by Sandra Heath
Now, on this wet and miserable Lammas Day, Anthea’s heartbreak was as keen and fresh as if time had not passed at all. There would never be another man like the Jovian Cathness she had fallen in love with. No one could ever take his place; certainly not the drunkard he was now.
Chapter Seven
Tears filled Anthea’s eyes as she lay there dwelling upon how it all went wrong, but then her maid knocked softly at the bedroom door, and she blinked the tears away and sat up. “Yes, come in, Dolly.”
“Good morning, my lady,” the maid said, as she brought her mistress’s cup of tea to the bedside, then bobbed a curtsy. She was brown-haired and freckled, with the sort of wide smile that always cheered the spirits. Neat in a pale green linen dress and starched apron, she went to the window to draw back the curtains, beginning her usual aimless chatter. Her best friend Maisie, who attended Lady Farnborough in Curzon Street, had come down with the mumps. She had caught them from her young man, a footman at Lansdowne House, who had in turn caught it from his brother at...
As Dolly listed the infection’s progress from house to house, Anthea began to wonder if the whole of Mayfair was coming down with it. She almost said as much, but decided it might hurt Dolly’s feelings.
The medical report was brought to an end when Corinna peeped around the door. “May I come in, Anthea?”
“Yes, of course.”
Dolly left again as Corinna came to sit on the bed. She still wore her nightgown under an unfastened peach silk robe, her golden hair was pinned up very loosely on top of her head, and she looked very fresh and lovely ... except for some dark stains on her fingers and nightgown. “What has happened to you?” Anthea asked.
“Mm?”
“Those stains.”
“Oh, just pomegranate,” Corinna replied.
“Pomegranate?”
“Yes, someone left one on my pillow, and I ate it.”
“But who on earth would leave a pomegranate?” Anthea inquired.
“I have no idea.”
“How very odd.” Anthea was puzzled, because as far as she knew, there were no pomegranates in the house, it not being a fruit she and her aunt particularly liked.
Corinna shrugged. “Very odd, but it looked so delicious that I absolutely had to have a taste.” She rubbed ineffectually at her stained fingers, but pomegranate juice was not so easily removed. “I found it just after I saw the two full moons,” she added.
“The what?”
“The two moons. There was a brief break in the rainclouds, and I saw them. The second one was blue.”
Corinna spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but Anthea was taken completely aback. “Corinna, there is only one moon, and I have never seen it turn blue. I know we talk of blue moons, meaning something rare, but—”
Corinna interrupted. “This second moon was definitely there and definitely blue. You’re right, though, so I suppose it was a trick of the weather and the light. I mean, there is usually only one rainbow, but sometimes there are two.”
“Yes, that must be it.” Anthea was happy to seize upon a logical explanation, but at the same time she thought Corinna was a little odd this morning. Not quite herself, somehow. It was certainly totally unlike her to emerge from her room with black-stained hands and wearing a spoiled nightgown.
Corinna got up and went to open the French windows and look out at the rain-sluiced verandah and dripping garden. “Oh, I do hope this weather clears up, or the day will be ruined.” She inhaled deeply. “Oh, I can smell the roses and the lavender.”
“The lavender is over now, so you must be smelling something else. The rosemary, perhaps?”
“No, it’s definitely lavender. And anyway, it must still be in bloom because I heard a flower girl singing this morning. Oh—I suppose it could have been dried lavender.”
“Probably.”
“I do adore lavender,” Corinna said, with a sigh.
“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“You must do, Anthea, because I’m always saying it.”
Anthea declined to respond, for the simple truth was that she had never heard Corinna say anything about liking lavender.
Corinna turned to look at her. “You are lucky to have eyes that color, I wish I did.”
“You have the most beautiful green eyes imaginable, Corinna, and I envy you.”
“I can’t think why.” Corinna closed the French windows and came back to the bedside. “All the Prantons are blonde and green-eyed. Mama used to say we had been blessed with the green of spring and the gold of high summer.”
“And she was right,” Anthea replied.
* * *
The rain stopped between half past ten and eleven, and then the sun shone down upon a capital that seemed cleansed after such a heavy downpour. Everything sparkled, and people’s hearts lifted accordingly.
Lady Letitia and her two charges spent the early afternoon driving through the streets, observing all the decorations and enjoying the festive atmosphere. Green Park was to equal St. James’s Park that night, with a one-hundred-foot Gothic fortress, the Castle of Discord, which would under cover of fireworks wonderfully transform into a glittering Temple of Concord. Much earlier in the day, Mr. Sadler’s brightly colored balloon rose above the makeshift fortress while he scattered countless jubilee programs to the crowds below.
After admiring Green Park, the Daneway House ladies drove on to Hyde Park to see the immense fair that had been set up beneath the trees. There was a regatta on the Serpentine, which would be followed by a naumachia between two miniature naval fleets reenacting Nelson’s great victory over the French at the Battle of the Nile. Hyde Park was a crush to end all crushes, although on the whole the crowds remained good-natured. Nevertheless, because people from every level of society were present, Lady Letitia considered it an unsuitable place for ladies of quality, so before long she ordered a return to Berkeley Square.
Anthea and Corinna did not object, for the thrill of the evening was close now. They were to dress in all their finery for dinner on the pleasure barge, which Aunt Letty assured them was large enough for a long dining table to be set beneath an awning.
There were to be a number of guests, so for Corinna it would almost amount to a first tentative appearance in society. She was a little nervous about it but eagerly anticipated the novelty and diversion of dining on the lake while watching what was promised to be the most splendid fireworks display London would ever see.
* * *
The sun was setting and St. James’s Park was crowded when they arrived. Lanterns twinkled on Birdcage Walk and along the Mall, and it was known that the royal family and three hundred guests were watching everything from the windows of nearby Buckingham House. Marquees and stands had been erected in St. James’s Park, and a magnificent single-span Chinese bridge had been specially built across the long, straight lake known as the Canal. From the middle of the bridge rose a handsome seven-story pagoda, yellow and black with a blue roof, and at ten o’clock both it and the bridge would glitter with fireworks.
Lady Letitia, particularly splendid in bottle green taffeta and emeralds, ushered her charges into the park as the evening shadows lengthened almost to darkness and the pagoda was being illuminated with newfangled gas lighting. There was applause and admiring cheers from the immense press of people who had come to watch. The three ladies from Daneway House were in good time for the display and strolled through the crowds toward the pleasure boats and barges that awaited the more privileged onlookers.
Anthea wore a sapphire blue silk gown with a low square neckline and gold embroidery at the hem. A gold lace shawl rested loosely over her arms, and her jewelry was a handsome topaz pendant necklace and matching earrings. Her dark hair was in a stylish knot on top of her head. She knew she looked good but was eclipsed by her stepsister.
Corinna had borrowed one of Anthea’s gowns, a lemon plowman’s gauze sprinkled with golden spots. Her bright blond hair was in a knot like Anthea’s
but with ringlets falling to the nape of her neck. She allowed her plum-colored shawl to trail prettily along the grass, as was the rage, and admiring male eyes followed her, though few knew who she was.
It was while they had paused to exchange civilities with some of Lady Letitia’s acquaintances that a growl of thunder rattled overhead. There were dismayed gasps, and everyone looked up, but the clear skies showed there to be no chance at all of a storm to spoil their fun. No one thought any more of it, including Anthea, until she suddenly saw the hare again and remembered hearing thunder when last she’d seen it on that arctic cold Christmas Eve in Berkeley Square.
This time the creature was only a few yards away on the bank of the Canal, where there was no shelter and the lantern light was so brilliant that it seemed almost purposely illuminated. It was sitting up on its haunches, cleaning one of its long ears with its front paws, like a woman braiding her hair, and Anthea decided there was certainly something almost human about its quick glance.
The hare was so intent upon Anthea’s group that it didn’t see the swans gliding up behind it. They spread their wings and arched their necks threateningly, but the hare knew nothing until an angry beak jabbed its scut. At this the animal gave a startled squeak and whirled about to face them, crouching defensively on all fours.
As the swans began to hiss and surge forward, the hare wisely fled along the water’s edge. The last Anthea saw was its fluffy white scut disappearing into the crowds. It might have been invisible for all the notice other people took of it. No one pointed, no one even turned, leaving Anthea with the uncanny feeling that only she and the swans had been aware of its presence.
She was just thinking what a very strange hare it was when a belated echo of Jovian’s voice came to her from Christmas Eve. “Beware, Anthea, for things might soon happen that are far, far beyond your experience.” Maybe those things had started after all, for there had been the oddness of Corinna and the mistletoe and the business of the pomegranate—and now, the hare again.
Lady Letitia escorted her niece and her stepniece on toward the pleasure barge, but Corinna fell slightly behind, watching the swans preening. Anthea turned to tell her to hurry, but at that moment a tall, richly dressed woman of about Lady Letitia’s age approached Corinna.
The woman was clad in a light brown brocade pelisse over a cream muslin gown and wore a wide-brimmed brown hat that concealed her face, but Anthea thought there was something familiar about her. Then it came to her. Surely this was the woman who had been behind her in the fog as she returned from the encounter with Jovian by the king’s statue!
The woman spoke to Corinna, who turned quickly, her lips parting as if completely shocked, but then she nodded. The woman turned and melted away into the crowds, and Corinna hastened to rejoin the others.
“Who was that?” Anthea asked.
“I—beg your pardon?” Corinna avoided her eyes.
“The woman who just spoke to you.”
“Oh, she mistook me for someone else, that’s all.”
Anthea knew it wasn’t true. If the woman had really made a mistake, Corinna would have shaken her head, not nodded. On top of all the other odd little incidents, the realization that Corinna was hiding something made Anthea feel distinctly uncomfortable. Something untoward was going on, and she wished she knew what it was.
Chapter Eight
At last Lady Letitia, Anthea, and Corinna boarded the Bishop of Fairwells’s lantern-lit pleasure barge, which was one of the largest on the lake. Beneath a delightful red-and-white-striped awning at the stern, a long, beautifully decorated dining table had been laid with silver cutlery, fine plates, and crystal glasses. Lighted candelabra and lavish epergnes of flowers and fruit provided the finishing touch to a splendid setting.
The bishop’s guests had been promised an excellent view of the fireworks display, as the boat would sail close to the pagoda bridge. There would be twenty people in all, including, of course, Lord Henley, so lively debate was not only guaranteed but had already commenced as the three ladies boarded the vessel. The other guests were chattering as well, so there was quite a lively atmosphere.
Corinna’s courage faltered on being confronted by so many strangers to whom she would soon be introduced. Seeing her sudden nervous pallor, Lady Letitia told Anthea to take her aside for a while, so Corinna was ushered to the bow, where a young lady and gentleman were in intimate conversation, their heads bowed close as they stood in the shadows. Anthea hardly noticed them as she made Corinna sit quietly on a cushioned bench.
Corinna gave her a rueful look. “I’m sorry, Anthea, but when I saw all those people ...”
“I understand, Corinna, so please don’t apologize. It is one thing to have been brought up on an aristocratic but socially isolated Irish estate, and not too bad to join one of Aunt Letty’s intimate little dinner parties, or to visit a London art gallery where one or two people are introduced. But it is something else entirely to be suddenly faced with a gaggle of people of the capital’s highest society, all of whom will scrutinize every inch of you, then discuss you afterward.”
Anthea smiled at her. “You do not need to worry, you know, for you are very lovely, you look as delightful as a fashion plate, your manners are all that anyone could wish, and you cannot help but shine.”
“You flatter me, I fear.” Corinna fidgeted with her plum shawl. “You are very kind to allow me to use your wardrobe, but I cannot wait to have my own.”
“The dressmakers of London are working as hard as they can on your behalf.”
Corinna fidgeted with the shawl again, then cast a sideways glance at the couple in the shadows. “It doesn’t help that Viscount Heversham is here with his new love.”
Startled, Anthea looked as well, and sure enough it was the viscount, who was so absorbed in his redheaded companion that he had not noticed Corinna. Or if he had, he was unconcerned.
Corinna drew a long breath. “Well, I cannot blame him, I suppose. I didn’t exactly give him cause to hope.”
“And now you wish you had?”
Corinna hesitated. “I don’t know,” she replied frankly, “but I do know that I don’t like seeing him with someone else. Maybe I am simply a dog in the manger.” She looked ashore, raking the crowds intently, almost as if expecting to see someone.
“Whom are you looking for?” Anthea asked.
“Mm? Oh, no one. At least...” Corinna’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Well, I don’t think I’m looking for anyone in particular, yet somewhere at the back of my mind I feel I am. Oh, dear, you will think me quite mad if I continue like this. I am in such a lather of nerves right now that I hardly know what day it is.”
Anthea smiled. “It’s Lammas Day, my girl, and we are about to enjoy a sumptuous dinner and watch the most fantastic fireworks display the world has ever seen. Surely that is cause for pleasure, not apprehension!”
At that moment Lady Letitia hurried up to them. “Anthea, my dear, I fear I have unwelcome news. The bishop informs me that the only guests still to arrive are Jovian and Sir Erebus Lethe.”
“Oh.” Anthea’s heart sank, for she did not think she could endure to see Jovian in his cups again.
Corinna’s interest quickened, however, and after a barely perceptible toss of head at Viscount Heversham and his ladylove, she rose to her feet. “I am feeling much better now, Lady Letitia.”
“I’m so glad, my dear. Society can be very intimidating, I fear, but I know you will carry it off. The next time will not be so bad, and soon you will enjoy it to the full.” Lady Letitia looked at Anthea, who had not said anything since learning of Jovian’s inclusion in the party. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Not really. I would much rather not see Jovian.”
Her aunt touched her arm. “We will stay well away from him.”
Anthea didn’t reply. Her spirits had plummeted, and she wished to go home.
Lady Letitia guessed her thoughts. “It would be unconscionably ill-mannered to
depart simply because Jovian may misbehave in some way. We are obliged to wait until he does misbehave.”
But then she saw Jovian and Sir Erebus approaching the barge, pausing on the way to speak to some other gentlemen. “Well, we shall soon see what transpires, for they are here now,” she murmured, “and, oh dear, I’m afraid Jovian appears less than sober.”
Anthea gazed unhappily at the man who maintained such an unfair hold upon her heart. He was matchlessly handsome and elegant in evening clothes, yet so obviously in drink that Sir Erebus had to support his elbow to keep him from swaying. But even in this state there wasn’t a man in London who could hold a candle to the twelfth Duke of Chavanage. Deeply flawed he might be, but outwardly he would always be closer to perfection than any of his peers.
For a moment his glance met hers, and something reached out to her, as if the old Jovian were still there, hidden deep within the shell he had become. But almost immediately she again saw only the drunkard who had trampled upon her soul. She turned away, trying in vain to shut him out, but he remained in her head, a sad echo of a future that had once offered only joy.
Then she thought she heard him say her name, as if he stood at her side, yet he was still ashore and now gazing toward Westminster Abbey, which was just visible in silhouette against the dark eastern sky. His face was withdrawn, not quite to the point of lack of interest in the proceedings, but certainly as if his mind were elsewhere. Possibly he was wondering when his next drink would be forthcoming, she thought uncharitably. Oh, how angry she was with him; how bitter, disappointed, and let down. He had failed her, and she wished she could despise him as he deserved.