And Only to Deceive lem-1

by Tasha Alexander

  "I should love to have something so beautiful for my own," Arabella said.

  "You could, my dear, for the right price," Arthur said, his uneven teeth marring his smile.

  "Oh, I should never want a copy. I'll follow Lord Ashton's example and stick to originals."

  "All originals have a price, Arabella, even those in museums." He laughed, and I looked at him, wondering what he could possibly mean by such a statement. Before I could inquire, he took Arabella's arm and whispered something that made her laugh loudly. Mrs. Dunleigh then asked Lord Palmer if we could see the Rosetta Stone, adding that it was the only thing she considered really worthwhile in the museum. I closed my eyes and sighed, realizing that the sooner our excursion ended, the better.

  The next few weeks found me in Andrew's company more than ever. He took me to the theater, to dinner, and we walked together in the park frequently. At soirées he brazenly monopolized me, something to which I rarely objected. His sarcastic commentary on the scenes before us was always more entertaining than the polite, nonsensical conversation to which I was accustomed. He possessed a seemingly incompatible way of disregarding some rules of society at the same time as he rigorously upheld others. Nonetheless, he grew more charming with closer acquaintance, and I determined that the rules he chose to uphold were the ones he thought would protect me. A foolish effort, of course, but I appreciated it regardless.

  My mother did not entirely approve of my spending so much time with Andrew. She liked his family, of course, but felt that I could do better. In her mind, given my own title and fortune, I should be able to attract the most eligible men in the empire. Andrew was heir to a large estate, but one that included very little cash. The property he stood to inherit would make it easy for him to secure generous lines of credit, and I assumed that this was how he, like many gentlemen, supported his flamboyant lifestyle. This, of course, did not impress my mother. The fact that Andrew and I did not observe the social niceties troubled her greatly, and she admonished me to change my behavior lest I ruin my chances of remarriage. Contrary to her intentions, her concerns served only to encourage me.

  My becoming more familiar with Andrew did little to fade the specter of Philip's memory; if anything, it intensified it. After spending an evening with Andrew, I would go home to my empty bed keenly missing my husband. How unfair that I had never laughed with Philip, that I had never teased him, that I had never flirted with him. I thought of our wedding trip and how, when I retired before him, I would lie awake anxiously wondering if he would rouse me when he came to bed, always hoping just a bit that he would. Although he did not inspire any passion in me, I did enjoy our physical encounters; if nothing else, they certainly satisfied my curiosity.

  The memory of Philip did not trouble Andrew; as far as he was concerned, the dead are dead and it should be left at that. He did speak about Philip periodically and told me many stories about their friendship. As always, I devoured any new information about Philip, and everything Andrew told me confirmed my belief that my husband had been an extraordinary man.

  Margaret, though supportive of anything I did in an attempt to reject society, was not overly fond of Andrew. She said he distracted me from my work, an observation that, while not wholly untrue, I considered unfair. I met with Mr. Moore, my tutor, three mornings a week, and he had been both surprised and pleased by my quick progress toward learning ancient Greek. The only point of contention between us was that I wanted to translate Homer; Mr. Moore insisted that I start with the Xenophon, which was written in the standard Attic dialect spoken in Athens. Margaret and I attended numerous lectures, at both the British Museum and University College, and we hoped to descend upon Cambridge in the near future. What, precisely, we would do there, I was not entirely certain, but I had no doubt that Margaret would come up with something marvelous. If Andrew were less than enthusiastic about our plans, he never suggested that I should abandon them.

  Though she would not admit it to me, Ivy clearly harbored the hope that I might marry Andrew. My dear friend longed to see me share the happiness the married state had brought her. Nonetheless, although I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with him, I still had no intention of marrying; I did not want to relinquish control of my life to anyone.

  We lunched together frequently at my house, spending an hour in the library afterward before he left for his club. Ivy felt this to be consummate proof that we were near marriage, despite my protests. I was happy to have someone with whom to dine on a regular basis; being a widow sometimes felt very lonely.

  "I don't understand why you spend so much time in the library," Andrew said after one of our lunches. "Why don't we go to the drawing room?"

  "I much prefer it here. The wood has such a feeling of warmth, and I find being surrounded by books to be greatly comforting."

  "You are a funny girl," he drawled, sliding closer to me on the settee.

  "I like thinking of Philip in here. Colin tells me that they spent many happy evenings in this room."

  "Spare me Hargreaves's opinion, if you don't mind." He stood up and paced in front of my husband's desk.

  "Why do you dislike him so?"

  "I don't dislike him; I just have never felt I could trust him."

  "Has he done you some grave injustice?" I asked mockingly.

  "Not precisely, but he's the sort of man who is very difficult to read. Do you know him well?"

  "No, I suppose not, but he's always seemed to be very straightforward. Philip thought his integrity beyond reproach."

  "Well, I've always valued Ashton's opinion, but I fear in this case he may have been deceived. Hargreaves spends too much time rushing around on spur-of-the-moment trips to the Continent. If you ask me, he's either up to no good or has a very demanding mistress in Vienna."

  "You are too terrible!" I cried. "I rather like Colin."

  "And that, my dear, is his biggest flaw." He sat close to me again. "I feel so alive when I am with you."

  "I know. I can see it in your face."

  "Yet you give me no indication of your own feelings," he said, frowning slightly.

  "I am a very respectable widow still in mourning. Please do not try to ruin my character," I reprimanded him, laughing.

  "You shall be the death of me," he said, taking my hand.

  "Shall I summon help? Or perhaps I should leave you to die so that Arthur inherits. It would be better for Arabella should your brother ever propose," I said, smiling at him.

  "I die a thousand deaths in your presence every day," he said, moving even closer to me as he brought my hand to his cheek. "Forgive my impertinence."

  "For what?" I asked.

  "This," he replied, leaning forward and kissing me fiercely on the lips. I tried to pull back but quickly lost interest in doing so and instead let his mouth explore mine. Eventually I pushed him away.

  "You are a beast, and I should insist that you leave immediately."

  "But you won't, will you?"

  "No. But I will ask my mother to chaperone every time I see you in the future," I said flippantly. I did feel rather uncomfortable and hoped he would leave soon. He stayed another half hour before going to his club. As soon as he was gone, I started to cry, wishing desperately it had been Philip's kisses that I so enjoyed.

  1 JULY 1887

  BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

  "Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, / Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes."

  I am determined to propose to K before the end of the week and must decide what I shall say, to both her and her father. Hargreaves assures me that any reasonable woman would accept me for my wine cellar alone. While I do not doubt that she will agree to marry me, I would like to have an eloquent speech for the occasion. Regardless of my confidence, I cannot help but feel a great deal of anxiety when contemplating such a significant step.

  15

  Several days later the restorer recommended to me by Lord Palmer delivered my bust of Apollo, beautifully repaired, along with a
note. Apparently, because the artisan who completed the work determined that the piece was beyond a doubt a fourth-century-B.C. original, he felt the need to suggest that I take better care of it.

  My heart raced as I reread the note. My mind kept going back to the comment Arthur Palmer had made to Arabella in the Roman gallery that any original, including those in museums, could be obtained for a price. Everyone agreed that Philip's integrity was of the highest. Why, then, did he have in his possession a piece that clearly belonged in the museum? I flung myself onto the settee.

  Davis, whose entrance I had not noticed, cleared his throat. "Mrs. Brandon, madam." Ivy, stunning as always in a fashionable walking dress, followed him almost immediately, and I embraced her when she came into the room.

  "I don't know when I've been so happy to see anyone, Ivy."

  "Goodness! I shall have to call more often," my friend exclaimed. "You look a trifle pale, Emily. Are you unwell?"

  "I hardly know how to answer that question," I said, my gaze resting on Apollo's perfect face staring at me from a table across the room. I recounted the story to Ivy, still unsure what to make of it.

  "So it seems that I am in possession of the original bust, which is supposed to be in the British Museum."

  "And the one in the museum is a copy? How could that be?"

  "Lord Palmer told me he has heard stories of a ring of forgers rumored to work in London."

  "Surely the keepers at the museum would notice the differences between the original and a forgery?"

  "I don't think they would have any reason to question a piece after initially acquiring it."

  "But how did Philip get the original? He must have believed he was buying a reproduction."

  "That, Ivy, is precisely the point that is causing me much anxiety. Lord Palmer insists that Philip would never buy a reproduction. He was adamant in his belief."

  "That's not so difficult. The piece came on the market, Philip determined it to be genuine, and bought it. Obviously he did not know it was supposed to be in the British Museum."

  "But doesn't that seem odd? It's a striking piece, and, given the amount of time he spent in the Greco-Roman galleries, it seems unlikely that he had never seen it."

  "Yes, I agree he most certainly had seen it. But think, Emily, how much there is in the British Museum. A person could never claim complete familiarity with even one collection. Philip probably thought his bust of Apollo similar to the one in the museum but not identical."

  "To find two such busts attributable to Praxiteles himself is unthinkable. I've read everything I can about the artist, Ivy. Only one other of his original works has survived. Virtually everything that we know about him comes from Roman copies and ancient texts. An authentic Praxiteles is a treasure. Philip must have known that it belonged in the museum."

  "You're not suggesting that he dealt knowingly with these forgers?"

  "I hardly know what I'm suggesting." We sat silently for several moments. "I think we must consider the facts before us. I have the original Apollo that Praxiteles made. The one in the British Museum must be a very good forgery."

  "Are you absolutely certain that yours is the original? Could the restorer be wrong?"

  "I don't think so. He gives his reasoning in his note and says that he showed the piece to several others with whom he works. They unanimously agreed that it is authentic. Lord Palmer would not have recommended them if they were not competent, so I have no reason to doubt their conclusions."

  "Is it even possible to copy something so well?"

  "It certainly is. Did I ever tell you about a fascinating character Monsieur Pontiero introduced to me in Paris? A Mr. Attewater, whose career is copying antiquities. He was quite confident that his work is virtually indistinguishable from the originals."

  "Does Mr. Attewater live in London?"

  "He does."

  "Perhaps he could go to the museum and look at their Apollo, then let us know if it is in fact a copy? If it is, we could alert the keeper."

  "I'm not sure that I want to do that, Ivy."

  "Why not?"

  "We still do not know Philip's role in this. How did he come to have something that should be in the museum? Given what little we know, it appears that at best he purchased something of dubious provenance, and for a man of his character to have done such a thing would be inconceivable."

  "Please forgive me for saying this, Emily. I know that you have grown very fond of Philip over the past few months, but what do we really know of him?"

  "That is my concern, Ivy. I know from his diary that he did have strong feelings for me, and the portrait by Renoir confirms his romantic nature. But when it comes to matters of character, what firsthand information do we have?"

  "Well..." Ivy looked around the room as she thought. "We may have no direct confirmation of excellent character, but I think you would have known if he were really bad, don't you? He treated you well during your marriage."

  "He did, but I imagine that many a great criminal mind has the capacity to love a woman."

  "Emily! Are you calling him a criminal?"

  "No! I'm only saying that his treatment of me cannot be relied on to serve as an ultimate substantiation of his true nature. At any rate, we both know that I did not pay much attention to Philip while we were married. I learned almost nothing about him."

  "What has made you believe now that he was a good man?"

  "Primarily stories told to me by Lord Palmer and Colin Hargreaves. Andrew, too. However, Colin has been asking me some very strange questions about Philip's business transactions, specifically those concerning purchases of antiquities. I've just been through Philip's papers and found nothing that refers to them."

  "Could Colin be collaborating with the forgers?"

  "I'd sooner believe that of Colin than of Philip if it weren't for the physical evidence of Apollo. We haven't caught Colin with a stolen artifact."

  "But Colin could still be involved. Why else would he be so interested in Philip's purchases? Did your husband have any other antiquities in the house?"

  "Not to speak of. There is a vase in the library, but other than that, nothing," I said, shaking my head.

  "A bit surprising for someone who was so interested in the subject, isn't it?"

  "Apparently he kept his collection at Ashton Hall, where I shall have to visit as soon as possible. Perhaps I can find some documentation there. And I think I shall write to Cécile. Monsieur Fournier told me that Philip was looking for Apollo in Paris. Perhaps Cécile could determine if he did indeed purchase it there and from whom. There must be some simple explanation for the whole thing."

  "I hope so, Emily. It would be rather shocking to have to completely reform your opinion of Philip after all the trouble you've gone to falling in love with him."

  "You are rather understating things, my dear," I said. "Do you think Robert could spare you in order that you might accompany me to the country?"

  "I'm certain he could be convinced." She giggled. "Men can so easily be persuaded."

  Much to my surprise, it was Andrew, not Robert, who attempted to undermine our plans. He protested vehemently after receiving a note I sent canceling a trip to the theater.

  "I cannot understand why you must rush off to the country, Emily. It makes no sense."

  "Why does it have to make sense?" I asked. I felt that telling Andrew of my suspicions would be disloyal to Philip, and I had no intention of explaining my motives. "I haven't seen the house, Ivy will return to her own estate before long, and we have decided to have a bit of an adventure."

  "Nonsense." He snorted. "I don't like the two of you traveling unaccompanied."

  "We aren't. Miss Seward is coming with us."

  "Margaret Seward is hardly the type of woman who is likely to put my mind at ease on any subject."

  "Andrew, do not force me to become irritated with you," I said severely, wishing that I had not allowed Meg to lace me so tightly. I could hardly draw breath as I spoke. "Going to
visit a house in which I, in a sense, live is hardly dangerous."

  "How can you suggest that you live there when you have just admitted to never having seen it?"

  "You know very well what I mean. I want to see the estate, and I want to go with my friends. Don't be difficult. We can go the theater when I return."

  "I shall miss you," he said, reverting to his usual mode of charm.

  "I shall be back in two days." I smiled.

  "Before you go," he started. "My father is still waiting for those bloody papers of Philip's. May I come back tomorrow and look for them?"

  "I don't see why not. I'll tell Davis to expect you."

  5 JULY 1887

  BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

  Can hardly wait to depart for Greece, although things here better than expected.

  After days spent agonizing over how best to present my suit, spoke to Lord Bromley at the Turf Club yesterday regarding his daughter. At the end of my rather elegant speech, the old man laughed heartily, got me a drink, and said that it was unlikely I could find a father in England who would not gladly relinquish his daughter to me. Delighted to offer me K's hand and assures me entire family would welcome our marriage. Went to Grosvenor Square today-overjoyed to report that my proposal has been accepted. Paris himself would envy me my bride...

  16

  "I don't think I truly appreciated how rich Philip really was until now," Ivy said as our carriage approached the entrance to Ashton Hall, Philip's family seat. "How long has it taken us to reach the house from the main road? I feel like I am at Windsor."

  "You should never appraise a man's fortune from the outer appearance of his estate, Ivy. Reserve judgment until you have seen the entire inside. Lord Palmer has shut up two of the wings of his country house. Fortunes are not what they used to be."