Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [372]
"Things look like they're breaking up," said Dono to Olivia. He gave Ivan a nod of greeting. "Shall I call Szabo to bring round the car?"
"We ought to see Delia and Duv first. Then we can go. Oh, I offered Ivan a ride along with us to Vorsmythe's. I think there'll be room."
"Certainly." Dono smiled cheerful welcome.
"Did she take the packet?" Olivia asked Dono, with a glance up at the flash of red now vanishing into the crowd.
Dono's smile broadened briefly to a remarkably evil grin. "Yep."
While Ivan was still trying, and failing, to calculate how to get rid of the person providing the transportation, Byerly Vorrutyer made his way around some tables and descended upon them. Damn. Worse and worse.
"Ah, Dono," By greeted his cousin. "Are you still planning on Vorsmythe's for your last stop of the night?"
"Yes. Do you need a ride too?"
"Not from here to there. I have other arrangements. I'd appreciate if you could drop me home after, though."
"Of course."
"What a long talk you had with Countess Vormuir, out there on the balcony. Chewing over old times, were you?"
"Oh, yes." Dono smiled vaguely. "This and that, you know."
By gave him a penetrating look, but Dono declined to elaborate. By asked, "Did you manage to get in to see Count Vorpinski this afternoon?"
"Yes, finally, and a couple of others too. Vortaine was no help, but at least with Olivia along he was forced to stay polite. Vorfolse, Vorhalas, and Vorpatril all declined to hear my pitch, unfortunately." Dono shot Ivan a somewhat ambiguous look from under his black brows. "Well, I'm not sure about Vorfolse. No one answered the door; he might really have not been home. It was hard to tell."
"So how's the vote tally doing?" By asked.
"Close, By. Closer than I'd ever dared to dream, to tell you the truth. The uncertainty is now making me quite sick to my stomach."
"You'll get through it. Ah . . . close on which side?" By inquired.
"The wrong one. Unfortunately. Well . . ." Dono sighed, "it will have been a great try."
Olivia said sturdily, "You're going to make history." Dono pressed her hand to his arm, and smiled gratefully at her.
Byerly shrugged, which by his standards qualified as a consoling gesture. "Who knows what might happen to turn things around?"
"Between now and tomorrow morning? Not much, I'm afraid. The die is pretty much cast."
"Chin up. There're still a couple of hours to work on the men at Vorsmythe House. Just stay sharp. I'll help. See you over there . . . ."
And so Ivan found himself not with a private opportunity to make time with Olivia, but rather, trapped with her, Dono, Szabo, and two other Vorrutyer Armsmen in the back of the late Count Pierre's official car. Pierre's was one of the few vehicles Ivan had ever encountered that could beat Miles's Regency relic for both fusty luxury and a paranoid armoring that made its best progress a sort of lumbering wallow. Not that it wasn't comfortable; Ivan had slept in space station hostel rooms that were smaller than this rear compartment. But Olivia had somehow ended up seated between Dono and Szabo, while Ivan shared body heat with a couple of Armsmen.
They were two-thirds of the way to Vorsmythe House when Dono, who had been staring out the canopy with little vertical lines scored between his brows, suddenly leaned forward and spoke into the intercom to his driver. "Joris, swing around by Count Vorfolse's again. We'll give him one more try."
The car lumbered around the next corner, and began to backtrack. In a couple of minutes, the apartment building containing Vorfolse's flat loomed into view.
The Vorfolse family had a remarkable record for picking the losers in every Barrayaran war of the last century, including choosing to collaborate with the Cetagandans and backing the wrong side in Vordarian's Pretendership. The somewhat morose present heir, oppressed by his ancestors' many defeats, eked out his life in the capital by renting the drafty old