And Only to Deceive

by Tasha Alexander

  I don’t think I had ever gone into that room before. On our wedding night, Philip and I had entered the bedroom together, and Meg had immediately ushered me into my own dressing room. As she had shut the door behind me, Philip had pulled it open.

  “Take your time, Lady Ashton. I shall be in my dressing room and will not leave it until you call for me. I only ask that you don’t keep me waiting all night.” He smiled. “Please make yourself as comfortable as you can in our room and try to relax.” I remember that his use of the phrase “our room” had horrified me, not because of what I knew must transpire between husband and wife but because I realized that I would have no privacy, even when sleeping. I had always loved lounging in my bed, reading the morning post, having breakfast sent up to me; it was one of the rare places I could escape my mother and enjoy solitude. Now was I to have no escape?

  Meg had misunderstood my look of panic and offered me a glass of sherry, which I’d blindly accepted and drunk despite my dislike for the stuff. It took her a considerable length of time to undo the nearly endless row of tiny pearl buttons that fastened my dress, and I was thankful for the respite. She unlaced my corset and removed the pins from my hair. Once the lace-covered nightgown was over my head, she left me alone. I sat for a while longer brushing my hair and then went back to the bedroom, where I leapt into the large bed. I tried the pillows on each side before deciding where I would sleep, then sat bolt upright, my skirt billowing around me, put a pillow on my lap, and called for my husband.

  I can still recall the sight of Philip in his nightshirt, his hair slightly disheveled, climbing into the bed. He sat next to me and took my face in his hands.

  “I am the happiest man in the world.” He brushed the hair away from my face and began gently kissing my lips. “You taste like sherry,” he murmured.

  I remembered my response. “I don’t know what you taste like.”

  “Port” was his reply. I smiled as I thought of this, wondering if it had something to do with my opinion of the drink itself.

  Now, standing in his dressing room, surrounded by his clothes, I imagined that I could almost smell him. I closed my eyes as I remembered his soft touch on my body, then took a last look around and went back downstairs, passing Davis in the hall.

  “Please try to have them finish quickly,” I admonished him, heading for the library; I wanted to read Philip’s account of our wedding night and hoped that he had been indelicate enough to write about such a thing. Before my curiosity could be satisfied, the parlormaid interrupted me, informing me that my parents awaited me in the drawing room.

  “Good morning, Mother,” I said, and kissed my father. “I’m surprised to see you out this early in the day.”

  “I was so pleased to receive your invitation to dine that I asked your father to bring me here immediately to accept. Besides, we haven’t seen much of you since your return from Paris, and I do so want to hear more about your trip.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” I replied skeptically. “We shall have a lively party Wednesday. I’ve invited Lord Palmer and his younger son, Arthur. Robert and Ivy will be there, as well as Arabella Dunleigh and her mother.”

  “How thoughtful of you to invite the Dunleighs.”

  “I never really liked Arabella, but I think that was perhaps due to her close connection with Emma Callum. Now that Emma is getting married, it seems that she has quite thrown over poor Arabella.”

  “Arabella has been out two seasons without receiving a single proposal.”

  “Yes, and Emma is marrying a younger son. At any rate, I think Arabella could be rescued from the influence of Emma.”

  “She might do nicely for Arthur Palmer. But what about the older brother?”

  “Andrew is still in Paris.”

  “I understand you saw quite a bit of him while you were there.” Now I understood the reason for her kindness; she had already decided that I should marry Andrew. The rank of his family ensured she would overlook his lack of money.

  “Yes, he’s quite charming.”

  “I saw Lord Palmer yesterday, and he informed me that Andrew is besotted with you.”

  “Be that as it may, Mother, I have no intention of entering into any sort of understanding at this time.”

  “No, of course not.” She beamed. “You would want to wait until you’re out of mourning.”

  “Catherine, stop meddling,” my father interrupted. “Leave the girl alone.”

  “I count only nine guests, child. You need one more gentleman,” my mother continued. “I think you are wise not to limit your options. Have you considered Lady Easton’s son, Charles? His prospects are spectacular. He’s already made quite a name for himself in the House. There’s talk he may get a cabinet position in the next government. Perhaps you should include him in the party.”

  “I’ve already asked Colin Hargreaves.”

  “Excellent man, Hargreaves,” my father said. “Best man at your wedding, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. He was Philip’s dearest friend.”

  “Well, I don’t see the point in inviting him.” My mother paused. “Unless you were thinking of him for Arabella. What is his income? His family is very well off, I believe. Have you seen his house on Park Lane?”

  “Mother! This dinner party is not meant to be an exercise in matchmaking. I am trying to provide an evening of good conversation for my friends. Behave, or I shall drop you from the guest list and have Davis turn you away at the door.”

  “I never thought I should live to hear my own daughter speak to me in such a manner. Samuel, where are my smelling salts? I think I’m ill.” My father, humoring her, put the smelling salts under her nose.

  “Go easy on your mother, my dear. She’s not as young as she once was,” he said. “Why don’t we get her some tea?”

  I rang the bell. Davis brought the tea quickly.

  “How are things progressing upstairs, Davis?”

  “We are nearly finished, madam.”

  “Good work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Find anything interesting?” I asked.

  “Yes, in fact, we did. One of Lord Ashton’s antiquities.”

  “Is it a good piece?”

  “In my untutored estimation, I would have to say that it is one of his finest. Would you like to see it, madam?”

  “Please. Bring it at once.”

  When he left the room my mother reprimanded me. “You really must keep interactions with your servants to a minimum. It will not do to converse with them, especially in front of guests.”

  “Really, Mother, Davis’s opinions are invaluable to me. Not long ago he recommended an excellent port to me, for which I shall be eternally grateful to him.”

  “Samuel! We are leaving. I will not sit here listening to this kind of talk.”

  “It probably is best that you go now, Mother. I’m attending a lecture at University College today and will need to leave soon.”

  “I don’t know what has happened to you, Emily, but I hope you regain your manners before the Palmers dine in this house.” She rushed out of the room. My father paused before he followed her.

  “I’d like to try that port Wednesday, if you don’t mind.”

  I kissed him and told him I would send him a whole bottle before then. I heard Davis coming down the stairs and went to the door, where I gasped with delight when I saw what he was carrying.

  “Apollo!” I cried. “Excellent, excellent. I love this statue. Bring it into the drawing room so I shall have something interesting to look at when I receive boring callers, Davis.”

  He placed it on a pedestal near one of the windows, and I stood there admiring it. It was a perfect copy of the Praxiteles in the British Museum. The features were so exquisite that I could understand why Philip had searched until he found it and why I could locate no record of the purchase. Its being a reproduction, he most likely spent very little money to acquire it, certainly not enough to merit recording the transaction.

&nb
sp; I had no time to give the subject further consideration; if I did not want to miss the beginning of Mr. Pratt’s lecture, I needed to leave the house immediately.

  Thrilled though I was at attending my first academic address, I am forced to admit that much of what our esteemed speaker said was beyond my comprehension. This did not frustrate me in the least; I had not expected that the experience would be much different. Familiarizing myself with Mr. Arnold’s views on various translations of Homer had enabled me to adequately follow Mr. Pratt’s lecture, even if I missed some of his finer points. Margaret ably filled in many of the gaps, and I found the entire experience most beneficial. If anything, it inspired me to delve deeper into Homer. Afterward Margaret, who looked a model of sophistication in a smartly tailored suit, introduced me to several members of the Department of Greek and Latin. Those who knew my husband all expressed surprise at seeing his wife attending a lecture, making me wonder what Philip’s own thoughts on the matter would have been. I had scant opportunity to contemplate the subject, however, as Margaret was bent on a mission of her own.

  “We need to find you a tutor so that you can learn Greek,” she said, taking me by the arm and walking me across the hall. “I see several promising candidates.” Within half an hour, my friend had bullied an unsuspecting postgraduate student into agreeing to instruct me.

  “I’m surprised there were so many ladies at the lecture,” I said as we left. “Although I need not tell you that none of my current acquaintances could be counted among them.”

  “University College is remarkably enlightened. They admitted women to degree courses more than a decade ago. You should consider enrolling.”

  “I don’t know that a university education is what I want,” I said. “I think I would rather work on my own than follow someone else’s program.”

  “That’s fine, too, I suppose. Just be careful not to lose focus.”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger of that happening.” We stood outside the lecture hall watching the crowd dissipate. I couldn’t help but take note of the fact that no one stood in the shadows watching me. The man with the scar seemed to have abandoned me in Paris.

  3 JUNE 1887

  BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

  Called on Kallista today but had the misfortune to do so at the same time as Emma Callum. Instead of being able to forward my suit, I was trapped into escorting Miss Callum home. Such are the perils of the Season.

  Have had very smug letter from Fournier—I am certain he is about to purchase something that he knows I would want, but have not been able to ascertain what it is. Cannot find any information from my usual sources. I did, however, get a lekythos—Athenian, mid-5th c.—and a pleasant, though small, statue of Mars. Both would be splendid additions to what I’ve already got at Ashton Hall. I think I may delay beginning a new gallery in town.

  12

  MY DINNER PARTY COULD NOT BE CONSIDERED AN UNQUALIFIED success despite the flawless food and service provided by my faithful staff. The turbot in wine sauce, which my mother declared as fine as that she had enjoyed at Balmoral when dining with the queen, did not make up for the fact that at the last minute I had decided to invite Margaret, leaving me with an uneven number of guests. This vexed my mother; she could not tolerate a social function that fell short of her idea of perfection, no matter how good the food, and she kept referring to the problems resulting from what she viewed as my poor planning.

  “If only I had known you were coming, Miss Seward, I would have insisted that my daughter invite another gentleman. How awkward this is! How are we to know to whom we should speak at dinner? Someone will always be left out.”

  “I think the practice of speaking only to one’s dinner partner completely dated, Lady Bromley. I prefer conversation with whoever has something interesting to say.” Clearly my mother and Margaret would not get on well.

  Other than the turbot, the only thing my mother seemed to approve of was my dress. Feeling the loss of my husband keenly, I had decided to wear unrelenting black that night. The dress, cut beautifully in Mr. Worth’s most elegant lines, showed off my figure to great advantage, a fact not lost on my mother. It seemed to her that at last I had found a way to properly mourn Philip while at the same time attempting to attract a new husband.

  As for my other guests, if Arabella were to be rescued, it would take far more than a single evening. The number of silly, insensitive remarks she’d made by the time dessert was served had me wondering if she were beyond rehabilitation. Arthur Palmer did not appear to notice her shortcomings and showered her with his own brand of inept attention, which pleased my mother greatly.

  “You must be so happy to be back from Paris,” Arabella mused as the footmen began to remove the dessert dishes from the table. “I cannot imagine why anyone goes abroad.”

  “You are not a great traveler?” Arthur asked.

  “Not at all. Horrid food, horrid people, and I despise sleeping in hotels.”

  “I think you would feel differently if you stayed at the Meurice in Paris. The food is delicious, and the kitchen is stocked with every English delicacy you could want,” I said.

  “Yes, but one still must deal with the French.”

  “It is perhaps difficult if one does not speak the language,” Colin suggested.

  “I assure you, Mr. Hargreaves, that I speak French flawlessly. But to deal with the Parisians is nearly impossible in any language.”

  “I think Lady Ashton will again refer you to the Meurice. The entire staff is fluent in both the language and customs of the English.”

  “Paris really is lovely, Arabella,” Ivy said, her pretty face glowing as she glanced at Robert while she spoke. “I hope you shall have the opportunity to see it.”

  “Travel provides an incomparable opportunity to improve one’s mind,” Margaret said.

  “But why should I go to Paris to find what I already have in London?”

  “Unless, of course, you need to buy clothes,” Mrs. Dunleigh said.

  “Mr. Worth has a shop in London now, so there’s no need even for that,” her daughter said, stopping the footman from removing the plate piled with gooseberry tart and meringue cookies in front of her.

  “I prefer Mr. Worth to see to my dresses personally, and he, of course, works in his Paris establishment,” I replied.

  “Really, Emily, I don’t know why you are giving Arabella such a difficult time,” my mother said.

  “I’m sorry, Arabella.” I sighed. “I just think there is much in the world you would enjoy if you would only give yourself the chance.”

  “Lady Ashton has broadened her mind remarkably in the past year,” Colin said.

  “Don’t turn into one of these radical women, Lady Ashton,” Lord Palmer admonished me. “The viscount would never have approved.”

  “How can we ever know that, Lord Palmer? I think a husband would be thrilled to have a wife with such a lively mind,” Margaret said.

  “I must say that I find Arabella’s position charming,” Arthur remarked. “I am pleased to find such respect in a woman for the empire.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Palmer,” Arabella said, simpering.

  My mother had been trying for some time to catch my eye, indicating that she thought it was time for the ladies to retire to the drawing room. I had no intention of leaving the men alone with my port.

  “Are we ready for port?” I asked.

  “Splendid, Emily,” my father replied. My mother began to stand, tired of waiting for me to take the lead.

  “Please sit, Mother. There is no reason that the gentlemen should be deprived of our company in order to have a drink. Besides, I’d like a glass myself.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Margaret agreed. Nine faces stared at us, each of them projecting a varying degree of shock. Colin, to his credit, seemed more amused than anything, but I could see that I had not an ally among the rest of the group.

  “I don’t think so, Emily,” my mother said severely, getting up from her se
at. The other ladies, Margaret excepted, followed her. Ivy gave me a pleading look as she left the room, but I stayed in my seat. Davis brought in the port and a box of Philip’s cigars. Every glass was filled and drained, but none of the gentlemen would smoke, though I would not have thought the mere presence of ladies would have deterred them. Margaret had no such reservations and puffed away unabashedly. There was almost no conversation, and I felt rather foolish for having chosen such an occasion to go against the conventions of society. Nonetheless, I did not want to admit my mistake; I could hardly go to the drawing room now. Unsure what to do, I sat nervously twirling the port in my glass. Not surprisingly, it was Margaret who broke the silence.

  “It amazes me that the other women prefer coffee and the drawing room to this,” she said, expertly blowing rings of smoke.

  “I don’t think they consider it a matter of preference,” I said.

  “Are we to embark on a tedious discussion of woman suffrage?” Arthur Palmer drawled.

  “I wouldn’t consider it tedious, but if you prefer to talk about another topic, I would not object,” I said, smiling. “Margaret and I attended a wonderful lecture at University College this week. You would have enjoyed it very much, Lord Palmer.”

  “Was this Pratt’s talk about Homer? I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Did you agree, Emily, with Mr. Pratt’s comment that Chapman’s translation of the Iliad is so inaccurate as to be useless?” Margaret asked. “I know that you do not read Greek, but I would like to hear thoughts on Chapman’s poetry from someone who is not hindered by aggravation with the precise accuracy of the translation.”

  “As you say, I cannot speak to Chapman’s faithfulness to Homer, but it must be agreed that his translation, when considered simply as a poem, presents the reader with a truly noble rendition of the story. The rhythm and sound of his lines is masterful. If the translator’s goal was to affect his reader powerfully, he has succeeded.”