And Only to Deceive (10 page)

3 J
UNE
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

M
Y DINNER PARTY COULD NOT BE CONSIDERED AN UNQUALIFIED
success despite the flawless food and service provided by my faithful staff. The turbot in wine sauce, which my mother declared as fine as that she had enjoyed at Balmoral when dining with the queen, did not make up for the fact that at the last minute I had decided to invite Margaret, leaving me with an uneven number of guests. This vexed my mother; she could not tolerate a social function that fell short of her idea of perfection, no matter how good the food, and she kept referring to the problems resulting from what she viewed as my poor planning.

“If only I had known you were coming, Miss Seward, I would have insisted that my daughter invite another gentleman. How awkward this is! How are we to know to whom we should speak at dinner? Someone will always be left out.”

“I think the practice of speaking only to one’s dinner partner completely dated, Lady Bromley. I prefer conversation with whoever has something interesting to say.” Clearly my mother and Margaret would not get on well.

Other than the turbot, the only thing my mother seemed to approve of was my dress. Feeling the loss of my husband keenly, I had decided to wear unrelenting black that night. The dress, cut beautifully in Mr. Worth’s most elegant lines, showed off my figure to great advantage, a fact not lost on my mother. It seemed to her that at last I had found a way to properly mourn Philip while at the same time attempting to attract a new husband.

As for my other guests, if Arabella were to be rescued, it would take far more than a single evening. The number of silly, insensitive remarks she’d made by the time dessert was served had me wondering if she were beyond rehabilitation. Arthur Palmer did not appear to notice her shortcomings and showered her with his own brand of inept attention, which pleased my mother greatly.

“You must be so happy to be back from Paris,” Arabella mused as the footmen began to remove the dessert dishes from the table. “I cannot imagine why anyone goes abroad.”

“You are not a great traveler?” Arthur asked.

“Not at all. Horrid food, horrid people, and I despise sleeping in hotels.”

“I think you would feel differently if you stayed at the Meurice in Paris. The food is delicious, and the kitchen is stocked with every English delicacy you could want,” I said.

“Yes, but one still must deal with the French.”

“It is perhaps difficult if one does not speak the language,” Colin suggested.

“I assure you, Mr. Hargreaves, that I speak French flawlessly. But to deal with the Parisians is nearly impossible in any language.”

“I think Lady Ashton will again refer you to the Meurice. The entire staff is fluent in both the language and customs of the English.”

“Paris really is lovely, Arabella,” Ivy said, her pretty face glowing as she glanced at Robert while she spoke. “I hope you shall have the opportunity to see it.”

“Travel provides an incomparable opportunity to improve one’s mind,” Margaret said.

“But why should I go to Paris to find what I already have in London?”

“Unless, of course, you need to buy clothes,” Mrs. Dunleigh said.

“Mr. Worth has a shop in London now, so there’s no need even for that,” her daughter said, stopping the footman from removing the plate piled with gooseberry tart and meringue cookies in front of her.

“I prefer Mr. Worth to see to my dresses personally, and he, of course, works in his Paris establishment,” I replied.

“Really, Emily, I don’t know why you are giving Arabella such a difficult time,” my mother said.

“I’m sorry, Arabella.” I sighed. “I just think there is much in the world you would enjoy if you would only give yourself the chance.”

“Lady Ashton has broadened her mind remarkably in the past year,” Colin said.

“Don’t turn into one of these radical women, Lady Ashton,” Lord Palmer admonished me. “The viscount would never have approved.”

“How can we ever know that, Lord Palmer? I think a husband would be thrilled to have a wife with such a lively mind,” Margaret said.

“I must say that I find Arabella’s position charming,” Arthur remarked. “I am pleased to find such respect in a woman for the empire.”

“Thank you, Mr. Palmer,” Arabella said, simpering.

My mother had been trying for some time to catch my eye, indicating that she thought it was time for the ladies to retire to the drawing room. I had no intention of leaving the men alone with my port.

“Are we ready for port?” I asked.

“Splendid, Emily,” my father replied. My mother began to stand, tired of waiting for me to take the lead.

“Please sit, Mother. There is no reason that the gentlemen should be deprived of our company in order to have a drink. Besides, I’d like a glass myself.”

“That sounds perfect,” Margaret agreed. Nine faces stared at us, each of them projecting a varying degree of shock. Colin, to his credit, seemed more amused than anything, but I could see that I had not an ally among the rest of the group.

“I don’t think so, Emily,” my mother said severely, getting up from her seat. The other ladies, Margaret excepted, followed her. Ivy gave me a pleading look as she left the room, but I stayed in my seat. Davis brought in the port and a box of Philip’s cigars. Every glass was filled
and drained, but none of the gentlemen would smoke, though I would not have thought the mere presence of ladies would have deterred them. Margaret had no such reservations and puffed away unabashedly. There was almost no conversation, and I felt rather foolish for having chosen such an occasion to go against the conventions of society. Nonetheless, I did not want to admit my mistake; I could hardly go to the drawing room now. Unsure what to do, I sat nervously twirling the port in my glass. Not surprisingly, it was Margaret who broke the silence.

“It amazes me that the other women prefer coffee and the drawing room to this,” she said, expertly blowing rings of smoke.

“I don’t think they consider it a matter of preference,” I said.

“Are we to embark on a tedious discussion of woman suffrage?” Arthur Palmer drawled.

“I wouldn’t consider it tedious, but if you prefer to talk about another topic, I would not object,” I said, smiling. “Margaret and I attended a wonderful lecture at University College this week. You would have enjoyed it very much, Lord Palmer.”

“Was this Pratt’s talk about Homer? I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Did you agree, Emily, with Mr. Pratt’s comment that Chapman’s translation of the
Iliad
is so inaccurate as to be useless?” Margaret asked. “I know that you do not read Greek, but I would like to hear thoughts on Chapman’s poetry from someone who is not hindered by aggravation with the precise accuracy of the translation.”

“As you say, I cannot speak to Chapman’s faithfulness to Homer, but it must be agreed that his translation, when considered simply as a poem, presents the reader with a truly noble rendition of the story. The rhythm and sound of his lines is masterful. If the translator’s goal was to affect his reader powerfully, he has succeeded.”

“I must say in Chapman’s defense that, even to someone very familiar with Homer, one is not distracted by inaccuracies in the translation,” Lord Palmer said, refilling his glass. “Unless, of course, one is looking for them, which I imagine is what Pratt was doing.”

“He was,” Margaret replied. “The thing I am most interested in regarding Chapman’s translation is his treatment of Achilles as a moral hero. I like to see him get his due.”

“Oh, Margaret, really?” I exclaimed. “Achilles possesses not an ounce of humanity; I do not like to see him lauded.”

“You deny he is a hero?”

“No, I could hardly do that, but his morality is too black and white, too extreme. Compare him with Hector, who is man at his best, and you will find Achilles completely lacking.”

“Except in battle,” my friend countered.

“You are, unfortunately, right. I think I could rejoice more in Achilles’ victories if his behavior were less—I don’t know…excessive.”

“Not excessive for a battlefield, I think, Lady Ashton,” Lord Palmer said, smiling at me. “I do wish Philip were here. I wonder what your reaction would be to his thoughts on Achilles.” Before I could ask Lord Palmer what those thoughts had been, his son suggested that we join the ladies. Robert, whose eyes had not left the table since Davis brought in the port, looked exceedingly uncomfortable, while Colin, though silent, appeared content and smiled at me. My father, well pleased with the port, clearly did not care what we did, but, knowing that more than a quarter of an hour had passed, I admitted that the time had come to go to the drawing room. I sighed, dreading the ladies’ reaction to my behavior. Colin squeezed my hand reassuringly as I walked past him, but I could not bring myself to look in his eyes.

My entrance into the drawing room was met with icy stares, especially from my mother. Mrs. Dunleigh triumphed openly at my mistake, I imagine thinking it would make her own daughter appear in a better light. Margaret sat down next to her, ignoring the fact that the older woman was trying her best to cut her. My friend would not be so easily rebuffed; she loved a challenge. Robert rushed to Ivy’s side as if to keep her from approaching me. At last Lord Palmer spoke, breaking the tension in the room.

“My goodness, Emily,” he said, leaning down to look more closely at my bust of Apollo. “You should display this on a sturdier pedestal. This one could fall over if someone were to breathe heavily. What an exquisite piece. I am amazed that Philip kept it for himself. An object of this caliber is the sort of thing he usually donated to the museum.”

“You are quite correct, Lord Palmer,” I said. “The original of this work is in the British Museum. This is only a reproduction.”

“I cannot believe that,” Lord Palmer exclaimed. “Philip never purchased reproductions. He felt very strongly about it.”

“I assure you that he did in this case. I was in the museum not a week ago and saw the original.”

“Don’t know that I can trust a woman who drinks port,” Lord Palmer said, winking at me. I sighed with relief at this confirmation that he was not completely disenchanted with me. He looked back at the bust and spoke thoughtfully. “It’s very strange. I hope he wasn’t duped by forgers.”

“Forgers?” I asked.

“Yes. There have been rumors for some time of a group making perfect copies of a number of antiquities here in London. It would explain how Philip could have wound up with such a thing.”

“The British Museum’s casting service makes perfect copies, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, but they are marked as such. Forgers sell their copies as originals.”

Before I could inquire further about this fascinating topic, he walked toward my mother, sat down, and was soon engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. I turned my attention to Robert and Ivy.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Robert. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Say no more, Emily. You have been through a stressful time and are not entirely yourself, I fear. Perhaps you should spend some time in Bath.”

“Thank you. May I abduct your lovely wife for a moment?” Ivy and I took a brief turn around the room, during which she expressed her abject horror at what I had done.

“I’m afraid you’ve put your mother back on the marriage path, Emily,” she whispered to me. “All she talked about while you and Margaret were in with the gentlemen was how you need the guidance of a husband’s firm hand, emphasis on ‘firm.’”

“That’s why she’s in conference with Lord Palmer, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t know that Andrew would have a particularly firm hand,” Ivy said with a wicked smile.

“I have no idea, but I assure you I have no intention of finding out.”

“I thought you were fond of him?”

“I am, but I do not plan to marry again. I rather like being the Dowager Viscountess Ashton.”

“You are not technically the dowager viscountess, Emily. The new viscount is not Philip’s direct heir. And regardless, the role may lose its appeal once Andrew’s back in London. I remember how you enjoyed his company in Paris. I think his unconventional nature appeals to you.”

“You are right.” I smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I will marry him.”

“We shall see,” Ivy said. “But, darling, I am afraid that Margaret is exerting perhaps too much influence on you. I don’t think you would have done such a thing if she were not here to encourage you.”

“That’s wholly unfair, Ivy. I am perfectly capable of being shocking without Margaret’s assistance.”

“It’s wonderful that you have found a friend who shares your intellectual interests. Heaven knows I’m of no use to you in such things. But I worry for you, Emily. Margaret may push you further than you really wish to go.” She fell silent as we walked toward the settee where Arabella sat. Arthur Palmer, with whom she had been conversing, excused himself as we approached, and struck up a conversation with Colin about hunting. “Oh, dear, have we offended him, do you think?”

“No,” I said, noticing the careful manner in which he had taken leave of Arabella. “I think we have interrupted his courtship.”

“I should love to see Arabella happily married,” Ivy said quietly as we approached her.

“Arabella, our friend Ivy has become quite an advocate for the married state.”

“I am not surprised that Ivy should find happiness as a wife.”

“Nor am I. However, I believe her concern now is
your
wedded bliss.” After my own mortification over the port, I decided that I had judged Arabella rather too severely and intended to give her another chance. She instantly turned an unattractive shade of the brightest pink.

“I’m afraid I have few prospects, Emily, painful though it is to admit.”

“You have clearly won a suitor here tonight,” I assured her.

“Mr. Palmer is smitten,” Ivy added.

“And you have the force of my mother behind you. When I told her you were coming, she immediately decided that you and the young gentleman should marry. I’ve yet to meet the man brave enough to defy her.” This brought a smile to the girl’s face, and even I had to admit that she looked somewhat attractive.