Aunt Dimity Takes a Holiday

by Nancy Atherton

  Derek harrumphed. “Disaffected peasants, I should imagine.”

  “Seriously?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “Of course not.” Derek looked at me askance, then drew a picture in the air with his index finger. “The lower terrace is bordered by a wrought-iron balustrade. The blacksmith was soldering a joint near the shrubbery this afternoon. He must have let a spark fly into the bushes, where it smoldered until it flared up in the evening breeze. It’s a pity.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Emma corrected as she returned to the corridor, black pumps in hand. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to cultivate large-scale topiaries? Thank heavens the unicorn and the peacock were spared.”

  “Are you sure about your facts, Derek?” I asked, slipping into Emma’s shoes. “Your father seems to think—”

  “Father hasn’t bothered to speak with the blacksmith,” Derek interrupted. “Manual laborers are beneath his notice. Arrogant old fool.”

  “Derek . . .” Emma pleaded.

  “All right.” Derek held his hands up to pacify his wife. “I’ll behave myself. If he will.”

  Emma sighed resignedly. “It’s almost eight. We’d better go down.”

  I walked gingerly behind them, testing the fit of Emma’s pumps and puzzling over Derek’s words. I hadn’t noticed an evening breeze when I’d stood watching the fire, but I had detected the distinctive scent of kerosene. “Derek,” I began, “what about the—”

  “Cousin Derek!”

  I looked up and saw Simon Elstyn striding toward us, smiling his devastating smile.

  “Good evening, Si.” Derek’s greeting was somewhat less than enthusiastic. “Lori, this is my cousin—”

  “We’ve met,” I said. “Simon told me where to find you.”

  “Always glad to help a damsel in distress.” Simon bowed gallantly and turned to Derek. “A small reminder, Cousin—your father’s an Edwardian at heart. He frowns mightily on husbands who escort their wives into dinner.” He offered his arm to Emma, adding smoothly, “It’s absurd, I know, but when in Rome . . .”

  Emma glanced uncertainly at Derek, then took Simon’s arm. “Thank you, Simon. We seem to be short one husband.”

  “I’m sure he and Gina will catch us up at dinner,” said Simon, leading her toward the staircase.

  “Gina?” I whispered, slipping my hand into the crook of Derek’s arm.

  “Georgina Elstyn,” he replied quietly. “Simon’s wife. She works for my father. She’s—”

  “An attorney,” I murmured, and lapsed into a preoccupied silence.

  It had suddenly occurred to me that Gina might be one of the intermediaries who’d met with Bill to conduct the earl’s legal business at the London office of Willis & Willis. If she were, then Bill had worked with her for the past three months, without mentioning it to me. Had he known that she would be at Hailesham Park?

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider coming out with me for a bag of fish and chips,” Derek murmured gloomily. “I tried to talk Emma into it, but—”

  “Sorry, old bean, but wild horses couldn’t keep me from this dinner.” I grasped his arm firmly and squared my over-exposed shoulders. If Gina Elstyn was as attractive as her husband, then Derek wouldn’t be the only one I’d watch closely for the next five days.

  The drawing room split the difference between the entrance hall’s chilly classicism and my bedroom’s opulent warmth. The architecture was cool and classical: The off-white walls held a quartet of pilasters that rose from the floor to a white-on-white frieze encircling the room, and the barrel-vaulted ceiling was pierced with a pattern of octagonal medallions. Two unadorned Doric columns at the far end of the room separated the main section from an alcove containing a grand piano and a half-dozen shield-back chairs.

  The fireplace looked like a miniature Greek temple. The oil portrait over the mantelshelf was framed by a pair of diminutive Doric columns supporting a triangular pediment, and the creamy marble surround was carved with scrolls and abstract acanthus leaves.

  The hearth was flanked by two lacquered commodes that faced a pair of French doors opening onto a stone-flagged terrace. A rosewood secretaire filled the space between the French doors, and an inlaid drum table sat between a pair of round-backed armchairs. An Aubusson carpet and a sparkling chandelier lent warmth to the room, as did the coral damask settee sitting at a right angle to the hearth.

  Lord Elstyn was chatting with a young woman on the settee when we arrived. The young woman wore her white-blond hair in a spiky crew cut, and she was dressed in an electric-blue gown that covered her from neck to toes yet left nothing whatsoever to the imagination. If my dress fit like a glove, hers looked as if it had been sprayed on.

  The young woman remained seated as we entered the room, but the earl rose from the settee to greet us.

  “Lori, Emma, welcome. I see you’ve met Simon.” He beamed at Emma’s escort, but his eyes merely grazed Derek’s face. “Simon’s my brother Kenneth’s eldest son. His other son is Oliver.” The earl turned toward a young man standing near the grand piano. “Oliver, stop lurking in the shadows,” he called. “I wish to introduce you to Ms. Shepherd and Lady Hailesham.”

  Derek clenched his fists, but Emma’s warning look and my grip on his arm restrained him from registering any complaint he might have had about his wife’s correct name.

  “There’s no need for titles among family,” Emma said, with remarkable aplomb. “Please call me Emma.”

  “As you wish,” said the earl, with a courtly bow.

  Oliver Elstyn was in his midthirties—about my age—and not quite as tall as his brother. His hair was dark, but it was hard to tell the color of his eyes because he scarcely lifted his gaze from the carpet as he shook Emma’s hand, then turned to me.

  “How do you do, Ms. Shepherd?” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

  “Very well, thank you,” I replied. His handshake was as gentle as his voice. “But I’ll do much better if you call me Lori.”

  I caught a flash of midnight blue as his eyes met mine, but he quickly lowered them again when the earl spoke.

  “Allow me to present Lady Landover, my brother Thomas’s only child.” The earl beckoned to the young woman, who got to her feet and strolled over to join us. “Claudia’s husband is unable to be with us this week, which is just as well. I detest an odd number at dinner.”

  Claudia Landover emitted a shrill laugh. “What an awful thing to say, Uncle. Married women miss their husbands dreadfully when they’re away, don’t we, Lori?”

  “Yes,” I replied, a shade dishonestly. Bill was away so often that there were times when I hardly realized he was gone. I was, however, keenly aware of the fact that neither he nor the mysterious Gina was present in the drawing room.

  Claudia drew me over to sit on the settee, Derek and Oliver retreated to the alcove, and the earl and Simon took Emma to the French doors to look out.

  “You’re not wearing makeup!” Claudia exclaimed. She had a voice like a Klaxon. “How extraordinary!”

  Her comment brought a rush of color to my face that would have rendered blusher redundant.

  “I don’t care for makeup,” I said shortly. “I find it uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?” Claudia’s Elstyn-blue eyes registered incomprehension.

  “It limits my range of motion,” I explained. “I like to be able to rub my nose without worrying about smearing my fingers with paint.”

  “I’ll admit it’s inconvenient at times,” Claudia allowed, “but I’ve always thought it a form of politeness to make the best of oneself when appearing in public.”

  I didn’t think Claudia was being catty. I didn’t think she was intelligent enough to be catty, and if I hadn’t been feeling peevish about Bill’s absence, I would have let her off the hook and changed the subject. But my bad temper got the better of me, and before I could stop myself I let her have it with both barrels.

  “I’ve always thought it more polite to tel
l the truth,” I said.

  Claudia leaned back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Makeup’s a lie,” I snapped. “It’s a way of saying, ‘I’m younger, older, paler, rosier than I really am.’” I stared pointedly at her bleached crew cut. “The same goes for hair coloring, which I also don’t use, because, as with most lies, once you start telling it, the harder it is to stop. I prefer not to start.”

  “Bravo, Lori.” Unbeknownst to me, Simon had left Emma with the earl and crossed to stand close enough to overhear the whole ridiculous tirade. “Makeup’s inconvenient for men as well. One kiss and we’re marked for life.” His gaze lingered on my lips. “I’m delighted to hear that you don’t wear it.”

  “I think you’re both quite mad,” Claudia declared.

  The drawing room door opened and Bill appeared, dressed in his flawless dinner jacket, with a slim, dark-haired woman on his arm. She was wearing a beautifully cut black gown with long sleeves and a modest décolletage. If Bill’s jaw dropped when he saw me, I didn’t notice. I had eyes only for his companion.

  “Gina!” Claudia called. “What would you say about a woman who refuses to wear makeup?”

  “I’d say she’s either very beautiful”—Gina’s voice was distressingly low and musical—“or very foolish.”

  “I know how I’d cast my vote,” Simon murmured from the corner of his mouth.

  After introducing Gina and me to each other, the earl announced, “The party is complete, or nearly so. Oliver, take Emma in to dinner.”

  Simon bent low to address me. “Would you do me the honor, madam?”

  I glanced once at Bill, stood, and took Simon’s arm, saying grimly, “You bet.”

  Derek paired up with Claudia, and the earl led the procession into the entrance hall, where he paused to gaze up the marble staircase.

  The rest of us paused, too, and were rewarded with an unforgettable sight.

  The Honorable Eleanor Harris had arrived.

  Six

  Nell Harris had always been unforgettable. Some said her mother’s early death and Derek’s years of grief had shaped her character, but Dimity, who’d known Nell as a child, disagreed.

  Nell would have been exactly who she is, no matter what the circumstances, she’d once told me. Nell is an old soul. She was born knowing more than you or I will ever learn.

  Dimity’s words came back to me as I beheld Nell on the staircase. She was breathtaking—tall and willowy and as ethereally beautiful as a fairy queen, with an aureole of golden curls to serve as her crown.

  The gown she wore was from another age, ivory silk falling in tiny pleats from a high-waisted bodice embroidered with seed pearls and trimmed with the merest whisper of lace. She’d threaded a pale blue satin ribbon through her curls but wore no jewelry. She needed none. Her hair shone like liquid gold and her blue eyes would have put the finest sapphires to shame.

  Nell surveyed us with the grace and self-possession of a woman who would one day rule the world. It was hard to believe she’d not yet reached her seventeenth birthday.

  “Good evening,” she said.

  “Good evening,” we chorused, a herd of serfs rendered pliant by her majesty.

  Ivory satin slippers peeped from beneath her hem as she descended the staircase. “I apologize for my tardiness. Bertie was unwell.”

  Bertie was the chocolate-brown teddy bear who accompanied Nell everywhere. Nell’s affection for her bear tempted fools to underestimate her, but they soon learned—usually the hard way—that Nell’s myriad eccentricities concealed a formidable intelligence.

  “Bertie was frightened by the fire,” Nell continued. “Have you discovered who set it?”

  “The fire wasn’t set deliberately, Nell,” said Derek. “The blacksmith was soldering—”

  “It was an accident,” Lord Elstyn interrupted. “Tell Bertie there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Isn’t there?” Nell gazed intently at Simon, nodded to me and Bill, then moved forward to embrace her father and stepmother, murmuring, “Mama, Papa, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Yes,” the earl said gruffly. “We’re all pleased that you’ve come, my boy. It’s been far too long since we’ve dined together as a family.”

  Derek stared at his father, clearly at a loss for words, but Nell saved him the trouble of responding.

  Her hand came to rest on the earl’s arm as lightly as a tuft of down. “Shall we go in?”

  The dining room could have been plastered with peanut butter and I wouldn’t have noticed. I was too busy stealing glances at my husband.

  Bill and I were seated as far away from each other as it was possible to be, on opposite ends and sides of the enormous mahogany table. Gina sat beside him. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, chatting and laughing with the familiarity of old friends. Their chummy behavior put to rest any doubts I had about the length of their acquaintance.

  I sat between Lord Elstyn and Simon, and when I wasn’t spying on my husband, I was listening to the men’s conversation. It was clear that the earl was proud of his nephew, and with good reason: Simon sat on the boards of at least three major corporations and twice as many charities. Both men were remarkably well informed on the Westwood Trust’s various projects and drew from me an enthusiatic account of the work being done at St. Benedict’s, the trust-supported homeless shelter in Oxford.

  “You go there yourself?” the earl asked.

  I nodded. “I’ve worked my way up to pot scrubber.”

  “Remarkable,” the earl murmured.

  “Admirable,” Simon stated firmly.

  Even while we spoke, a part of my mind was focused on the end of the meal when, if the earl lived up to his Edwardian reputation, the ladies would be banished to the drawing room while the gentlemen stayed behind to pass the decanter.

  Sure enough, when the last plate had been cleared, the ladies rose as one—apart from me and Emma, who rose somewhat belatedly—and left the men to their port. Emma attempted to catch my eye when we entered the drawing room, but Claudia intercepted her and dragged her over to the fireplace.

  I made a beeline for Gina Elstyn.

  “So,” I said brightly. “You’re Gina.”

  “And you’re Lori.” Gina had hazel eyes and her chin-length brown hair was straight and shiny and held back from her face by an elegant brown velvet band. Her wedding ring had a rock on it the size of Pike’s Peak. “Bill’s told me so much about you.”

  “Has he?” I lifted an eyebrow. “He hasn’t told me a thing about you.”

  “Good.” Gina spoke with the chilly detachment of a polished professional. “My uncle has strict rules about confidentiality. He insists that our business meetings be conducted in complete secrecy.”

  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, Gina, but the secret’s out.” I gestured toward Claudia, Emma, and Nell, who were clustered in conversation around the hearth. “The Elstyns are here, one big happy family, except that they’re not, are they? Why haven’t the aunts and uncles joined in the fun? Why has the earl focused on the younger generation? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not at liberty to answer your questions, Lori,” Gina replied. “I work for my uncle, you see, and I play by his rules.”

  “Gina!” Claudia’s voice could have been heard in the next county. “We’re completely outnumbered. Nell and Emma agree with Lori about makeup.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

  Gina turned toward the others, but before she could reply, the door opened and Simon came into the room. He went directly to his wife and told her that she was wanted in the dining room. She gave me a cool nod and departed, but Simon stayed behind.

  “If Claudia says one more word about makeup,” I growled through gritted teeth, “I’m going to stab her to death with an eyebrow pencil.”

  “Fresh air?” Simon suggested.

  “Please,” I replied gratefully, and we exited through the French doors.

  In my haste to es
cape Claudia’s clutches I’d forgotten that it was October and that my black dress wasn’t suited to the great outdoors. I began to shiver the moment the cool night air touched my skin.

  Simon noticed, removed his dress jacket, and draped it around my shoulders. He would have left his arm there, too, if I hadn’t walked away. He caught up with me in two strides, offered his elbow instead, and guided me toward a short flight of stone steps that descended into the uppermost of the three terraced gardens.

  The fire brigade had long since gone. The night was still and silent save for the muted murmur of voices coming from the drawing room. A nearly full moon cast a soft glow over the shadowy landscape as we strolled along a grassy path bordered by formal flowerbeds that had been tucked up for the winter.

  “Is the path smooth enough for Emma’s shoes?” Simon inquired.

  “It’s like a billiards table,” I told him. “I could dance a minuet on it in Emma’s shoes—if I knew how to dance a minuet.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he offered.

  I stopped short. “Do you really know how to dance a minuet?”

  “I do,” he said. “I was taught it by a dancing master, here, in the ballroom, when I was eleven years old.”

  I looked him up and down. “You’re remarkably well preserved for someone who was born in the eighteenth century.”

  Simon laughed. “I freely admit to being out of step with my time. I’ve always preferred the country to the city, the handmade to the mass-produced, the minuet to the . . .” He frowned. “Do dances have names nowadays?”

  “If they do, I don’t know what they are,” I replied.

  “We’re in the rose garden,” Simon informed me as we walked on. “In June the air is intoxicating, but I’m afraid it’s rather less so in October.”

  “Still,” I said, “it’s a beautiful place.”

  “It’s more beautiful in June.” Simon stopped beneath an elaborate wrought-iron arch, and an intricate pattern of shadows fell on his upturned face. “When the climbing roses are in bloom, it’s the most beautiful place on earth.”

  “Emma might agree with you,” I allowed, “but I’m not sure about Derek. I don’t think he cares much for Hailesham Park.”