Merton came over to join them as she was leaving, obviously too restless to remain by the fire. "I say," he said, looking out the window with bright, intense eyes, "there is a magnificent view from up here, is there not?" "I believe it must have been this very view," Con said, "that impelled my father to build the new house on the exact site of the old." The window faced south. From it one could see out over the terrace and the formal gardens below and across rolling parkland in every direction - lawns and woods and lake - to the distant patchwork of the fields of the home farm. "Perhaps," Merton said, "you will ride out with me tomorrow, Cousin, and show me everything." "And the house too," Katherine Huxtable added. She had come to join her brother. "Will you show it to us and describe all its treasures? You must know them so well." "It will be my pleasure," Con said. "Anything to please my cousins. What an abomination family quarrels are, as your sister has just observed." His eyes came to rest on Elliott, and one of his eyebrows rose mockingly. "They are frequently about nothing at all of any moment and can drag on for generations, depriving cousins and second cousins of one another's acquaintance." Theft and debauchery were of no moment? Elliott held his gaze until Con looked away at something in the garden at which Katherine Huxtable was pointing.
Mrs. Dew was standing by the tea tray, cake plate in hand, conversing with her sister and George. She smiled at something George said and turned in the direction of the window with the plate. Her still-smiling eyes met Elliott's, and he looked back at her, tight-lipped.
Why did he find himself looking at her far more frequently than he looked at either of her sisters? They were far easier on the eyes than she was, after all. Though it was not in appreciation that he looked, was it? He was invariably irritated by her.
He wished, as he had a dozen times since leaving Throckbridge, that she had remained behind. He had the uneasy feeling, as he had there, that she was indeed going to be a constant thorn in his side.
She was going to court Con's friendship, he suspected, merely to spite him.
What an abominable woman she was.
7
VANESSA had always been of the opinion that conflict did not bring out the best in people.
There was definitely some sort of conflict between Viscount Lyngate and Constantine Huxtable. And while she might have been inclined to believe that the viscount was probably to blame simply because it was in his nature to be arrogant and bad-tempered and Mr. Huxtable was an illegitimate son of a former earl and was therefore beneath him socially, she was no longer sure that Mr. Huxtable was entirely blameless.
She overheard a part of what they said to each other as she approached with the tea. She did not feel guilty about overhearing what had not been meant for her ears. The drawing room - /Stephen's /drawing room - at teatime was not the place to be conducting a private feud if one wished to keep it from the other people present.
But while Viscount Lyngate was being his usual obnoxious self, Constantine Huxtable was showing a different side to his nature than he had demonstrated thus far. He was sneering, and he was goading the viscount, clearly enjoying the fact that he had him rattled.
He had been told to leave Warren Hall before their arrival but had stayed.
Because he had wanted to greet Stephen and his sisters, long-lost cousins, and welcome them to the home that had been his until now? Or because he had known it would annoy Viscount Lyngate to find him still here?
If the latter had been his motive, she could still feel some sympathy for him though it would be a bit lowering for /them/. Why should he leave, after all, just because Viscount Lyngate had told him to?
But really the whole thing appeared to be petty. Good heavens, the two men were adults and they were cousins. They looked enough alike to be brothers except that the one cultivated an almost perpetual scowl while the other cultivated charm and smiles, revealing just how handsome he was despite his crooked nose. Though in truth he was not quite as handsome as Viscount Lyngate.
Vanessa did not care what their quarrel was about. Well, she /did/ - most people, after all, feel a natural curiosity about such things. But she did not believe that she and Stephen and her sisters ought to be drawn into it today of all days. Today was probably one of the most exciting of Stephen's life. The two men might have the good manners to keep their quarrel for another time and place.
But Stephen's was a good fortune, after all, that had been achieved as a result of the misfortune of another. And during dinner Vanessa noted that Mr. Huxtable was clothed all in black, as he had been earlier when he was still dressed for riding. Like her, he was in mourning, though for him it was still full mourning. What must it be like to lose a brother? Her mind touched upon Stephen, but she firmly cut short her imaginings. It did not bear thinking of. "Tell me about Jonathan," she said to Mr. Huxtable after they had all removed to the drawing room.
Meg had been saying something to Viscount Lyngate and Stephen, but they must all have heard her question and paused to listen to the answer.
Vanessa thought he was not going to reply. He gazed into the fire, a slight smile on his lips. But then he did speak. "It is usually impossible to describe someone with one word," he said. "But with Jon only one word seems really appropriate. He was love. There was no one and nothing he did /not /love." Vanessa smiled her sympathy and encouragement. "He was a child in a young man's body," Mr. Huxtable continued. "He loved to play. And sometimes he loved to tease. He liked to hide even if it was perfectly obvious to the searcher where he was hidden. Is that not so, Elliott?" He looked at Viscount Lyngate, and for a moment the mockery Vanessa had seen in his face earlier was back. It was a pity. It was an expression that did not suit him.
The viscount - of course - frowned. "You must miss him dreadfully," Vanessa said.
Mr. Huxtable shrugged. "He died on the night of his sixteenth birthday," he said. "He died in his sleep after a busy, happy day of play. We should all be so fortunate. I did not wish him dead, but now at least I am free to seek my fortune elsewhere. Sometimes love can be almost a burden." It was shocking to hear the words spoken aloud. Vanessa could never have been so honest. But she felt a shiver of recognition in them. Was it not callous, though, to think thus? Though he had said /almost/. She knew all about the pain of loving. "I say," Stephen said, breaking a short silence that everyone else might have been finding embarrassing, "I hope you are not planning to leave here soon, Cousin. There is much I wish to ask you. Besides, there is no reason to stop thinking of this as your home just because it is legally mine." "You are all kindness, lad," Mr. Huxtable said, and the faint suggestion of mockery was there again in his voice and in one slightly arched eyebrow.
Was he a pleasant man hiding behind a mask of seeming carelessness, Vanessa wondered, or an unpleasant man hiding behind a mask of charm and smiles? Or, like most humans, was he a dizzying mix of contradictory characteristics?
And what of Viscount Lyngate? She turned her gaze on him and found him looking back at her. The blueness of his eyes was always a slight shock. "It is not just kindness, Mr. Huxtable," she said, still looking at the viscount. "We are really very happy to find a cousin we did not even know we had. No one told us about you." The viscount's lip curled ever so slightly at one corner, but the expression could not by any stretch of the imagination be called a smile. "And since we /are /cousins," Mr. Huxtable said, "I beg you will all call me by my first name." "Constantine," she said, turning her attention back to him. "And I am Vanessa, if you please. I am sorry about Jonathan. It is hard to watch a young person die, especially when one loves him." He smiled back at her without making any verbal comment, and she decided that he was at least partly a pleasant man. No one could fake that expression. It told her that he had loved his brother - though Jonathan had taken the title that might have been his. "You told me at dinner, Constantine," Kate reminded him, "that you would teach me to ride. That cannot be done all in a day or so, I daresay. You must certainly stay longer." "It may possibly take a week if you are a slow learner," he said. "Though I will wager you are not. I shall stay at least until you are an accomplished rider, then, Katherine." "That will please us all," Meg said.