Governed by Whimsy

By Forthright

His whims drove off her predecessors. Her whimsy drives him to distraction.

To Ambrose P. Merriman, a stage actor who’s gained acclaim on three continents, reaver escorts are more trouble than they’re worth. Easy-come, easy-go, he hardly bothers to learn their names anymore. But the director and produ

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twinkle Press
• Release date: Apr 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781631230707

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Governed by Whimsy

A picture containing transport, wheel Description automatically generated

Songs of the Amaranthine, 4

Governed by Whimsy

Copyright © 2020 by FORTHRIGHT

ISBN: 978-1-63123-070-7

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::

TWINKLE PRESS

FORTHWRITES.COM

because you cannot resist any more than I can

Table of Contents

Putting Off the Inevitable

Mademoiselles Dimityblest and Demerara

Missing Goes Both Ways

He Treads the Boards

Stride into the Limelight

Whatever My Lady Wishes

Are We Almost Home?

Destiny Leads to Duty

Wasn’t His Hair Black?

The Objectification of Males

Something for Your Trouble

Traditions Are for Keeping

I’ll Take the Settee

Give Him His Due

Oh, You Can Tell

My Shoes Are Missing

There She Goes Again

Keeping to a Budget

Wonderful with a Needle

Do Not Look Away

They Know My Voice

A Weakness for Finery

You Carry the Day

You Can Tell Me

If Not for Them

Half Amaranthine, Half Human

Only If You Insist

All Will Be Well

Answer for Your Deeds

Letters Brought by Heralds

Back by Popular Demand

Where Is the Balance?

Revealing His True Colors

Much to My Surprise

No Room for Doubt

Tending Is Always Honest

A Most Auspicious Day

Putting Off the Inevitable

"Oh, my darling, we are very late."

Are we? Greta patted the topmost parcel in her accumulation. They’ll forgive it once I show them this lace.

A smile warmed Lulu’s cautionary reminder. We will not be among moths, my darling. Who can say if her ladyship’s boys will have a care for lacy confections?

Impossible. Felines like their finery.

Be that as it may, duty calls. Lulu adjusted her grip on half a dozen bundles and bags as she directed, Disembark at the next corner.

Spying a promising lineup of shops, Greta happily stepped off the trolley, full skirts swishing. Even after frittering most of the day in a series of boutiques and bakeries, she wasn’t entirely over the novelty of paved walkways or the satisfying click her kid heels made against them. A constant reminder that they were a long way from the rustic heaths and wide hearths of Evernhold.

This human city’s style reminded Greta of Dimityblest or even Sylvansleek architecture. Tantalizing in its variety. Begging to be explored. Perplexing in its variance from the world Greta knew.

To fit in among the unendowed populace, she’d adopted the current fashion. Her outermost skirt was a modest blue, unremarkable at a glance, which is all anyone spared her. So long as she didn’t call attention to herself by exclaiming too loudly, walking too quickly, or lapsing too deeply into the customs of the feline court.

Assuming the females were in charge had raised eyebrows. Silly males.

Showing her delight with her best imitation of a purr had earned a few odd looks. No matter.

Kissing the porter had admittedly been a mistake. Force of habit. So much to remember!

Slow down, my darling. A hand at Greta’s elbow checked her stride yet again.

I thought you were in a hurry.

Lulu glanced at the sky, her lips pressing into a firm line. It was intriguing that an Amaranthine like Lulu had so much more experience with humans who weren’t a part of the In-between. She’d been an immeasurable help when it came to preparations for this journey … as well as with smoothing things over along the way.

Even in human guise, Lulu looked every inch a lady of the moth clans, with soft browns and creams in the subtle plaid of her skirts and the graceful drape of her short cape. She said, We are off course.

We’re lost? Greta indicated a shop window with a tempting display of ribbons. Let’s step inside and ask for directions!

You have already spent your entire allowance. And lightened my own purse. Lulu steered her away from the trove of satin and grosgrain. "More to the point, we are not lost."

They took a turning onto another busy thoroughfare, and Lulu kept them striding purposefully. Greta cast longing looks into shops, but she could tell that her mentor was done indulging her.

How do you know the way? asked Greta.

I studied maps. Lulu spared her a glance and softened her voice. I wish I could do more, but at least I can see you safely to your new appointment. Canarian and Catalan are good boys. They’ll do what’s necessary without asking too many questions.

Greta chose to ignore the potentially ominous undercurrent those words carried. Her lady mistress might be changeable, but she’d parted with a whisker. Are you sure? Cats are curious.

Quite sure. Lulu tucked her arm through Greta’s. They don’t like questions themselves.

How are they connected to Lady Evernhold?

I told you.

Greta shook her head. She’d never been very good at digesting information. Once the words started piling up, she tended to tune them out. As if hiding from the preponderance of facts. Since she wouldn’t remember the details anyhow, why listen in the first place?

Lulu patiently went over it again. Canarian is Lady Himeko’s son, and Catalan belongs to Rand. They are the same age and close as brothers. Closer, even.

That was confusing. Why would Lady Evernhold permit a strange kitten in her clowder?

For Rand’s sake. They turned onto a street where the buildings soared taller. Or have you not noticed how thoroughly she dotes on her First Consort?

Greta knew the depths of that affection better than anyone. "But why are their sons here?"

Lulu sighed. They are only passing through, my darling. Your new hearth is more of a berth. These boys, they gallivant.

Surely this had been mentioned before. Greta knew there had been many words. Too many to hear. She’d found greater comfort in the wordless purring of Lady Evernhold’s consorts. Rand, Petros, Mnemba, Rhaymus, Chiilu—did they miss her?

Where have you gone to, my darling?

Greta whispered, I want to go home.

Lulu’s expression saddened. All she could give was a repeat of assurances. Canarian and Catalan are good boys.

What if they don’t approve?

Of a touch of drama? They are no stranger to scandal. Her mentor hustled her along. Trust me, Greta, they are the right scoundrels for this situation. The very sort you need.

Mademoiselles Dimityblest and Demerara

Carriages clogged the theater district’s wide avenue, and Greta could have stayed for hours, gazing at the finery of alighting passengers. She memorized the cut and color of every coat and cape, thrilled over the clustering of flowers and the curling of feathers.

Gemstones arrayed rings and broaches, but Greta found those disappointing. Empty sparkles.

She touched her own ear, where blue and violet stones dangled. The crystals chimed sweetly, eager as ever to sing for her. Quirky little remnants. A surprisingly apt gift from the father she rarely saw and barely knew.

He was a ward, and she had his affinity. Though not his classification.

Greta’s mother had been a cosset of some renown, and in the feline tradition, Greta had taken her surname. And her place in Lady Evernhold’s cortege.