The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(22)
Her father chuckled as Swansea and two footmen came in to clear their bowls and bring in the next dish. He dabbed at his mouth to ensure there was no trace of soup in his beard.
Xavier had a fantastic beard. Many Kaolin men wore theirs long and artfully braided or bushy and pruned into various shapes, but not Xavier. His was sleek and close-cropped but with the most magnificent patterns carved along his cheekbones and under his jawline, swirls and points crafted with the utmost precision. There were two large dips that rose to a point at the center of his lower lip, and he stroked that spot often, usually when buying time to come up with a response or when savoring a particular moment before speaking. This was certainly the latter instance.
“Swansea.” Xavier spoke no louder than his usual tone, but there was a clear undercurrent of command.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring the portfolio in from my study.”
“Right away, sir.”
Once he was gone, Xavier leaned forward, pressing his hands together so that his fingertips formed a steeple. “Allow me to ask you ladies a question,” he said with a mischievous smile. It was unnerving how charming he could be when he wished. “Have you enjoyed the McLellan productions you’ve seen?”
“Oh yes,” Marianne gushed. “I saw The Wayward Woman of Weltshire Street last month, and it was to die for. And The Lizard and the Frog has been running in Lady’s Point for quite some time now. That man with the flippers who plays the frog is just marvelous!”
Agnes clenched her jaw. That man was named Jeremy. He’d worked in one of Xavier’s freak shows in Old Port until the audiences had gotten bored and Xavier moved the production to the west coast. He was shy, and kind, and he used to tell Agnes the funniest jokes when she was younger, before she understood that her father didn’t want her talking to “the grotesques,” as some of the staff had called them.
“So it would disappoint you to hear that I am currently working on my final show before leaving the theater scene for good?”
Elizabeth gasped, and Marianne cried, “No!” but Xavier’s children simply stared at him, dumbfounded. His final show? Agnes took some comfort in the fact that this appeared to be news to Leo, too.
“But . . . The Great Picando made over fifty thousand krogers in its first week,” Leo said, as if he’d just memorized the list of facts and figures.
“Fifty thousand is nothing to boast about, Leo,” Xavier said, the hint of a chill in his voice. “Picando did not have the run I expected it to. There are far too many anti-Talman plays glutting the theaters of Old Port. No, it is time for a change in direction.”
Swansea glided in at that moment and handed Xavier a leather portfolio.
“I saw the old advertisements for this Picando at the Seaport when I arrived,” Kiernan said. “I am sorry to have missed it.”
Agnes wondered how a Pelagan would feel about a play that essentially called his entire religion heretical and amoral. And she was further confused when the main course was served, a classic Pelagan dish from the main island of Cairan—grilled tuna over a bed of sharp greens, drizzled with garlic and olive oil. Agnes couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten fish in this house—her father preferred red meat.
Kiernan looked delighted by the food and picked up his fork before adding, “Though perhaps I should finish my conversion to Solitism first.”
“You’re converting?” Agnes asked, surprised. Not that there weren’t Pelagan converts in Kaolin, but they were rare.
“Indeed I am,” Kiernan said. “It seemed only fitting to adopt the religion of my new home.”
“Well done to you, sir,” Leo said, raising his glass of champagne and taking a long drink.
“How wonderful,” Elizabeth added.
“Do you plan to live here long?” Agnes asked.
“For the rest of my life, as long as that may be.”
“So you’ll never return to Pelago?”
“No,” he said to her firmly. “I will not.”
“And in the meantime, we will be making great strides together,” Xavier interrupted. Kiernan cast him a nervous glance. “Do not fear, Ezra, I will not reveal all our secrets tonight.” He ran his fingers down the length of the portfolio and studied the two girls sitting opposite Agnes. “Now, if I share this with you, will you ladies promise to keep it a secret?”
Marianne and Elizabeth nodded so eagerly, Agnes knew they would be bursting at the seams to tell anyone and everyone they could as soon as they left the brownstone.
And suddenly she realized why her father had invited these two girls, girls who were high-society gossips and moved in all the right circles.
He wanted them to blab. It was genius, really—free advertising from the perfect sources. Kaolin might be a more conservative country than Pelago, but it didn’t matter where you lived: beautiful women sold tickets. Add into the mix that this would be the final McLellan production . . . well, Old Port would go nuts over that news alone. And it would probably spike ticket sales for Xavier’s other shows in cities across Kaolin.
Agnes felt the heat of embarrassment on the back of her neck. Of course her father hadn’t wanted Elizabeth here because she was kind to Agnes. What a stupid thing to think. The only nice thing her father had ever done for his daughter was build her the lab in her walk-in closet. That should be enough.