I had already admitted to Margaret that Achilles’ strength on the battlefield was unparalleled. That this impressed Philip did not shock me. However, it overshadowed for him everything else in Homer’s great work. He used it to justify Achilles’ egotistical fits and could not praise the hero enough for his unwavering sense of morality. While it is true that Achilles’ straightforward approach to his world could be considered admirable, I found it immature and overly simplistic. And in all these pages of writing, Philip never once mentioned Hector, except as Achilles’ enemy. How could he have so overlooked Homer’s most human character? A man who painfully realizes that his best will never be enough, whose heart-wrenching decision to fight Achilles nearly brought me to tears?
Dissatisfied, I put down the book, irritated that Philip was not there. I desperately wanted the chance to argue about these things with him. As I sat there, I slowly began to realize that my own opinions were quite different from those of my husband. Until then I had attributed all my interest in classical antiquity to Philip and had assumed that his own studies would serve as an adequate guide for mine. I no longer felt driven to study as a way to know Philip; I wanted to study because I loved the poetry, because the beauty of Greek sculpture moved me, because I was touched by the sight of tiny details on a vase. Suddenly Philip became one in a series of people whose academic opinions might or might not matter to me.
The culmination of these thoughts did not make me lose any love for my husband, nor did it make me grieve less for his loss. Instead it made me miss him all the more, because it revealed conversations I would never have with him. I could, and would, continue my studies, this time allowing only my own interests to serve as my guide. What I would never have, however, was the chance to end an infuriating argument on the merits of Hector versus Achilles with a series of soft kisses that gradually became more passionate as the topic at hand faded from memory.
As soon as I had returned to town, I sent notes to two gentlemen. The moment their replies arrived, I rushed to compare their handwriting with that in the missives now locked in my desk drawer. I was not surprised in the least that Colin’s did not match but found myself mildly disappointed when I realized they were not written in Andrew’s hand either. My idea about Andrew and warnings had not proved sound.
Before closing the drawer, I removed the glove and placed it on the table in my entrance hall. I told Davis that someone had dropped it in the library and that he should leave it on the table to be claimed.
Nearly a fortnight passed before I was able to find Mr. Attewater. As usual, Davis proved himself indispensable, taking on the task of tracking him down, locating him at last through one of the rather less exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in town. In the meantime I found myself once again spending a considerable amount of time with Andrew, who continued his habit of calling almost every day.
“What shall we do? Are you planning to ride?”
“I’m awfully tired, Andrew, and intend to stay in all day. I have a great deal of work to do before Mr. Moore comes tomorrow.”
“Capital. Then now is as good a time as any to present you with this.” He held a small parcel out to me; I did not take it.
“Andrew, you know I cannot accept a gift from you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily. It’s as much from my father as it is from me, to thank you for those terribly boring papers of Ashton’s.”
“Oh! Did you find them?” I asked, trying to sound surprised. I knew he had spent nearly an hour in the library while I was in the country. At my request, Davis had stood over Andrew’s shoulders the entire time, carefully observing what he was doing. I did not want Andrew to know that I had already received a full report on his visit.
“Yes, yes, though I cannot imagine what my father is going to do with them. At any rate, you must take this,” he said, handing me the package.
I hesitated, knowing that I should not accept anything from a man to whom I was not engaged. But surely Andrew, who had such a sporadic respect for the rules of society, would not consider my taking his gift to mean more than it did. I opened the paper and gasped. Inside was an ancient bronze coin bearing a portrait of Alexander the Great.
“Where on earth did you get this? It’s fascinating,” I said, looking at it closely.
“Some dusty old shop in Bloomsbury. I thought you might like it and knew my father would approve.”
“It’s lovely, Andrew. I shall treasure it.”
After accepting the coin, I began to consider more seriously my relationship with Andrew. I did not love him and wondered if I ever could. I thought of the passages in Philip’s journal relating to the early days of our engagement. It would be terrible to love someone so much who did not return the feeling. Although I did not believe that Andrew loved me, I did not want to do anything to increase his attachment to me. If I were ever to love a man, I wanted to do so completely; nothing less would satisfy me, and clearly Andrew would not be the man. It would be best if he considered me nothing more than a good friend; I would not allow him to kiss me again.
I started seeing him less frequently, turning down most of his invitations. When I was with him, I tried to make sure it was in a large group of friends or with other members of our families. One evening I invited him and his brother to dine with me, anxious to see if Arthur planned to propose to Arabella anytime soon. Unable to broach the subject during dinner, when the conversation kept to the usual sort of polite nonsense, I brought it up after we retired to the library.
“I saw Arabella yesterday, Arthur. She spoke highly of you.”
“She is an excellent lady.” I did not like his tone; it suggested that she was a fine piece of livestock.
“Do you see her often?” I asked, not feeling the need to inquire delicately to such a man.
“Yes, quite as often as I can.” He was pacing around the perimeter of the room, vaguely looking at the titles of books on the shelves in an attempt to find something to read aloud.
“I wonder if I should encourage her feelings for you?” I continued. “I would not like to see her hurt.”
“I assure you my intentions are honorable, Lady Ashton.” He opened a volume of Ovid. “Are all his Greek books in this section?”
“Ovid was Roman, Mr. Palmer,” I said, disliking the easy manner with which he dismissed the subject of Arabella. “The Greeks are on the next shelf.”
“Shall we have port tonight, Arthur? Emily tells me Ashton left quite a stash.” Andrew turned to me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.” I rang for Davis and was shocked that when he arrived, Andrew directed him to bring the port rather than letting me do so. Davis nodded to him politely, as he always did, and turned to me.
“You would like me to bring port to the gentlemen, Lady Ashton? And for you?”
“Port for all of us, please.” I waited until the butler had left the room to turn my attention to Andrew. “I don’t like you directing my servants.”
His blue eyes laughed. “Don’t you realize that I will persist in taking whatever liberties I can with you, Emily? You have been very cold to me lately. If I cannot kiss you, I shall have to resort to playing man of the house with your butler.”
“Don’t do it again,” I snapped, shocked that he would say such a thing in front of his brother. I was about to say so when Davis returned.
“How did you like Ashton Hall, Emily? I never inquired after the trip you took there.” Andrew laced his long, thin fingers together and laid them in his lap.
“It’s a remarkable place. Have you been there?” I asked coldly.
“Now, don’t hold me in contempt, Emily. It doesn’t suit you, and you shall break my heart if you continue.” He looked around the room as he spoke. “What a shame my brother is relentless in his pursuit of literature.
I should like to go to the drawing room so that you could play for us.” Arthur was continuing his tour of the shelves, pulling books down occasionally and leafing through them.
“No, Lady Ashton, just at a loss to choose something. I apologize if I seem distracted. My mind is elsewhere this evening.”
“My brother has been rather elusive on the subject of Miss Dunleigh, don’t you think? I happen to know, Emily, that there is more to the story than he has revealed.”
“I’m sure that if Mr. Palmer wants me to know, he’ll tell me himself.”
“You persist in punishing me!” Andrew cried. “Dreadful girl! What shall I do to return to your good graces?”
Truth be told, Andrew was beginning to tire me, and I doubted that I should want to remain even his friend for much longer. His disrespectful attitude, which initially I found amusing and even a bit exhilarating, had begun to grate on my nerves. Happy though I was to escape from some of the bonds of society and its elaborate rules of behavior, I did not desire to remove myself completely. I did not want to embark on a lengthy discussion with Andrew concerning his faults, nor did I want to be subjected to one of his drawn-out apologies. I decided to be charming for the rest of the evening and subsequently distance myself from him.
“I shall reprimand you no further, Mr. Palmer,” I said, bestowing on him my most attractive smile. “Tell me, have you any further news of Emma Callum and her Italian count?”
“I’m afraid that I must disappoint you on that subject. Her family has closed ranks and is revealing very little.”
“Too bad. Perhaps I shall call on them the next time I’m in Italy. I wonder where the count lives.”
“Venice, I think. Do you plan to travel there soon?”
“No, not at all. I shall most likely stay in England for the winter and then go to Greece in the spring.”
“Ah—to the villa.”
“Yes. Have you been there?” I asked, watching Arthur continue his perusal of my husband’s books.
“Of course. I would be happy to arrange for your trip. I’m quite familiar with Santorini.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, Andrew, but Mr. Hargreaves promised Philip he would take care of everything.”
“Really? I’m stunned to know that Ashton would consider Hargreaves qualified to do such a thing.”
“Especially after that screaming argument they had in Africa,” Arthur said, wrinkling his nose.
“I didn’t know they argued,” I said.
“Oh, yes, nasty row the night before Ashton got sick,” Arthur continued. “No offense, Lady Ashton, but I can’t say I’ve ever thought much of Hargreaves. Something about him’s not quite cricket.”
7 SEPTEMBER 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Hargreaves arrived last week, bringing a much-appreciated supply of port. We took the boat across the caldera and spent a capital day exploring the old volcano. Discussed the possibility of funding an excavation of the island—I wonder if beneath the remains of ancient eruptions one could find treasures similar to those at Pompeii?
Have arranged to visit Delphi next week. Villagers there have been selling the most astounding artifacts—all from the remains of Apollo’s oracle. Terrible crime that the site is not better protected. I fear that the significance of many of the objects will never be fully understood, as they are mercilessly ripped from their environs, robbing scholars of the opportunity to study them in context.
19
THE NEXT MORNING I RECEIVED CÉCILE’S REPLY TO MY letter asking her to find out what she could of Philip’s purchase of the Praxiteles Apollo.
Ma chère Kallista,
I cannot tell you how distressed I felt after reading your letter. I hoped you had abandoned your morbid fascination with Philip, but clearly not. My child, it is always best to leave the dead buried. Nonetheless, I could not resist your plea for help and as a result have spent a fascinating week pretending to be in the market for antiquities. What a collection of characters I have found! Talented artists whose work would deceive any expert, ruthless dealers who reap huge profits, and buyers from the highest circles of society.
As you probably know, it is simple to buy an excellent copy of nearly any museum piece, so I began my adventure by letting it be known that I had seen Philip’s Praxiteles bust and wanted to purchase a copy. I was soon approached by Monsieur LeBlanc, a man of dubious character but impeccable manners, who assured me that his artisans could produce a copy of anything I desired. When I told him of my friendship with Lord Ashton’s widow, he asked if, like Lord Ashton, I preferred to purchase originals. He made it most clear that he could even obtain items from certain museums, as well as things acquired illegally from archaeological digs.
I am sorry to tell you that Monsieur LeBlanc, as well as several others, confirmed for me that your husband had frequently dealt with black-market dealers in the last year of his life. He purchased Apollo on a trip to Paris the week before your wedding from a private collector who had bought it only six months earlier; the gentleman prefers to remain anonymous. A colleague of Monsieur LeBlanc arranged the sale and gave me this information, believing that it would prove to me that he is equally capable of handling my own black-market purchases. Many underworld doors opened for me when I mentioned the name Lord Ashton. I know this information will bring you pain, but I do not think you should dwell on it. Bury his indiscretions along with the man and close this chapter of your life, chérie.
Please return to Paris soon, Kallista. I think your mood would improve immeasurably.
I am, as always, your most devoted friend,
Cécile du Lac
This confirmation of Philip’s illicit activities dealt me a blow like none I had suffered before; I felt utterly betrayed by him and angry at myself for falling in love with such a man. Tomorrow Mr. Attewater and I would visit the British Museum, and I knew he would tell me that the objects in which I was interested were fake. Then what would I do? There could be no question that the originals must be returned to the museum, but how? As I pondered the subject, Davis announced Andrew, who rushed into the room almost before my butler spoke his name.
“Darling, I was a beast to you last night,” he said, reaching for my hand as soon as the butler had closed the door. “But I see now why you have been so harsh with me lately. Your pointed questions to Arthur about his imminent engagement clearly indicate that you are afraid my own intentions to you are not honorable. My dear, you could not be more wrong.” He continued before I could stop him. “Arthur suggested to me that your concern for Arabella clearly mirrored your own hopes. You know I adore you, Emily, and must admit that you are in dire need of a husband.”
“Andrew!” I exclaimed.
“I am only teasing you, dearest. Please marry me, Emily. Think of the fun we would have together.”
I drew a deep breath before I replied. “Andrew, you do me the greatest honor asking me to be your wife, but I fear I cannot accept your proposal. My feelings for Philip still overwhelm me. I could not marry another.”
“Of course we would not marry before you are out of mourning. We wouldn’t even need to announce the engagement.”
“Please, Andrew, do not press your suit. I have no desire to hurt you,” I said gently.
“I want to marry you, Emily,” he said, more firmly than I would have expected. “Would you deny me my greatest wish?”
“I’m afraid I must, as it is incompatible with my own feelings.”
“I cannot believe you feel nothing for me.”
“I enjoy your company immensely but do not believe that we are well suited for marriage. And as I have already said, I am still deeply in love with Philip.” I looked at him directly as I spoke, feeling I owed him at least that. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other for some time, as if he were waiting for me to change my mind. Eventually he spoke.
“I am not accustomed to being so easily dismissed. You’ll forgive me if I beg your leave.” He left the house without looking at me.
Once agai
n I sat alone in the library, my mind spinning. My concern for Andrew paled next to my feelings concerning Philip and antiquities theft, but I did not enjoy rejecting Lord Palmer’s son. His proposal came as a total shock, but when I remembered that Philip fell in love with me while I largely ignored him, I decided that men must prefer women who have little interest in them. The more I pushed Andrew away, the more serious his pursuit became. Perhaps men should not be allowed to hunt; the love of the chase creeps too much into other realms of their lives.
I had no doubt that Andrew would fall in love again quickly, and I wondered if his desire to marry me was inspired more by my fortune in the Bank of England than by my wealth of personal attributes. I knew he needed money, and I pitied him. His title, however, would make him the perfect catch for the daughter of an American railroad baron whose wife kept a copy of Debrett’s on her bedside table. Yes, an American would suit Andrew well. I wondered if Margaret could think of someone who would make an excellent match for him.
Not many days passed before I found myself receiving another gentleman in the library. This time, however, there was no danger of a proposal.
“You have been immensely difficult to track down lately,” Colin said, his long legs stretched out before him as he sat on one of my favorite chairs.
“I cannot agree with you, Colin,” I said, meeting his eyes.
“Well, I suppose if I were willing to gallop down Rotten Row at top speed, I should have an easier time of it.”
“I don’t think I shall be doing that much anymore,” I said wryly.
“Dare I hope that Palmer has fallen from grace?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” I began, not wanting to tell Colin of the refused proposal.
“How is your study of Greek?”
And Only to Deceive Page 15