“I am not going to show him my tapestry,” Lia said. “Or anything else.”
“Sex really is very fun, darling.”
“My kingdom for a normal mother.”
“Tsst.” Her mother snapped her fingers. “Here he comes. Smile on. Tits out.”
They straightened their backs and put on their best smiles as the man approached.
“Mr. Bowman, isn’t it?” her mother said. “How do you do?”
“A pleasure, Lady Godwick,” he said. Then he turned to Lia. “And you must be Lady Ophelia.”
“No one on earth calls me Ophelia,” she said at once. Ha. She’d show him.
“Shall we go to Venus, then, if I wish to speak to you?” Mr. Bowman asked.
A joke. Unexpected. She didn’t like it. And an accent, too. Greek obviously. And nice. It perfumed his words like a subtle incense. She could give credit where credit was due.
“Call me Lia,” she said, when what she wanted to say was, Please leave before Georgy sees you, because if any man here is rich, handsome and DTFMEL, it’s you.
“And you must call me August, please,” he said. “I have a gift for you.” He offered her a box wrapped in plain brown paper and twine.
Lia saw her mother flashing her the old side-eye. Lia ignored it.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” she said. “I have everything I want or need.”
“But you don’t have this,” he said, and there it was again—that winking smile, that smiling wink. She’d heard a phrase before—That one looks like trouble—and Lia never knew what it meant until this moment.
Now she knew exactly what trouble looked like. It looked like him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll put it with the others.”
She’d meant to go alone to the gift table in the morning room, but Mr. August Bowman had other ideas, apparently. He followed her, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted him to do.
Double trouble, this one. She was determined to ignore him and his obnoxious good looks. They would not get to know each other. She would not, on pain of death, chat him up.
“So...you’re a friend of my father’s, Mr. Bowman?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
Damn her. Damn her to Hades.
“August, please.”
“August.” She did like the feel of his name in her mouth. August, the hottest month of the year. She’d told the other ladies not to flirt and here she was, flirting her head off.
“I’d call your father and I more friendly adversaries than friends,” he said. “At auctions, I mean. Usually I win the duels. He bested me last time. But I haven’t surrendered.”
“Good luck. With my father, you’ll need it.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” he said. “Perhaps divine intervention.”
“Do you know any divinities?”
“I’m looking at one.”
Lia met his eyes. His mouth quirked as if trying not to laugh at her.
“You’re flirting.” She pointed at him.
“Oh, you noticed.”
Lia was about to tell Mr. Bowman a few other things she’d noticed when their housekeeper, Mrs. Banks, bustled down the long hallway, looking as angry as any woman in a pink cardigan and tweed skirt has ever looked. A young woman accompanied Mrs. Banks, a young woman who looked as if she’d been crying.
“Miss Lia,” Mrs. Banks said. “I need a word. Sir.” She nodded an apology to Mr. Bowman.
“What is it?” Lia asked.
“You know this girl?” Mrs. Banks pointed at the pretty young woman who wore the black-and-white uniform of the catering staff. Her name tag read Rita.
“Yes, that’s Rita,” Lia said. She had never seen the girl before in her life.
“Did you give her this?” Mrs. Banks held up a bottle of Hermès perfume still in the packaging. Lia understood the situation at once—a member of the catering staff had nicked one of her graduation gifts. “Found her stuffing it down in her bag. She said it was hers.”
“It’s hers,” Lia said.
“Really?” Mrs. Banks asked. “Can you explain why it was in a wrapped box with a tag on it that said, ‘To Lia, with love and adoration, from XL’?”
Lia blushed crimson. Mr. Bowman said not a word, but the slight arch of his left eyebrow spoke volumes.
“I don’t like that perfume,” Lia said. “It makes me sneeze. Makes Mum sneeze, too.”
“Really, I thought this was your mother’s scent?” Mrs. Banks asked.
“I’m sure you must be mistaken.” Lia stood up as straight as she could. She didn’t like being haughty but she could do it when she had to. “I don’t like the perfume. I gave it to Rita. End of discussion.”
“All right. I see,” Mrs. Banks said. “Just a misunderstanding, then. Apologies for the interruption. Back to work, girl.”
Rita mouthed a “Thank you” to Lia before turning and running down the hallway, Mrs. Banks following behind her.
Lia glanced at August, who was eyeing her with intense interest.
“We should go in to dinner,” she said. August offered her his arm and, against her better judgment, she took it.
They walked side by side down the long main hall, toward the large salon where dinner would be held.
“XL,” August said. “Xavier Lloyd? That’s your father’s attorney, isn’t it? Or perhaps XL is someone’s very flattering nickname?”
“No idea. Just one of Daddy’s friends, I’m sure.”
Xavier Lloyd was her father’s attorney. He was also Rani’s best client. Big tipper. Always sent flowers and very expensive gifts.
“That was kind of you not to get that girl sacked for stealing,” August said.
“I gave her the perfume. You heard me.”
“Poor girl.” August sighed as they walked to the salon. “Waiting tables in high heels. Easier ways for a pretty girl to make money.”
Lia stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Answering phones. Web design. Driving Formula 1 race cars,” he said. “What did you think I meant?”
Lia didn’t answer. She just walked on. The vague looming something she’d been dreading tonight? Good chance it was the man walking right next to her. He definitely had an ulterior motive for attending the party—that she knew. But what?
“Would you allow me to sit with you at dinner?” August asked as they entered the salon.
Lia was impressed by his audacity. She’d met the man all of five minutes ago.
“I have to sit with Mum and Daddy.”
“Ah, of course. I’ll just sit over there with those lovely young ladies,” he said, which was once again the exact opposite of what she wanted him to do. “Enjoy your dinner.”
He left her with a wave and sat at the very same table as Jane, Rani and Georgy—Rani and Jane on his left, Georgy on his right.
August leaned over and whispered something in Georgy’s ear. She laughed and whispered something back. Rani moved her chair closer. Jane took off her glasses. The flirting had begun.
He glanced once Lia’s way and gave her that winking smile again.
Augustine Bowman.
Trouble with a capital T.
CHAPTER THREE
Dinner went as well as could be expected considering Lia was trussed up so tightly in her grandmother’s vintage corset she had to pray before every bite that there’d be room for it when it landed. People were much thinner in the past. Probably because of war rationing.
As Lia picked at her food, she kept one eye on the other tables. She wanted this party to be over yesterday, but even she had to admit to herself that everyone had mostly behaved themselves. The sense of dread slowly released its stranglehold on her heart. Even her father had been good so far—proof miracles did occasionally happen.
&nb
sp; “Daddy,” Lia said as her father poured her a glass of chardonnay. “Why did you invite Mr. Bowman to the party? Are you two friends?”
“We run into each other at the auctions. I scooped up...something he wanted. Told him I was ‘sorry not sorry’—”
“Daddy, don’t ever use internetspeak in my presence again.”
“Sorry, darling. Anyway, I felt bad for beating him to the prize, so I asked him to the party as a peace offering.”
“And to show off how rich you are?” she teased.
“How lucky I am.” He kissed her cheek, and Lia managed a smile. “He’s a nice enough lad, but keep an eye on him. He might very well try to steal your graduation gift. You know, since I stole it out from under him first.”
Lia glanced over at August Bowman and found he was already looking at her. How could she keep an eye on him when he was already keeping an eye on her?
Her father stood up and clinked his wineglass with his fork. The room fell silent.
Oh God. The toast. Not the toast. Lia picked up her glass and drank deeply. Not enough chardonnay in the world.
“Thank you all so much for coming to Lia’s graduation party tonight,” he began. Nothing good ever came of her father giving toasts. She scanned the room for the closest emergency exit. “Lia hates me right now for throwing her such a large party when she would have been happy with an extra chocolate biscuit at tea and a gentle pat on the back.”
“Yes, why couldn’t we do that?” she asked. That scored a laugh from the room.
“Because I’m a monster,” her father said. “Just ask your brothers.”
Another laugh.
“I’m not joking,” her father said to the assembled guests. “They caught Lia’s mum and I shagging in the kitchen and for some reason took offense to that.”
“Toast over!” Lia called out.
“I’ll make it quick, I promise. And no stories about shagging your mum. Other than that one,” he said, shuffling through his notecards. “No, wait, there’s one more.”
Lia gently banged her head on the table. Mum patted her back to comfort her. It didn’t work.
The toast continued.
“Lia,” her father said, “was conceived on our wedding night.”
And it was all downhill from there.
She survived her father’s musings on her conception, her birth, her childhood, her first car—a 1980 red Austin Mini Metro, which, he said, “Can go from zero to ninety-seven if you roll it down a very steep hill and get a good tailwind behind you. And to think, I was going to buy her a Jag.”
“I like my Mini better,” Lia said. Hardly a Jag, but she’d paid for it herself.
“Ungrateful children,” her father said. “Scourge of the modern era.”
“Embarrassing story time over, please,” she called out to more laughter.
“In conclusion,” he said, and Lia sagged with relief, “I have the best daughter in the world. No surprise as I also have the best wife and the best house.”
“Daddy.”
“The best art collection.”
“Daddy!”
“The best wine cellar.”
“Daddy, stop or I’ll shoot.” She had a spoon full of caviar in hand, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
“Sorry, sorry.” He raised a hand in surrender. “I’ll draw this to a close before Lia puts a hit out on me. Lia has always had a passion for Greek mythology. For years now she’s even been weaving mythological tapestries. One of these days I’m going to walk into her room and catch her ritually sacrificing one of her brothers to Zeus. Or both of them, I hope.”
All the parents of teenagers in the crowd laughed. Lia was glad her brothers were still away at school.
“So, as a small token of my love for my daughter, I give her this...”
He put a red wrapped box in front of her. Of course her father was going to make her open it in front of everyone.
She stood up, tore off the paper and lifted the lid. The box wasn’t cardboard but solid wood. That meant the gift was fragile, very fragile. And expensive.
Very expensive.
She pushed through the packing material until she found the object. She lifted it out and looked at it.
Lia gazed in wonder at the cup in her hands. She’d never seen a more beautiful Greek relic. The stem was short and the bowl wide and shallow. The colors were black and golden amber. Inside the bowl was painted a beautiful girl who lay seemingly dead on the ground. From her side, a rose grew. Roses were painted on the stem, too. And a continuous three-petal rose motif adorned the lip while the twin handles were painted with vines.
“This,” her father said, “is a kylix. A wine cup, dated to 500 BC. Supposedly used in temple ceremonies to the goddess Aphrodite. A little piece of real Greek mythology just for you, my love.”
Lia was stunned speechless. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hang on to the exquisite 2,500-year-old artifact. Carefully she put the cup down and wrapped her arms around her father, tears hot in her eyes.
The guests said, “Aww...” all at once.
Her father pulled back from the hug but kept his arm around her back so she couldn’t escape.
“Lia got her first drink of wine from a two-thousand-year-old kylix when we took her to Athens a few years ago,” her father said. “She’s been asking for a good drinking cup ever since. Hope this one is good enough for you.”
“It’ll do,” Lia said, laughing and crying.
“A toast to Lia.” He raised his wineglass. “If she’s half as happy in life as she’s made her parents, she’ll be the happiest young woman alive.”
Lia lifted her kylix. The guests called out, “To Lia!” and “Cheers!”
Lia looked around the room and saw everyone had their glasses raised in her honor.
Everyone but August Bowman.
CHAPTER FOUR
After dinner, the guests dispersed to various rooms in the house—the music room, the front parlor, the Wingthorn Hall portrait gallery. The rain had picked up, and it beat hard against the roof and windows. People were going to be trapped at the house until the storm was over.
“Aphrodite,” Lia muttered on her way to the music room, “you are useless.”
“Watch out. She probably heard that.”
Lia spun around and found August walking behind her.
He grinned and caught up to her.
“Stop eavesdropping when I talk to myself,” she said. “It’s rude.”
“You were talking to Aphrodite.”
Lia glared at him. “Don’t be right when I want you to be wrong, please.”
He laughed, low and throaty.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“The music room.”
“May I join you?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“I’ve offended you.” He didn’t look hurt by this realization. Lia was annoyed to find he looked rather pleased with himself. He leaned back against the wall, hands in his trouser pockets, looking the very picture of casual elegance.
“No, I just don’t like parties very much.”
“Why not?”
“The usual reasons. Strangers. Awkward chitchat.” She was the madam of an illegal escort agency, and her parents had unwittingly invited three of Lia’s escorts and half their client list.
“Let’s go and have some unawkward chitchat.” He nodded toward the morning room.
“I need to mingle,” she said. “Sorry.”
She turned away from him and started down the hall again, toward the music room. August, of course, walked right at her side.
“We need to talk.” His tone was no longer flippant and flirtatious. In fact, he sounded almost scared. “Please believe me when I say it’s important.”
“Leave your card w
ith the butler,” she said. “My visiting day is the fifth Tuesday of every month.”
“We could be friends, Lia,” he said. “We have a lot in common, after all.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“You have wealthy, powerful parents. I have wealthy, powerful parents. You love Greek mythology. I eat, sleep and breathe Greek mythology. I’m handsome. You’re beautiful. We’re practically twins.”
“We are not amused.”
“Will you at least open your gift?” This man was determined. She gave him credit for that.
Lia looked at him. “Now?” This was her graduation party, not a child’s birthday party.
He nodded. “It’s nothing indecent, I promise. You’ll like it.”
“And you’ll stop flirting with me if I open it?”
“If you want me to,” he said. “Do you want me to?”
Lia didn’t answer.
“Well?” he asked.
“Let me get back to you on that.”
“Open your gift. Then you can tell me if I can keep flirting with you or not.”
Too intrigued to say no, Lia crossed the hall to the morning room. She found his gift in its plain brown wrapper. She tore off the paper, lifted the lid and pushed the gold foil tissue aside.
“Oh,” she said, unable to mask the delight in her voice.
He’d given her a copy of The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, her favorite novel of all time. The cover was a deep forest green with the Greek god Pan engraved on the front in gilt. This wasn’t simply a copy of her favorite book of all time—this was a rare first edition of her favorite book of all time.
“How did you know?” she asked him.
“It’s my favorite book, too,” he said.
“It is?” She didn’t know anyone who read it anymore, except children.
“I love the part where Ratty and Mole set out by boat at night on a search-and-rescue mission for the missing baby otter, and they accidentally end up—”
“Yes, on Pan’s Island,” Lia said, running her fingertips gently over the golden lines of Pan on the cover. “I love when they find Pan himself sitting there with the otter asleep at his feet.”
The Rose Page 2
