by Sandra Heath
At first Anthea was inclined to think it was because of Jovian, whom Aunt Letty may have liked well enough in the past but who was now entirely unsuitable because of his overindulgence in tipples of one sort or another. Gradually, however, Anthea realized that there was something else behind her aunt’s attitude. Inevitably Anthea wondered about the past love affair she was sure had existed. Had Aunt Letty perhaps been in love with Jovian’s father?
Knowing nothing of Anthea’s secret pondering, Lady Letitia wagged a finger at Corinna. “You, miss, were in error to accept an invitation without consulting me first. The proper rules must be followed.”
Anthea felt the need to support her errant stepsister. “Aunt Letty, I know that it is a little, well, unconventional, but we will soon learn all that is necessary. Sir Erebus is going to speak to Jovian and then send word here.”
“Nevertheless ...”
“And Sir Erebus may not know Miss Wheatley herself, but he spoke very highly of the landlord of the local inn.”
“Did he indeed?”
“Yes, Aunt Letty.”
Lady Letitia fidgeted. “I will give it consideration, but no decision will be made until I am in possession of all the facts. A letter will be sent to Miss Wheatley, care of the Angry Foxes, and—”
“The Cross Foxes,” Corinna corrected, with youthful zeal.
Lady Letitia bristled. “Whatever the vulpine temper, miss, I will not permit anything without being considerably more reassured than I am right now. Is that clear? I will not have you accepting invitations here, there, and everywhere without consulting me first. Your conduct today has been lamentable, Corinna, and I will not tolerate it. Have I made myself clear?”
Corinna was contrite. “Yes, Lady Letitia,” she said meekly.
“That had better be so, for I mean what I say.”
“Yes, Lady Letitia.”
“And you will not, I repeat, not, go out alone again for the time being, until I am satisfied that this has been an isolated episode.” Lady Letitia’s eagle eye fixed Corinna. “And while I think of it, in your eagerness to quit London, have you overlooked the matter of Viscount Heversham, who was not after all playing you false with another?”
Corinna’s lips parted, for indeed she had forgotten that unfortunate gentleman; indeed, he had ceased to matter now that she was so preoccupied with the much more exciting Sir Erebus.
Lady Letitia searched her face. “There is no need to reply, for I can read you like a freshly printed page. Exit the viscount, stage left. Enter Sir Erebus Lethe.”
Corinna lowered her eyes. When put like that, it made her sound a flighty piece, and no mistake.
“So instead of inviting the viscount to the modest dinner party I am shortly to hold,” Lady Letitia continued, “I will ask Sir Erebus instead.”
Corinna’s suddenly bright eyes were raised once more. “Will you really? Oh, thank you, Lady Letitia!”
“Hmm.”
It seemed an age before the running footman brought the promised note, which was wisely addressed to Lady Letitia. She broke the seal and read it out to Anthea and Corinna.
Dear Lady Letitia, I have spoken to the Duke of Chavanage about Miss Wheatley, and he tells me she is a highly respected lady of means. He agrees that her home is rather difficult to find because it is in the many lanes between Cathness and the River Severn, and he supports me in assuring you that the landlord of the Cross Foxes is a very upstanding, helpful man who will be more than willing to assist. Miss Wheatley’s home is only about three miles as the crow flies from both Cathness Castle and my country seat, Wycke Hall, so should anything be required, you are not to hesitate to approach the duke’s servants or mine. I have already dispatched a note, advising my household to be helpful should they be asked. I have the honor to be, etc. Erebus Lethe.
Lady Letitia refolded the note. “What a very charming and gracious man Sir Erebus is, to be sure,” she murmured, then went to the window, looked out, and drew a deep breath. “No matter what else may be said of Jovian, his word is still to be trusted on matters like this. Very well, provided I am content with Miss Wheatley’s response to my communication, we will go to Cathness.”
Corinna could have danced with joy, and Anthea shared her delight, but a glance at Aunt Letty’s contemplative expression as she gazed out at the square told again of secret thoughts. Memories? Ghosts from the past?
Chapter Eleven
Letitia wrote to Miss Wheatley, in care of the Cross Foxes in Cathness, and soon received a polite reply. An address was still wanting, but the writer’s hand was educated and the paper very expensive, and Lady Letitia was most impressed by the sentiments expressed. She also approved of Miss Wheatley’s assurances about her home and servants and the fact that she had several maids who had in the past attended ladies of considerable consequence. Any secret reservations that Lady Letitia might have had about going to Cathness were now well and truly buried from view, as she arranged their departure for the day Miss Wheatley had wished, Saturday, August 27th.
Lady Letitia’s select little dinner party took place on the Friday, a day that had not gone well from the outset. The veritable epidemic of mumps that had been spreading through Mayfair at last reached Daneway House. In the morning a footman complained of feeling unwell, and by the evening a number of other servants were affected, including the three ladies’ maids. Their swollen faces were a sure indication of what was wrong.
Fortunately Lady Letitia, Anthea, and Corinna had all had the disease during childhood and were therefore unlikely to contract it again, so the visit to Gloucestershire was not in jeopardy. They would, of course, have to travel without the services of their maids, but they were confident from Miss Wheatley’s letter that she could provide them with suitable replacements. “Aunt Abigail’s abigails,” as Corinna said laughingly.
Housemaids helped the ladies dress for the dinner party, which went ahead because the cook was quite well and there were sufficient remaining servants to assist her and wait at the table. The other dinner guests, Sir Erebus, along with the Bishop of Fairwells and Lord Henley, three gentlemen to three ladies, replied to Lady Letitia’s hasty warning notes that they too had contracted the illness when young and were therefore still quite happy to attend.
The dining room was on the ground floor at the rear of Daneway House, with French windows that stood open to the garden so that the scent of flowers drifted on the evening air.
A lavish epergne, heavy with fruit, stood on the table between candelabra that cast warm light on crystal glasses and polished silver cutlery. The best Sèvres dinner service had been brought out, as had the finest wines, and the cook had done Lady Letitia proud with both white and brown soup and then a choice of loin of veal, gammon of bacon, or venison, all served with potatoes and peas. For dessert there were apricot tarts, jellies and creams. It was, as the bishop remarked afterward, a meal fit for the Prince Regent himself.
Lady Letitia would have been well pleased with everything, had it not soon become clear to her that Sir Erebus was not interested in Corinna but in Anthea, who tried to discourage him with politeness. Corinna was hurt and disappointed, for she still burned with attraction for him. It felt to her almost as if she had loved him forever, yet in fact she hardly knew him at all. Anthea felt dreadful for her stepsister and wished Sir Erebus in perdition for paying such marked attention to the wrong young lady.
When the meal was at an end, the gentlemen elected to follow the custom of remaining at the table while the ladies adjourned to the drawing room on the floor above. Before accompanying her stepsister and aunt upstairs, Anthea first slipped out into the gardens for a little fresh air. The bishop and Lord Henley were embroiled in another of their interminable political debates, and after a minute or so Sir Erebus joined her outside.
Until he appeared at her side, Anthea had been enjoying the night air and the sounds of London beyond the garden walls. The fountain splashed prettily, the roses and the honeysuckle were sweet, and a good m
oon had risen over the nearby rooftops. It was the second moon of the month and only a few days short of full. The light it cast was cool, clear, and—dared she think it?—vaguely blue, no more than a slight tint that prevented it from being its usual ghostly self, but discernible for all that.
She was dismayed when Sir Erebus came up to her, for the last thing she wanted was for him to make an overture that she would be obliged to rebuff. Surely he must realize by now that she simply was not interested in him!
“I cannot leave you all alone out here, Lady Anthea,” he said.
“It is kind of you to be concerned, Sir Erebus, but I quite like being alone.” Would he take the hint?
“Are you looking forward to Gloucestershire, Lady Anthea?” he inquired.
“Yes.” Maybe a monosyllabic response would work.
“Ah, but I suppose you will have been there before?”
She looked at him. “Why should you think that?”
He cleared his throat. “I... er, presumed you might have been there with the duke. With Lady Letitia as well, of course,” he added hastily.
“I have indeed been to Gloucestershire before, Sir Erebus, but only to pass through on the way to stay with relatives in Monmouthshire”—she studied him—"not that it would have been any business of yours if I had.” Surely he knew his attentions were not welcomed?
“Lady Anthea, do you know that the duke still loves you?”
She became irritated. “What may or may not be between the duke and me is absolutely private and certainly not your concern, Sir Erebus.”
It was a snub that froze his face for a second, but then his smile returned. “You are right to chide me, Lady Anthea, for I have been most presumptuous. I fear you may be even more displeased when I tell you I have made plans to return to Gloucestershire myself.”
“Oh?” Her heart sank. Just how far must she go to cool his ardor?
“Yes, because from tomorrow London will hold no charm for me.”
What else was she supposed to understand from such a remark than that he was following her? “Sir Erebus, you are perfectly at liberty to go where you choose.”
“I trust that you, Lady Letitia, and Miss Pranton will call upon me at Wycke Hall?”
“You are kind to invite us,” she replied, omitting to accept.
The mysterious hint of blue in the moonlight revealed something in his dark eyes, a nuance that she could not quite interpret, but when he spoke again it was to compliment her.
“What a perfect picture you are among Lady Letitia’s matchless flowers. Why, I do believe this aster is the same color as your eyes.” He bent to pluck a flower, then held it out to her.
She couldn’t bring herself to refuse, but what she accepted wasn’t an aster at all but a sprig of mistletoe! In her mind’s eye she saw a similar sprig that Corinna had insisted was a narcissus. Had Sir Erebus been responsible for that, too? Yes, of course he had! His gaze was upon her, attentive and anticipatory, his whole demeanor one of keen expectation. What was he hoping? That a spell just cast would bring her into his arms? She met his eyes squarely ... but inside she was greatly disquieted that this might be another of the strange occurrences of which Jovian had warned.
Disbelief replaced his eager anticipation, and he turned away slightly to hide the ugly emotions on his face. “May I ask if anyone has given you lavender within the last year?” he asked, in a tight voice.
“As it happens, someone did. In January.”
He turned back to her, his nostrils flared and his lips pinched white around the edges. “The duke?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters, believe me,” he replied shortly.
“Very well, yes, it was the duke. Now, if you don’t mind, I have endured sufficient interrogation.” She made to walk past him, but he caught her arm and prevented her.
“Was it fresh lavender?”
“Let me go, Sir Erebus,” she demanded.
“Just answer the question!” he snapped.
“How dare you!”
“Tell me!”
He frightened her, so she told him what he wanted to know in the hope that he would let her go. “Yes, it was fresh. From a field at Cathness, or so he said.”
He had changed completely, and his rage communicated itself through his grip. With Jovian she had often sensed another world, somewhere magical and bright but never threatening; Sir Erebus had become the opposite, portending the clammy darkness beneath the earth.
She tried to pull free of him, but he seemed not to hear, only releasing her when the bishop’s curious voice came from the open doors of the dining room. “Is everything all right, Lady Anthea?”
“Yes, Bishop, it is.” She looked disdainfully at Sir Erebus. “I wish you to leave immediately, sir.”
“Lady Anthea, if I have behaved badly I—”
“You have indeed behaved badly,” she breathed, “and I am not requesting you to leave, I am telling you to!”
He hesitated but then politely inclined his head. “As you wish.”
“And any further approaches from you will be firmly rejected; is that clear?”
“I will mend the breach between us,” he said softly.
“No, sirrah, you will not,” she responded, then whisked her skirts aside to walk away from him. Lord Henley had now joined the bishop, and he looked quizzically at her. “Are you quite sure all is well, m’dear?”
“Yes, Lord Henley, but Sir Erebus is leaving.”
“Ah.” Political differences momentarily forgotten, the two elderly gentlemen drew themselves up and gave Sir Erebus looks that ought to have withered him on the spot.
“Your presence is no longer welcome, sir,” the bishop said coldly, and without another word Sir Erebus walked through to the entrance hall, where a vigilant footman was ready to hand him his top hat, gloves, and tortoiseshell-handled cane.
Anthea was relieved when the outer door closed. What a horrible man he really was! Aunt Letty would have to be told about his disagreeable conduct, and Corinna would have to be persuaded to no longer view him through the rosy haze she did at present. Shaking a little, she smoothed her gown with her palms, trying to reassemble her shattered poise.
What was all this about? Sir Erebus had clearly expected her to accept the illusion that the mistletoe was an aster, and, as a result of her accepting what he gave, something to his benefit would result. When that did not happen, he became enraged. It seemed to be connected with the bunch of lavender from Jovian.
Alarm ran through her, for if that was what he had expected tonight, what had happened with Corinna? Was that how he made certain of her adoration? Had he seduced her? Please don’t let that be so! But then she grew calmer, for in her heart of hearts she knew that Corinna was simply infatuated with him. Oddly so, perhaps, but she was still the same sweet, innocent Corinna as before.
Anthea was disturbed about everything, for what was happening was unlike anything she had known before. Then Jovian seemed to whisper to her. “Beware, Anthea, for things might soon happen that are far, far beyond your experience ...”
* * *
Outside on the pavement Sir Erebus’s face had twisted savagely. “You aren’t protected from me that easily, my pretty,” he breathed, and struck his cane so ferociously against the wrought iron railings that the sound rang across the square.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Letitia was horrified to hear what had happened and vowed to tell all her friends and acquaintances what a lecherous monster Sir Erebus really was. However, Anthea persuaded her from such a course, pointing out that Sir Erebus could ruin her reputation by claiming his advances had been invited. Better by far to confine the story to those present, a suggestion with which all eventually agreed, even Corinna,
At first that young lady had been desperately upset to discover her idol’s feet of clay. Her evening had simply gone from bad to worse because of Sir Erebus, and she dissolved into tears but was soon restored to smiles by Lord Henley, wh
o told her that she was too much of an ornament to society to remain alone for long. He also swore he had heard Viscount Heversham declare his unrequited love for her, which certainly gave her food for thought. It was to be hoped her reflective expression signified renewed interest in the lovelorn viscount, Lady Letitia thought.
Anthea tossed and turned in her bed that night as she tried unsuccessfully to banish Sir Erebus and his mysteries from her mind. The window had been left slightly raised, and the lightest of soothing drafts took away the stuffiness from the room. When the curtains moved gently, it seemed the moonlight was still perceptibly blue. The hall clock chimed, and as the last note died away she heard low voices in the passage.
Puzzled, she sat up. A door closed, and she thought it was Corinna’s. Was something wrong? She got out of bed to see. A night candle cast a lonely light over the passage, and all seemed quiet now, except— She strained to listen. Yes, there were voices in Corinna’s room, and one belonged to a man!
Shocked, she hurried along to her stepsister’s door and knocked urgently. “Corinna?”
Silence.
“Corinna?”
A drowsy voice stirred. “Mm? Yes? What is it?”
“Are you all right? I heard voices.”
“Voices?” Corinna came to the door and looked sleepily at her. “I must have been talking in my sleep.”
“True, but I hardly think you would sound like a man.”
Corinna’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying, Anthea? That I have a sweetheart in my room?” Her green eyes flashed defensively. “Well, if that’s what you think, please feel free to search for him!”
Anthea was embarrassed. “If you must know, I was afraid there was an intruder, and that you were trying to reason with him.”
“I—I didn’t think. I’m so sorry.” Shamefaced, Corinna tried to make excuses. “Maybe you heard a maid with one of the footmen, or maybe someone else has mumps and needs attention. Oh, I don’t know anything, except that it wasn’t me.”