Chapter Ten
‘Oh, dear.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Leo stopped as the curtain swung closed over the doorway behind them.
After their trip to Gunter’s the day before, where he and Florence had indeed attracted a marked degree of attention—though the ices had been delicious—he’d suggested a different kind of expedition today, one in which they could mingle with the ton, but where their faces would be half-concealed in shadow.
‘I don’t want to alarm you…’ Florence twisted to look up at him with a serious expression, though if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of mischief in her eyes too ‘…but there aren’t any mountains.’
He scanned his eyes over the dimly lit panorama before them, then threw back his head and laughed.
She was right, there wasn’t a single mountain in sight.
Instead, the entire interior of the building, a cylindrical structure temporarily erected in the centre of Leicester Square, was covered from floor-to-ceiling with a vast painting of the Trojan War.
‘Perhaps we should we go to the Royal Academy instead.’ She was grinning outright now, her eyes sparkling in a way that lit up her whole face. ‘They probably have lots of mountains. I’m just not certain it counts as art without them.’
‘I’m sure that’s what my father would have thought, but I think I’ll manage for one day.’ He chuckled as they stepped down into the room, where several other people were gathered in groups, admiring the vista.
‘Good, because this is very impressive.’ Florence twirled around as she walked beside him. ‘It’s like we’re actually in Ancient Greece.’
‘I saw a panorama last year of the Battle of Trafalgar, but this is even better.’ Leo peered closer at the wall.
On one side of the room was the huge walled city of Troy, on the other, the Greek camp and the sea behind it, illuminated by narrow, half-concealed windows in the ceiling.
To add to the mood, a group of musicians sat on one side of the room, playing harps and flutes.
‘Look.’ Leo pointed to two small figures standing on top of the city walls. ‘That must be Helen and Paris on the battlements.’
‘Or Hector and Andromache.’ Florence moved a step closer, bringing her face alongside his. ‘I always felt sorry for them. They didn’t do anything wrong, yet they suffered the consequences of Helen and Paris’s actions anyway.’
He half turned his head, surreptitiously admiring the soft curve of her cheek and her small, slightly pointed chin. It made it somewhat difficult to concentrate on the painting. ‘Maybe they thought Helen was worth it?’
‘Maybe.’ She sounded dubious. ‘But don’t you think Helen must have known what would happen when she ran away with Paris? Yet she wreaked all that destruction just to be with him.’
‘It was a great love story.’
‘What about Hector and Andromache’s love story?’ She sounded indignant. ‘I wonder if either Helen or Paris ever considered the effect on them.’
‘How about a different love story, then?’ He waved towards two other figures, half hidden in a cluster of trees a few feet from the great walls of Troy. ‘There are Troilus and Cressida.’
She seemed to freeze beside him, her tone turning hard before she turned away abruptly. ‘Cressida betrayed Troilus, did she not? Hardly a great love story.’
He furrowed his brow, surprised by the sudden shift in her mood, following her towards the Greek camp.
‘Look, there are Agamemnon and Menelaus, storming about in front of their tents.’ Florence pointed, her tone lighter again.
‘And there’s Odysseus, building his wooden horse.
’ She shook her head with an expression of wonderment.
‘It’s a magnificent painting. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
Amabel and I wanted to come earlier in the Season, but we never got round to it. ’
‘Then I’m glad we have the opportunity now.’ He gestured towards some wooden chairs set in the centre of the room. ‘Shall we sit and take it in for a while?’
‘Good idea.’ She took a seat beside him, innocently arranging her skirts in a way that drew his attention straight to her thighs.
‘So…’ He wrenched his gaze upwards again. ‘Is there anywhere else you’d like to visit while we’re in London? The British Museum? Astley’s Amphitheatre?’
‘Actually I’ve always wanted to visit the Tower, but Lady Wadlow said it was too educational.’
‘How shocking.’ He laughed. ‘But I’m sure we can manage that.’
She twisted in her chair, fixing him with a speculative look.
‘What is it?’ He arched an eyebrow.
‘I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. It makes you look like Cassie.’
‘Really?’ Heat radiated through his chest at the words. ‘She looks like our mother.’
Her expression shifted. ‘Cassie told me a little about her, about how young you were when she died. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘She told me about your childhood too, and how much you both dislike Rainton Court because of it.’
‘Dislike?’ He made a sceptical sound. ‘That sounds like an understatement for my sister.’
‘You’re right. She said you both despise it.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Even though it’s yours now?’
‘Is it?’ The words of his father’s letter flashed into his mind before he pushed them aside.
‘I’ve nothing against the estate itself.
When I was a boy, the only freedom I had was riding about the fields, pretending I was running away, but the house itself has always felt like a prison.
There’s no joy or happiness there. I hate it even more than Cassie does, which is saying something.
’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘She’s told you about her great escape, I take it? ’
‘Yes. She said she left as soon as she could.’
‘We both did. After I finished at Oxford, I moved into my own house in Cornwall.’
She gave a small jolt of surprise. ‘Cornwall?’
‘Yes. It was where my mother’s family came from.
The house had been a part of her dowry and she left it to me.
’ He smiled, thinking about the white house on the edge of Truro.
‘It wasn’t large. You could probably fit the whole place into the drawing room at Rainton Court, but it was big enough for me.
The gardens were beautiful too, filled with magnolias and camellias and rhododendrons. ’
‘It sounds lovely. What did your father think about you moving there?’
‘I think he was relieved. Rainton was always his great love, not his family, and he would never have allowed me to help run the place, not while he could do it. We weren’t estranged exactly, but I couldn’t bear the idea of living under the same roof as him again and he had no interest in me beyond as his heir.
As long as I knew what my duty would be when the time came, he let me do what I wanted.
And the house in Cornwall was all mine. I could do as I pleased and be independent. ’
‘So you were happy there?’
‘Very. For the first time in my life, I felt like I could breathe properly. My friends from university visited often, and…’ he paused, clearing his throat at the memory of a certain widow with whom he’d enjoyed an occasional, casual dalliance ‘…I enjoyed my life,’ he concluded.
‘How long were you there?’
‘About three years.’ He stretched an arm out, draping it along the back of her chair, surprised to hear himself still talking. ‘I still had family in the area, so I got to learn more about my mother too. Just being there made me feel closer to her.’
She smiled sympathetically, her posture softening until her back was almost, but not quite, touching his arm. ‘What was she like?’
‘A lot like Cassie. Kind-hearted. Generous. Loving. Everything my father was not. From what I’ve heard, they led separate lives.’ He clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump in his throat. ‘That’s one benefit of Rainton Court. It’s easy to avoid people if you wish.’
‘Yes.’ A shadow passed over her face. ‘I suppose it is.’
He winced, remembering how he’d successfully avoided her for two whole weeks before her accident. ‘In any case, I knew that my freedom couldn’t last forever and that I’d have to go back to Rainton eventually, but I enjoyed my life for a while.’
‘That must have made it very hard to leave.’
‘It was, but I knew my duty. I couldn’t shirk it.’ He was aware of a sudden heaviness in his chest. It didn’t help that a group of ladies had gathered close by and were now paying more attention to them than they were to the painting. ‘Once I inherited the title, I had no choice.’
‘What about your house in Cornwall?’ Thankfully, Florence seemed oblivious to their audience. ‘Have you been back since?’
‘No. I gave it away.’
‘You…’ She sat upright again. ‘You what?’
‘Like I said, I had family in the area. Some of them were quite distantly related, but they were all good, kind people. One of my cousins was in love with the local doctor, but their income wasn’t sufficient for them to marry.’
‘So you gave them your house?’
‘I knew I wasn’t going back.’
‘That’s very generous.’
‘Not really, when you consider the size of Rainton Court.’ He tilted his head. ‘You sound surprised.’
‘Actually…no. It just seems like Cassie isn’t the only one who takes after your mother.’
He smiled, feeling the warm glow again, despite the openly curious looks of the ladies. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were moving slowly but steadily closer too, obviously attempting to eavesdrop.
‘You know, speaking of Cassie, maybe she’s right and we ought to show ourselves at the Jenners’ ball,’ he said, directing a glower at the ladies that stopped them abruptly in their tracks. ‘It would help to counteract whatever stories the Wadlows have been spreading about us.’
Florence followed the direction of his gaze, a look of surprise, followed by understanding, passing over her face. ‘Do you think?’ She dipped her chin, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. ‘What about being laughing stocks?’
‘You’re my wife.’ He let his fingers brush gently against her shoulder. ‘Like I told the Wadlows, I won’t let anyone insult you.’
She held on to his gaze for a long moment, her own doubtful, before she gave a small nod.
‘Very well. If you think it will help, I suppose one ball can’t hurt so much.
’ She threw a defiant look at the ladies and then pushed herself to her feet.
‘Now, I think it’s getting a little crowded on this side of the room. Let’s try the other side, shall we?’