by Meghan Sloan
At dinner he was so distracted with the idea – picturing the opportunities of being with her, getting to know her better – that he hadn’t realised he was toying with his food until his mother brought it to his attention.
“You are far away with the fairies this evening, Silas,” she declared, her eyes wide. “Is the roasted pigeon not to your liking?”
He smiled at her distractedly. “It is fine, Mother.”
“A man should always be attentive at the dinner table,” boomed his father, his grey eyebrows rising. “It is a sign of civility, Silas.”
“Yes, Father,” he said in an even voice, trying not to roll his eyes.
The older man put down his knife and fork, staring at his son. “What has got into you this evening, my boy? I hope you are not still brooding over the past. What’s done is done, and one must move on.”
“You will be happy to hear that most people are very happy about your new engagement, Silas,” said his mother. “I spoke to quite a few ladies at tea this afternoon, on Milsom Street, and they all extend their warmest congratulations to you.”
“That’s good, Mother,” said Silas.
“Of course, there are a few naysayers,” she continued, frowning slightly. “But that is to be expected, in the circumstances. Some whisper that it is too soon for a new engagement, and that a proper mourning period should have been observed…”
“What rubbish,” said his father firmly. “We have no idea whether the lady is dead! I think that six months is long enough. It is not as if Silas was married to her. Some people have nothing better to do with their time than peddle gossip and try too hard to keep stirring the pot.”
“Alice seems like a lovely girl,” said his mother, tactfully ignoring her husband. “Very genteel. I think she shall do you rather well, Silas.”
“A damn sight better than the other one,” said his father, picking up his wine glass, and drinking deeply. “This one, at least, seems respectable, and shall not lead you on a merry dance all about town…”
Silas stood up abruptly, throwing his napkin on the table. “May I be excused? I have a headache coming on, I think.”
He didn’t wait for the reply. He strode out of the room, his blood boiling.
He walked out into the garden. It was very cold. Snowflakes were falling to the ground. But he barely noticed them, taking deep breaths of the frigid night air to try to calm himself.
He didn’t know why his father’s thoughtless comments were affecting him tonight. He was used to the snideness when the old man talked about Marina. But for some reason it had hit home this evening. He was forced to admit it was probably because of the doubts that Nicholas had raised about her earlier at the baths.
Lucy had told his friend that Marina had used opium. He gazed out over the garden thinking about it. He had instinctively defended Marina, but now he was not so sure. What reason would Lucy have to lie about such a thing? She had been Marina’s closest friend. What benefit could she gain from spreading lies about her?
His blood ran cold. How well had he known his fiancée?
Nicholas always insisted that she was a dark horse, imploring him to see the lady for what she was. And he knew that she had liked to skirt respectability, to indulge in sensual pleasures, to run with a fast crowd. Her flamboyance had been one of the things he had loved about her. But was there a shadow side to it?
Where was she? What had happened to her?
Had she dipped a little too much into that world? Was that the reason she was missing? Had she met a shady character and trusted him, only to find that he had misled her? She had come from a perfectly respectable middle- to upper-class home. She had been brought up to be a proper lady. She would have been innocent how the world worked beyond the safe confines of her home and society.
He was suddenly conscious of the snowflakes falling on his face. His heart heavy, he turned around, heading back inside, brushing the snow off his jacket.
He walked up the staircase, towards his chambers. Once there, he walked to a dresser, opened a drawer and took out a small oval portrait in a gilt-edged frame.
Marina, captured in all her glorious beauty. His eyes lingered on her.
He knew he had to let her go. He knew that he would probably never find the answers to all the questions. But, for a moment, he indulged in it, feeling the torment of not knowing, settling heavily on his soul.
Had Marina got too close to the flame…and been burnt?
Chapter 12
Alice stepped out of the carriage, gazing around with curious eyes. The honey-coloured sandstone house was three storeys high, with white-trimmed windows, beyond a Gothic-style black wrought-iron gate. She smiled slowly. This was going to be an interesting few days.
Charlotte stepped out, standing next to her, linking arms. Her friend’s blue eyes were shining with glee.
“Well, what do you think of Hill Lodge?” she asked, squeezing her friend’s arm. “Does it pass muster?”
“It does indeed,” replied Alice, still taking it all in. The gardens were expansive, sweeping around the house. Beyond them there were wide green fields and hills in the far distance, already topped with an icing of white snow. She felt a stab of excitement and anticipation. Would Silas already be ensconced in the house, or would he arrive later?
She had received the invitation to Nicholas Turner’s house party a week ago, accompanied by a personal letter from the gentleman. Her hands had trembled slightly as she had read it. He had been warm and friendly, expressing his desire to get to know her better, and stressing that Silas and Charlotte had been invited as well.
Silas had also written to her, re-iterating the news of the house party and entreating her to attend. He had apologised for his moodiness on their walk, and spoken of his great admiration for her. Her heart had swelled upon reading it, and she had clutched it to her chest, hope springing to life within her once again.
The footmen were getting their luggage down from the carriage and hauling it to the house. Charlotte clutched her arm tighter still.
“Well?” she asked, staring at Alice. “Shall we?”
Alice nodded. The next moment, they were walking down the path towards the large front doorway, with their heads close together, giggling nervously the whole while.
***
The house was every bit as impressive as Alice had thought it would be. It was an old house, with very high ceilings, and long, sweeping wooden staircases. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as they walked to the drawing room.
“Does this belong to Mr. Turner outright or is it his parents’ home?” whispered Alice.
“It belongs to Nicholas,” Charlotte whispered back, as they walked down a long, darkened hallway with a long line of oil portraits hanging on the walls. “He had a wealthy, rather eccentric aunt. He was her favourite nephew, and when she died, she left this house and the townhouse in Bath to him, as well as a considerable annuity. It is how he is able to lead such an independent life.”
Alice nodded, feeling as though the eyes of the people in the portraits were watching them as they glided by. “He is very fortunate,” she whispered. “Does he come here often?”
Charlotte nodded. “Quite frequently. He enjoys entertaining friends here, and is quite well-known in the local community.” She paused. “We are in for a fun few days, Alice. Nicholas’s house parties are legendary. He plans them meticulously, and he always has some surprise up his sleeve. Did you bring a costume for the Christmas-themed ball, as requested?”
Alice nodded. She and her mother had gone to a costume shop and managed to find a beautiful costume that fitted perfectly. A long, flowing white gown, in a medieval style, trimmed in white fur, and a crown that was styled to look as if it was made from blue icicles.
“I am going as a winter queen,” she whispered with delight.
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “How perfect for the theme. I am afraid that I could not find much when I went to the costume shop.” She paused, her mouth twitching
. “I am going as a fairy tale character, courtesy of M. Perrault – Little Red Riding Hood, complete with an extremely long and flowing cape. I fear I shall be tripping over it for the entire evening.”
They were still laughing as they reached the drawing room where Nicholas was sitting in an upholstered armchair near the roaring fire. Alice’s heart leapt when she saw Silas standing nearby, warming his hands on the fire. He turned around and the very air in the room seemed to sizzle as their eyes met.
She had not seen him since their walk in the countryside over a week ago. How could she have forgotten in that short time how devastatingly handsome he was? She felt as if she had been struck dumb, as if her vocal cords were paralysed in some way. But thankfully, Nicholas had stood up and was beaming.
“Welcome!” he cried, advancing on them. “You two are the first to arrive for the house party, after Wilmington, of course.” His smile widened. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, a little. “Nicholas, it is only a few miles from Bath! What could have happened in that short time?”
Nicholas laughed. “Well, there are highwaymen, and carriages have been known to break down too! It is not beyond the pale.”
“No, indeed,” said Silas, walking towards the group, a slight smile playing around his lips. “I am sure a highwayman would target a carriage on the main road from Bath in broad daylight!” He turned to his friend. “Turner, you have a vivid imagination.”
“Well, someone has to!” retorted Nicholas, pretending to be offended. “You are all rather too dull. You should have played along, Charlotte!”
Charlotte laughed. “I have no desire to feed that active mind of yours with fairy tales, Nicholas! You are too good at it yourself to need any assistance whatsoever.”
“I have been inspired!” declared Nicholas, his eyes shining. “One evening, for entertainment, we shall all tell ghost stories in the parlour. I shall tell everyone to prepare for it, once they are here.” He took a deep breath. “We shall have only one candle burning, for atmosphere. What do you think?”
Alice smiled. “I think it sounds like a jolly good evening’s entertainment, Mr. Turner,” she said. “I have always loved a good ghost story.”
“You and your Gothic novels,” said Charlotte, smiling indulgently.
“It’s settled, then,” said Nicholas, clapping his hands together, in delight. “This is going to be the most agreeable house party yet…”
He kept talking, about other things they could do for the ghost evening, but Alice was no longer listening. Silas had stepped close to her, taking her hand, and drawing her away from the others, towards the window.
“How have you been?” he asked, in a quiet voice.
She took a deep breath. “I have been well,” she replied. “Preparing for this trip away…”
He nodded. “I wanted to say again how sorry I am,” he said slowly. “For the way that I left you after our excursion to the countryside.”
Alice’s heart lurched. “There is no need to apologise,” she said. “No need at all. You were correct – the day was getting colder, and we might have been caught in a snowstorm if we had kept going. You made the right decision.”
He gazed at her a little sadly, as though he wanted to say more. As though he wanted to explain why he had ended their day out so abruptly. She waited, yearning for him to speak of it.
She could see him struggling with it. But then he turned towards the window, as if trying to compose himself, and when he faced her again he had forced a smile onto his face.
“It is so good to see you again,” he whispered, his green eyes narrowing. “I hope that we can spend much time together during this house party.”
Her heart lurched again and she felt herself blushing furiously. “I hope so too.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment other people walked through the door. They both turned. Lord and Lady Langley closely followed by Miss Lucy Oakley.
The moment was gone. Nicholas and Charlotte were already greeting the new arrivals, and so must they. Alice didn’t look at him again as they both walked towards the group to say hello. But she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.
***
Later that afternoon, Alice wandered around the room that would be hers for the duration of the stay. The maid had just left, after unpacking her clothes, hanging them in the large mahogany wardrobe, and she was alone for the first time that day.
The whole party had arrived now and were ensconced in their rooms, resting before dinner, which promised to be a rowdy affair. Nicholas had told them that they would be playing a parlour game this evening. He was bringing in the dress-up box, for Tableaux Vivants, which she had never played before. Charlotte had told her later that they were divided into groups and given a famous painting or story to enact in a still life. The other groups had to guess what it was depicting.
She felt nerves fluttering to life in her stomach. She hoped that she didn’t make a fool of herself in front of everyone else. She had met some of them at the dinner party already, and she knew that if they were Nicholas’s friends, they would be perfectly charming. But still. She ticked off the guests in her mind.
There was Lord and Lady Langley, the couple who had just returned from journeying the Far East. Mr. Jonathan Booth, who was apparently a poet, and his wife, Violet, who looked like a beautiful, exotic gypsy, and who he had rather theatrically declared his muse. A soldier who had just returned from Europe, Major Walter Unwin, and his wife Laura. Major Unwin had apparently gone to school with both Nicholas and Silas.
Alice frowned slightly as she tried to remember the names of the others. A thin, solemn painter, Mr. Kenneth Yates. He had brought along his current model, a Miss Harriet Arnold, who looked a little startled if not terrified when she had been introduced to them all.
She spoke with a rather broad Northern accent and was clearly not a proper lady. Alice had seen Charlotte’s eyebrows raise a little when Miss Arnold had spoken.
And lastly, there was Miss Lucy Oakley, of course.
An eclectic mix of people indeed. Alice was looking forward to getting to know them all.
All together there were twelve guests inhabiting the house. Nicholas told them he had chosen the number deliberately.
“For the twelve days of Christmas,” he said, smiling widely. “One guest for each day!” He looked rather pleased with himself.
Silas frowned. “But we are not here for the twelve days of Christmas,” he said slowly. “The party ends the day after St. Nicholas’s Day, on the sixth of December, which I believe is traditionally the first day of Christmas…”
Nicholas had waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Mere details, Wilmington! Do not spoil the fun, old boy!”
Alice smiled now, walking towards the window and gazing out, at the gardens. Suddenly, she felt her heart racing faster. Silas was walking down a path towards a large white statue of the goddess Venus rising from her shell.
But he stopped quite abruptly, sitting down a bench and taking something out of his pocket. Alice could see it was a small oval portrait. He gazed at it for a long, long time, his face solemn, almost tormented.
Alice’s heart sank. She could not see whose likeness was in the portrait, but she could guess. Marina St. George, of course. He had brought a portrait of his lost love along with him, even though he had acted as if he was so looking forward to spending time with her.
Tears filled her eyes. He was trying, she knew that. But seeing him with that portrait in his hand, gazing at it so intensely, she knew that he was still a long way from letting the lady go once and for all.