Impractical Read online

  Kirian made a face. "I would love to know the details that go unsaid and how many of them keep extra bits of fluff on the side." He shrugged irritably, but his eyes strayed back to the little group. "What about the blond fellow? The reddish-blond, I mean."

  Terrell glanced back the group and picked out the man he meant. "Lord Evelyn Thiering? Well, he's the fourth son of the Duke of Pennington; I would imagine he was betrothed shortly after birth." He frowned in thought. "Though as to that, there was some rumor of scandal some years back. Hm…" He slid Kirian a thoughtful, teasing look. "Why? Having impractical thoughts, Kir? Going to whisk the Duke's son off to your seaside cottage, after defending his honor in a dashing duel?"

  "Oh, stuff it," Kirian said, rolling his eyes. "No—I just—he writes me letters. Well, not me me, but you know—" He flapped hand. "Deep, dark secret me. Only I didn't know who he was until a couple of days ago and I tried to introduce myself—just as me, not you know—but he's so starchy and cold, even worse than you…oh, to hell with it."

  Though he was curious and dying to tease, Terrell knew when to leave well enough alone. It was completely ridiculous how flustered Kirian got by his fame and beyond absurd that he kept his identity secret when revealing it would make his life so much easier in so many ways. That was Kirian, though.

  Instead of teasing, Terrell moved the conversation to more mundane matters—school, professors, the pending holidays—until Kirian at last seemed less a storm and more like his usual windy self. By that point, the club dining room was practically deserted. "Shall we to our rooms, then?" Terrell suggested, beginning to pack up all of the books and papers that had been neatly set aside before dinner.

  "I hope I have not kept you too long from you studies," Kirian said.

  "Nothing I cannot make up easily tonight," Terrell replied with a smile. They bundled into their coats and stepped out into the foggy night, heading back up the steep road to the school at the top of the hill. In the dark and moonlight with fog curling all about, it was easy to see how the school had gained its foreboding reputation. "I keep my nights free for a reason."

  "Practical to a fault," Kirian sighed with fondness. "I await the day, my friend, when someone teaches you to be impractical."

  Terrell snorted. "That will be the day someone teaches you to hold your temper."

  "That will never happen," Kirian replied loftily.

  "Agreed," Terrell laughed, opening the gate. He bowed playfully for Kirian to precede him through it, back onto school grounds and across the field to the apartments they called home.

  Their apartments were a simple enough affair—a small sitting room with their bedrooms off to either side, and a little kitchen and dining area off the back. He could easily afford better and Kirian could afford even better than that, but they were both content with what they had.

  Saying their good nights, they split off to their separate rooms. Terrell set his bag down by his desk, and then got a fire going in the little fireplace. Once the room had begun to warm up, he stripped out of all but his breeches, stockings, and shirt. Setting the rest of his clothes neatly aside for washing later, he fetched his bag again and began to remove all that he needed to work on that night.

  He paused as his fingers closed over something decidedly not a book or piece of paper. Extracting the velvet box, he flipped it open and regarded the contents thoughtfully. He glanced at the amethyst ring on his finger, admiring the quality of gold and jewel, recalling his name inscribed on the inside. It made him wonder about the actual betrothal and wedding rings, and if they had already been picked out. Not that it mattered, since it would make sense if everything had already been attended, but he did wonder. If his intended had sent him gifts, it would only be proper to send a gift in return. But what? Edlin had the advantage over him, to be sure. Edlin knew plenty about him, while Terrell knew practically nothing about Edlin.

  Frowning thoughtfully, he got up and paced the room, seeking inspiration. When he turned up nothing, he abandoned his bedroom in favor of the sitting room. Oh, he was terrible at thinking up gifts; and for someone he'd neither met nor even seen, that did not help one bit.

  He paused at window, frowning at the scenery beyond, lost in thought. Speaking of neither met nor seen, he hoped his intended was not disappointed when they did at last meet. Looks were an important matter for a businessman, after all. Terrell's nutty-brown hair was straight and unremarkable, kept to a practical length, while his eyes were a pale blue that hinted at lavender, a color that ran in his father's line. He really needed to get around to buying new spectacles, for his were beginning to look more than a little ragged. He was handsome enough, he supposed, but nothing compared to Kirian, who did not seem to realize that his appearance drew as much trouble as his temper. His wavy gold hair, soft brown eyes, and lithe build served to make him beautiful, rather than merely handsome.

  What of Terrell's intended? He knew of Edlin's family of course, by name and reputation. He had the unexplained impression that they were dark-featured, but he did not know for certain, which made it difficult to select jewels or other such things which might suit. He did not know Edlin's likes or dislikes.

  Terrell turned from the mirror at the sound of a door clicking open, to see Kirian stepping from his bedroom. He was in a like state of casual disarray, dangling a glass of whiskey from his fingers with his normally bound hair loose and disheveled. He paused when he saw Terrell, confusion on his face. "I thought you'd be buried in your essays by now. Something wrong?"

  Terrell shrugged. "Not really. I was only trying to think of a suitable gift in return for the jewelry, but am turning up blank."

  "Ah," Kirian said, and then smirked. "You cannot think of anything practical and fitting because he's a stranger."

  "I simply have not thought of it yet," Terrell replied stiffly.

  Kirian grinned and set his drink down with a clink on the low table in front of the sofa, before vanishing back into his room. He reappeared a few minutes later, arms full of his writing and drawing implements, making Terrell stare at him in surprise. "Kir, whatever are you about?"

  "I've one here," Kirian said absently. "Nearly finished; it's perfect for this sort of thing. He can hang it up in his office or whatever and brag about it loads. It will cover all the nonsense you go on about—shows you have influence, good connections, plenty of private income, so on and so forth. That's what you'd call practical, right?"

  "Yes…" Terrell said slowly. "But, Kirian, you don't have to—you do not even like him or that I'm getting married at all."

  Kirian did not immediately reply, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he focused on his drawing. Finally he paused long enough to flap a hand. "Neither here nor there, Ter." Kirian looked up briefly to smile, the hesitant, shy smile that Terrell wished more people saw. Kirian deserved to have more people see him smile that way. "I won't call him out until he does something to deserve it, and it won't help anything to cause you more problems. If you want a good, and gods above practical gift, then this will do." He picked up his whiskey and tossed back the contents, then returned to his work.

  Bemused, never quite certain what to say or do when Kirian got this way, Terrell sat down in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa Kirian and his supplies had overtaken, and waited quietly.

  It was an hour or so later when Kirian finally finished. "There," he said with satisfaction. He turned his large sketchbook around to present—

  "That's Fivecoats," Terrell exclaimed, shocked. "You only visited it the one time!"

  Kirian tapped his temple. "Excellent memory, you know that. It was going to be your birthday present, but this works just as well. Unless he turns out to be a bloody bastard, in which case I'll take it back before I put a ball in him."

  Terrell nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the image long enough to thank Kirian properly. He always managed to forget how skilled Kirian was, until he saw his work all over again. The most fascinating thing was that it was not even art for which
Kirian was unwittingly famous—the artwork was secondary to his poetry. One of those very poems…no, a new one, was written in elegant penmanship over the sky above the landscape view of Fivecoats Estate, which had been sketched with nothing but a handful of different colored inks.

  "It's beautiful," Terrell finally said. "Perfect, as always."

  "Perfectly practical," Kirian agreed teasingly, and set it on the table before beginning to clean up his supplies. "We'll get it framed and sent off tomorrow, and if it does not please your man, then you know to break off the engagement immediately."

  Terrell laughed, but nodded. "Thank you, Kir."

  Kirian shrugged the words off as he stood up, only saying, "I think at this rate, we both will have to forego either sleep or breakfast to get all our work done for tomorrow."

  "Speaking of work, isn't your second volume due to the publisher soon?" Terrell asked.

  "Next month," Kirian replied without looking at him as he walked to his room—but his neck and ears were red, and Terrell would have snickered except that was not at all the practical thing to do in light of his gift. "Good night, Ter."

  "Good night," Terrell replied, before entering his room and leaving the drawing on the table so that no harm would come to it.

  Back in his room, he finally settled all of his books and papers and bent to his work, forcing all distractions to the back of his mind until the he was done.

  Two

  Kirian wanted a whiskey. As a matter of fact, he wanted a great deal of it. Honestly, he never went looking for the fights, but he wasn't about to take it lying down when someone cast aspersions upon his parents or upbringing. He loved them, was proud of them and the way they had defied everyone to be happy with each other—and hated that they were dead, leaving him so fucking alone. Well, not entirely alone. He had Terrell…but Terrell had left two days ago to go meet his damned fiancé and from then on out Kirian sensed he was going to be alone more often than not.

  Heaving a sigh, Kirian trudged up the last of the steps into Cartwright Hall, the primary home of all those who followed the path of literature and the like. His face throbbed where it was badly bruised and he was soothed only by the knowledge that Belmont's face probably hurt a great deal more.

  Inside, the halls were quiet. This late in the day, everyone was seeking supper or buried in their late-night studies. Professor Grayson had purposely chosen a time when all of their shouting would go unremarked. He trailed one hand idly along the smooth wood of the walls as he wended his way through the mazelike corridors of Cartwright, thinking longingly of good whiskey and being buried in his poetry or artwork, the only things that made him worth anything.

  No, he corrected with a grimace, they made Frederick Cloud worth something. As no one knew Kirian Leffew was Frederick Cloud, he was still quite worthless. The whole thing gave him a headache, but damned if he'd known everyone would— They were just a bunch of stupid poems and sketches—

  Dismissing the whole matter, because he tended to be happier when not thinking about that particular mess, Kirian finally reached the office he sought. He knocked and after hearing a terse 'get in here', twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was strawberry-blond hair, pulled into a tight, neat braid which lay just between shoulder blades, the red drawn out by a dark blue, velvet afternoon jacket. The head turned slightly, displaying a profile that might have been pretty save for the coldly blank expression, the chilly reserve in eyes that would otherwise have been crystal blue.

  He didn't know why he insisted upon always noting Evelyn Thiering's presence, except that the frigid bastard was nothing like the letters he wrote to Frederick Cloud. Confused, Kirian glanced away from Thiering and toward his advisor—their advisor, he supposed, although he had never realized before that he and Thiering had the same one. "Professor Grayson," he greeted.

  Grayson eyed him critically, taking in the livid bruise and disordered clothing. "Mr. Leffew," he replied, voice dry and almost but not quite amused. "I'm glad you could be bothered to show."

  Kirian ignored that; he was perfectly on time and they both knew it. "I did not start it, and I am tired of being blamed—"

  "Irrelevant," Grayson cut in. "I do not care who started what or why, only that you persist in being involved at all. That temper is going to be your ruin. After this, your uncle and aunt will refuse to pay for your schooling—what will you do without their support? Never mind that you are applying for a place in the Literary Tour. Do you think they will accept someone with your reputation for getting into such nonsense as this?"

  "No, sir," Kirian bit out, wondering why precisely Thiering had to be present for this tongue-lashing. He bit his own tongue against informing Grayson that he had more than enough money to take the tour himself—it was only the prestige of being accepted into the school's program that he sought. That and the fact being attached to the school would get him places and knowledge that being boring old Kirian Leffew would never let him access otherwise.

  "You run too hot, Mr. Leffew," Grayson continued, leaning forward in his creaky chair and bracing his elbows on his neat and tidy desk, shifting his glare to Thiering. "You, Lord Thiering, run too cold. Neither is an admirable trait in men who want something as prestigious as the Literary Tour. Neither of you does anything beyond your studies, although I do concede you do those with impeccable skill and focus. However," he said, raising his voice when Kirian tried to speak, "Lord Thiering, you have a notable family, but are estranged. You have no friends. You live alone. People are intimidated by you, put off by your cold manner. Mr. Leffew, you have precisely one friend and it is only a testament to Mr. Wingard's patience that you are friends. You are also estranged from what little family you possess."

  Though Kirian had plenty to say about the stuffed shirt aunt and uncle who had taken him in and paid for his schooling (because that was the only way they could keep the money inherited from his parents), he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  "You both have scholastic promise, but beyond that, practically nothing. The board is looking for men with more to their lives than scholastics. For one reason or another, neither of you has that—and I think it a pity, for otherwise you both deserve to be accepted." He shifted, bracing his hands with fingers splayed across the desk.

  Kirian had a sudden, ominous feeling.

  "Given you have very little time to make up for all that your fellows have already accomplished, I fear something drastic will have to be done to prove you are both worth the time and trouble." The words should sting—the whole lecture should sting—but Grayson was the only person he knew who said such things without malicious intent. Kirian loathed most of his other teachers, but Grayson…Grayson had given him a chance when everyone else had turned their nose up at a poor, title-less, hot-tempered boy.

  "What, precisely, did you have in mind?" Thiering asked, voice as cool as his expression. Honestly, how did he do it? Even Terrell at his most practical still had warmth to him.

  Grayson looked nothing so much as a smug, lazy cat who had just graciously dealt with the troublesome songbirds in his mistress's golden birdcage. That never boded well. "Marriage would do nicely."

  "What?" Kirian exclaimed, all but shooting up out of his seat. Next to him, Thiering seemed to sink further into his, and Kirian would swear he could feel the temperature in the room drop from all that frigidity.

  "I beg pardon, sir," Thiering said, "but what, precisely, do you mean?"

  Grayson looked at them in amusement. "I mean, put hot and cold together and perhaps an even temperature can be obtained."

  "This isn't cooking," Kirian snarled. "You can't just—that's against all decency!"

  Grayson snorted. "Oh, yes, and the man in the room sporting a black eye, split knuckles, and torn clothing has the right to speak of decency. Calm yourself, Mr. Leffew. I mean you no harm by this; quite the opposite. You know I have always wanted the best for you. Both of you."

  Kirian flushed and sat back down.


  "He still has a point," Thiering said coolly. "It is beyond anything that you would order us to get married, simply to compensate for all the nonsense and tomfoolery upon which the others waste their time. We might not be social by the common standards, but that does not mean we fail entirely. I do not appreciate being judged by such ridiculous standards, and I will not be bullied into some spontaneous marriage. Estranged or not, my father will not stand for such a thing."

  Such a thing as a sudden, impulsive marriage, or such a thing as being married to the likes of Kirian? Not in the mood to hear the answer, Kirian remained silent.

  "I am not forcing you into anything," Grayson said, but Kirian could hear the amusement in his voice—and that he was not going to change his mind. Surely the school would not approve of this? He could not make such an outlandish proposal; it was beyond anything. "However, I strongly recommend that my two finest students suddenly find themselves enamored of each other and do something impulsive and, given the parties involved, endearing."

  "No," Kirian rejected flatly. "Marriage is too important a matter to be treated so crassly." He didn't care what anyone said—marrying for practical reasons was stupid. He wanted to have what his parents had fought so hard for, not what the rest of society settled on. "You cannot make us do this and no amount of sugarcoating will persuade us."

  Grayson snorted. "Mr. Leffew, I think the entire campus is aware that you have no patience for sugarcoating. You are much too coarse and unrefined."

  Kirian rolled his eyes. "Whatever I am, I'm not yours to marry off as you choose."

  Leaning back in his seat and crossing his thin arms across his equally thin chest, Grayson said, "Let me put this to the two of you as plainly as I can: your exemplary schoolwork is only meeting the bare minimum requirement for what you each want to do with your lives post school. You barely have friends, you have no real commitments, bonds—you have no lives. Not really. The board will take one look at everything you do not have and have not done, and dismiss you out of hand. As will many others. They do not want either iceberg or an out of control flame."