A Terrible Beauty (9 page)

In the span of a single moment, the world he'd once inhabited had lost all of the appeal it had ever possessed. His duty no longer was to wife and family, tenants and estate. None of them had any need for him; his presence could only cause them disruption. Without them and the responsibilities of his former position, he had no purpose.

Slowly, it occurred to him that for the first time in his life, he could go anywhere, do anything. Never before had he had such freedom. He would require money, of course, but that did not discourage him. He would seek employment, away from England, and make something of himself, become someone who mattered because of more than a title. He let Reiner steer him into a pub, and together they drank until the memory of his best friend kissing his wife ebbed to a dull, aching pain.

By the end of the week, he had decided, with only a bit of influence from Reiner, to pursue a career in archaeology. Antiquities had always been a passion of his, and the scholarly life appealed to him. He would return to Munich with Reiner, who would help him secure a position on a dig. His friend, delighted with this plan, promised a gushing recommendation, and went so far as to immediately get in touch with his employer, who was already at work in Turkey. After a quick exchange of telegrams, Philip, the Viscount Ashton, was set to earn his living for the first time in his life.

The decision had not caused him too much pain, although he owned it felt unsettling to no longer have the comfort of financial security and the automatic respect his title had brought. His greatest difficulty came from the decision to give up his wife. Before departing London, he wanted to be sure he was well and truly gone from Kallista's heart, that he had no chance to reclaim her as his own. Although she had not rebuffed Hargreaves's attentions, it was, he told himself, possible he had seen nothing more than a single incident she had immediately regretted. But careful observation—from a safe distance—and gossip bought from household servants confirmed what he had seen in Berkeley Square. Kallista loved his best friend.

Reiner, who had used his time in London to meet with with his colleagues at the British Museum, learned through Alexander Murray, the Keeper of Greek and Roman Antiquities, that Ashton's wife had visited the museum frequently over the past several years, first on her own, and later with Colin Hargreaves. Everyone, Mr. Murray told him, was delighted the pretty young widow had found love again.

Even after learning this, Reiner prodded Aston to come forward, to tell his sister, at least, of his return, fearing his friend would regret having cut himself off from his family, but Ashton stood firm and refused. His nephew was now viscount, and if he no longer had Kallista's love, what point was there in slipping back into any part of his old life? Perhaps the dead were best left buried.

 

6

The heat of the day was upon us now, and the air in the drawing room cloyed and suffocated. I realize ancient statues cannot sweat, but I would have sworn I saw a glistening bead on the forehead of the fifth-century marble Dionysus that stood on a table beneath the large window. Margaret studied the man who claimed to be Philip, making no attempt to hide her stare. Colin appeared as calm as ever, but I knew he was churning beneath the surface. No one had spoken for some time, and although I suspected everyone was keen on having more whisky, we had missed luncheon, and spirits never combine well with empty stomachs.

I excused myself and went in search of Mrs. Katevatis, wanting to speak with her privately rather than in front of the group. I found her in the kitchen, making the spicy meat filling for the
kreatopitakia
, a pie of sorts encased in flaky pastry. She knew it to be my favorite.

She flung her arms around me and hugged me the way I imagined other people's mothers did when they found their children in dire need of comfort. I choked back a combination of tears and laughter, contemplating what my own mother's reaction to the current situation would be.
Horrified
would not begin to describe it. There could be no doubt she would blame me entirely, and somehow convince the rest of society that some deep flaw in my person had caused the scandal. Privately, she would despair, but even the thought of this brought me no comfort.

“I hope we did the right thing, letting him in the house,” Mrs. Katevatis said, keeping me tight in her embrace. “His friend was in dire straits, I could see that at once, and it would not have been right to send them back into the storm.”

“You had no choice,” I said. “And he … did you know Lord Ashton well?”

“No, Lady Emily, I saw him on occasion but did not work in the house until you hired me. The maids recognized him immediately, and started weeping.”

“They had no doubts about his identity?”

“None,” she said. “Would you like to speak with them?”

“No,” I said. “What do I do now?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Only you can decide that, my child.” She kissed my forehead, and I wandered back to the others, who had moved into the music room, a space with smaller windows set high into the front wall and, hence, cooler—at least a bit—than the drawing room. Margaret was playing the piano while Colin and the newcomer sat across from each other, leaning close, deep in conversation. Jeremy brightened when he saw me.

“Capital, Em, you're back. Come with me. I want to see this island of yours.” He linked his arm through mine and lowered his voice. “Let the two of them be. Hargreaves will get to the truth of the matter—it's the sort of thing he was made for.” I motioned for Margaret to join us, but she refused with a quick shake of her head, and I knew she had every intention of eavesdropping as best she could. At the front door, Jeremy thrust a parasol at me. “I won't have your mother blaming me for the destruction of your complexion.” He picked up his walking stick from the stand in the corridor, and we fled the house.

“Thank you,” I said. “I didn't feel that I should run off again, but I couldn't bear to stay.”

“It's not like you, Em, leaving them to hash things out.” We took the cliff path in the direction of Fira, the sun beating down on us. I welcomed its warmth; Philip's return had chilled me to the core.

“You told me I ought to,” I said.

“Indeed, and you should, but it is out of character for you to resist intervening. Do you think they'll duel?”

“Duel? Colin? Don't be ridiculous.” I squinted in the sun and opened my parasol.

“A duel, yes, that is just what we need. They're both decent shots, so I would have a reasonable chance of being the only man standing afterward. I could sweep you off your feet—”

“No, thank you. The last thing I need is a third husband.” The very thought caused me to burst out laughing. I stopped walking. “Lord, this is … absurd. Is it not absurd?” The path narrowed and I stepped around a sharp rock jutting from it.

“Utterly and completely,” Jeremy said. “Why don't we run off to Switzerland and live in sin? Hargreaves and Ashton can have each other.”

“Colin has not done anything wrong.”

“Has Ashton? If his story is true, he has suffered losses so awful as to be nearly incomprehensible.”

“Do you believe him?” I asked, moving out of the way of one of the island's many cats, which was charging toward us. We started walking again, passing more houses and a church as we drew closer to Fira.

“It would be impossible not to doubt him.” He stopped and leaned against his walking stick. “The tale he tells is unlikely in the extreme. And, yet, here he is.”

“Yes. Here he is.”

“Do you believe him, Em?”

“I don't know what to believe. I had all but forgot the details of his face,” I said, “but I recognized him as soon as he stepped into the doorway.” I turned away from Jeremy and stared at the caldera, my eyes barely focusing. I felt tears smart and brushed them away with the back of my bare hand. In my haste, I had taken neither gloves nor handkerchief with me.

“You are certain?” Jeremy asked, turning me to face him.

“How can I be? I only knew him briefly before we were married and he died so soon after. He looks much older, but I suppose we all do after a decade.”

“Quite. I can't claim to remember much about his appearance and I never knew him particularly well, but while you were out of the room he reminded me of a time before you were engaged when the two of us argued over who would get to bring you a raspberry ice at Lady Elliott's ball.”

“I never knew that.” Our eyes met, and we started to walk again. “Jeremy, do tell me you were not considering courting me at the time.”

“Heavens, no. Some dreadful girl had been clinging to me and I hailed Ashton as a means of escape. When he told me he was fetching raspberry ice for a lady, and that the lady was you, I knew battling him over it would send a strong message to the young person who would not let me be. I suppose it was a bit cruel.”

“Not as cruel as letting her think you might fall in love with her would have been,” I said. “You generally take a long view of things and act accordingly. Turn this way.” We had reached the spot where the path diverged. One direction continued on to Fira, but I led us the other way, where a narrow trail turned to the west, leading across the rugged surface of Skaros, a rocky promontory jutting out from the island. Once the site of a medieval Venetian fortress, it stood all but abandoned now, save for the ruins of houses built in the eighteenth century and long since abandoned.

“So you don't think they will duel?” Jeremy asked.

“Of course not. What is there to fight over? I am legally bound to Colin. We have children.”

“It is a crushing disappointment,” he said. “I would have seconded Hargreaves, you know. But tell me, Em, can your marriage be valid if your first husband never died? I don't suppose there is an English solicitor anywhere on this island?”

“No, there is not, but I hardly think it matters. There is a valid death certificate that ensures the validity of my marriage,” I said, having no confidence in my words. “Furthermore, the man claiming to be Philip stated clearly that he has no desire to disturb my domestic bliss. He only came here because his friend was in desperate need of medical attention.”

“Did you examine the body?”

“No. Why would I?” I picked my way over a rocky section of path, grateful for my sturdy boots.

“Again, uncharacteristic, Em. Someone deposits a corpse in your house and you aren't inspecting every inch of it in hope of finding proof of foul play?”

“The situation could not be more straightforward,” I said. “The doctor examined the poor man last night and he gave the cause of death as blunt trauma to the head.”

“And you and I both know blunt trauma can only occur accidentally.”

I frowned at his sarcasm. “Are you suggesting this man whacked his friend on the head and then risked both their lives going down that awful road in a storm simply to have an excuse to come to the house?”

“A house he owns if he's not dead.” Jeremy poked at a rock with his walking stick. “You are correct, it doesn't make sense.”

“None of it does.”

“Can it really be Ashton?” Jeremy asked. “Is such a return possible, regardless of the explanation?”

“At present, I have more reason to accept him than not. I recognized him—his eyes. Who else could it be? Yet…” My voice trailed off. “How can it be he? I am utterly confounded.” We had reached the midpoint of the path to the tip of Skaros. The heat had grown worse, and we had no water or other supplies with us. We were both breathing heavily from exertion, and perspiration soaked my shirtwaist. “Perhaps we should turn back. Your nose is starting to burn.”

The walk back passed quickly—more quickly than I would have liked. I dreaded having to face my two spouses again. My mother might criticize my failure to faint when I saw Philip as proof of my lack of decency, but in my defense I should like to go on the record stating that most husbands, once dead, have the decency to remain so.

When we reached the villa, we spotted a young man in a khaki jacket and trousers, knee-high boots, and a pith helmet approaching the house.

“You must be Herr Reiner,” I said, surmising as much from his clothing, which was appropriate for an archaeologist. “Your colleague told us to expect you.”

“I am.” He clicked his heels together and bowed neatly, his blue eyes flashing. “I presume you are Kallista—er, forgive me—Lady Emily? We did meet once before, years ago, at the site of the excavations at Ancient Thera. I would not expect you to remember.”

“I am she,” I said, “and I do recall our meeting. I understand you and my…” I could feel a stricken look cross my face. Jeremy, seeing my distress, interrupted and held his hand out to Herr Reiner.

“Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bainbridge,” he said. “I understand you're a friend of the first husband.”

“I apologize, Lady Emily, for the awkwardness of the situation,” Herr Reiner said. “I am at a loss as to how one ought to proceed.”

“It's rather warm, so a cool drink would be a good start,” I said. “Do please come inside.” This proved to be one of those rare moments where inane social conventions offer welcome solace. Everything, I suppose, has its purpose.

“Thank you, you are very kind.” He hesitated. “I have some news for Ashton, but I worry he already has been overburdened.”

“We heard about the death of your colleague, and I am most heartily sorry for your loss,” I said. “Has something else happened?”

“Our expedition leader, Professor Hiller von Gaertringen, has already made the arrangements to accompany our friend's body to Athens, where his family will collect it. This morning, I went back to our camp—the local workers we had hired needed to be informed we would not be working today—and came upon the most dreadful sight. Ashton's tent has been destroyed and all his belongings smashed.”