by Sandra Heath
Anthea and Corinna talked a lot, especially during their lengthy perambulations, but when the subject of Corinna’s background was raised, there was very little she could actually tell. She did not know her father at all, for he had died before she was born, and her mother had refused to discuss any other family that might still be here in England, except to say she had had a twin sister who had died.
It seemed Chloe Pranton came originally from the West Country, but for some reason she had fled to Ireland taking her newborn baby with her. Talk of a father who died before his daughter’s birth and a mother’s unexplained flight from England led Anthea to wonder if there was a scandal attached to the tale. Maybe Chloe had not been married at all and had gone to Ireland to escape gossip and start again. Not that such a possibility was put to Corinna, of course, or indeed to Lady Letitia. Anthea kept her thoughts strictly to herself.
Corinna admitted to wanting to know more about her roots but did not know how to go about it. “The West Country” was generally accepted to mean the area from the farthermost tip of Cornwall to the eastern boundary of Devon, and then north as far as Gloucestershire. That was a large tract, with many cities and towns, countless villages and hamlets, and myriad farms and cottages. There were also a vast number of country seats, whose masters were certainly not out of the question as Corinna’s antecedents, given that Chloe had been able to instruct and educate her daughter to such a high standard.
But family secrets were the last thing on Anthea’s and Corinna’s minds as they sat on Corinna’s bed one fine June morning. The rose-and-white bedroom faced over the square and was elegantly furnished in the Grecian style. It was a handsome chamber that ought to have been Anthea’s, but she had always preferred to be at the back of the house, where there was a view over Lady Letitia’s beautiful garden of flowers and shrubs, widely noted for their fragrance.
This particular morning Anthea was wearing bluebell-and-white sprigged muslin that went particularly well with her splendid lavender eyes, while Corinna was in ice green lawn. They sprawled undecorously on their elbows on the bed examining a ladies’ journal for the latest fashion illustrations. One picture caused particular mirth, because—as Anthea observed—the expression on the lady’s face suggested a forced drink of vinegar.
“What a very horrid thought,” Corinna laughed.
“Well, if she dined at Lord and Lady Farnborough’s, no doubt she would indeed have drunk vinegar, for I have it on the most reliable authority that their wine is little better.”
Corinna’s green eyes bore a doubting expression. “Is that the truth? Or are you teasing me?”
“It is the truth.” Anthea gave her a sly look. “Ask Viscount Heversham next time you see him.”
Corinna blushed. “I don’t see him any more often than you do.”
“No, but his name trips from your lips with much more frequency than it does from mine. Seriously, though, do you really like him, Corinna?”
The blush deepened. “Yes, I do. He’s so kind and gentle.”
“Yes, he is.”
“But if my pulse is supposed to race when he is near, I fear mine doesn’t quicken at all.” Corinna heaved a long sigh. “I wish it did, because he is so agreeable.”
Anthea knew all about racing pulses, for Jovian managed to make hers do precisely that even now, after he had ruined everything. But no matter what the situation, Anthea imagined a racing pulse was a prerequisite for a happy match. “Corinna, you do know Aunt Letty has her sights upon a match between you and the viscount, don’t you?”
“I could hardly not notice,” Corinna replied.
“Would such a match dismay you? Because if so, you ought to warn Aunt Letty now, before her eagerness to match-make induces her to make an overture to him.”
“Well, I like him very much, truly I do, but if I am honest, I would have to say that he is virtually the only young gentleman I have met since I came here.”
“That’s true.” Anthea broke off, thinking, then added, “Perhaps it would be wise to mention the true state of your feelings anyway. Just to be safe.”
“If that’s what you think, then of course I will.”
Anthea smiled, “Right. Now, what was it we were discussing?”
“Lord and Lady Farnborough’s vinegar,” Corinna answered.
“Ah, yes. I was about to say that the only person who drinks it without grimacing is the Duke of Chavanage.”
“And I suppose he is an elderly, gouty fellow who falls asleep before the desserts?”
Anthea glanced away. “No. As it happens he is young and extraordinarily handsome.”
“Really? Oh, do tell.” Corinna rolled over onto her back and looked quizzically at her.
“There is nothing to tell.”
“Yes, there is. I can tell by your face. Are you in love with him?”
“No, certainly not! His Grace of Chavanage is constantly inebriated, and only a fool would continue to love him.” Anthea got up from the bed, wishing her cheeks hadn’t suddenly flushed even more than Corinna’s.
“Continue to love him? So you did love him once?”
Anthea went to the fireplace, where a bowl of honeysuckle stood among the garniture of blue-and-white Chinese vases. Lady Letitia had picked the blooms especially for Corinna, who had greatly impressed her by knowing the plant’s Latin name, lonicera periclymenum. Anthea ran a hand along the mantel, her fingertips stroking the carved white marble as she considered her answer. “Yes, I loved Jovian with all my heart, but then he commenced his drinking. There is nothing more disgusting than a drunkard, whether he be a common man or the highest in the land.”
“Why did he change? Did some great tragedy ruin his life?”
Anthea smiled again, her glance moving to the beautifully bound volume of Sense and Sensibility that lay on the little table beside Corinna’s bed. “You read too many novels, Miss Pranton,” she chided fondly.
“And you do not read enough, Lady Anthea,” came the prompt reply.
Noticing something between the pages, Anthea opened the book to see what it was. To her surprise, she found a pressed sprig of mistletoe inside. “Is this yours?” she asked, taking it out.
“I—I think it must be, although I don’t recall picking a narcissus.”
“A what? Corinna, this isn’t a narcissus; it’s mistletoe.”
Corinna stared at her. “Mistletoe? Don’t be silly. I know mistletoe when I see it, and that is most certainly not mistletoe.”
Anthea did not want to provoke an argument, so she replaced the sprig in the book and said nothing more, but privately she was quite staggered. Corinna was intelligent and well educated, even to the extent of knowing the Latin name for honeysuckle; yet, she mistook mistletoe for a narcissus? It was a mystery.
Corinna sat up a little self-consciously. “Anthea, I’m rather worried that I can’t remember picking or pressing it. Don’t you think I am a little young to have such lapses?”
“Papa may have put it there before he and Lord Lisnerne left for Brazil. It is the sort of thing he would do, you know,” Anthea replied soothingly, although such an explanation still did not account for Corinna’s belief that it was a narcissus.
“I had not thought of that.” Corinna’s eyes brightened; then she changed the subject. “What shall we do this afternoon? Drive in Hyde Park?”
“I don’t think Aunt Letty will allow it. The crowds will be dreadful because of the visiting monarchs.”
“Can we drive out to Marylebone then? We could take a glass of lemonade at that pleasure garden Lady Letitia took us to last week.”
“Yes, I suppose we could do that.”
Corinna smiled and then lay back again with her hands clasped behind her head. She began to hum to herself, and the tune was “Lavender Blue.”
Anthea looked at her. “You like that song, don’t you?”
“Mm? Yes, I do. My mother used to sing it to me when I was a baby.”
“Mine did, too. I hadn’t thought o
f it for ages, but it came back into my head last autumn and seems to have remained there ever since. Sometimes I even wake up with it going through my mind.”
The sound of horses came from the square, and Corinna’s head turned immediately. She got up and went to look from the window, then smiled over her shoulder at Anthea. “There are two gentlemen riders outside Gunter’s who are almost too handsome for words.”
Anthea joined her, but her heart sank almost immediately as she saw that one was Jovian. “Well, speak of the devil,” she murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“The gentleman on the dappled gray thoroughbred is the Duke of Chavanage.”
“Really?” Corinna gazed down at him. “Oh, he is good-looking,” she breathed.
“Yes, and he is also drunk again, judging by the way he’s swaying in the saddle,” Anthea remarked in disgust.
Jovian was perfectly turned out in a pine green riding coat, mustard waistcoat, and white breeches. His gleaming boots rivaled many a mirror, and the nonchalant tilt of his top hat was just so. On seeing the two faces peering from the Daneway House window, he doffed his hat to bow to them. It might have been a graceful gesture, had he not been obliged to keep his balance by grabbing the pommel.
Anthea could have wept for him. Oh, Jovian, Jovian, what has become of you ... ?
Chapter Five
Corinna pursed her lips as she looked down at the undoubtedly intoxicated Duke of Chavanage. “Hmm. I see what you mean. He's in his cups, isn’t he?”
“Almost unfailingly,” Anthea replied sadly, “and has been this past year or more. Before then ...”
“Yes?”
“Before then he was incomparable.”
Corinna looked thoughtfully at her, then out the window again. “Oh, who is his friend?” she asked with quick attention, as the other gentleman removed his hat and ran his tan-gloved hand through his raven hair.
He was a stranger to Anthea, who knew little of Jovian’s more recent circle of friends. A boon companion, she decided disapprovingly, although she had to concede that he seemed as sober as a judge. He was about the same age as Jovian and very good-looking—hence Corinna’s surge of interest—and his immaculately tailored riding clothes were the obligatory pine green coat and cream breeches of all gentlemen of the ton. Whoever he was, he could not lack a fortune, Anthea thought, for his black Arabian horse must have cost him a good few guineas.
As Anthea gazed down, he suddenly glanced up. She had expected him to notice Corinna’s golden-haired loveliness, but to her surprise, she herself was the recipient of his admiring smile.
Corinna was a little stung. “Well, he appears to be your conquest, Anthea. It’s not fair, for I do find him attractive. Much more so than—”
“Than Viscount Heversham?”
“Yes.” Corinna lowered her eyes a little guiltily. “I feel I ought to have eyes only for the viscount, but when I look at this stranger ...”
“So, miss, the unfortunate viscount is not the apple of your eye?” Lady Letitia’s voice right behind them made them both jump. She had entered the room unnoticed and was standing on tiptoe to peer over their shoulders into the square.
“As it happens, I know the name of that particular gentleman. He is Sir Erebus Lethe, a baronet who has been the duke’s neighbor this past twelvemonths or so. He bought Wycke Hall, an estate that adjoins Cathness Castle. At least, that is my understanding.”
“How do you know him, Aunt Letty?” Anthea asked.
“He sat next to me at dinner last week. Now, where was it? Ah, yes, the Farnboroughs. He is a most charming and entertaining fellow, whose company took my mind off the dreadful wine.”
“He is Scottish, I presume?” Anthea said then.
Her aunt looked at her. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, his surname is Leith, and I—”
“Oh, he doesn’t spell his name that way. It’s L-e-t-h-e, as in the River of Forgetfulness, and he’s definitely English.”
Anthea was surprised by such a name. “How very odd to be called after the brother of Chaos and the River of Forgetfulness,” she murmured.
Lady Letitia smiled. “I mentioned that to him, and the name Erebus seems a corruption of some ancient German version of Herbert. Herebeorht, I believe. He thinks Lethe may indeed have originally been Leith, although he does not know of any connection north of the border.”
Corinna sighed. “Whatever his name, he has eyes only for Anthea, not for me.”
“I doubt that very much,” Anthea replied, a little embarrassed.
“I’m not imagining how he looks at you. Am I, Lady Letitia?”
“You certainly are not, my dear, although much good may it do him when Jovian is at his side.”
Anthea’s face became hot, and she looked away.
Lady Letitia’s face assumed a thoughtful expression as she continued to regard Sir Erebus. “Hmm, I believe I shall send him an invitation to dinner,” she said. “If Viscount Heversham is not the one for you, Corinna, mayhap Sir Erebus will soon forget Anthea when confronted by you.”
Anthea was offended. “Thank you very much, Aunt Letty. It is pleasing to know that Corinna is Miss Goldilocks, while I am one of the three bears!”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. You have virtually withdrawn from the Marriage Stakes, Anthea, but Corinna has yet to be guilty of such folly. Sir Erebus is all that is charming and eligible, so I will do my best to see that she meets him properly.”
The remarks stung Anthea a little more. “Methinks the pot is calling the kettle black; after all, did you not also withdraw from the Marriage Stakes?”
“You do not know anything about it, miss,” Lady Letitia replied tartly.
“I am not a fool, Aunt Letty, and know sufficient to make an informed guess that you were once deeply in love but for some reason could not marry the man concerned. Am I right?”
Now it was Lady Letitia’s turn to go red. “That is enough, Anthea.”
“My sentiments exactly, when it comes to your pronouncements upon my unmarried state.”
Lady Letitia had the grace to look contrite. “Very well, my dear, I promise never to mention it again.”
“Then I shall promise likewise,” Anthea replied, a little huffily, and turned on her heel to leave the room.
Corinna gazed after her in astonishment. “I had no idea Anthea was so sensitive about the subject of marriage,” she murmured.
Lady Letitia nodded down at Jovian. “And there, seated so drunkenly upon that gray horse, you have the reason. You mark my words, Corinna, the headiness of a true love match can be followed by sentiments that are very painful indeed. I know, for my heart was once broken, as Anthea’s is now, although for a very different reason. You may gaze upon Sir Erebus and think him all that is exciting and desirable, and maybe he is, but sometimes it is best to settle for someone gentle and steady, like Viscount Heversham. Still, you are not yet quite nineteen, and there is ample time to reflect.”
* * *
Corinna was nineteen on the last day of July, Lammas Eve. The following day, Lammas itself, was the ancient harvest festival, and it was set to be one such as London had seldom seen before. With the European monarchs gone, the British nation’s own peace festivities were to commence, with fireworks, fairs, and all manner of delights in the parks. It was also one hundred years since the House of Hanover had acceded to the throne, so there was much to celebrate, and it was all to take place on the first of August. With so much to look forward to, it was decided that Corinna’s birthday should not be too eventful and strenuous.
The warm, cloudless afternoon was spent sailing on the Thames with Lady Letitia’s old friend, the Bishop of Fairwells, who hailed from a naval family and prided himself on his skills on a river. He was short, rotund, bald as a coot, and inclined to utter the occasional very unholy oath, in which failing he was matched by the other gentleman in the party, Lord Henley, another of Lady Letitia’s many friends. His lords
hip was tall and thin, with a head of wispy white hair, and thus the very opposite of the bishop, although it wasn’t just in appearance that they differed. Lord Henley was a radical Whig, while the bishop was a staunch Tory, and they argued politics whenever they met.
The wrangling commenced from the moment the hired sailing boat left Whitehall Stairs and continued for most of the day thereafter. Nevertheless, the three ladies enjoyed their cruise and the leisurely picnic beneath the willows upstream of the capital.
When they made their way home at nightfall the two gentlemen were still at loggerheads. Lady Letitia explained to Corinna that they had always been the same and would probably never change. They throve on continuous conflict and would have hated to be denied the pleasure.
As the last minutes of July ticked slowly away, Corinna lay awake in her bed thinking about the unexpectedly happy birthday she had just enjoyed—the first since her mother’s death. She felt a little guilty, yet knew her mother would have wanted her to be happy. Only one thing had spoiled it, and that had been the sight of Viscount Heversham rowing a lovely redheaded lady in a little boat near Vauxhall. He hadn’t even glanced at the passing sailing boat and seemed to have eyes only for his beautiful companion, who languished in the stern of the little craft, a vision in yellow muslin twirling a blue parasol.
For Corinna it had been a salutary experience, forcing her to realize that the viscount was not her slave after all. It made her view him in a very different light, but although she tried to picture him now in her mind, all she could see was darkly handsome Sir Erebus Lethe.
The night was hot, and the window had been raised, so the curtains moved gently in the breeze that played across Berkeley Square. A carriage drove past, rattling on the cobbles, and she heard an owl in the plane trees. All seemed peaceful and ordinary, when suddenly she was conscious of a sound that was much nearer to hand—at her bedroom door, to be precise.