Chapter 14 #2
He shook his head. “I never traveled in search of things. My desire was always first to see the beauties and wonders of the world, and second to meet the people who dwelt in those places. I certainly have seen wondrous and awe-inspiring things,” he said as she drew breath to ask the question.
“And some of my sponsors and benefactors would have been delighted, had I brought them back with me. But that, to me, is a false reason for traveling. I craved adventures one could not have in Europe. My pleasure came from the people I met and the experiences I shared with them.” He made a face.
“Anything else is more like . . . a shopping expedition at best, looting and pillaging at worst.”
“Exactly!” Wayles-Faire nodded so hard his hair fell into his face. “Looting! ’Tis exactly what it was! Those pieces never should have left Athens.”
“You brought nothing home, Sir Richard?” asked Francesca with interest.
“No, no.” He smiled. “Naturally I purchased items—clothing, blankets, supplies. Some items I admired and they were given to me as gifts. In a few instances, I fashioned my own copies of their weapons or tools, often with guidance from friendly natives. But I had no interest in acquiring much that wasn’t immediately needed.
The thought of shipping it anywhere . . .
” He held up one hand and shook his head, as if to hide from the very thought.
“Also, I did not always know where home was, which certainly complicates ownership.”
“You have always had a home here,” cried his sister.
“Due to your generosity,” he said. “Only now do I feel the pull of England.” His gaze stayed on his sister, at the other end of the table from him, but Evangeline knew, with a prickle of warmth, that he also meant her. Goodness.
“But now that the Parthenon carvings are here,” asked Francesca tactfully, “what can be done? I very much doubt they could simply be put back where they came from.”
“Not without considerable effort and expense,” murmured her husband.
“Even more than that,” she replied, turning to the artist. “I understand they were chiseled from the plinths, in many cases. Would it even be possible to restore them to their original situation?”
“It would be difficult,” Wayles-Faire admitted, mouth twisted. “Though not impossible! Elgin hardly cared for the difficulty of prising them from their native berth, why should we care for the difficulty of restoring them?”
“At the very least, they could be returned to the land they came from,” said Evangeline. “Here, they will be set up as a museum, and all of us charged two shillings to parade past to view them. Surely the same could be done in Athens?”
“That would not be the same, but better than this display of spoils,” grumbled the artist.
“But who would pay for it?” asked Fanny. “It is a crass question, I know,” she said as Wayles-Faire turned to her, flushed and frowning. “Elgin could tell you how frightfully expensive it was to ship them to England. I daresay sending them back would cost no less.”
“And then there is the matter of housing them, repairing them, safeguarding them . . . To whom would you even entrust them?” asked Evangeline. “The Turks who allowed Elgin to take them?”
“Sound arguments, Lady Courtenay,” said Lord Edward. “The Greeks are agitating against the Ottomans. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a revolution of their own, now the French appear spent.”
“If one always waits for peace, naught will ever be done,” growled the artist.
“True.” Richard raised his glass. “Having seen a few revolutions at close distance, though, I would not knowingly send anything so valuable into the teeth of one.”
“Well.” Evangeline gave the visibly frustrated artist a sympathetic look. “Perhaps we shall keep them safe in England for a few years, and return them at a more propitious time.”
He sighed. “I canna argue with that, except to say that the longer they bide here, the harder it will be for the government to let them go. Now they’ve voted funds to pay Elgin, there’s many who will come to think of the Parthenon sculptures as British property, bought and paid for.”
“Goodness, is there anything in this world Britain doesn’t allege some claim over? Surely this time it’s remarkable only in that the government has actually paid,” said Fanny lightly, and a ripple of laughter went round the room.
“You must console yourself that Elgin did not sell them to the Prince Regent,” said Lord Edward to Wayles-Faire. “Then they would be not state property but the monarch’s private possessions.”
Wayles-Faire shuddered. “You’ll put me off my dinner with that talk, sir. I beg you, say no more of the Regent taking possession.”
Everyone laughed again, and the conversation moved on. Evangeline stole a glance at Richard as the plates were removed. Could he really mean her? That she was what drew him to England? That spoke of a deep, enduring attraction. How could he even know that, so soon?
The fact that she apparently felt something equally strong for him had not escaped her.
She, who had engaged in flirts and affairs for years, had taken Richard to bed within hours of meeting him, then fallen right back into bed with him practically the moment they met again years later. Who was she to look askance at him?
When the evening ended and the guests were making their farewells, she lingered, contriving to be the last to leave.
Richard seemed bent on aiding this, and Fanny eventually picked up on it and occupied herself with complimenting Mrs. Murray on the excellence of the dinner.
Mr. Rieger seemed to know he wasn’t wanted, and Evangeline was finally rewarded with a quiet moment in the drawing room with Richard.
“What a remarkable evening,” she said lightly. “I cannot thank you enough for inviting me.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “I believe you could.”
She imagined it, and blushed. “Perhaps I might try . . . Would you care for tea, the day after next?”
“For the chance to drink it with you,” he replied, “I would drink tea every day.”
Her heart gave an unsteady, unexpected lurch. Was this really happening to her? It was too good to be true, too sudden to last. Enjoy it while you can, she reminded herself, letting him kiss her hand and escort her and Fanny to their waiting carriage.
“My dear,” said Fanny when they were on the road rumbling back to Wyndham House, “has he improved upon you?”
That was hardly possible, Evangeline thought. “It was a very pleasant evening,” she said primly.
“Pleasant!” Fanny laughed. “He was charm itself. His sister is delightful. His friends were entertaining. He keeps a very good table and did not stint on excellent wine. He even declined the chance to pilfer valuable antiquities on his travels. And never once did his attention and interest waver from you. I shall begin to doubt your sanity if you deny any of this.”
She sighed, although it was warm and happy. “I can’t deny a word. I couldn’t imagine a better evening.”
“On the marriage mart, he would be the catch of the season. Perhaps of the decade. I hope this evening has eased your conscience about seeing him, because I would consider it unconscionable if you reject such a fellow.”
No, she wasn’t about to reject him. She told herself he would tire of her sooner or later, and she was prepared for that. But in the meantime . . .
“Yes, Fanny,” she said with a small smile, hoping her friend couldn’t see it in the dark carriage. “I am finally prepared to take your advice and carry on an absolutely torrid affair with him.”