“Oh! There you are!” Clio turned on hearing the door open.
“I was feeling a little overwhelmed,” Ro said. She smiled slightly, thinking this was, at least, true. And she hoped she would feel overwhelmed once again by Vincent’s touch very, very soon.
“There’s a problem,” Clio continued and it was only now that Ro realized Clio looked anxious—her hands clenched together nervously. She glanced upward now, toward the floor above. “It’s Thalia’s brother, James. He arrived uninvited and he and Thalia are in the morning room. They’re fighting about something. I’m not sure what, but they’re getting louder by the minute.”
* * *
In the morning room, Thalia shrugged carelessly at her brother. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I have appeared in the newspaper. Yes, I have changed my name. And what of it?”
James, who had refused to sit down, had been pacing the room ever since Thalia had dragged him up the stairs into it. Unfortunately, the several guests who still remained had already heard a good deal of their argument. All that good work she had done on the duke and the earl who had taken her fancy was now wasted. She was furious.
“What of it? What of it?!” James spluttered. “Is that how you repay my family for the years you spent under our roof?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, James.” Thalia eyed him distastefully. “You needn’t be so high and mighty about it. You took off five minutes after you were done with Eton and Oxford. And let’s not pretend for a minute that your parents took me in out of the goodness of their own hearts.”
“And what would you know about that?” James eyed her from the other side of the room.
“Obviously less than you, but the more I learn about my real father, the more I can guess. Your father obviously owed him a favor of some sort, or was in debt to him. I can’t say I really care what it was. I suppose it related to money in some way, because your father’s never really been very good with money, has he?”
James stalked across the room to Thalia, who stared him straight in the eye and reminded herself not to flinch in the slightest way. The Haigh Parkers were like dogs. They could smell fear a mile off. “What?” Thalia continued, perching on the edge of a sofa now. “You can hardly deny it.”
“None of us can believe the things we’ve been reading in the newspaper. I’ve been sent to tell you to come home, or to never come back at all. If you continue this wanton behavior, the gates of Lintern Park will be closed to you forever.”
Thalia simply laughed at this. “That’s the best news I think I’ve ever had.”
James paused for a moment. “You make me sick,” he snarled. “You always have.”
Thalia stood up now. “Well, then. That makes two of us who feel that way, because you make me sick, too. If you expect me to thank you—or your revolting family—for anything, you will be a long time waiting. I spent my childhood doing nothing but roaming that dilapidated house like a ghost, waiting for the day when I might marry and leave. Though I have no idea how I was supposed to do that, considering we never went anywhere and rarely had visitors.”
“It seems you’re making up for it now.” James gestured toward one of the newspapers that he had brought with him, which he had flung on an armchair.
“I certainly am,” Thalia answered him. “But I’m not finished with our younger years yet. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? In the hope of remembering why I might not fancy returning.” Thalia started to count off on her fingers. “There was the time Hugh pushed me from the front gates and I broke my arm. Then there was the time you held my head under water in the lake so long that I fainted and almost drowned. There was the time you burned the hair from my favorite doll…”
In front of her, James smirked. “All normal, healthy things that siblings do.”
Thalia ignored him. “There were all the times you pushed off to boarding school or the university and never once defended my need for an education. Oh, and then there was the time you thought you could invite your friends into my bed to do with me as they pleased.”
James lost his smirk. “You’ve always been prone to exaggeration, Thalia.”
With a steely glare, Thalia stared at James to try and ascertain how much he knew. She had never been sure he knew of the entire situation with the friend of his, whom she had stabbed. Had his parents ever told him the whole story? With a barely concealed gulp, she pushed the memory from her mind, as she always did when it arose. This had proved difficult over the past few days. Being grabbed and hurled into the backseat of that car had caused the memories from that time to come flooding back. Now she took the two steps over that she needed in order to be in James’s face. He was not much taller than she, and she was able to stare him almost dead in the eye. “As I said, you make me sick and I never want to see your spineless father, your weak-minded mother, or you ever again. And good luck to poor little Albert, for he will need it. Now get out. GET OUT!” she screamed. In the next room, where Thalia had shut him in, knowing he would cause a fuss, Haggis McTavish began to bark loudly.
James took a step back. He stared at her as if she were insane. “You’re mad. You always have been. Mad like your mother and your aunt, I’d say.”
“Oh, James.” Thalia shook her head wearily. “I wouldn’t go pointing fingers where mad parents are concerned. All I want is to never see any of you ever again. Now, what was that I said before? That’s it, GET OUT!” she screamed once more. “GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!”
Her heart pumping in a crazed fashion, Thalia didn’t care what James thought of her, or how mad she seemed. She simply wanted him out of this room, out of the town house. Forever. If she never saw another Haigh Parker in her entire life again, it would be too soon.
James fled without another word, his jaw set hard. As he retreated, leaving the morning room door open, Thalia leaned one hand against the back of an armchair and tried to compose herself. It was not easy, after having brought so many old memories to the surface—ones she was used to suppressing. This was happening far too frequently these days for her liking.
“Thalia!” Ro entered the room, carrying an agitated Haggis McTavish. “Clio just came to get me. I wasn’t sure if we should come in, or wait outside, but then James came rushing out … Are you all right?” She came over closer, in order to inspect her sister. “He didn’t hurt you in any way?” She set Haggis McTavish down on the floor.
Thalia found she couldn’t look at either Ro or Clio, who had now also entered the room, directly in the eye. She could still see the visions, the remembrances of what had happened, swirling in her mind. She willed them away and tried to concentrate on the present. “He and his wretched family can’t hurt me ever again,” she said, reassuring herself. “He’s gone. For good.”
“What do you mean?” Ro asked slowly.
“I mean I’ve been disowned,” Thalia replied as flippantly as she could. “Apparently the gates of Lintern Park are closed to me forever. Thank goodness.”
“Oh, Thalia!” Clio replied, taking a step forward. But Thalia raised one hand, halting her.
“Don’t start with your pity, Clio. You, of all people, have no idea. No idea at all. It is a blessing to have the gates of Lintern Park closed to me. Nothing less.”
“But your brother…,” Clio continued, sounding shocked.
“He is not my brother, Clio.” Thalia’s voice began to rise once more. “He was never my brother. You really have no idea, so not one more word. From either of you,” she added, as Ro began to open her mouth. “Now, Ro”—she turned fully toward her sister, her demeanor suggesting she had not a care in the world—“I quite fancy taking my mind off this evening with a book. Is your little friend gone from the library yet?”
Ro’s eyes slid to Clio’s before nodding silently.
“Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to disturb anything.” She bent down now to casually ruffle Haggis McTavish’s ears. “You know, I had a chance to observe him this evening. He’s awfully like ivy.” When
she looked up again and saw Ro’s confused expression, Thalia continued. “I mean, it’s just that he’s so awfully good at climbing, isn’t he? Now, before I go to bed, don’t forget about tomorrow night. Dinner. Seven o’clock, 70 Eaton Square. It’s not far. And, for goodness’ sake, wear something suitable.”
* * *
The yodeling was audible halfway down the street from 70 Eaton Square. As Ro and Clio continued to walk toward their destination, the music became louder and they glanced at each other from time to time, never once doubting from where the noise was emanating. Ro had guessed the culprit from the very first note she had heard—Thalia.
The pair finally stopped outside the rich cream façade and dark iron railings of 70 Eaton Square itself, where the glossy black front door was wide open, as were all the windows on the ground floor. Music blared out from inside. The yodeling had now stopped and a man’s voice sang some nonsense about how he missed his “Swiss miss,” who apparently, also missed him.
After a moment or two, Ro turned to Clio. “Shall we?” She nodded toward the open front door.
“I suppose so,” Clio replied, with a slight shrug. “Though something tells me I should turn and run the other way.”
Ro started up the stairs first and hesitated at the front door itself, reaching over to ring the doorbell. As she had suspected, no one could hear them. After a minute or two, she tried again. Still nothing. “Oh, come on, then,” she said as she waved to Clio. “Let’s just go in. They’re obviously in the drawing room. And with the front door open, I don’t think they’re going to be big on formality.”
“You’re probably right.” Clio nodded in agreement.
Ro and Clio walked hesitantly into the marble entrance hall with its impressive Ionic columns, gilt picture frames, and hand-painted ceiling. “A little different from Hestia’s.” Ro raised her eyebrows at Clio, whose eyes were quite wide.
“It’s beautiful,” Clio whispered. “Look!” She pointed up to the entrance hall’s glittering chandelier, which was pretty, but Ro had to admit she hadn’t really noticed, having seen so many before.
This town house was far more what Ro was used to from visiting her school friends during the holidays. She had realized at once on entering the Belgrave Square town house just how unconventional Hestia was, with her new furnishings in the latest style and her lack of staff. Though, she had recently heard a rumor, which explained the situation with the lack of staff. Apparently Hestia used to have a lady’s maid, until that lady’s maid had happened upon a visitor in Hestia’s bedroom early one morning—a female visitor. When her lady’s maid hadn’t been able to keep the secret, Hestia had dismissed almost all the house’s staff. Ro hadn’t yet told Clio or Thalia what she had heard—Clio, because she knew how shocked she would be, and Thalia, because she wasn’t entirely sure what she would do with the information.
“Hello?” Ro called out, as she moved into view of the drawing room. Inside, the music was louder than ever. The heavy gilt furniture had been pushed aside and now jostled for position with Italian marble busts on their heavy plinths, and in the center of the room, several people danced.
Including Thalia. And Vincent.
“Vincent!” Ro was shocked. What was he doing here?
“Ah! There you are!” Thalia spotted the pair, grabbed at Vincent’s hand, and dragged him over. “I’ve been minding Vincent for you. Teaching him the Charleston, actually. He’s terrible.”
“I am,” Vincent said as he smiled at Ro.
Ro’s eyes moved from Vincent to Thalia and back again. What, exactly, was going on here? What was her sister up to? Knowing how angry she still was about the memorial portrait, which Ro had finally convinced her she honestly had not known anything about, she was on high alert all the same for her tricks. As the yodeling began in the background once more, Ro saw that her sister was, yet again, wearing another new outfit—this time a stunning layered dress of deep claret, which skimmed her body beautifully.
“Come and have a cocktail before dinner.” Thalia waved them inside the room. She was all innocence, which was what worried Ro the most. “I know I need at least one more before we sit down.”
* * *
Clio tried very hard not to squirm in her seat. There was something strange about this dinner. Something not quite right. She felt as if everyone was … looking at her. Studying her. As if she were some kind of oddity. But this was most likely because she felt ill at ease, not having dined in many grand houses before. The menu card, in particular, lying in front of her on the table and written in French, was a constant reminder of this. She could guess at only a few of the dishes. However, she was seated next to Edwin, which was nice, and he soon made her feel a little less jumpy, with his easy talk.
Ro was across the table within speaking distance, sitting next to Vincent, and with only twelve guests, Venetia and Thalia were not too far away, but far enough so that Clio felt a little more comfortable than if they had been close by, listening in on her every word.
By the time the soup arrived (cream of watercress, Clio suspected), she had managed to calm down a bit and was even starting to enjoy the evening a little. She and Edwin were not quarreling for once and Ro, who had obviously been startled by Vincent’s presence in the drawing room, now seemed to be enjoying his company.
The problems began with the next dishes to arrive—fresh oysters and bowls of mussels. When they appeared, Clio eyed them warily. She did not live in a county by the sea and her family had not been of the sort that could afford these sorts of foodstuffs, or dined with people who were able to. Also, there was the reminder of the one time she had overindulged on cockles as a seaside holiday treat and had paid for it—tossing and turning in her bed for half the night. Clio shuddered slightly, remembering the incident.
“Is there a problem?” Edwin leaned in slightly, noticing her discomfort, as the footman hovered behind them.
“I … once had a nasty altercation with some cockles,” Clio whispered.
“Ah,” Edwin said as he nodded. “I understand completely. Just last week I had a nasty altercation with one too many bottles of wine.”
Clio frowned at him. “I don’t think that’s entirely the same thing. And I was ten years of age, if I remember correctly.”
Edwin grinned. “I’m sure the results were quite similar.”
“Yes, most likely.” Clio smiled. “Anyway, even if I wanted to … I’m not sure how…”
“Never fear, I’ll show you.” Edwin saw what the other problem was immediately—the one Clio had not yet admitted to. She had no idea how to eat oysters or mussels in polite society.
“What’s the matter, Clio?” Thalia’s voice boomed.
“Nothing, nothing.” Edwin waved a hand. “A small disagreement a number of years back with another bivalve mollusk.”
Venetia snorted at this. “You must try them, Clio,” she said. “They’re absolutely divine. Edwin will be able to help you out if you’re not sure what to do…” She let the rest of her sentence trail off, but everyone at the table turned to look at Clio anyway, knowing full well where her pointed comment was headed.
Silently, the footman stepped forward and Clio selected several oysters for her plate. She found she could not even look at the mussels and had to wave them away with a whimper. Edwin, ever the gentleman, said nothing, but gave her a wink and made sure to eat the oyster first in clear view, so that she could copy him.
Several courses followed over, which Clio struggled. She had, of course, no idea how an artichoke was eaten, the leaves pulled off and then the meat stripped from each one by pulling through the teeth. She wasn’t sure if she should dip each leaf in the small bowl of butter sauce, or spoon a little onto her plate. No, as the evening progressed, she wasn’t sure of anything, except that she did not belong as the other people at the table belonged and that Edwin, sitting beside her, was now as sure of this as she was. She had never hidden the fact from him that their lives and families were exceedingly different,
but this—surely this made it clear to him just how very different they were.
“No, thank you.” Clio shook her head at the suggestion of more wine. As it was, she had barely touched her glass all evening. Having seen, through some of her father’s parishioners, the effects drink wrought when abused, she had never taken more than one glass of wine until the night of Venetia’s knights and damsels party and had not enjoyed the experience of partaking in more. She doubted she would ever have more than one glass at a time ever again. Others at the table felt differently, it seemed—the room was filled with raucous laughter now that more than several glasses had been imbibed.
“Oh, really, Venetia,” Edwin called out, and Clio returned to the present to see another course had made its way to the table. This time, some sort of small game bird. “Cornish game hens! You know how I detest them.”
“Thalia thought Clio might like to try them.” Again, all eyes at the table swung to Clio.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” Clio replied evenly, though she longed to stand up, push back her chair, and walk out the front door.
Edwin turned to her. “Well, I wish I had the luck of never eating a Cornish game hen before. I’m sure they starve them on purpose—all bones and no meat. Quite the exercise in futility.”
“Now, now. Even a Cornish game hen’s mother loves it.” Clio rallied from her social embarrassment for a moment to tease him, eyeing the jaunty little legs sticking upward on Edwin’s plate and causing Edwin to roar with laughter.
“What was that, Edwin?” Venetia asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t possibly tell you.” Edwin set about carving up the bird on his plate. “I’m too busy concentrating on locating a mouthful of food before I starve to death.”
“Perhaps you could persuade Edwin to move to Kenya as well, Clio?” Thalia replied for her friend. “I’m sure it’s nothing but huge roasted giraffe’s legs and so on for dinner there.”
* * *
The Heiresses Page 22
