“You’d like to live there? In Kenya?”
It took Clio a few seconds to register that Edwin had asked her a question. “Oh,” she finally replied. “Goodness, yes.”
“And do what exactly?”
Clio had to admit she hadn’t thought this far. “Oh, well … I don’t really know.”
“You could be a missionary.” Edwin waggled his eyebrows at her.
Clio felt her cheeks become hot. “Why do you always think I’m something I’m not? You don’t know me at all. I’m not like that. Not like my father. I’m not that … good.”
“I think you are,” Edwin replied in his usual serene fashion, turning his face up to the sun for a moment.
Clio shook her head slightly. Unbelievable. Did the man never become agitated? “Believe me, I am not.”
“But aren’t you the doyenne of good works?” Edwin looked down at her once more. “Thalia was telling me about the volunteer work you did during the general strike. Thank goodness that finally ended last week. I thought it might go on forever.”
“The buses were on strike. I was simply helping to organize transportation for people to get to the hospital who needed to get there.”
“Which shows you are good. Meanwhile, the likes of Thalia and myself spent that time droning on about the traffic along the Embankment and how we were sure everyone was striking just to annoy us.”
“I can assure you they weren’t,” Clio said crossly. “And if you ever left the confines of Belgravia and Mayfair and actually spoke to any of these people, you might learn that for yourself. You know, this is what annoys me about all these parties and so on that you and Thalia go to. You all think life is such a game, a show put on for your own amusement.” She paused for a moment, trying to halt herself, but for some reason found she couldn’t and that once she had started, the words were unstoppable. “But you have no idea. You have no idea what it’s like to be poor, or ill, or unable to provide for your own children.” She found her eyes suddenly well up with tears as she remembered some of the workers she had spoken to who were on strike. Some of the things they had told her about their wages and conditions were appalling. Then there was her ill mother—for Edwin to actually have the opportunity to move to Kenya and not take it.… But her tears also sprang from a different place—Clio hated herself for lecturing Edwin on this beautiful, sunny day, in the middle of the lake in Hyde Park. There were moments in which you were meant to enjoy life. This was one of them. “I can’t believe I just said that, but I did. I did. And you made me say it. Oh, I wish I was in Kenya now, with my mother, I truly do. I hate this city.”
Edwin stared at her, unblinking. Staring back at him, Clio found she couldn’t read his expression at all.
“I’m sorry,” Clio began, glancing away, over the water, “I—”
But Edwin spoke over her. “Don’t you think I know that?” he said to her, suddenly leaning forward, causing the boat to rock. Clio grabbed at the sides of it, alarmed, but Edwin did not pause. “Don’t you think I open the newspaper and see myself pictured in a bib on page two, next to a story on striking miners on page three? Do you think I don’t realize it can’t go on? That such things can’t coexist? Perhaps my mother is right. I should go to Kenya.”
“Maybe you should.” Clio’s dark eyes challenged him.
“Maybe you should,” Edwin countered.
Clio’s gaze remained fixed to Edwin’s green eyes. Her thoughts turned to the letter that she would now surely write to Nicholas in Kenya. “When I find myself a willing husband,” she told Edwin, “trust me, it will be the very first thing I do.”
* * *
“What were you talking to Edwin about?” Thalia caught Clio’s arm the very moment the two gentlemen bid them good day back at Belgrave Square. Needless to say, it was not the most jovial of walks back to the town house. Haggis McTavish seemed the only happy member of the party, pleased with his time at the park in the sunshine.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Clio snapped. She was hot and cross, and simply couldn’t bear Thalia’s triumph at her arguing with Edwin right now. However, almost immediately she felt a stab of guilt for snapping when Thalia was, at least, finally speaking to her. “It wasn’t terrible,” she added with a sigh. “If you must know, we spoke about Kenya.”
“Kenya?” Thalia visibly recoiled. “Again?”
“What do you mean ‘again’?” Clio removed her hat and fanned herself with it. “As far as I can recall, I have mentioned it once before. Once!”
“I suppose I just don’t understand what is so awfully fascinating about the place.” Thalia removed her own hat in a much more reserved fashion and then proceeded to inspect it, plucking off a wayward thread. “I mean, what is so wonderful about Kenya? What is the appeal?” She glanced up at Clio. “Really, I’d like to know.”
Clio sucked in her breath. Really, Thalia was insufferable. Fine, then. She wanted to know? Well, Clio would tell her. “You really cannot think of anyone but yourself, can you? You can’t for a moment put aside your own feelings and even guess at why I might want to go somewhere like Kenya. I mean, apart from Kenya being perfect for my mother’s health, which I have already told you.”
In front of her, Thalia stared at her blankly. “You have more than one reason? I’m astounded.”
Clio shook her head at her sister’s arrogance. And Thalia wondered why she had hidden the memorial portrait from her! “Look at me.” Clio ran a hand up and down her body now. “Look at me! Do you think, with my coloring, with my looks, that I belonged in a small English village? Do you? Don’t you think people whispered about me, talked about me behind my back, treated me differently, gossiped about my situation? I didn’t belong there and I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged anywhere in my entire life, Thalia. Don’t you think the appeal of somewhere like Kenya might be the fact that I could belong there, in a place where no English person really belongs?”
Thalia let her hat drop by her side now and took a step forward. “Belonging! Don’t talk to me about belonging. At least you had two parents who doted on you.”
“And I thank God every day for that.” Clio’s voice rose with frustration. “I know you did not have that and I am sorry for it, but I cannot change the past, Thalia, I cannot. None of us can. Don’t blame me for something I had no part in and could not control.”
But Thalia simply shook her head. “The problem with you, Clio, is that you have no idea. You imagine I simply quarreled now and again with my uncle and aunt. That we had minor disagreements. That I wasn’t allowed a new dress or a holiday abroad.”
“I never said…,” Clio began.
Thalia’s expression hardened as she continued. “If I told you the things that went on in that house—what I had endured—part of you would shrivel and die, Clio, knowing that such things happen.”
Clio refused to back down. “You think I am so sheltered. That I know nothing of life. That I’ve been kept like a lapdog my entire life—fed and patted and cosseted. It isn’t true. It’s only what you would like to imagine. Things happen in villages. My father had to intervene in many situations. If you would only try to talk to me, Thalia, you would see that. I want to help you. I know I can, if only you’ll let me.”
Thalia’s eyes did not waver from Clio’s in the silence that followed. Watching her, there was a moment—a fleeting moment—where Clio imagined that she saw her sister’s expression soften and hoped her hard exterior might crack. That she would finally catch even a glimpse of what was underneath that hard shell. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that softness retreated once more and Thalia turned away. As she went, she uttered a final few words. “Go on, then. Run off to Kenya to marry your boring little coffee farmer. I’ll be the first one to take my place at the dock to wave you good-bye.”
* * *
“You look lovely, Ro,” Clio said, exiting her bedroom at the same time as her sister.
“That’s sweet of you.” Ro looked down, taking i
n her new dress of apple-green silk crepe that Hestia had bought her for the occasion. It was simple, with its straight, slim bodice and hips and swirl of soft material around the knees, but also pretty with its single rows of tiny silver beads and diamantés. The problem was that Hestia had picked it out herself and now that Ro had put it on, she saw that it was not the best choice of color for someone so fair. Flustered, she lifted a hand to smooth her hair, not having had much time to ready herself for the party. She had spent almost the entire day in the attic once more, combing the place from top to bottom. She had found nothing. With Vincent’s imminent arrival, she felt the need even more keenly to find something, anything, to change the girls’ situation. There had to be something else, something she was missing … It was driving her mad.
“Ro? Are you all right?” Clio stepped forward, placing her hand on her arm.
“Sorry.” Ro exhaled. “I’m just rather distracted. As I said before, I found nothing of consequence in our mother’s belongings. Nothing at all.”
“I know you’re disappointed,” Clio said to comfort her, “but I’m sure something will…”
The pair stopped to look as Thalia exited her bedroom into the hall, almost tripping over Haggis McTavish who had bounded out into the hallway with her. Her eyes flicked from one of them to the other. “Like it?”
Clio and Ro eyed their sister wordlessly. If Ro had felt less than enthusiastic about her dress a moment ago, now she felt downright miserable. Yet again, she was a second-rate version of her more beautiful sister. In front of them, Thalia looked stunning. She was wearing a two-toned dress of rose and blue silk velvet, a large silk flower upon one shoulder. In her hand, she held a matching cape with a white-fox fur collar.
“Isn’t it lovely? I had to have it,” Thalia continued. “What do you think, Ro?” She pushed for an answer.
“I think I’m wondering how on earth you could afford such an outfit.” Ro stared at the dress and cape. Both items had obviously been hideously expensive. “And I know you’ll simply tell me I’m being tedious once more, but I’d like to know where you got the money from.” Ro was becoming more and more suspicious of Thalia’s expenditures. She doubted she was receiving any money from home and knew that even money earned from several newspapers would not pay for such a dress.
“One of my many admirers, of course,” Thalia said with a tight smile, and made her way breezily down the hallway, her dress swinging in her wake. “Oh, and before I forget,” she said as she turned back for just a moment when she reached the stairs, “Venetia and I are holding our own little gathering tomorrow at her town house. Dinner. You’re both invited.”
As Thalia flounced off down the stairs, Ro and Clio stared at each other wordlessly, both surprised to hear of the invitation what with the obvious rift currently between them … and nervous of just what it might entail.
* * *
Despite the unflattering shade of her dress, Ro had to admit that the evening was going exceedingly well. She had managed to drag Vincent around the room with her and have Hestia introduce him to all kinds of important people. At last count he had met two dukes, an earl, several politicians and professors, and a smattering of artists. Pleased with herself, Ro wondered how many dukes Mrs. Mitchell had been able to rustle up when Vincent had been invited for tea. None, she was sure of it. With Vincent busy talking animatedly to one of the dukes on the other side of the room, she took a moment to find herself a glass of punch and to simply watch the proceedings. At one point, Thalia caught her eye. She almost had to applaud her beautiful sister, who was unashamedly entertaining the men in the room, starting with the wealthiest and working her way down. As Ro sipped and continued to watch the entertainment before her, Hestia caught her eye as she conversed with someone and gave her niece a small smile, before returning her attention to her companion. Hestia knew she was up to something, Ro was sure of it. Which, of course, she was.
As she polished off her punch, Ro continued to spy upon Vincent as he spoke to this person and that. When she was done, she joined Hestia and Clio (who had been clinging to Hestia’s side all evening), leaving Vincent to his own devices.
When several of the guests had taken their leave and it looked as if several more might also soon do so, Ro excused herself and took a moment in the cool marble surroundings of the entrance hall to gather her thoughts. Yes, the evening had been a success—she had managed to introduce Vincent to all sorts of important people—but now what? Where did she go from here?
“What were you saying?” A voice spoke out from behind her, making Ro jump.
“Oh!” Ro turned, thrilled to see Vincent had noticed her absence and followed her. “I was talking to myself. A silly habit of mine.”
“I don’t think it’s that silly. I know I talk to myself all the time.” Vincent glanced around the hallway. “Is that the library?” He pointed to the closed door across the hall.
Ro nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Is there anyone in there?”
“I don’t think so. At least, there shouldn’t be…,” Ro replied and then, before she knew what was happening, Vincent had grabbed her hand, led her across the hall, and they were in the library itself, with the door shut behind them and Ro leaning against it.
“You,” Vincent told her, his face suddenly close to hers, his breath warm and smelling of wine, “are amazing. That you would do this for me—I’m … honored. Especially after…”
“We don’t need to talk about that,” Ro said quickly. “It’s as I told you in the letter I sent you the other day. I understand the need to research, to better one’s knowledge…”
“You really are amazing,” Vincent told her again, stepping in closer toward her. He slid his hand down the door and placed it on the nape of her neck, where he toyed with some strands of her hair. “Amazing,” he repeated as his lips moved to hers. Once again, Ro knew she should resist and, once again, she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she allowed herself to capture Vincent’s lips in hers and be engulfed in his deliciousness.
Ro quickly forgot who or where she was as she and Vincent explored each other’s mouths and bodies. More daring this time, she found her own hands moving over Vincent, pulling him closer toward her, kissing him even more deeply.
As the minutes passed, the pair’s embrace became fiercer and more passionate than ever before. Vincent’s body thrust into Ro’s and she responded teasingly, pushing her own hips into his. When Vincent’s hand finally found its way under the beaded neckline of her dress and then beneath her lace bandeau, in no way did she tell him to stop. And when he cupped her bare breast, she murmured only delirious noises of happiness, silencing the voices in her head that were telling her she would surely be caught.
It was just as Ro was beginning to hazily wonder what on earth might happen next, that footsteps sounded in the hallway, close by. The footsteps stopped directly behind the door Vincent and Ro were leaning against and the two immediately halted, waiting for the unwanted rattle of the doorknob. There was a pause, as if the owner were looking for something, or someone; then he or she took off once more, leaving Vincent and Ro, even more breathless than they had been seconds ago, upon each other.
They stared at each other in abject horror for a moment or two, before laughing, Ro bringing her hand up to cover her mouth lest she laugh too loudly, giving them away. After a few more seconds had passed, Ro fancied she heard the person ascending the main staircase.
“For a moment there I considered praying that it was Thalia.” Ro breathed a sigh of relief.
But Vincent laughed again. “Are you sure? If what we saw at the castle is anything to go by, she might have wanted to join us.”
“True,” Ro replied. “Though we’re not entirely speaking at the moment. And then there’s also the fact that I don’t feel much like sharing.” She grabbed at Vincent’s jacket, bringing him back down to her face and kissing him gently. Vincent seemed willing, but pulled away again shortly.
“Speaking of Thal
ia.” He looked slightly confused. “I have a question I wanted to ask you about her. I picked up one of the more gossip-laden newspapers the other day in a tearoom and happened upon her picture. I didn’t realize she had a different surname. As, obviously, does your other sister—the dark-haired one—who I was introduced to before. And yet your aunt mentioned you are triplets.”
Ro gave a silent gulp and tried very hard to read Vincent’s expression. Where was this going?
In front of Ro, Vincent moved his arm up the door resting it above her. “When you came to see me at the university, it wasn’t to ask about puppies, was it?”
Ro’s heartbeat quickened for all the wrong reasons. “No…,” she replied slowly, forcing herself to think fast. “It’s a … matter that’s being sorted at present. I can’t really say anything more. Not right now. But I will be able to soon—I assure you,” she added. Ro hesitated, wondering how much it was right to reveal. “There are a number of small issues to be sorted out, but I hope to be able to use my title and gain my inheritance shortly. It’s … quite a large sum, I’m led to believe.”
“That sounds awfully difficult for you.” Vincent paused, before frowning slightly. “I do hope it all works out.”
“As do I.” Ro breathed a sigh of relief at Vincent’s response. She considered it a bonus that he had still come this evening after learning that not everything added up where Ro’s family was concerned. Ro opened her mouth to say something else, but quieted when she heard footsteps running back downstairs once more.
“Ro?” a voice called out hesitantly, from the bottom of the stairs. Ro knew immediately it was Clio.
“I’d better go,” Vincent whispered and, in the half dark, Ro nodded, gesturing toward the opposite end of the room and another door. Vincent nodded, silently, and paused for only one more moment to kiss Ro’s fingers, still interlaced with his own, which he then released before departing.
After Ro was sure he was gone, she located the light switch and turned the lights on. She smoothed her hair with both her hands, then hesitantly opened the door. Clio was crossing the hallway.
The Heiresses Page 21
