"What? Are you drunk as well?"
"No, but poor Oliver needed some help finding his way up."
"I'm sure he did. Half the house heard his disgraceful carrying on." Edmond pushed past me for a look into the room to grunt at Oliver's sleeping form and growl at the nanny. "Mrs. Howard, what the devil are you doing here? Get yourself along and see to the other brats. The one in here is long past your help."
Apparently well used to his rough ways, Mrs. Howard plucked her skirts up with underplayed dignity and left. She quickly covered a fair amount of the hall without seeming to hurry and turned a corner without looking back.
Edmond glared after her, then focused the force of it on me for an instant. His lips curled as if he wanted to speak. I waited, but nothing came forth. He thinned the set of his mouth into a tough line of contempt, but after all thai had happened, I was utterly immune to intimidation from him. When one has gone to a cemetery in the dark of a winter night to dance with the dead, it takes more than a bad-tempered cousin to shake one's inner esteem. Perhaps he sensed that. Without another word, he pushed past me to go below.
"Edmond?"
He stopped halfway down and did not quite turn to look. "What?"
"Just wanted to let you know that your work making the arrangements was excellent and much appreciated. Olivet is very grateful, y'know."
He said nothing for a moment, then grunted. Then he moved on.
Even as he descended, my sister ascended, glancing after him pensively.
"You look much improved," I commented, happy to see her again.
She reached the landing, her eyes wide as they raked me up and down. "What on earth have you been doing?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just had a nice little chat with Oliver. He feels all the better for it."
"You must have been chatting in a cockfighting pit. What's happened to you?"
1 gave her a brief explanation for my condition.
"And Oliver's all right?" she asked with justifiable disbelief.
"Right as rain-at least until he wakes up."
Now she took her own opportunity to look in on him. "God, what a row," she said, in reaction to his snores. "I suppose he must be better if he can make that much noise. So what was troubling Cousin Edmond? He seemed more brocdy than normal."
"He had some objection to Oliver's carrying on is all." Poor old stick-in-the-mud Edmond, I thought. "Maybe his temper will improve with Aunt Fonteyn's absence."
"Jonathan!"
"Or is that too much to hope for?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were drunk. So will anyone else."
"Bother them. They're probably thinking the same as I about her, but they'd just never admit it. Oliver is now the new head of the family, and he's bound to be more congenial in his duties than she, so everyone ought to be celebrating tonight. Things are looking up for the Fonteyns."
"Unless Mother decides to take things over when she conies to England," Elizabeth pointed out.
"She can't. It may have been Aunt Fonteyn's will, but hers was mostly a continuation of Grandfather Fonteyn's testament. Except for a few special bequests and such it stays the same, and his eldest daughter's eldest son inherits the lot."
"What? Nothing for his own sons?"
"That's already covered, as in the case of our incomes. The old man had his favorites-and they were his daughters."
Elizabeth briefly shut her eyes and shook her head. "In light of your speculations about-about how things were with them... well..." She spread her hands, unhappy with the ugly idea.
"It explains much about Mother and why she is the way she is," I said in a small voice, starting to feel a cold emptiness stealing over me. It was a kind of black helplessness that settled on my heart whenever this subject was mentioned. Perhaps if we had known, if any of us had had the least inkling of what her young life might have been like, then things might have been different for our mother. I wondered if we had a similar night like this awaiting us in the nebulous future, requiring that we shout at her coffin to exorcise our guilt.
"God forbid," I whispered.
"What?" Elizabeth gave a little start, having perhaps also been in the thrall of dismal thoughts. "Forbid what?"
"Just thinking aloud. It's nothing. Well-a-day, I wish I could get drunk, but I expect if I mixed brandy with my usual beverage it would just send me to sleep."
She straightened her shoulders. "Yes, and we all know how alarming that is."
"Nothing for it, then, I shall have to brave the family sans defenses."
"You've plenty of better ones to make up for that lack, little brother. What was the problem you had with the young man who left you so fast? I saw how you were speaking to him. Who was he?"
"Thomas Ridley's loving cousin Arthur Tyne, and he was either hoping for revenge or to make a name for himself as a duelist. He tried to provoke me tonight."
"Good God! You're not-"
"I've had enough of fire-eating, dear sister. I sent him off for good."
"But if he insulted you and you allowed him to get away with it-"
"He didn't, my honor is unsullied. Not that I give hang for him, but I'm just not in a hurry to send the dolt to hell for just being a dolt. Now, if he'd said anything against you, funeral or not, he'd be wishing he hadn't."
"You'd kill him?"
"No, but I'd serve him as well as I served his poxy-faced cousin."
"But Thomas wasn't poxy," she said thoughtfully. "In fact he's... Jonathan, what are you laughing about?"
Even the most entertaining funeral must end sometime.
Those mourners who were not staying the night began to take themselves home, causing much bustling for the servants as they prepared things. New torches were lighted, carriages were brought around, farewells were exchanged, and one by one the relatives departed, leaving Fonteyn House a bit roomier than before. Those who remained behind, either because of their reluctance to face the weather or the fact that they lived too far away, were lodged in every likely and unlikely corner of the house.
Clarinda and Elizabeth oversaw things, each bringing her own expertise in organization to the problems that arose, from a shortage of blankets to what would be served to break the morning fast. My talents for such matters were sadly undeveloped, but I made myself useful directing people to this room or that, according to the list I'd been given.
After all were settled, I planned to return to Oliver's house as usual, since my bed of earth was there. Thus would I be spared the task of having to influence a veritable army of servants into ignoring my peculiar sleeping arrangements. Elizabeth had been staying at Fonteyn House since the day after Aunt Fonteyn's death and would yet be lodging here, this time with a roomful of other young women.
"How enviable," I said lightly.
"You may think so, but they're bound to talk until dawn, wanting to know all about you."
"Well, try to be as discouraging as you can. The ones I've met always seem to think that any stray unmarried male is only interested in finding a wife."
"I know, that's been made abundantly clear to me since we moved into Oliver's and started getting callers. The ladies coming by to see you outnumber the gentlemen paying respects to me by nine to four. Perhaps I should be jealous of you."
"Rather blame it on the shortsightedness of the London men. There's also the possibility that they may feel the same about marriage as I."
"I think not, little brother, I've already gotten three proposals."
"What?"
She laughed at my stricken expression. "One was from a mature lad of ten who was pleased with my face."
"And the others?"
"Fortune-hunting cousins on the Fonteyn side of the fami- iy"
Now didn't that sound familiar? "What did you say?"
"I told them that my aunt's funeral was hardly the place to be making marriage proposals."
"But that's not a proper refusal," I said, worried. "They might be back."
"Indeed they might,
" she agreed. "One of them was rather handsome in a horsy sort of way. I wonder if he is descended from Cousin Bucephalus?"
"Good God, Elizabeth, you're not seriously-"
"Certainly not, but I want to have some enjoyment of life while it's still mine to enjoy. When I think of what a cheerless, bitter existence Aunt Fonteyn made for herself, I could just weep at the waste and sadness of it."
"After the awful things she's said and done you can feel sorry for her?"
"Wounded animals, Jonathan," she reminded me. "It's not their fault that someone's been cruel to them. With that in mind, it's easy to understand how they might lash out at those who stray too close."
"Does this mean you'll form a more lenient attitude toward Mother?"
She made a wry face. "You do ask a lot, don't you? I suppose I must then say yes, but then again, it's easy for one to be tolerant when one's source of irritation is several thousand miles away."
"Very well, I'll ask you again when she's closer."
"I'm sure you will." Humor lurked in her dry tone, but I sensed that it was meant to cover some well-concealed low spirits.
"Are you going to be all right here?" I lifted a hand to indicate the vast house. "I mean after the funeral and all. I can take you home, y'know."
She shook her head decisively. "I'm fine. It's not what I'm used to, but I don't mind a little change now and then. Besides, I'm needed here. Poor Oliver's going to be feeling the torments of hell when he wakes tomorrow, and I thought I'd try one of Dr. Beldon's remedies on him."
"And what would that be?"
"Tea with honey and mint. Better than moss snuff for his head, I'm sure." She wilted a little. "I hope that they're all right, too. Father and the others, I mean."
"As do I, but I'm sure they are, so please don't worry. You've had more than your share of it already. Getting on well with Clarinda?"
"Very well, thank you. She's quite different from Edmond. I wonder how they ever got together."
"Who knows?" I said with a shrug, not really caring.
We said good night, and I promised to be back soon after sunset tomorrow. Oliver's new status as master of Fonteyn House required that he remain in it for some time longer before returning to his own home. As I put on my cloak and wrapped up against the wind, I speculated on whether he would forsake his other household and move back. For all the gloomy corners, it was still a fine big place, and he had promised changes. Heavens, he might even open the shutters and put in some more windows. That would make Grandfather Fonteyn spin in his coffin, and I could think of no one more deserving of the disturbance, unless it might be his eldest daughter. Unlike Elizabeth, I found it difficult to summon compassion for the wretched woman even if she was dead.
On my way out I saw Edmond and the unpleasant Arthur Tyne with their heads together by the main door. I hung back, wanting to avoid both of them. They were garbed for the weather, ready to leave; Edmond was probably headed home, the same as I. Perhaps he didn't mind abandoning Clarinda to her own devices for now, not that anyone remained in the house to tempt her to an indiscretion. The guests were either too young or old, too married or the wrong gender for her-unless one wished to count Oliver. She might find him attractive, I knew, but on the other hand he was dead drunk and not likely to be of much use to her.
I fidgeted, wishing Edmond and Arthur would get on with themselves so I could go. Perhaps I could just vanish and float past them. I'd planned to exercise myself in that manner on the trip home, anyway, providing the wind wasn't too much of a nuisance.
"Jonathan?" A woman whispered from the darkness of the hall behind me, giving me a start.
I squinted against the shadows and made out her figure, then her face. "Clarinda?"
She remained in place, partially hidden, so I went to her. Reluctantly. Edmond had only to look over and see me, and if he somehow recognized his wife's form in the-
"What is it?" I whispered back, my neck hairs rising.
"I must talk with you."
Oh, dear. Was this the prelude to another seduction to be consummated in some deserted room? "Well, I was just leaving, y'see-"
'This is important. I want only a minute. Please come away."
Her tense tone hardly seemed appropriate for so delicate a thing as a carnal interlude. Perhaps the nearby threat of Edmond was providing a cooling mitigation for her normally ardent nature.
With him discouragingly in mind-not to mention uncom-. fortably close-I cast a fearful look 'round, then followed her into the deeper darkness of the hall.
She made her way with frequent glances behind to make sure I was there. She tiptoed, swiftly, with her skirts barely making a whisper over the floor. Reluctant to draw any attention as well-especially Cousin Edmond's-I imitated her example of being quiet.
We passed a number of rooms, heading for the far reaches of the house, ultimately ending up in what for me was a most familiar chamber. There was the same settee; the same bust of Aristotle (or one of the Caesars) rested on the mantel as before. The draperies were drawn owing to mourning, and this time the fireplace warmly blazed, but otherwise all was the same as it had been that Christmas when we'd shared a most happy and vigorous encounter here.
Johnny Boy, whatever are you letting yourself in for? I thought, but it took no real effort on my part to guess what she had in mind. Heavens, but this would be a serious exercise in diplomacy to make an escape without causing her offense.
She shut the door, turning to face me. Her manner was very nervous, quite different from the randy, confident woman I'd known before. Something was wrong.
"What is it?" I asked.
Her eyes were fixed on mine. "I must ask if Edmond has said anything to you."
"About what?"
She gestured at the room. "What do you think? You do know why he hates you so, don't you?"
"I assumed it was because he was aware of our-ah- past liaison."
"Has he spoken to you about it?"
"No. Not one word."
She seemed extremely relieved to hear it, slumping a bit. "That's good. I saw him glaring so at you earlier, and then when he went upstairs to find out why Oliver was making such a row... well, I wasn't sure what to think."
"I've gotten nothing more than some hard looks from him. It's obvious he doesn't care for my company. Not that it really matters."
"But it does," she hissed. "He can be very dangerous, Jonathan."
"I don't doubt it, but he doesn't worry me. Is that what troubles you? You think he might try to harm me?"
"Yes. He's a difficult man and has a particular hatred for you over the other-the other young men I've known." She watched my reaction. "Good. I'm glad you're not going to go all gallant and pretend you weren't aware of them."
She'd made mention of them herself once upon a time, but it seemed more politic to say nothing. "I can only think that they are most fortunate that you should choose to grace them with your company."
The flattery that worked so well on Molly Audy had a similar effect on Clarinda; she broke into a most charming smile. "You have a pleasant memory of me, then?"
"It is one of my treasures. I recall every moment of your most generous gift to me."
"And to myself," she added. "God, but you make me remember it all afresh even now. You've grown even more handsome since. More muscle, too." She gave herself a shake, rolling her eyes. "Back to business, Clarinda."
"What business?" I asked. "A warning to stay out of Edmond's way? I'm already keen to do just that, so you needn't be troubled. But why does he hate me more than the others?"
She looked long at me, studying my face before finally giving an answer. "He hates you because I took a fancy to you that Christmas right here in this house, right under his nose. But I couldn't help myself. He'd been perfectly beastly to me that day, and you were so sweet and kind and different. Oh, damn, this must sound like I was with you just to spite him, but that's not true. I wanted to be with someone I liked, who liked me in return, as you seeme
d to."
"Believe me, my affection was quite genuine. It's not something a man can falsify."
She arched a brow. "You' d be surprised, my dear, but bless you for saying so. As for your affection for me now... well, I sense that you're somewhat more cautious these days."
"It's because of your being married."
"Married to Edmond?"
"No, just married, period. It's not in my nature to..."
"Ah, I see. Fornication's one thing, but adultery's quite another?"
I had to laugh a little, she said it so prettily. "That's it, exactly."
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