“They do look rather cozy. He must know her from his work on the Continent.”
“Yes, Lord Fortescue was kind enough to let me know that.”
“Oh, dear. We shan’t talk about it,” Ivy said, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Lord Fortescue seems awfully friendly with Flora Clavell.”
“I noticed the same thing. I thought he was devoted to Mrs. Reynold-Plympton?” For years she had acted almost as a wife, offering considerable assistance to him in political matters, particularly when he required personal information concerning his rivals. He was on his third marriage—his first wife had succumbed to fever when they were visiting the West Indies, the second to the rigors of childbirth. Like her predecessors, the current Lady Fortescue did not seem troubled in the least by her husband’s mistress.
“Devoted is perhaps not the right word, but he certainly hasn’t dropped her. I saw them together last weekend at Lady Ketterbaugh’s in Kent. There was perhaps a coldness between them, but it was obvious that they’re still very much attached. Have you been to the Ketterbaughs’ estate? The house is gorgeous beyond belief.”
“No, I haven’t—”
“Her conservatory is absolutely unrivaled. I don’t know when I’ve seen such an array of plants, and—”
I could see that Ivy was about to launch into a full description of the estate, and although no one could help being charmed when she waxed enthusiastic on any subject, I stopped her, not wanting to lose the thread of our conversation. “Surely Flora couldn’t be…wouldn’t…Lord Fortescue is so…”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Ivy said. “But I don’t think the Clavell fortune is what it used to be. I’ve heard that at least half of his country house is shut, and all the rooms are in dire need of refurbishing. I think she’s hoping to improve her husband’s position. When Sir Thomas dies, there may not be much left for his son.”
“I don’t see how allying herself with Lord Fortescue is going to help her husband. Gerald isn’t in politics.”
“Perhaps he wishes to be,” Ivy said, raising her delicate eyebrows.
I smiled. “You are enjoying the role of politician’s wife, aren’t you?”
“I am, Emily. Very much.”
We both looked up at the sound of someone clearing his throat. A gentleman wearing the ribbon of some knightly order I did not recognize stood before us. “Lady Ashton, Mrs. Brandon, may I be so bold as to introduce myself? I’ve been waiting for our hostess, but she is blind to my plight, and I cannot bear to be kept from conversing with such beauties for even one moment longer. Surely at a party as intimate as this, formalities may be overlooked?”
“I don’t see why not,” I said, offering him my hand. He took it and raised it to his lips as he bowed deeply and clicked his heels together in a flawless Austrian handküss. “Küss die Hand, gnädige Frau. Or do you prefer English? I kiss your hand, gracious lady.” He repeated this routine on Ivy, then stood still, perfectly erect, a shockingly tall man. “I am the Count von Lange, but I insist that you both call me Karl. I am not a sportsman, I’m afraid, so Lady Fortescue has given me the task of entertaining the ladies while the gentlemen shoot.”
“I can assure you we’ll be in dire need of entertainment,” I said. His earnest manner made me warm to him at once, as did the fact that he was willing to dispense with social formalities. His smile could have charmed the coldest soul, but his eyes revealed nothing. He was more guarded than he wanted to appear.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to provide it,” he said, looking as if he were about to twirl the ends of his enormous dark mustache.
“What news have you from Vienna?” Ivy asked. “It was one of my favorite stops on my wedding trip.” She blushed slightly as she said this and glanced across the room at her husband, who was speaking with Lord Fortescue.
“The city is as beautiful as ever. So far as I am concerned, nothing in Europe can match the Ringstrasse. And you English know nothing about waltzing.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Then I shall have to visit.”
“You are fond of the waltz?” he asked.
“Immensely,” I said. As if he could hear what I was saying, Colin looked towards me, and I felt bathed in warmth.
“Your fiancé is a lucky man,” the count said.
“Well spoken.” Ivy’s eyes sparkled. “Do you know Mr. Hargreaves?”
“Very well. He’s a frequent visitor when his work brings him to Austria.”
I was about to ask the count how he and his distressingly elegant wife had wound up at Beaumont Towers on a dreary English weekend when I was distracted by Sir Thomas, who, upon awakening rather violently from his nap, managed to knock a towering vase off the table in front of him. His son grimaced, embarrassed on his father’s behalf. I had always liked Gerald Clavell. He was well intentioned, if more than a little too eager, but even I had to admit that the prospect of spending more than two days in a row with him was exhausting. It was as if his father’s lethargy had spurred him to become the polar opposite.
“I’m absolutely depending upon you this weekend, Lady Ashton,” he said, coming to my side in a poorly disguised effort to divert my attention from his father. “Will you help me put together a theatrical entertainment? It will give you ladies something to do while we shoot. I can’t bear the thought of you all sitting around wasting away.”
“I—”
“You simply must. Perhaps something from the Greeks? You can choose whatever you’d like. I’m sure Lord Fortescue’s library is at your disposal.”
“If I may,” the count interrupted, “I would be honored to assist you in finding an appropriate piece.”
“How about something from The Trojan Women? We’ve more ladies than gentlemen who could be persuaded to take part,” I said.
“I beg you, not a tragedy. Not a tragedy!” Gerald was turning beet red. “You must find something that will put us in a festive mood.”
“Aristophanes?” I suggested.
“You know your Greek literature quite well, don’t you, Lady Ashton?” I had not heard Mr. Harrison come up behind me, and started at the sound of his voice. “Not a woman to be underestimated, eh?” He looked at me carefully as he spoke.
“I find Lysistrata vastly diverting,” I said.
“Lysistrata?” Gerald sounded a bit panicked. Rightly so, I suppose. The story of women joining together to withhold physical pleasures from their husbands in an attempt to thwart a war was, perhaps, not appropriate for our current gathering.
“Not to worry, Gerald,” I said. “I’ll find something that will delight us all.”
“Right.” The wrinkles between his eyebrows smoothed. “Please don’t wait too long to get started. We should plan to be ready no later than Saturday, don’t you think? Do you know where the library is? I could bring you there now.” He took my arm and nodded at Ivy. “Mrs. Brandon, why don’t you organize some cards while I’m delivering Lady Ashton. Whist? Yes? We could all meet in the game room in half an hour?”
Ivy stammered a reply as he steered me towards the door. Colin stood up to follow me, but was intercepted by Lord Fortescue. The countess watched all this, a glittering smile on her face, barely nodding at her husband as he rushed to join me.
“She is an enchanting thing, Colin, but so young!”
I had gone to my bedroom after leaving the library and was about to return downstairs when I heard the countess’s voice floating up from the main hall. I ducked behind a pillar.
“I will not discuss this with you,” Colin said.
“Don’t be silly. You can’t expect that I—”
“Kristiana!” He spoke firmly, and I wished I could see them. The hall was an atrium, Gothic arches lining the second-floor balcony. If I were to stand two or three arches from where I was, I would be able to look down on them from behind a pillar. But if I moved, they might notice me.