“Total, or is that just the women?”
“Total, sir.”
“How many of them are female?”
There was another long silence. “A little less than half, sir. There are twenty-nine female Disgraces listed.”
Twenty-nine? Hugh’s spirits lifted. He could barely believe it.
“My apologies, Mr. Drake,” Finch hastened to say. “I’m sure there would have been more had I been able to access records from the other clans, but this is the best I was able to do given the circumstances.”
“No, Finch, twenty-nine is more than enough.” Hugh pushed out of his chair and turned to face his secretary with the intention of clapping him on a shoulder to celebrate a job well done, but stopped upon catching sight of Finch. As usual, Finch stood with impeccable posture and had his hands tucked neatly behind his back, but there was something off about him. Hugh couldn’t put his finger on it, but whatever it was made something clench uncomfortably in his chest. His enthusiasm deteriorated. Poor Finch—he’d worked tirelessly and produced astounding results, yet somehow still felt he hadn’t done enough. It would be up to Hugh to convince him otherwise.
“If the rumors are to be believed,” Hugh said reassuringly, “I could find my mate after meeting just one or two out of the bunch. Even if I only meet the women, twenty-nine potential matches guarantees that I’ll have a family of my own before long.”
The something that was wrong with Finch intensified. “Yes, sir.”
“Finch, this is a happy time! You’ve done exceptionally well.” Hugh squeezed Finch’s shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
Finch shook his head. “Nothing at all, sir.”
“Is this about the extra upkeep required to prepare me for international travel?” Hugh snorted. “Because I’ve half made up my mind to stay right here in Aurora and invite the Disgraces that catch my eye to come visit me. In the event I’ll need to court more than one of them before I find my perfect match, it will be far easier. Just thinking about the paperwork I’d need to have done to grant me clearance into each clan’s territory is giving me a headache. I can’t imagine actually having to sit down and do it.”
“No, sir.”
“Are you worried about having guests, then?” Hugh studied Finch’s face, seeking the truth, but found nothing but the same inexplicable disappointment. “I can hire on additional staff if you don’t think our current fleet of Attendants is up to the increased workload. And I’d only be inviting one Disgrace into our home at a time.”
Finch lifted his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Mr. Drake, would you kindly excuse me? I’m afraid I’m not feeling so well.”
Ah, there it was. That was why Finch didn’t look like himself. The tightness in Hugh’s chest undid itself, and he dropped his hand from Finch’s shoulder. “Of course. Why don’t you take the rest of the week off? You’ve gone above and beyond sourcing this list for me, and despite what Father thinks, I’m old enough to be able to take care of myself for a few days. Relax and feel better.”
Finch nodded tersely, then took a mechanical step back and turned on his heel. He hurried out of the room on long, slender legs and closed the door to Hugh’s study softly in his wake. When he was gone, Hugh shook his head. Oh, Finch. Always worried he’d never done enough when in reality, he’d done three times the work of Hugh’s other Attendants. How lucky it was he’d come under Hugh’s employ. Life would have been insufferable without him.
Pleased to have given his star employee and good friend the time off he deserved to take care of himself, Hugh returned to his desk and began the painstaking process of selecting the very best Disgraces from the folder. How strange and wonderful to think that one of them might one day be his mate.
2
Finch
Finch rose, as he always did, at six o’clock sharp, without the aid of an alarm. He made his bed immediately upon leaving it, then went to his kitchenette. His suite of rooms was much larger than the tiny flat he’d had in London. He missed London, sometimes, but Aurora had its compensations. Every now and then, he wondered at how his life had turned out, but never regretted his rash decision to take a dragon, of all people, up on his offer of a job in a country an entire ocean away from where he’d lived his whole life. There was such a thing as hiding in plain sight, and Finch accomplished it with expert mastery. Here, on American soil, he was the perfect, unobtrusive servant, and with Hugh vouching for him, no one within Aurora’s Attendant network had a clue they had a Disgrace living in their midst.
Which was precisely how Finch liked it.
His life was neat, orderly, and exactly what it was supposed to be.
Finch switched on his kettle to heat water for his morning tea. He poured milk into his mug, grabbed a PG Tips tea bag, then put in bread to toast while he waited for his kettle to whistle. Tea having been properly prepared, Finch scrambled two eggs, buttered his perfectly golden toast, and took it all to his small table to eat. While he did, he looked through the news headlines to see if there was anything important he should know, then checked Hugh’s correspondence, which came to him, as his family knew better than to expect Hugh to pay attention to emails or texts, let alone letters. As there was nothing pressing, Finch blacked out his phone’s screen, prepared two tiny plates with a chunk of egg and a bit of toast crust on each, and adorned each with one perfect blueberry. He cleaned up his breakfast dishes, then went to go visit his girls.
“Good morning, ladies,” he crooned into the large cage housed in a corner of his suite. Two rats poked their little noses out of the nest in their hammock, sniffing the air. “Yes, that’s right, I’ve brought breakfast.” Finch opened the cage’s door and placed each plate down. Elizabeth and Eleanor scrambled toward them. Finch clicked his tongue in warning and they slowed down, stopping right before the food. “Good girls,” he said, and Elizabeth grabbed her blueberry while Eleanor picked up her chunk of egg and nibbled at it.
He closed the cage door after giving each of the girls a good ear scritch. He’d let them out of the cage later, after his duties were performed for the day, but for now, he left them to amuse themselves with their wheel—Eleanor’s favorite—and a tissue box—Elizabeth’s current passion. Breakfast delivered, Finch went to wash his hands thoroughly in anticipation of the day ahead. It was officially time to go from being Finch the man, pet rat owner and inveterate tea drinker who enjoyed crossword puzzles and watching old romantic comedies, to being Finch the very correct and proper secretary of Hugh Drake.
The difference was stark. Finch the man wore pajama bottoms with penguins on them and a vintage Queen t-shirt he’d picked up in an Islington charity shop. Finch the secretary wore bespoke suits made by a tailor in Aurora who was obscure, ridiculously talented, and charged extremely low rates for his wares.
Finch’s room had a large walk-in closet he was grateful for. His wardrobe didn’t vary much, but his suits needed to be hung properly, and the small wardrobe he’d had in his London flat was less than ideal. He chose charcoal trousers, a waistcoat in the same material, a white shirt with a proper Windsor collar, and a black jacket. He pondered his ties, then chose one that appeared to be black, but was actually an extremely dark shade of aubergine. His socks were the exact same hue. He dressed swiftly, but carefully, making sure everything fit just as it should and that no flaws were visible in his attire. Finch had more than one set of cufflinks, but he ignored them in favor of his favorite pair, which he wore most days. They were two perfectly cut dark amethysts that had been a gift from Hugh on his tenth anniversary of employment. It had been very unexpected of Hugh, which was likely why Finch treasured them. Not only had it surprised him that Hugh had been aware of the passage of time, but it had shocked him that Hugh had recognized that giving a gift in celebration of such a milestone was appropriate. Moreover, Finch was startled that a dragon had given him—of all people—a treasure from his hoard.