And Only to Deceive

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 familiar 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.

"Emily? Are you all right?"

I nodded. "Fine, Andrew. Just a bit distracted. What did you say?"

"Want to go riding with me?"

"Not at the moment, thank you." My eyes rested on a small piece of paper, not unlike the one I had found earlier in Philip's guide to the British Museum, that was pushed into the back of the desk drawer. I waited until Andrew left to remove and open it. The handwriting was identical to that on the first note. Its message was brief: "Grave danger."

26 JUNE 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

Fournier has had his revenge; purchased a spectacular Roman copy of a Praxiteles discus thrower before I even knew it was on the market. Am devastated. He kindly invited me to view it next time I am in Paris, an opportunity that will come sooner than expected, as I plan to stop there on my way to Santorini in August.

Saw Kallista at Ascot last week; she had little to say to me but at the same time gave no suggestion that my attentions are unwelcome. Her beguiling innocence must explain her actions.