The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,24

sure, but Leo could not grow a beard, and it caused him everlasting shame. A few sparse whiskers would sprout on his upper lip but nothing more. A Kaolin man’s beard was his pride—Xavier McLellan’s was practically a work of art.

Leo turned away from his reflection and held out his wrists so Janderson could do his cuff links.

“No, not tonight,” he said, when the man reached for his favorites, light blue encircled with diamonds. “Bring the Solit triangles.”

He was impressed that Janderson had chosen the blue, as they were what Leo would have wanted to wear otherwise. He didn’t say anything, though—he’d never once heard his father praise a maid or a servant. Not even Swansea, the old butler who had been around since the dawn of time, received a kind word. His father was meticulous and he maintained respect at all cost. Leo would follow his example.

Xavier would like that he wore the Solit cuff links. The symbol, a triangle with its apex crossed by a crescent to represent the light the One True God shed on the people of Kaolin, shone as golden as the sun and was impossible to miss. Leo felt it declared: I am righteous. I belong.

“How do I look?” he asked Janderson.

“Very good, sir,” the young man replied. “Your father will be pleased.”

Leo thought perhaps he should give some sort of order before he left. Xavier was always giving orders as he left a room. “Do clean up that mess before I’m back,” he said, waving a hand in the direction of the papers scattered across his desk. He left without waiting for a response.

Agnes was already in the parlor when Leo arrived.

True to form, she was wearing some hideously ancient thing; a dull-colored, high-collared dress with ruffles poking out of the sleeves. And it was maroon. In August! Leo honestly had no idea how they were related.

Agnes was standing between two attractive women in their early twenties, a glass of champagne clutched in one hand and an unhappy expression on her face. Leo didn’t recognize one of the women, but the other was Elizabeth Conway, his best friend Robert’s sister. The Conways had built most of the railroads in Kaolin and had acquired a massive fortune over the years. Leo thought it highly unlikely that Elizabeth would be interested in marrying a Pelagan, though maybe his father had invited her as a show of strength, to prove to this man that he had important friends.

To be honest, Leo was surprised Elizabeth was still eligible. She was far too attractive and far too rich.

Agnes caught sight of him and gave him a grimace that he thought might have been intended as a smile. His sister hated social gatherings. And for good reason: she was terribly awkward. Elizabeth turned and her face lit up.

“Leo!” she exclaimed. “Why, don’t you look handsome.” She glided over to kiss him on the cheek. Her jasmine scent clung to him when she pulled away. Her dress was pale pink with capped sleeves and a pretty bow on one shoulder. It fell to the floor in tiers of taffeta, and the color offset her dark brown skin. The front part of her thick black hair was pinned in elaborate curls, the back hanging loose around her shoulders in heavy spirals. “You must meet my friend Marianne. She’s visiting all the way from Lady’s Point.”

“How do you do?” Leo said politely, taking Marianne’s hand and kissing it.

She was not quite as pretty as Elizabeth, but still a good deal more fashionable than Agnes. Her dress was dark blue chiffon with golden roses set at intervals on the skirt, draping the fabric in pleasing curves, and her bodice was encrusted with tiny sapphires. Her corset was laced quite snugly, her breasts pushing up out of the square neckline. West coast girls weren’t quite as modest as east coast ones. Leo’s pants suddenly felt quite tight.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. McLellan,” she said.

“Please, call me Leo.”

“I was just asking Agnes about this new project your father has been working on, but she doesn’t seem to know a thing about it!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Perhaps you could shed some light on the matter.”

“Well, you know Father,” he said. “He keeps his cards close to his chest.” His eyes strayed to Marianne’s cleavage, and he had to remind himself that she was not here for him.

Girls never seemed to be here for him. Not the highest society ones, anyway. The daughters of local merchants or