Finally, Felix spoke once more. “Your parents … they were good to you? Erato assures me this is the case, but I must know. I could not bear to think that…” He broke off here, unable to continue, his every word filled with emotion.
“Please, don’t think for a minute that…” Clio waved both of her hands. “My mother and father—that is, the people who took me in—oh, but I could not have had a lovelier childhood. You must believe me. Certainly, we did not have as much money as Ro’s family, or the family who took Thalia in, but I was much loved and wanted.”
“I hear your father was a vicar.”
Clio nodded. She went to open her mouth to say something about her father, but found herself suddenly at a loss for words, thinking how much she needed him with her right now.
“You must think me a dreadful sinner,” Felix said quietly, his eyes fixed on his daughter. “And I was, of course, but in my defense, I must tell you I loved your mother very much. Too much. In the way that I became blind to all else. It is only with age and experience and a daughter—two daughters!—of my own, that I can see not everything Demeter and I did was right, simply because we were in love. Youth does blind you to these matters…” He shook his head slightly with this. “Oh, how old I sound saying that. Positively decrepit!”
“No,” Clio said quickly. “I understand. I might only be eighteen, but I already know love can be … difficult.” She thought of Edwin’s proposal now. And of how much she missed his cheery presence in her life, despite his foibles.
“There is … something else I must tell you.” Felix’s voice remained quiet.
But Clio barely heard his words, having found her eyes dragged, mesmerized, back to the photograph on the side table—the photograph of Felix’s wife and daughter—as she thought of Edwin. And of family. Of perhaps one day having a family of her own, like Felix did. It took Clio’s brain several more moments to register that Felix had spoken. “Did you say something?”
“Perhaps we shall speak about it another day.” Felix smiled indulgently, seeing what Clio was staring at. “You do look awfully alike, don’t you? I must say it was quite a shock seeing you for the first time. Almost as if I was presented with a grown-up version of my ten-year-old daughter. Would you like to meet her?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Penelope, I mean?”
“Oh, yes. Very much,” Clio said as she nodded enthusiastically. “Very much indeed.”
“She is desperate to meet you.” Felix twisted in his chair, gesturing toward the closed door to the study. “If you go over and open the door,” he continued quietly, “I’m sure you’ll find she’s been there the whole time.” He turned back to Clio, with a comical smile upon his face and Clio immediately understood he meant her to surprise the unsuspecting Penelope.
With a smile that, unknowingly, matched Felix’s exactly, Clio stood silently and crept across the room, while her father looked on. She placed her hand upon the cold brass doorknob slowly … then, all at once, twisted it and wrenched the door open dramatically. And there, just as Felix had said she would be, was Penelope, staring up at her with wide, deep brown eyes and a little o for a mouth, formed from the shock of being caught eavesdropping.
Clio couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you so very much!”
Penelope continued to stare at her mutely and, eventually, Clio thought she had better say something. “Hello,” she said as she held out her hand. “I’m Clio. And you must be Penelope.”
It was Clio’s words that saw Penelope move into action. Suddenly, her own words flew out, garbled and breathless. “I’ve always wanted a sister of my very own. Even more than a pony! My friend Beatrice has one—a sister, I mean, not a pony, though she has a pony, too. And Eleanor. Alice, too! And now I do! Because you’re here. You’re really here!”
Clio gasped, then laughed, her eyes welling unexpectedly once more with tears at her half sister’s explosive welcome.
Penelope continued to peer up at her with those eyes of hers—Clio’s eyes. One and the same. Then she lurched forward and attached herself to Clio’s waist, encircling her with her arms in such a way that Clio suspected she might never let go.
“Pene!” her father called out, standing up from his seat.
But Clio only raised a hand, asking him to pause. “It’s all right,” she said, and picked Penelope’s arms off her waist, in order that she could get down on her knees and embrace properly the girl, her half sister, this gorgeous creature Penelope. And as she pulled Penelope to her, feeling the warmth of her love for her, she realized how very fortunate she was to be accepted into two loving families in one lifetime.
No, she might not have grown up with the status, education, or money that her sisters had, but in her heart she knew without a doubt that she was, by far, the most fortunate of the three indeed.
* * *
“It’s as Thalia says. Things are changing. Society is changing. It will be all right. You’ll see.” Ro reached out to touch Clio’s arm as they walked slowly back to Belgrave Square.
On leaving Felix’s town house (only many promises of returning soon saw Penelope able to be pried from her waist), Clio had been elated. But it had only taken a few short steps in the direction of Belgravia for reality to set in. Her father was a duke. Her half sister was a lady. And Clio herself was … illegitimate and title-less. She knew that she would always be welcome in her father’s home, but what if she saw him on the street? Surely he would have to turn the other way. She knew Ro was partly right—society was changing. The war had seen to that. But Clio wasn’t sure it was changing fast enough for her to slip seamlessly into Felix’s family. Not to mention into the upper echelons of society. “I didn’t ask him for help with Charles,” Clio confessed to Ro. “I couldn’t.”
“Of course you couldn’t!” Ro replied. “Thalia couldn’t possibly expect you to, given the circumstances.”
“I think she honestly expected me to ask.” Clio glanced at her sister.
The pair laughed conspiratorially when their eyes met. “Yes, I’m sure she did,” Ro replied. Beside her, matching her step, Ro studied her expression inquisitively. “Do you wish you’d never known about any of this?” she asked Clio eventually. “Do you wish you’d been left to live a peaceful life in your village?”
Clio thought about this question for a moment or two before replying. “No,” she said, quite surprised at her own answer. “No, I don’t think so. I would have simply been hiding away, wouldn’t I? I think, in some ways, all of this has been good for me. I didn’t know that I could be … strong enough. I mean, to deal with all of this. But I am. I can deal with it. And somehow I know there will be an end to it and a new beginning. At least, I have to trust that God will grant me one. Does that make any sense?”
Ro nodded. “It does.”
“Do you wish you’d never known?” Clio threw the question back at her companion, remembering the shock Ro had been through last night—of finding Vincent in Thalia’s room. What an awful blow that must have been for her. But, as terrible as what Thalia had done was, and as angry and disappointed and as mixed-up as Ro currently seemed, Clio felt somewhat relieved of the burden of Vincent. Clio hated to admit it, but she had never cared for the man. Instantly on meeting him, she had felt he had dismissed her as a simple girl from the country—which she was, but Vincent had made her feel as if there were something wrong with it. As if it should be something to be ashamed of.
Ro gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “No. Not for a moment. Despite everything, despite what Thalia did to me, I’ve never wished Hestia hadn’t brought us together and don’t think I ever will.”
* * *
“There’s a letter for you,” Thalia crowed, the moment the girls opened the door to the town house. “From Kenya!” Even Haggis McTavish seemed excited, running up and down the marble entry, skidding here and there as he went.
“Really?” Clio replied evenly, peeling off her coat and removing the detes
ted scarf, not wanting to show Thalia that she cared either way.
“Hello, Ro,” Thalia said, pointedly, on noticing that she was being ignored.
“If I were you, I would get out of my way,” Ro muttered, under her breath.
“Really? Are you still cross about that? He’s just a silly old scoundrel. Let that revolting Genevieve and her pretentious parents have him.”
“Thank you so much for your advice. Now get out of my way.” Ro flounced off into the drawing room in a very non-Ro-like fashion.
“Well!” Thalia watched her go. “Here you are.” She passed the letter over to Clio. “You never know. Perhaps it’s a proposal?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clio retorted, taking it from her and opening it as she walked over into the drawing room, Thalia fast at her heels. The truth was, she had never posted her own letter to Nicholas. She had reached the postbox and simply stood there, with the envelope in hand, unable for some reason to push it through the slot and send it on its way. She felt as if she’d almost done something wrong even by approaching the postbox at all. As she’d stood there, undecided, she had wondered if her hesitation was because of the things her sisters had said—how shocked they had been at her even thinking of marrying Nicholas. Or perhaps it was because, in her heart, she knew Nicholas cared for her more than she cared for him. That by angling for a proposal in her letter, she was, in fact, being untruthful—suggesting that she felt the same way. Several times, Clio had held the letter up to the rim of the postbox, sometimes even dangling it precariously through the slot. But, each time, she pulled it back out, as if it were somehow glued to her fingers. Eventually, a gentleman had come along wanting to post something himself, startling her, and she had scurried back home, telling herself she would give the letter some more thought. She had placed it, out of sight, in one of the drawers of her dressing table, and had tried very hard to forget about it.
“What does it say?” Ro asked, curious, as Clio stood, resting one hand on the mantelpiece, scanning Nicholas’s words. She studiously ignored Thalia as she moved about the room, picking up and inspecting this and that.
But Clio did not answer. The more of Nicholas’s words she read, the more she knew what was surely coming. He had heard that her mother’s health was no better, he “couldn’t stop thinking about her,” knew that she was the kind of person who could “make a go of things in Kenya” and that he thought they would “make a good pair.” And then, just as she knew it would be, there it was. Thalia had been right. The letter did contain a proposal. A short, to-the-point proposal. A proposal that made complete sense. A logical, thought-out proposal. A proposal, Clio noted, without one mention of true love of any kind. With a gulp, Clio continued on, scanning the rest of the letter, all the time her mind whirling with the insanity of two such very different proposals in such a short space of time. Finally, finished reading, she refolded the letter and placed it in her pocket to read at a slower pace later on.
“So, what did he say?” Ro asked, pushing herself upright on the sofa.
“Yes, what did he say?” Thalia seconded from her armchair, and Clio noticed Ro shot her a displeased look.
“Nothing much,” Clio said carefully. “It’s as I told you before—he used to be all university, university, university. But now it’s not the university, it’s coffee.”
“Oh, how dreary.” Thalia looked deflated. “I was so hopeful that he was going to come to his senses and propose. Maybe he really is going to waste those looks forever?”
“Well, he…,” Clio began, not entirely sure what she was going to say, but then, much to her relief, the three were interrupted by the doorbell and Haggis McTavish’s barking.
“I’ll get it.” Thalia bounded toward the door, while Ro and Clio shared a look. Thalia was certainly being very well behaved today. Because of her misdemeanor regarding Vincent last night, no doubt. Sometimes Clio thought Thalia was more aware of just how far she could push people than it often seemed. Voices emanated from the hallway. “It’s Edwin!” Thalia called out.
“Oh!” Clio instinctively touched the letter, hidden away safely in her pocket. Then, in a flurry of movement, she moved over to the couch, next to Ro, sat down, then stood up once more, realizing Thalia would notice she had sat down and might think it odd and say something in front of Edwin.
Ro watched her closely, frowning slightly. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Nothing!” Clio replied. “What do you mean?”
Ro took her strange movements to mean something else entirely. “Are you feeling all right after your visit? Maybe you should lie down for a while?”
Her questions remained unanswered, however, as Thalia entered the room with Edwin by her side. Edwin nodded at them both. “I was passing by and wanted to drop by to see how Thalia was faring,” he told them. But his eyes said otherwise, for the whole time he spoke, he looked only at Clio.
* * *
The foursome made polite chitchat in the drawing room for some time, though Ro still managed to avoid speaking to Thalia at all. Finally, they ran out of the obvious subjects of conversation. And when they broached the weather, Ro jumped in, sounding a little desperate. “Is that your sketchbook, Edwin? Clio said you drew a marvelous portrait of her a while ago.”
Edwin nodded, picking up the sketchbook, which Clio had spotted the moment he had appeared in the drawing room. She had felt an immediate stab in her chest, remembering that sunny day that they had been rowing, and realized that she still cared for Edwin. Very much. She couldn’t help it. But she also knew she was treading on dangerous, unstable ground where he was concerned. For tomorrow, he might dispose of that sketchbook once more. He might decide applying himself to something (to anything, to her…) was too much bother—that it was not amusing enough. Unlike Nicholas. Ever-constant, unchanging Nicholas.
“I think it’s still in here … somewhere…” Edwin picked up the sketchbook from the side table and opened it up. Several loose drawings immediately fell to the floor, including the one of Clio.
“Oh, here it is.” Ro reached forward to pluck it from the floor. “May I?” She glanced up at Edwin.
“Of course! If Clio doesn’t mind,” he said as his gaze moved to hers.
Clio only shook her head.
“It’s lovely,” Ro said, inspecting it closely. “And so like you, Clio.”
“Do you think I could see it?” Thalia asked.
“Perhaps. If you don’t spoil it,” Ro replied, pointedly.
Thalia sighed as she took the portrait from her sister. “Really, it’s all a bit much, Ro.”
Edwin gave Clio a quizzical look and she simply shook her head in return. It was better not to ask.
“It is like her,” Thalia said, nodding appreciatively. But then, as she stared at the portrait, she began to frown. Quickly, she glanced up at Edwin. “I was wondering—do you think you could do an impression of someone you had never seen? I mean, if we described someone, could you draw them?”
Edwin thought about her question. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose I could try. But why would you want to do that?”
Thalia sat forward on her seat, her face suddenly alight. “I just had a thought. That woman. The one we all saw at Charles’s. I thought maybe you could draw her if Ro and Clio described her. So we could try to work out exactly who she is.”
“Like the police do?” Edwin looked thoughtful. “An artist’s impression, you mean?”
Thalia nodded. “Yes! Exactly! Do you think you could describe her that well, Ro? Clio?”
Clio nodded. “Yes. I remember her.”
“I think so,” Ro seconded, forgetting Vincent for a moment. “Her face is rather branded into my memory, I’m afraid.”
* * *
For over an hour, the foursome pored over Edwin’s sketch. Ro most certainly remembered the woman’s facial features the most distinctly and Clio soon gave up offering suggestions when she found that Ro could be more precise in her description. “No, that
’s not her at all,” Ro said, what felt like time and time again. “She’s longer in the face, more angular, older…”
But then, slowly, clearly, the portrait started to pull together. Until, after what felt like hours, Ro and Clio agreed that the drawing was beginning to resemble the woman very much indeed.
“That’s her.” Ro had finally nodded. “Or, at least, it’s very close to her.” Ro, sitting beside Edwin, with Clio behind her, glanced across the dining table at Thalia. “Come and have a look, Thalia.” She beckoned her over without reluctance. This was far more important than her anger over Vincent.
Thalia got up and walked over to stand behind Edwin’s chair to inspect the likeness of the woman more closely.
“What do you think?” Ro asked her, when she had inspected the portrait closely.
“As I mentioned, I only saw her retreating back, but certainly, it could have been this woman.”
Everyone at the table stared at the portrait wordlessly until Edwin spoke once more. “It might be helpful to give this to the police and get them to…”
“You four certainly seem busy,” Hestia said as she entered the room, Haggis McTavish rising from his spot underneath the table to greet her. “I was wondering where everyone had got to and here you all are. As well as Edwin, I see.” She nodded her head at Edwin, who had scrambled from his seat on Hestia’s arrival.
“Lady Hestia,” he said and nodded back at her. “I dropped by to see if Thalia was well.”
“And is she?” Hestia said as she absentmindedly removed her hat.
“I believe so.” Edwin smiled slightly. “For she came up with a brilliant idea. We are busy drawing a likeness.”
Thalia cut in before her aunt could ask too many questions they might not have wanted to answer. “She’s someone we’ve all seen. All three of us. How should I put it? She hasn’t exactly been friendly toward us. Edwin has been drawing her from Ro’s description.”
“How odd,” Hestia said with a frown, taking several steps toward the table to view their project. “Who did you say she—” she began, then gasped, her hand rising instantly to cover her mouth. Her eyes moved straight to Ro’s before she removed her hand. “Are you saying this woman has approached you? All of you?”
The Heiresses Page 30
