Chapter Thirteen #2
“Marriage is not so bad, you know.”
“I suspect I will succumb to it eventually. But have you ever met a woman who is perfect on paper but for whom you feel nothing? Everything about Angelica Rathbone screams ‘ideal wife candidate.’ She’s beautiful and clever and speaks with a voice like honey, and yet I felt no physical pull toward her. ”
“Is there anyone you are attracted to?”
Fletcher shrugged, which implied he did. But then he said, “No.”
“I did have that experience once,” Owen conceded. “Do you remember Octavia Laurence?”
Fletcher appeared to mentally search his memories. “Everleigh’s daughter?”
“Yes. Beautiful girl, right? One of the smartest people I ever met. Studied mathematics for fun.”
“Oh, yes, I remember her. Dark hair, on the thin side, very tall. Yes?”
“That’s her. We spoke for nearly half an hour at a ball once, and I found her quite charming, so I called on her the next day and took her on a promenade around the park.
But in the bright light of day, I realized that I felt nothing for her.
She didn’t, how shall I put this? She did not stir my loins. ”
Fletcher laughed. “Yes. Precisely. That is how I felt about Angelica Rathbone.”
“Of course, I was having an affair with Miss Mooney at the time.”
“Yes, your actress. So perhaps you were besotted with your lover that Octavia Laurence’s virginal purity did not signify.”
“Perhaps. That is, Elsa Mooney was a bit of a distraction, but Grace was similarly the picture of virginal purity, and I was instantly attracted to her.”
“And not still bedding Miss Mooney.”
“True. Right, my point was, perhaps you really do harbor some feelings, physical or otherwise, for another woman and thus do not feel the pull toward Miss Rathbone.”
“But there’s no one in my life to whom I have that pull. I am not currently having any affairs.”
Owen suspected the object of Fletcher’s desire was his dear old friend and frequent social companion, Lady Louisa, but he let it go because Hugh and Lark arrived then.
“What are we discussing?” Lark asked as he sat.
“Fletcher’s lack of attraction to Angelica Rathbone.”
Lark wrinkled his nose. “Really? She’s beautiful.”
Fletcher rolled his eyes. “As I was explaining to Owen, she is the sort of woman whom I should like, all things being equal, but I just don’t feel a pull toward her, for unfathomable reasons.”
Hugh nodded. “Several of the women my mother threw at me before my nuptials were like that. The heart wants what it wants.”
“All of you are cliched sops,” Lark said.
“Surely you have someone you should have been attracted to but weren’t,” Fletcher said to Lark.
Lark blew air through his teeth. “Well, all right. You won’t like this example, though.”
“Tell us,” said Owen.
“Lady Wolverhampton had a tea party last Season in which she displayed some of her new art acquisitions, which included a painting of a young man from some young French artist I’ve never heard of.
The artist and his model, with whom I’m fairly certain the painter was having an affair, were both at the party.
Lady Wolverhampton gestured at the portrait of the young model and went on and on about his ethereal beauty, and it was true, he was something of an Adonis.
He looked like… Who is that fellow who is obsessed with collecting marbles? ”
Owen had no idea where this was going. “Lord Elgin?”
“Yes! Elgin. Elgin has, in his collection, a replica of a sculpture from Italy. Michelangelo’s David. That was who this young man looked like. Improbably muscled, curly blond hair, the most perfect face I ever saw. It was like he existed to attract me specifically.”
Owen decided to slide past the inappropriateness of the attraction and said instead, “This was last Season? You were with Beresford at the time, though, yes?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Owen looked at Fletcher. “More evidence to support my hypothesis.”
“What is your hypothesis?” asked Lark.
“Owen thinks I’m not attracted to Miss Rathbone because I am attracted to someone else. But it’s not true. It’s just one of those things.” Fletcher’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke, clearly irritated now.
“He stole those marbles, you know,” Hugh said.
“What are you talking about?” said Fletcher.
“Elgin. He stole the marbles from the Parthenon. He claimed he was going to preserve them because the weather was eroding the original structure, but I don’t believe he paid Greece anything, and most of what arrived in England was just…
pieces. Very few complete statues. I went to see them and he told me the whole saga.
I don’t remember the details, but the marble itself is brittle, and then the boat he was shipping them on sank, and it sounds like not everything made it to England in the condition Elgin found it in Greece. ”
“What do you think the purpose of bringing the marbles to England would be?” Owen asked.
Hugh shrugged. “So Elgin can say he has a bit of the Parthenon in his ballroom? I know not.”
“I’m just saying, he would have done less damage if he’d decided to do the preservation work in Greece.”
“He wrote a whole pamphlet defending his actions,” Lark said. “And then the British government purchased them last year for an astonishing sum.”
“What is the British government doing with them?” asked Fletcher.
“They’re putting them in the British Museum,” said Owen. “I voted in favor of buying them in Parliament.”
Everyone turned to look at Owen.
“What? I don’t disagree that Elgin probably stole the marbles, but they’re here. Might as well put them in a place where people can see and learn from them. And given all the turmoil in Greece right now, they are probably safer here for now anyway.”
“I’ve never been to the museum,” Fletcher said.
Owen laughed. “Really? Aren’t you a patron of the arts?”
“Contemporary arts, certainly. The British Museum is all stuffy old Greek marbles and artifacts from long dead Saxon kings, no?”
“Philistine,” said Lark. “It’s worth going. I know it is forever under construction, but there is some valuable art there.”
“And the Rosetta Stone,” said Owen. “It’s the stone they used to finally translate Egyptian hieroglyphics.”
“Right, of course,” said Fletcher. “Boys, you all are like brothers to me, and thus you should know by now that while I do patronize the arts, I am hardly an expert. And the only reason I go to the opera as often as I do is because Lady Louisa often asks for my escort.”
Owen made eye contact with Lark and raised an eyebrow. Lark nodded.
Fletcher sighed. “I hate all of you.” Then he pointed at Owen. “Can’t we go back to mocking Owen for being besotted with his wife.”
“I am not…” But Owen couldn’t finish the sentence. It was true. He was besotted.
“I do not see why this is a reason for mockery,” said Hugh. “The poor man has been alone for an indeterminate amount of time. I’m sure it is a struggle.”
“The letters are nice,” Owen admitted. “She’s a better writer than I am.”
Beresford interrupted him then, brandishing a bottle of whiskey and five glasses held carefully in one hand. Without saying a word, he put all five glasses on the center of the table and poured a finger into each.
“Drink up, gents,” Beresford said. “I nicked this whiskey from my cousin Stephen’s plentiful cabinets. Best drink it before he notices.”
“You are incorrigible,” said Lark.
“Perhaps, but this is very good whiskey.”
Owen reached for the glass closest to him and took a sip. It was indeed smooth.
Beresford pulled over a chair and settled into it. “Now, what were we talking about?”
“Nothing,” said Fletcher.
“Oh, good. Did you hear the latest about Lord Edgerton?”
Owen mostly tuned out Beresford’s tale of gossip and woe, preferring instead to sip whiskey and think about Grace.