“I must say in Chapman’s defense that, even to someone very familiar with Homer, one is not distracted by inaccuracies in the translation,” Lord Palmer said, refilling his glass. “Unless, of course, one is looking for them, which I imagine is what Pratt was doing.”
“He was,” Margaret replied. “The thing I am most interested in regarding Chapman’s translation is his treatment of Achilles as a moral hero. I like to see him get his due.”
“Oh, Margaret, really?” I exclaimed. “Achilles possesses not an ounce of humanity; I do not like to see him lauded.”
“You deny he is a hero?”
“No, I could hardly do that, but his morality is too black and white, too extreme. Compare him with Hector, who is man at his best, and you will find Achilles completely lacking.”
“Except in battle,” my friend countered.
“You are, unfortunately, right. I think I could rejoice more in Achilles’ victories if his behavior were less—I don’t know…excessive.”
“Not excessive for a battlefield, I think, Lady Ashton,” Lord Palmer said, smiling at me. “I do wish Philip were here. I wonder what your reaction would be to his thoughts on Achilles.” Before I could ask Lord Palmer what those thoughts had been, his son suggested that we join the ladies. Robert, whose eyes had not left the table since Davis brought in the port, looked exceedingly uncomfortable, while Colin, though silent, appeared content and smiled at me. My father, well pleased with the port, clearly did not care what we did, but, knowing that more than a quarter of an hour had passed, I admitted that the time had come to go to the drawing room. I sighed, dreading the ladies’ reaction to my behavior. Colin squeezed my hand reassuringly as I walked past him, but I could not bring myself to look in his eyes.
My entrance into the drawing room was met with icy stares, especially from my mother. Mrs. Dunleigh triumphed openly at my mistake, I imagine thinking it would make her own daughter appear in a better light. Margaret sat down next to her, ignoring the fact that the older woman was trying her best to cut her. My friend would not be so easily rebuffed; she loved a challenge. Robert rushed to Ivy’s side as if to keep her from approaching me. At last Lord Palmer spoke, breaking the tension in the room.
“My goodness, Emily,” he said, leaning down to look more closely at my bust of Apollo. “You should display this on a sturdier pedestal. This one could fall over if someone were to breathe heavily. What an exquisite piece. I am amazed that Philip kept it for himself. An object of this caliber is the sort of thing he usually donated to the museum.”
“You are quite correct, Lord Palmer,” I said. “The original of this work is in the British Museum. This is only a reproduction.”
“I cannot believe that,” Lord Palmer exclaimed. “Philip never purchased reproductions. He felt very strongly about it.”
“I assure you that he did in this case. I was in the museum not a week ago and saw the original.”
“Don’t know that I can trust a woman who drinks port,” Lord Palmer said, winking at me. I sighed with relief at this confirmation that he was not completely disenchanted with me. He looked back at the bust and spoke thoughtfully. “It’s very strange. I hope he wasn’t duped by forgers.”
“Forgers?” I asked.
“Yes. There have been rumors for some time of a group making perfect copies of a number of antiquities here in London. It would explain how Philip could have wound up with such a thing.”
“The British Museum’s casting service makes perfect copies, doesn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, but they are marked as such. Forgers sell their copies as originals.”
Before I could inquire further about this fascinating topic, he walked toward my mother, sat down, and was soon engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. I turned my attention to Robert and Ivy.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Robert. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Say no more, Emily. You have been through a stressful time and are not entirely yourself, I fear. Perhaps you should spend some time in Bath.”
“Thank you. May I abduct your lovely wife for a moment?” Ivy and I took a brief turn around the room, during which she expressed her abject horror at what I had done.
“I’m afraid you’ve put your mother back on the marriage path, Emily,” she whispered to me. “All she talked about while you and Margaret were in with the gentlemen was how you need the guidance of a husband’s firm hand, emphasis on ‘firm.’”
“That’s why she’s in conference with Lord Palmer, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know that Andrew would have a particularly firm hand,” Ivy said with a wicked smile.
“I have no idea, but I assure you I have no intention of finding out.”
“I thought you were fond of him?”
“I am, but I do not plan to marry again. I rather like being the Dowager Viscountess Ashton.”
“You are not technically the dowager viscountess, Emily. The new viscount is not Philip’s direct heir. And regardless, the role may lose its appeal once Andrew’s back in London. I remember how you enjoyed his company in Paris. I think his unconventional nature appeals to you.”
“You are right.” I smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I will marry him.”
“We shall see,” Ivy said. “But, darling, I am afraid that Margaret is exerting perhaps too much influence on you. I don’t think you would have done such a thing if she were not here to encourage you.”
“That’s wholly unfair, Ivy. I am perfectly capable of being shocking without Margaret’s assistance.”
“It’s wonderful that you have found a friend who shares your intellectual interests. Heaven knows I’m of no use to you in such things. But I worry for you, Emily. Margaret may push you further than you really wish to go.” She fell silent as we walked toward the settee where Arabella sat. Arthur Palmer, with whom she had been conversing, excused himself as we approached, and struck up a conversation with Colin about hunting. “Oh, dear, have we offended him, do you think?”
“No,” I said, noticing the careful manner in which he had taken leave of Arabella. “I think we have interrupted his courtship.”
“I should love to see Arabella happily married,” Ivy said quietly as we approached her.
“Arabella, our friend Ivy has become quite an advocate for the married state.”
“I am not surprised that Ivy should find happiness as a wife.”
“Nor am I. However, I believe her concern now is your wedded bliss.” After my own mortification over the port, I decided that I had judged Arabella rather too severely and intended to give her another chance. She instantly turned an unattractive shade of the brightest pink.
“I’m afraid I have few prospects, Emily, painful though it is to admit.”
“You have clearly won a suitor here tonight,” I assured her.
“Mr. Palmer is smitten,” Ivy added.
“And you have the force of my mother behind you. When I told her you were coming, she immediately decided that you and the young gentleman should marry. I’ve yet to meet the man brave enough to defy her.” This brought a smile to the girl’s face, and even I had to admit that she looked somewhat attractive.
“I expect he will begin visiting you regularly,” Ivy said.
Mrs. Dunleigh called to her daughter. Evidently my mother had persuaded her to join my father and herself at a soirée that evening; as far as I knew, the rest of the party planned to attend. No one suggested that I come. At the last moment, Margaret declared it vastly unfair that I would be left home alone, and she stayed with me. We brought the port to the library and took turns reading aloud from the Iliad until nearly midnight.
I leaned against the doorway for some time after her carriage pulled away, watching shadows in Berkeley Square. Ever since the break-in, I had watched for the man with the scar, but neither I nor my vigilant staff had caught sight of him. Tonight, however, one of the shadows moved more than it ought. It was he. I stepped down from the doo
rway and onto the sidewalk, peering into the dark. He was with someone, but the moonlight was not bright enough to reveal the other man’s face. Without pausing to think, I rushed across the street and into the park. My long skirts made running difficult, and I nearly tripped as I crossed the square. The men must have heard me coming and had disappeared by the time I reached the spot where they had stood. On the ground I found a single glove made from the finest leather. It had to belong to a gentleman.
21 JUNE 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Am immensely grateful to the queen for her Golden Jubilee celebrations. Banquet this evening was tedious, as expected, but I managed to watch the fireworks that followed with Kallista. Between the music and the explosions, there was too much noise to talk. She did not object to my holding her hand during the display—I am most encouraged—now must decide how best to proceed.
Palmer has proven valuable in arranging details of next winter’s safari. Very much looking forward to hunting with him. Fitzroy will not be one of the party. “Let this example future times reclaim, / And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name.”
13
I RODE FOR LONGER THAN USUAL THE NEXT MORNING, ALL the while trying to determine how I might find the owner of the glove. There were no markings inside it that might identify either maker or owner. I had little hope of figuring out where it had been purchased. Frustrated, I returned home, where I lingered over a late breakfast looking through a stack of letters that needed to be answered and reading the Times. The maid serving me was remarkably attentive. Both tea and toast were perfectly prepared and hot when served, and I complimented Susan on her work.
“All of us belowstairs were rooting for you last night, madam,” she replied with a quick curtsy.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I replied, placing my teacup on its saucer.
“Mr. Davis told us you stayed with the gentlemen, madam. I don’t think any of us has ever seen Cook look so pleased. She started planning a special menu for tonight almost at once, said the queen herself would envy it.” Susan leapt to attention at the sound of a soft cough behind her back.
“Mr. Andrew Palmer to see you, Lady Ashton,” Davis said in his most austere tone. “Are you finished here, Susan?”
“Yes, Mr. Davis, sorry,” the maid replied, bobbing another curtsy to me before rushing back downstairs.
“I most humbly apologize, your ladyship. The standard to which I attempt to hold myself was severely compromised by my behavior last night. Please do not think that I encourage gossip among the staff. I—”
“Davis, it’s all right. I don’t mind. They would have found out somehow, and I’m quite pleased to know that Cook, at least, stands behind me.”
“We all do, Lady Ashton.”
“Thank you, Davis. Where did you put Mr. Palmer?”
“He’s waiting in the drawing room.” I finished my tea before going upstairs and paused in front of a large mirror in the hallway to check my appearance. I had not bothered to change after returning from the park; my riding habits had become favorite outfits, as they were the only dresses I owned that would have been black regardless of my being in mourning. I spared no expense on them. The one I donned that day was made from a wool softer than any I had felt before and was cut in a new style, with a vest and jacket over the bodice, all tailored in the most flattering fashion. Pleased with how I looked, I glided into the drawing room.
“Mr. Palmer, how nice to see you. Your father said he expected you soon, but this is quicker than I would have imagined.”
“He received my cable late. By the time he read it, I was nearly home.”
“And what brings you to me at this ghastly hour? Some urgent business?” I smiled as I sat on a crimson velvet chair.
“Frankly, Emily, I assumed that any woman who dares drink port would never keep to conventions concerning the proper hours to call on a friend.”
“Beast.” I laughed, but his face turned serious.
“My poor, dear girl. You must have been more upset by the robbery in Paris than I imagined. I shall have to make a point of taking better care of you.”
“I don’t need taking care of, thank you very much. Furthermore, I don’t believe that I have given you permission to do any such thing.”
Now he laughed. “You are too sweet. But, really, you have shocked society and given me an unexpected thrill. Though you must realize that I wholeheartedly disapprove of what you did.” I was not sure if he was teasing me.
“I imagine that by now everyone in London knows what I did, courtesy of the kind efforts of Mrs. Dunleigh.”
“Yes, you were the talk of the party last night, but I shouldn’t trouble my pretty head about it if I were you. Half the people decided you were crazed with grief over Ashton, the other half that you were out of your wits following the burglary. At any rate, no one will remember nor care in another week. Especially after they hear the news I am about to tell you.”
“What?”
“Only the most sensational piece of gossip I’ve ever heard.”
“Tell me!”
“What will you give me in return?”
“Why should I give you anything? You clearly are bursting to share your information.”
“I think I deserve something.”
“Fine. A glass of my infamous port.”
“It’s too early in the day for port, naïve girl.”
“I didn’t mean now.” As I looked at him, his appearance appealed to me more and more. He was not strikingly handsome like Colin, whose features reminded me more of the Praxiteles bust than of the typical Englishman. Instead Andrew’s face was filled with character that jumped to life when he spoke.
“Will you kiss me?”
“Horrible, horrible man!” I said, laughing. “Of course not.”
“Then let me hold your hand in mine when I tell you. It’s the least you can do after such a heartless rejection.”
I sighed and allowed him to take my hand, enjoying his attentions more than I let him know. “Your story had better be good.”
“You do, of course, remember our dear friend Emma Callum?” I nodded. “It appears that her wedding to Lady Haverill’s son will not take place as planned.”
“Good heavens! Why not?” He held my hand more firmly as I tried to lift it from his.
“Because Emma has eloped to Venice with some Italian count.”
“No!”
“Yes. Her father and brother are tracking down the couple even as we speak. She’ll never be able to return to England.”
“Her father will never cut her off. She’ll still have her fortune—and now a title, even if it is Italian.”
“You women are dreadfully prejudiced against younger sons. I feel keenly for my poor brother.”
“I am sorry for Emma’s fiancé. Although there is no doubt that he is out of a bad deal. Perhaps I should be sorry for the count instead.”
“You are priceless. May I have my kiss now?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, but did bestow on him my most charming smile.
“I’m told you’ve been seeing a lot of Hargreaves lately. He must be more entertaining than I thought.”
“Colin? I don’t see him often.”
“You know I would never tell you what to do, but you would do well to watch yourself with him. His charm can be deadly.”
“I assure you I am not at risk.”
“Good. I’m very jealous, you know.”
I wondered if I was letting this flirtation go too far but was enjoying myself too much to stop. Andrew could play the game as well as I could, and he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.
“Now, to leave this uncomfortable topic before you persist in breaking my heart further, I do have something serious to ask you.” My heart stopped for a moment, as I feared he was about to propose. “My father keeps meaning to get some ridiculous papers from you. Something Ashton was studying? Alexander and Achilles, I think? Are you famil
iar with this?”
I sighed. “Yes, I am. I have meant to locate them for some time but keep getting distracted.” This was the first time I had heard the topic of Philip’s work; now I, too, was interested in finding the papers. I wanted very much to know his thoughts on Achilles.
“Why don’t you let me help you? Where did Philip keep his papers?”
“In the library. But let’s not look for them now,” I said, not wanting to search through Philip’s papers with Andrew watching me.
“I’m afraid I must press you on the matter. My father is quite set on having the monograph published. Can’t imagine that anyone will ever read it. He couldn’t invent a more boring topic if he tried.”
“That’s unfair, Andrew. I find it quite fascinating and would love to read more about it.”
“Emily, Emily, I really must insist that you begin your return to society. Clearly you have spent too much time locked up with yourself if you prefer long-gone civilizations to the living one around you now.”
“The people in those civilizations were not so different than we are, Andrew, and the art and literature they produced are still meaningful today. Surely even you must be moved when you read Homer.” I picked up the Iliad and began to read.
Andrew immediately interrupted me. “If you force me to think about prep school, I shall have no choice but to resort to kissing to silence you.”
“Then I shall say nothing more. Come with me, and I will try to find what your father needs.” We walked to the library, where I sat down at Philip’s desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a pile of papers. The manuscript was nowhere to be found. “I’m very sorry, Andrew. Please tell your father that I shall keep looking. It’s sure to be filed away somewhere.”
“I’d happily do it for you if it weren’t such a beautiful day. I want to go riding. Come with me?”
I did not reply.
And Only to Deceive Page 11
