and looked at Joss again. "Civilized...an interesting word, that. Even a war can be described as civilized, if it is fought a particular way."
Marianna sighed. "Is that what you are going to make of this, Sorrel? A civilized war?"
"Yes," Sorrel said, and stood up. He was promptly joined by the other three. "We do not require a Matchmaker, and there is no other reason you would have brought in something so ridiculous. Good day to you, my Queen." He gave a short bow, bordering on rude – just barely, Joss supposed, being civilized. "Matchmaker."
Joss looked at his portfolio once the men had gone, not quite certain what to say.
"That went better than I could have hoped," Marianna said briskly.
"Interviews with each, at some point," Joss said. "Also with you, Master Michael, since you are also relevant to this matter."
Michael's brows went up, but he said nothing. "As you like," he said easily. "I will acquire their schedules from their secretaries, and see that appointments are scheduled. You may also want to send me a copy of your own agenda, so that I may match it with theirs and whatever – or whoever – you may require."
Joss laughed and spread his hands. "I have only arrived, there is no agenda to speak of. I will require a clean slate, for the most part, to observe and learn and interview. Majesty, did you want regular reports, or…"
She waved her hand. "No, only the final. Let me know if you will require an inordinately long length of time, or things of that nature, but otherwise I leave you to your own devices."
He bowed his head low. "Thank you, Majesty."
"No, Matchmaker, than you," Marianna replied. "As we have just seen, you will have a difficult time of it. I fear that their dislike will keep you from making real friends, and they will not cooperate overmuch no matter what I admonish. Your assistance means a great deal to me, and I hope I can repay it."
"My duty is to match hearts," Joss said formally. "It is an honor to serve in such capacity. If you will permit, I should like to begin my day."
Marianna nodded. "Of course. Michael will send round the schedules and interview times later today. You recall the location of your office?"
"Yes," Joss replied, and rose, sweeping her a bow before slowly leaving the room.
*~*~*
Even with his things unpacked and put neatly away, his office looked sparse. Barren, even. Nothing like the one had left two months ago to journey here, the one he sorely missed.
Still, it was not a bad office. Quite the contrary – technically speaking, it was nicer than the one he had left. This one even had a wide bank of windows along one wall, looking out over the sea. A long row of benches was built beneath the windows, deep and thickly padded with cushions, scattered about with pillows.
Rugs were everywhere, colorful and soft. There was also a small fireplace, perfect for the spacious room. The last wall, behind his desk, was entirely shelving, minus a small corner which had been given over to a bar, already stocked with fine liquors.
Before the fireplace were two comfy looking armchairs, a small table beside each.
Into another corner, near the windows, was another small table and chairs – perfect for breakfast or tea.
All the wood was a warm gold, with splashes of red and blue and green, gold and brown and cream, all over. His desk was large, with plenty of space to work, and well-stocked besides. Two more chairs were on the far side of it, made to be occupied for long periods of time.
He rather thought that he could become quite comfortable here. It missed only those things he had not been able to bring with him – gifts from grateful couples, rewards from grateful parents or guardians, awards from his own King, knick knacks from his family and friends.
Some of those items had come with him, those from which he could bear to be parted, but most had remained.
Sitting down in the deep leather desk chair, he reached up to remove his broach, curling his hand around it briefly before finally shutting it away in a drawer. He had worn it for his formal meeting of the Queen's men, but he had been instructed to keep his true profession a secret. The broach would be recognized by a few in the palace, and so he could not wear it.
All to the better, really. Constantly seeing it and being reminded of what he was would not endear him to men who had already chosen to dislike him.
He hoped it would ease; his time here would be difficult enough without being able to make so much as a single friend.
Shrugging off the thought, for he had work aplenty to keep him occupied, he opened up his leather portfolio and began to read through the papers inside. Dipping a pen in ink, he drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and neatly wrote 'Boothby, Charles' across the top, writing out his title below that.
Then he began to list general impressions, noting everything from speech to mannerisms to dress, and everything in between.
At the bottom of the sheet he wrote No?
Setting it aside to dry, he moved on to the next man.
Eustace and Lyle each got a Yes?
When he came to Sorrel, he did not hesitate but wrote No.
That, at least, was easy enough. If Sorrel had any reason, romantic, financial, power, or otherwise, to marry his cousin he would have seen to the matter himself. It did not take more than the brief meeting of that morning to see that one knew people.
Flirt said one of his impressions. Manipulative? Said another. Arrogant. Proud. Likely to impede process however possible said further notes.
He frowned at the page for a moment, added another note with a question mark, then set it aside.
Across this page he wrote Michael Cartwright.
Though Michael was not on his list, after this morning, he felt obliged to add him. Interesting that the Queen had not put him on the list herself, and he made note of such on Michael's sheet.
Once all the papers were dry, he placed each one into its own portfolio, these covered with simple cloth rather than the good leather of his general one. They were also each a different color – green, yellow, red, blue, and violet.
Stacking the portfolios neatly, he then picked up the green one – Charles – and drew several fresh sheets of paper. Dipping his pen again, he began to write out the different sections that he would fill out over the course of the next several weeks.
He had just begun to work on the third portfolio when there came a sharp rap at his door. He had left it open, as a show of invitation, and so all it took was looking up to see Michael standing there politely. "Come in, please," he said.
Michael stepped inside. "Settling in?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. Do let me know if there is anything you require. Her Majesty has said I am to assist as much as I may."
"That is deeply appreciated," Joss replied.
Michael moved closer to the desk and held out a sheaf of papers. "Here are copies of all their schedules, including my own and her Majesty's, for the next three weeks. I will see you are kept apprised of all changes; one of my secretaries has been appointed with the task. His name is Roger; you have only to send a note to him should you need to know anything, and he will of course come to me if my personal interference is needed."
Joss accepted the papers. "You are impressively efficient. I think it is a good thing you were not able to accompany her Majesty when she visited my homeland – my King may have tried to keep you, by whatever means possible."
Laughing, Michael finally sat down.
Hiding a smile, Joss glanced briefly at the papers he'd accepted, noting who was doing what before setting them aside to inspect more closely later.
"You said you needed to interview me as well," Michael said after a moment of silence. "I am free now, if that is amenable."
"Yes, quite," Joss replied, and put away the portfolio on which he'd been working to pull out the violet one he'd assigned to Michael. He'd not yet had time to draw up the forms properly, but that could be done later, for he knew them by heart.
Michael sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I confess I do not like whatever it is that her Majesty is plotting, but stomping around about it will help nothing. Nor do I see how I am relevant, but I am willing to cooperate. Please, ask your questions."
Joss was torn between amusement and frustration. Back home, no one was ever offended to be invited to interview with the matchmaker. It was simply a cultural thing – back home, it was regarded as helping; here it was regarded as interfering. Still, he wished they would not regard him as some sort of executioner.
"You have been her Majesty's assistant for a very long time, have you not?"
"Ever since she took the throne at sixteen," Michael replied. "I was astonished, for I always thought that position would go to Lord Dunkirk. Her Majesty and I have always been friends, but she is closer to Dunkirk. Even her husband, for the three years of their marriage, was not as close to her as Dunkirk."
That Joss had already known that, for the Queen had told him a great deal about herself already, but it was always interesting – and telling – who told him what. He nodded in reply to the answer. "Are you close to them in age?"
Michael smiled. "My birthday and her Majesty's are only two weeks apart. Dunkirk is a couple of months older than us."
Noting the age, for it was a bit of information he had been lacking, Joss moved on. "You were made Baron…?"
"At age fifteen, actually," Michael said, sadness flickering across his face. "My parents both died of the illness that swept the country that year."
"I am sorry," Joss replied. "My father died of illness as well."
Michael nodded.
"So you both have had enormous responsibility from a young age. Does the Marquis share that trait, as well?"
"Oh, lord," Michael said with a laugh. "Dunkirk is a class all his own. He took up the title formally only five years ago, but he has always carried the responsibility and authority. You shall have to ask him more about yourself, however, for that is family business of his I would feel uncomfortable disclosing without his permission."
Joss smiled and made careful note. "Of course. Those are not the sorts of questions I would unfairly press. I was merely seeing that the three of you have a number of remarkable things in common. It must make you quite close."
Michael shrugged. "I think the only one truly close to Dunkirk is her Majesty. She and I are close, though, yes. It is truly an honor to be her personal assistant."
"What do you like best and least about your job?"
"A complicated question. I work for a Queen, Matchmaker, and a great part of being a ruler is doing those things no one else can, and much of it is unpleasant. I do not like seeing that burden upon her shoulders, especially as it was put there when she was but sixteen. She does it well, but at great cost. As for what I like…there is a challenge to it, and I can help her in ways I would not otherwise be able."
Joss nodded, and made more notes.
"Could I ask a question?" Michael said.
"Of course," Joss said. "This not, contrary to popular belief, an inquisition. More like…simply getting to know you. As often as not, I simply meet people for tea, or a stroll in the park. I chose an office setting…"
Michael snorted. "Because the children stomped out before you could suggest anything?"
Joss' mouth twitched, and he coughed to cover it up. "I am certain they will mellow as they realize speaking with me today does not mean tomorrow they will be shoved into a gown and thrown down the aisle.
Choking, Michael then threw his head back and laughed. "If you can convince any one of them to wear the gown, I will pay any price you demand, Matchmaker. Oh, that is an image to amuse me for a very long time."
"So you are all friends, then? You and the other four."
The laughter slowly faded. "Yes, I would say so, though they are closer to each other than they are to me. I am…" Michael shrugged. "I am only a Baron, and fourth generation at that. Their families go back to the creation of the country, and they would have attended one another in places to which I would never be invited. Being her Majesty's assistant obviously changes things, of course, and it helped she and I were friends since classes…" He shrugged again.
Joss nodded and made further notes.
"So on the rare occasion you have free time, how do you spend it?"
Michael smiled in rueful amusement. "I don't remember; it's been a very long time since I've had any of that. Swimming, or reading. I think these days when it manages to come upon us, her Majesty and I take a quiet tea in her private sunroom, often with the Princess as well. Her Majesty is fond of her daughter, but seldom gets to spend real time with her."
Jotting another note, Joss then set his pen aside. "That is all I have for now, and I thank you for your time – and cooperation. I will likely have to speak with you again, and I should warn you now that if the questioning reaches a certain point, the questions will become most personal."
"Personal…how personal?"
"About as personal as you are hoping I do not mean," Joss said, mouth quirking in the faintest of smiles. "I will say that I would be a poor matchmaker if I could not coordinate certain tastes and preferences between partners."
Michael's brows went up. "I see. Does that mean you are attempting to match me?" He immediately shook his head, and held up a hand to forestall a reply. "No, we're not to know what is going on, exactly. Knowing her Majesty, she could be dooming the entire lot of us, or merely one and making the others suffer as some sort of buffer." Something flickered across his face, but it was smoothed away a moment later. "There is never any telling with her, even for me," he concluded. "I hope the questioning does not reach that stage, but I will try to cooperate."
Joss held his hands out in a placating manner. "For what it is worth, matchmakers are made to sign a great many contracts upon taking up our profession, and we face the most severe penalties for breaking those contracts. Even the King is not allowed access to the information we collect, and once matches are arranged and the information is no longer required, it is destroyed. We take our jobs very seriously. You have no reason to trust me, from your perspective, but I assure you I have never violated a confidence."
Light blue eyes locked with his for what seemed ages, but at last Michael nodded. "I believe you, Matchmaker, or at least am willing to believe you, until I have reason not. Now, I think I hear the clock chiming four o'clock. Unless he decided to be a brat – not unusual – I do believe your have an appointment with Dunkirk in half an hour."
"Thank you again for your time," Joss said, and walked with him to the door, and out into the hallway. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
"The same to you," Michael said, and his eyes shifted briefly to something past Joss' shoulder. "I think you will also need a bit of luck, and I give it." With a parting smile, he turned walked away.
Before Joss could turn around to see what had caught Michael's eye, a voice like crushed velvet purred in his ear. "My turn, Matchmaker."
His body tensed with a suppressed urge to jump and turn around.
Instead, Joss merely turned his head to meet the winter eyes, so close their noses almost touched, and he could smell tea and cinnamon on Sorrel's breath. "Marquis Bellow," he greeted politely, neither warm nor cool. "You're early, and here I did not expect you at all."
Sorrel rose to his full height, a good half a head taller than Joss.
He was, Joss suddenly realized, truly beautiful. The winter eyes against the summer hair, features elegant and refined enough to be worthy of being carved into marble or painted in rich oils. He wore haughtiness and arrogance like a second skin, and the twist to his mouth said he was used to getting what he wanted, and did not expect that to change any time soon.
Men who pretended to power and authority tended to be excessive in proving they already had it. Sorrel was dressed simply, elegantly, with only a small diamond in one ear, and a plain gold signet ring on his right hand. It was the sort of simplicity that said he had no reason to pretend anything.
Joss met the challenge in those eyes unflinching, and made a mental note to add further impressions to Sorrel's file: Hostile. Likely willing to use seduction to get his way.
"Shall we, then?" Sorrel asked. "The sooner this inquisition is over, the better."
"I would hate to keep you overlong," Joss murmured back, then turned around slowly and strolled leisurely back into his office.
He sat down behind his desk, and waited as Sorrel took his time in getting a drink from the bar and settling down in one of the seats in front of the desk. "So what would you like to know?" he finally asked, voice still holding a bit of that velvet purr.
Nothing like the cooler tones of that morning, which meant he was hoping to rattle or otherwise upset Joss' equilibrium.
It was nothing he had not seen before, and if the good Marquis wanted to play games – well, that told him more than Sorrel probably realized.
Though, it really did not matter. His first impression was not changing, and while he would go through all the motions to ensure he was correct, he did not see that impression changing. Sorrel would not be his final choice, or any choice at all.
Still, he could get information he needed on the others. "You have known the Queen your entire life," he began calmly. "Have you known Michael as long as she has?"
"Yes, and yes," Sorrel replied, looking amused. "What's your next question? Why haven't I married her? Am I jealous of him? You should ask the inhabitants of the palace, they have far better answers to those questions than I can provide."
Joss almost smiled. "While gossip provides information in its own unique way, my lord, I am not looking for lies and suppositions. I am looking for honesty." He looked down, then slowly dragged his gaze back up, looking through his lashes. "An interesting concept for you, I do not doubt."
Something sparked in Sorel's eyes, but whether it was amusement or annoyance, Joss could not quite say.
"I have no interest in marriage, even to a Queen," Sorrel replied, stretching his legs out, half reclining in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, whiskey glass held loosely in one hand. "I have never denied that I do not favor fidelity."
No, he was certainly not the type to trouble himself with something as bothersome as fidelity. Why settle for a rose when the whole garden is available for your perusal?
Joss made appropriate notes in the file, taking his time about it, feeling the cool eyes watch his every moment. "I'm told you are quite adept with law, my lord."
"Yes," Sorrel drawled, pale lips curving a wicked smirk. "Rules are an interesting game to play. Where to follow…where to bend…where to break…" He took a sip of his whiskey, and licked a trace of it from his lips. "I'm certain you must find rules just as interesting."
"It is true that I must follow a great man of them," Joss replied calmly, jotting further notes, telling himself he wasn't doing it just because it obviously annoyed and rattled Sorrel to see notes being made about him.
Except he got the feeling that Sorrel was seldom rattled by anything, and that was worth making note.
Sorrel's lip curled. "Must follow, yes. Question and harass and place people like so many pawns. I'm certain the rules for that games are most intriguing."
"People are not pawns," Joss replied and dipped his pen in the inkwell.
Trust issues? he noted, then looked up again, setting the pen aside for the moment.
"Her Majesty mentioned to me, not longer after we first met, that you greatly enjoy tea."
Sorrel looked at him, but said nothing.
Joss did not press him, refusing to rise to the bait. Sorrel wanted him to work for every single snippet of information, and that was not a game he intended to play. Let the bastard keep underestimating him; he'd already given away more than he would ever realize.
Realizing his own thoughts, he grimaced inwardly at his own bought of cockiness. Sorrel was not a man to be underestimated, either.
A pity, really. Back home, during her visit and after her initial request, the Queen had talked in detail about her friends. She had admitted her cousin was more than a little bit of a rake, and the living, breathing definition of arrogant—
—She had obviously also spoken with the familiarity of someone who had grown up with him, and so was immune or oblivious to certain aspects to which a stranger would be vulnerable.
Joss wondered, if he were to inquire, how many people would describe the Marquis as 'devastating' or something much along those lines.
He looked at general notes he had made on the journey here, and picked one that changed direction entirely. "Her Majesty's late husband – what did you think of him?"
"The King?" Sorrel shrugged. "He had excellent taste in women."
A flippant reply if Joss had ever heard one, and almost amusing – he meant it to be taken in the wrong vein, that the King had been a womanizer, yet in reality it was probably only a compliment to the Queen.
He picked up his pen again, and scratched out the question mark besides Trust issues.
Setting the pen down again, he stood up and smiled. "I believe that is all I need from you today, my lord. I prefer to keep the sessions short, though they will likely lengthen as you grow comfortable with me." He moved around the desk to escort Sorrel from his office, a reflexive gesture of courtesy.
Sorrel stood just as he neared, close enough their shoulders did not quite brush. His voice was all purr and velvet again as he dipped his head to Joss' ear once more. "As pretty as you are, Matchmaker…" He drew back as abruptly as he had moved in, voice suddenly frigid, "I doubt anyone could ever be comfortable with you."
He set his glass down with a faint click on the desk, turned sharply away and stalked from the room, gone as quietly as he had come.
Joss stood impassive for a long moment, then moved back to sit behind his desk.
Sorrel knew where to thrust the knife, that was certain. He had gone straight for the heart.
A man like that, however, always excelled at finding the weaknesses in others.
The trick was not letting him know he had found a weakness, and if there was one thing a lifetime of studying people had taught Joss, it was how to hide what he felt.
He shoved the self pity aside and drew his papers close, fleshing out some notes, adding in the proper, formal notations.
Looking over the schedules of the other three, and his own which Michael had been kind enough to write up, he saw that he would not meet with Eustace or Lyle until tomorrow, and Charles not until the day after.
Except…
He frowned in thought, weighing his options.
It looked as though they were all attending the affair listed as occurring tonight. A ball of some sort, he did not understand the brief notation made, one of those done unthinkingly because everyone who would see it was used to seeing it that way.
Dare he try it?
The longer he took to speak with them, the harder it would be to draw them out. Forewarned was forearmed, as the saying went, and they were already likely speaking with Michael and Sorrel over the matter.
While he could order them not to speak of their interviews with others, he did not think they would take well to such an order. Sorrel, especially, would simply see it as a rule to break.
His fingers clenched, crumpling the paper he still held. Frowning, he relaxed his fingers and smoothed the paper out.
Yes, the ball would at the very least provide a chance to observe.
Decided, he checked the schedules given him to see where her Majesty would be. Then he put his things away, locked the drawer holding the portfolios, and tucked the key into his jacket. Out in the hallway, he hesitated. He could get to the sunroom, his bedroom, and this office…otherwise, he was at a bit of a loss.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Hoping he did not wind up making a great fool of himself, he made his way back toward what he thought was a main area.
He caught his reflection in a heavily gilded mirror, and frowned at it as he passed. More than he liked of his inner turmoil was showing, and he paused long enough to ensure as best he could that he was firmly in control.
Matchmakers, by the nature of their following, could not be remarkable. They worked with a wide range of people, and in a capacity that could become extremely intimate – even the Kings and Queens of the world did not know all that a matchmaker might about various people, and when called upon, even those same royals would have to answer the same personal questions.
Nothing was worse than attempting to convey such information to someone who was too beautiful, too graceful, too well spoken – to anything. Matchmakers must be many things, but never too much of any of those.
They must be comfortable, like a familiar chair or an old blanket, his mentor had said once.
Joss had never found the comparison flattering, but he accepted the reality of it because he loved what he did.
He would never be a Marianna or a Michael…and certainly never a Sorrel. His hair was brown, cut neatly and simply. His eyes were also brown, plain and ordinary. It was only the sharpness of the mind, and observational skills, which were said to be above normal for matchmakers, and these were skills which could be hidden and downplayed to appear ordinary and therefore more comforting.
Despite all this…
Sorrel was far too correct.
No one felt comfortable around a matchmaker, even back home where it was considered an honor to have someone care enough to see to your happiness in such fashion.
Granted, not all the matches they were required to make were romantic in nature – in his rank especially, many wanted someone with the proper connections and whom they would not want to kill. Whether it went as far as love was immaterial, and often not even really possible. In those cases, Joss was expected to get as close as possible.
Such as right now.
He sighed as he passed another mirror, then realized what he'd done and gave himself a sharp, mental slap.
Perhaps it was simply being in a foreign nation that was causing him to falter. His task was difficult enough in a friendly environment, where he had to give bad news as often as good. Not everyone liked the outcome of his analyses, and some sought him out simply to have proof that a match was a bad one.
Well, no matter. He was not even a full day in and he had stricken one candidate from the list. If he had added one, well, that could be a good sign. It meant the foreign environment was not causing his abilities to falter, at least.
Reaching the main hallway he'd been seeking, he flagged down a servant and got directions to where he could find the Queen.
*~*~*
He forced himself not to hover in the doorway. Lingering would only prolong the inevitable, and it was not as though he had not been to countless parties before – and for this very reason. No reason it should not be business and usual.
Certainly no reason to feel anxious.
Then again, he was not accustomed to being the focus of so many stares.
Did he look so strange? No one knew why he was here – but he supposed being simply a 'guest' of the Queen was more than enough to warrant staring.
Making his way across the room, smiling politely when someone managed to catch his eyes, he at least reached Queen Marianna. "Majesty," he greeted, accepting the hand she held out. "You are as resplendent as always. Thank you for permitting my attendance, this evening."
"La, dearest," Marianna replied, pulling him forward to kiss his cheek. "Why would I not see that a friend is invited to this small fete? It is nothing."
Joss barely kept back a snort at the idea of a crowd of at least five hundred being described as a 'small fete'.
"Come, sit with me," Marianna commanded. "Michael—"
"Going, my Queen," Michael replied with a laugh, touching her shoulder briefly in a gesture that seemed to be of affection. "Have you a preference in beverage, Matchmaker?" he asked.
"No," Joss replied.
Michael nodded. "Then I will bring you a glass of our local wine, everyone loves it." Then he was gone, leaving Joss alone with Marianna.
"I will not pester you," Marianna said, waving a delicate fan back and forth, high enough that anyone who might be watching would not even be able to read her lips. "I want to, but I will not."
Joss smiled briefly. "Well, I can tell you that my initial analysis strikes the Marquis from the list."
Marianna gave an unladylike snort. "I gave his name for form's sake. Trust me when I say your analysis comes as no surprise. I do not think there is a man or woman alive who could tame that one. Even one of your skill, my darling Matchmaker, could not find a match for him." She gave a pointed look, more of a fond glare, at a figure across the room.
Despite himself, Joss felt something catch in his chest.
Sorrel stood near the far wall, one forearm propped against it, over the head of a short, birdlike woman. Even at a distance, it was impossible to miss the way they were flirting and playing – but Sorrel did it well, and beautifully. He wore a shade of dark gray that held just a hint of shimmer, accented with black lace at throat and cuffs, black breeches, with diamonds sparkling here and there in the profusion of candlelight.
"You'll only get burned," Marianna murmured gently.
Joss jerked, startled. "What?"
She looked at him, a too-knowing look in her eyes. "He's an open flame, Matchmaker. Beautiful, but he burns everything that touches him."
"I am old enough to know flames are to be admired, but not touched, Majesty," Joss said with a careless shrug. "Anyway, I am a matchmaker – your matchmaker. That eliminates me from any manner of dalliance."
Marianna smiled at him, and said nothing further.
Joss did not look across the room again, but focused on Marianna as he should have all along. "Do you ever dance with any of your friends, Majesty? Would it be out of place if you were to do so?"
"No," Marianna replied. "I often dance with them -- only them, really, minus the odd visitor here or there who requires a bit of special attention."
"Then, if it pleases you," Joss said, "dance with each of them."
Marianna nodded, and snapped her fan shut. "Even Sorrel?"
"For form's sake," Joss agreed.
"Then he shall be first," Marianna said. Standing up, she stood for a moment, then lifted the fan and motioned imperiously.
Sorrel was even more stunning up close, the cool of his clothes and eyes drawing the fire from his hair.
He smiled a slow, burning smile. "Majesty, Matchmaker. Am I being summoned to present myself for inspection? Do I pass muster, Matchmaker?"
Joss smiled blandly, and completely ignored the jibe. "Good evening, my lord."
Sorrel lifted an elegant brow at the subtle return jibe, but was prevented from carrying the battle of insults further by Marianna.
"Dance with me," she commanded, poking him in the chest with her fan. "Your little bit of lace will wait."
"If not, there is always another bit of lace," Sorrel said with a careless motion, and held out his hand. "I would much rather dance with you, my Queen, even if its to put myself on the auction block."
"Pah!" Marianna said as she took his hand. "I would love to see what would actually happen were I to do such a thing. I guess it would depend on the nature of the auction. A tumble, plenty of bids. Eternal bliss?"
Sorrel laughed. "I would not bid on that, certainly. Come."
They were gone a moment later, and just a moment later Michael appeared with drinks in hand. He looked at the dance floor, and shook his head in amusement. "People used to wonder, Matchmaker, why she never married him. They seem a perfect match, in many eyes."
Joss said nothing, but his opinion must have shown on his face, for Michael laughed and handed him a glass of jewel red wine. "Here, this is very good stuff. Even Sorrel cannot pierce the pleasantness this creates."
"Thank you," Joss said with a smile.
"Oh, there are Summers and Banks."
Immediately Joss followed the direction of his gaze, though he tried not to be obvious in his watching.
They both cut fine figures – Eustace in a dark jewel green tones, accented by cream and gold. He grinned and greeted various men and women as they made their way through the ballroom, turning occasionally to say something in Lyle's ear.
Lyle, older and dignified, dressed in basic black. He smiled whenever Eustace spoke to him, and only greeted a few men here and there, one woman who looked to be at least fifty or so years in age.
A couple of minutes later they joined Joss and Michael on the dais.
"Where is Boothby?" Michael asked. "I thought he would be here to harangue Grosser to death over the new bill. He is going to miss a beautiful chance at haranguing."
The other men laughed, then Eustace spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "He has run off again; I saw him riding away only an hour ago. Back home, no reason given."
"Hmm," Michael murmured. "Are you positive it is unethical to have him followed?"
Lyle raised his eyes to the heavens. "Sorrel was the one to suggest the idea, should that not be answer enough?"
"True," Michael said, and they all shared amused shakes of the head.
Then Lyle turned to Joss. "Matchmaker," he said politely, if with no real warmth. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"It is hard not to enjoy oneself in such civilized company," Joss replied.
Eustace gave a reluctant laugh. "Oh, well done." He raised his glass in toast. "The Matchmaker has a bit of a bite to him."
Joss smiled politely and raised his own glass. "I am not your enemy, you know."
"You are putting at least one of us upon a chopping block we do not desire," Eustace replied. "It is hard to accept that will anything past civility. Especially when she's got you being so deucedly mysterious about it."
Michael smiled. "Perhaps she's hoping to put a leash on Sorrel."
Eustace and Lyle burst into laughter.
"Now that I would like to see!" Lyle declared. He slid a look to Joss. "Is that why you are here, Matchmaker? No, you can't tell me, and I wouldn’t' want to have my hopes dashed anyway. Ah, now that would explain why he was particularly irate this morning. He must feel the noose tightening."
Joss glanced at the dance floor, where he could see Sorrel leading Marianna back to their little group.
"Ah, Eustace," Marianna said cheerfully. "You will come and dance with me next. We always do splendidly at this one."
"Everything you do is splendid," Eustace promptly replied, and handed his champagne flute to Lyle, then held out his arm for Marianna to take.
Joss watched them go, sipping his wine and listening as Michael spoke idly with Sorrel, but his eyes were on all of them, as best he could follow – and he had followed larger numbers than this.
Michael and Lyle were more interested in watching the dancers, though he could not tell who each of them was watching.
He had a guess, where Michael was concerned…but Lyle he was not yet certain. His one serious lover had been male, but that meant nothing.
A few minutes later, Marianna and Eustace returned, and Lyle was commanded to dance in his turn. Joss watched carefully as they walked away.
"Do you dance?" Sorrel's voice washed over him, jarring him from his thoughts.
Joss hid his start by taking another sip of wine. "Yes," he said, "I do."
Sorrel gave one of his wicked smirks, and held out a hand. "Then dance, Matchmaker. The Queen does not spend her time on dull men, and if you do not dance, you will appear most dull indeed. We cannot have you making her look bad."
There was, unfortunately, no tidy way out of that. Sorrel had trapped him rather neatly.
"I did not think I was your preferred type of dance partner," he said as he accepted the black-gloved hand held out to him.
Sorrel barred his teeth in a challenging smile. "I have no one type."
"Easy come, easy go?" Joss asked coolly as they left the group and headed toward the dance floor.
Really, he should be more circumspect, but Sorrel was off his list and he was not going to let Sorrel push him around.
Sorrel merely laughed. "That is not a type, Matchmaker. That is a failing." He lifted their joined hands high in the beginning position. "I hope you dance well, but I suppose I should have asked that sooner."
"Yes, you should have," Joss replied, and did not bother to say that he danced very well indeed.
The first turn drew him close, back not quite touching Sorrel's chest, the proper distance just barely obeyed, and he made a mental note to adjust his profile on Sorrel to Definitely willing to use seduction to get his way.
Joss was no fool, he knew when he was being taunted and provoked.
He caught a hint of civet and orange blossom before the dance forced them apart, the scent lodging in his nostrils, and he noticed it again when they were brought close again.
"So how does one become a matchmaker?" Sorrel asked, as they were put back to chest again, his hand curling briefly around Joss' hip in far too intimate a gesture.
Ignoring that, Joss focused on the question. "The same way one becomes anything."
"Now, there are many a reason one takes up his occupation," Sorrel countered. "Aptitude, desperation, right of birth…" Joss turned, facing him again, and Sorrel moved so they were barely a breath apart, way beyond the bounds of propriety. "Thrust into it."
Joss stepped to the right in the next step, head turned away. "Aptitude, my lord."
"Mmm," Sorrel murmured in acknowledgement. "Aptitude for what?" His hand tightened on Joss', sudden and painful.
Joss refused to wince.
"For dictating with whom a person should fall in love? With whom he should spend his life? I do not see what grants you the right to dictate the intimacies of another's life."
"It is not my duty or my right to tell a person whom he loves, or should love," Joss replied, pausing as the dance steps moved them apart, resuming the moment they drew together again. "It is my duty, or one of them, to tell a person where love might be found. I do not dictate – I do my best to provide the best options."
The hand on his was still too tight; his hand would ache tomorrow. Still, he gave no indication of the pain, refusing to give in even that small amount. "You have never seen me work, my lord, nor the results. Should you not at least be willing to judge me fairly?"
Sorrell laughed, and abruptly jerked him off the dance floor, out into the hallway, down the corridor and up a short flight of stairs.
When they emerged, Joss saw they were on the little balcony where normally the musicians would be. Her Majesty, for whatever reason, had them on the floor itself.
"Do you see the woman in ice blue?"
Joss looked where he indicated and then nodded.
"The man in hunter green?"
Again, Joss nodded.
"Six months ago they finally concluded a two year courtship that was the talk of the palace. Sweet, earnest, devoted, utterly charming when they spoke their vows of devotion and love and eternity. Two months after their marriage, she was bedding a visiting foreign minister and he let me seduce him in the garden." He gave a cold smile. "Not very talented, I can see why she ran to the minister."
Before Joss could reply, he pointed out another, two men – one in scarlet, one in simple black. "Betrothed, constantly declaring they love one another. A beautiful pair, everyone says. I had the one in scarlet over his desk just last week, at his request. Were I to approach the other…" He lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug.
He pointed out several couples, all of them 'in love' and at least one of every pair had been unfaithful, though it was not with Sorrel they always broke vows – though it was with him most frequently.
"Poor matches," Joss said when at last he fell silent, eying the various couples, settling finally on the men in red and black. "One should never judge at a glance, but sometimes a glance can say a thousand things or more."
Sorrel sneered. "Oh?"
"Yes." He said, pointing to the two men. "Every time they are left alone together, conversation lapses. If two people cannot talk with one another, they should not join in a lifelong commitment. There could be other reasons they do not speak, of course, which is the danger of trusting a glance, but still. That is a flaw to be noted, and further explored."
Sorrel, surprisingly, said nothing, but just as Joss turned to look at him, the Queen caught his eye.
She had returned to her seat, and was speaking with Lyle, Eustace, and Michael.
Why had she not danced with Michael?
Frowning, forcibly reminded that had a job to do, and that job did not include confounding conversations with Sorrel, he turned away to head back to the ballroom proper.
"Leaving so soon?" Sorrel drawled.
"You may not believe in love," Joss replied, "but it is my job to see people find it, so that those things you pointed out do not occur. Which means that at present, I have more important and interesting things to do than remain here with you." He immediately wished he'd curbed the impulse to get in that last little dig.
Sorrel laughed, voice dripping arrogant amusement as he replied, "Now, I may not be more important than her Majesty, but I am infinitely more interesting than matchmaking."
"Are you?" Joss asked. "You have just exposed your contempt for the promiscuity of others, my lord. Why should I find interesting in you what is despicable in others? Thank you for the dance. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
He left before Sorrel could get another word in, and permitted himself a moment of silent gloating for having achieved the last word this round.
Then he wondered sourly why he was stooping so low as to engage in Sorrel's petty games.
Returning to the ballroom, he swiftly rejoined the Queen and the others.
"Sorrel stole you away, we saw," Lyle said, in the tone of a scholar examining a dry text he has read a thousand times before. "I would have thought a matchmaker to be made of sterner stuff."
Joss shrugged. "Nothing transpired."
They looked at him in patent disbelief.
"Ignoring the fact we were in plain view upon the balcony," Joss said, motioning to the balcony, which was now vacant, "we were gone not more than ten minutes. Not even the estimable Marquis is that talented, surely."
Laughter erupted amongst the small group, and Marianna rolled her eyes.
He let them converse and laugh and idle after that, content to observe, offering a comment of his own only just often enough not to appear rude.
The men eventually wandered into a little group of their own, avidly discussing some recent hunting trip and the disaster which had struck it, leaving Marianna briefly alone.
Joss seized the chance, and moved to speak privately with her. "Majesty, might I ask a question?"
She looked at him in amusement, fanning herself in an attempt to cool off in the heat of the ballroom. "It is your job to ask questions, Matchmaker. By all means."
"Why did you not dance with Michael?"
"Michael?" Marianna repeated, and glanced at the man in question, whose back was currently turned. "I used to ask him, and command, but he always refused. Michael is very much about rules and place, which only makes sense, being a mere Baron yet finding a place amongst the greater lords. Being my assistant does not make it any easier to swim infested waters." She shrugged. "It would not be proper, typically speaking, for the Queen to dance with whom most see as a glorified secretary. So he will not, despite repeated requests."
Interesting. That did further explain the way he always said 'Queen' and 'Majesty' and referred to the others by their surnames, when they all used first names – even calling the Queen 'Mari.'
"So why did Sorrel drag you away to the balcony?" Marianna asked. "I saw you up there; he had a look up on his face which always spells trouble. You are getting under his skin, Matchmaker."
Joss shrugged. "If that means that I anger him, then most certainly. He disapproves of me. Is it possible he knows what I am really about?"
"If anyone were likely to figure it out," Marianna replied, still vigorously fanning herself, "it would be he or Michael. Should they deduce, that would not endear you to them." She slid him an amused look. "Anger, however, is not what I meant. When I said you got under his skin, I meant precisely that. The anger is merely a reaction to it, I believe." She winked at him. "He should look up the laws; I am astonished he has not."
Joss smiled briefly, amused despite himself. "He will think of it, I do not doubt it."
"Yes," Marianna murmured, eyes darting around the ballroom. "Then my goose will be cooked. Roasted to a cinder, likely."
Their conversation faded as the men rejoined them.
"Michael," Marianna said, standing and snapping her fan shut. "I believe I have had enough this evening. Escort me to my room, if you please."
"Of course, Majesty," Michael, promptly stepping forward and offering his arm.
They let a moment later, and Joss watched them go, making still more mental notes.
"So how much information have you collected this evening, Matchmaker?" Lyle asked with relative congeniality.
Joss smiled, and spread his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "You are all splendid dancers, this ballroom is insufferably hot, and the good Marquis does not like me one bit. Neither do you, at that, but you are still being civilized."
They laughed, and Eustace clapped him on the shoulder. "You are not entirely detestable, Matchmaker," he said with a grin. "If only because Sorrel seems to on the war path. He must really feel that noose tightening."
Lyle nodded. "Yes. Think how different this place would be without him seducing everything remotely human."
His eyes flicked to Eustace for a moment, a shadow passing briefly over his face.
Joss noted it with interest.
That was jealousy, plain as day.
But why?
It would bear further investigation, and he had the sudden thought this group was going to cause him a great many headaches.
He lingered a little longer, until Eustace and Lyle at last took their leave, watching them depart.
Then he made his way to his office, and stripped off his coat before settling behind his desk and pulling out the portfolios. He wrote down his observations and thoughts for each person, then read through everything again. Adding a few more notations, changing some already written, he at last returned them to the drawer and locked it.
Sighing softly, he retrieved his coat and wended his way through the palace to his bedroom.
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:02 am (UTC)With a pitchfork in hand. XD
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:09 am (UTC)Heh. I am rather liking this lots of boys to torture thing.
Why am I surrounded by slave drivers?!?!
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:07 am (UTC)Joss is delightful! I only worry for his wee heart if Sorrel is as irascible and unfaithful as you have so far led us to believe. D:
Poor Michael. I really like that we're getting such a clear picture of his character through third parties. I think every person in this story should fall in love. I have spoken.
MOAR OM NOM NOM NOM
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Date: 2008-08-20 04:20 am (UTC)Everyone simply must have sex at the end of all this, subtly implied or explicitly or not. XD
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From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:18 am (UTC)Sekret plots and fetes and so on make very happy readers.
*wants to shove Sorrel and Joss together in a dark room for an extended period of time*
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:25 am (UTC)I did notice a couple of things, though. May I comment?
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:28 am (UTC)You can if you want? But this hasn't undergone editing yet, and won't until I'm done, so it's likely stuff that will change anyway?
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:34 am (UTC)as for this whole queen marriage thing? at least, that's what i suspected up until you threw in the LAW thing. geez, why don't you mess with my head some more?
and YAY e book. although when can we expect it? and where?
thankee!
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:41 am (UTC)/delurk
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Date: 2008-08-20 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:57 am (UTC)I love this time period you write in. You always catch the setting and people perfectly.
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Date: 2008-08-20 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:04 am (UTC)That's certainly an image I will enjoy picturing the rest of the night. Make a note, dear, I'll write you smut for this story once I'm done with the blasted thing.
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From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:48 am (UTC)i think something is going on between Eus and Lyle (but then that's what i thought when i read their descriptions -_-;;) Seem somewhat opposite or is it incomplete without the other... huh
i adore that Joss is giving Sorrel a run for his money ^_^
hmmmmm, wonder if Boothby is meeting a secret lover?
and after rereading i gotta wonder if sorrel has ever tried to seduce anyone within the inner circle?
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Date: 2008-08-20 04:23 am (UTC)Aside, though: I've been rereading your stories, and noticed a few things you might want to fix. These are general style guidelines, and it's not intended as criticism of you; it's a job for people like me to point these out and get them fixed for you. (Did I mention I'm a technical writer? Did I mention I'd love to beta for you?)
Again, not trying to criticize your writing, just trying to point out some ways things could be better. Really, I wouldn't have bought all your stuff unless I liked it. :P
1. Paragraphs are often broken into single sentences. This is sometimes acceptable for online writing, but it really makes reading difficult in an environment (ebook, print) where margins are less elastic, and it's not necessary when your audience is there to read your writing. The use of short, easily digestible chunks is something limited (and properly so) to things like TV and online news sites that are trying to keep your attention. Since we're all captives to your storytelling, you can draw things out for more than two or three sentences when it's appropriate.
2. Lots of short sentences. See explanation for #1.
3. Typography: Curly quotes are awesome for readability, even if they do require more editorial work (or a more context-aware authoring tool.)
4. Typography: Em dashes (—) should not have adjacent spaces, and hyphens are never a good substitute for a real em dash.
5. Inconsistent use of punctuation for dialogue interspersed with character actions. Example:
"After all the trouble you've caused," Dieter
folded his arms across his chest. "It's good
to know you're worth a ransom."
The phrasing there results in a sentence fragment. There are any number of ways to fix this particular one, but these are fairly numerous.
6. Blank pages are occasionally acceptable in a book (if one is determined to have sections or parts start on a facing page with artwork, for example) but not in a PDF, and not for mere chapters. Again, not to be mean, but this is widely regarded as artificial page padding and is not a good practice.
7. Grammar: I see em dashes and semicolons, but very few colons (none in Prisoner or Regency, one in Sandstorm, two in Magic Mischief, etc.). You're denying yourself a full third of your punctuation arsenal for conjunctions, and it results in a few awkward sentences where the colon is a more appropriate choice.
8. Typography: Italics are often extended past a specific word to neighboring punctuation (ex: Sahayl quirked a brow. "Have you not heard, Cobra Sheik?") This shouldn't happen unless the entire sentence is italicized, or the punctuation is part of the italicized phrase.
9. Paragraphs starting with an artistic character or word (e.g. Always There, first word of each chapter) should be left-aligned and the word treated as a "drop cap" to avoid unsightly leading (line spacing) problems.
The OCD part of me is itching to send back marked-up PDFs of your stories so that future readers could enjoy the fixes. Is this something you'd find useful? (I can also fix a lot of the PDF problems and add proper bookmarks for chapters, if you'd like...)
--medeii
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Date: 2008-08-20 10:17 am (UTC)My short sentences are a stylistic thing. I do them because I want to, and like to, so it's not something that's likely to change any time soon.
Most of it, honestly, I don't do. One of my betas does a lot of formatting, though I have to do it where she's not able. I'm sorry it's makes everything less pleasant to read.
The blank pages weren't anything but me doing what someone told me I was supposed to do. I wasn't padding anything.
I don't use curly quotes b/c ninety nine point nine of the submission requirements for places demand straight quotes.
Dashes elude me. I don't intentionally put spaces anywhere. Word often 'fixes' all that and I just let it be, figuring anything I did would be worse.
I don't think I've ever noticed a colon used in a fictional story. The only beta on the face of the planet I trust implicitly is Sammie, and if she thought a colon should be used, she would have mentioend it. She did not, so I'm content with the way things stand on that count.
I certainly do appreciate the offer of beta'ing now that I'm a bit more awake, but some of that will never change.
And I certainly don't mind the offer of a beta, if you want to do it. You've made it clear I need one on a more technical front.
(no subject)
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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2008-08-21 07:27 am (UTC) - Expand(no subject)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2008-08-21 07:57 am (UTC) - Expandno subject
Date: 2008-08-20 05:24 am (UTC)OH, JOSS. YOUR WOOBINESS. THERE ARE NO WORDS.
Can I just say I'm shipping Michael/Mari in a hardcore way right now? I wonder if the respectful manner of address will eventually follow them into the bedroom xD
LYLE, YOUR PINING IS MUCH FUN.
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Date: 2008-08-20 06:22 am (UTC)*Is very curious why Sorrel seduces people if he feels contempt toward them, and what Lyle is jealous about*
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Date: 2008-08-20 07:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 08:02 am (UTC)I really like this. I've said this about almost all your stories, but I don't know. I've just always loved your plots because they are so damn awesome. And I love how these have all these other little stories about the other characters going on in the background, and how they are all inevitably tied together.
it makes me happy.
I love Joss and how he is so controlled and strives to help others find the love he thinks he won't ever get. I love the little reference to how homely he looks, and he doesn't realise it hurts him more than he cares to think about. I like how you've justified Sorrel, because now I know he is just another disappointed romantic. And the infidelity... it's something I've always been touchy about because loyalty means a lot to me, in fiction and in real life.
I love how Sorrel is a little broken, like old china that has been put together with superglue and painted over, and I like how Joss isn't as put together as it seems. Well, at least that's they way they seem to me.
<333333333333333
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Date: 2008-08-20 10:17 am (UTC)And that rake, Sorrel deserves to have Joss hand him his ass. He needs his own match in the sense that someone calls his bullshit precisely what it is and to his face. I can't wait to see the moment Joss shines; his moment when he's at something he enjoys, that makes him more human and beautiful... and for Sorrel to witness it!
Matching, indeed. Lovely story and I can't wait to see more.
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Date: 2008-08-20 11:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 12:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 03:05 pm (UTC)Loving the, my dear! I would probably have had more to say if I'd been awake enough to type last night. Oh, laptop, you are sometimes too convenient for my own good...
*snugs*
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Date: 2008-08-20 04:01 pm (UTC)And as for Lyle and Eustace...I'm excited to see more of them, though I do agree with Joss that they will probably gain him several headaches.
Can't wait for more, and yay for this becoming an ebook!