Elizabeth Kidd (9 page)

She sat down again and banged the filled plate on the table in front of him.

Carey smiled at his sister’s vehemence. “Thank you, love. Your loyalty will sustain me even if you do turn out to be wrong about Elena.”

“I am not wrong. Now stop dwelling upon impossibilities and eat your breakfast. Then tell me what you know about Elena’s background—and confine yourself to the facts, as Duncan might say, without any emendations. You told me, for example, that Elena is an orphan.”

Carey obligingly dug into his food and attempted to answer her questions between bites.

“Her parents are dead, yes. She does have family in Greece, but I believe they are only distant cousins, most of whom she has not seen since she was a child.”

“And how did she happen to come to England?”

“She was sent here for her schooling when she was quite young. That was before her parents died—both at once, I gather, in a coaching accident, although I did not wish to press her for details. Melville had met the family in Greece and sponsored her, from a distance at first. He only became her guardian on her parents’ deaths.”

“When did you meet her, Carey?”

He smiled at that and recounted the inauspicious beginning of their courtship and the scene in the little square.

“I was never so astonished that I seemed suddenly to come into her favor, but I dared not question it for fear of breaking the spell.”

Sympathetically, she asked, “And when did you know you loved her?”

He did not seem to mind her asking the question, but confessed, “I’m not precisely sure. At first, it was her air of mystery that was fascinating—she doesn’t look or act like any other of the season’s beauties, does she? She’s certainly not silly, as so many of them are. I never thought I’d fall in love with a girl who doesn’t smile all the time and who thinks before she speaks, but I suppose it’s true that opposites attract.”

“I should be more inclined to say you complement each other.”

“Well, she didn’t seem to mind that I’m a fribble. I used to—I tease her that she is unromantic, but I can’t deny that her differences from other girls intrigued me. She seemed so foreign, so
exotic
. I thought we should have nothing to talk about, but she has been in England a long time, and she has had the usual, if unusual, upbringing, and, well….”

“I know. She
listens
.”

Carey was silent for a moment, falling into contemplation again. “I wonder if I didn’t listen enough to
her
? There must be something more I could have done, or something I did that I shouldn’t have—”

Antonia jumped to her feet at that. “I refuse to listen to a catalogue of your sins of commission and omission, Carey. Come, finish your breakfast while I get my hat. Then let us make our way to Mr. Melville’s house before you sink yourself in the dismals again.”

* * * *

Once propelled into action, Mr. Fairfax became more cheerful again, keeping up a running commentary all the way to Gloucester Place. His sister was unsure whether this meant he was viewing the future with more optimism or was merely whistling in the dark. Antonia was convinced, however, that Carey had been disappointed more in himself than by Elena. In his eyes, she had no doubt, Elena could do no wrong. Antonia resolutely silenced the small voice in the back of her mind that said the fault might yet be laid at Miss Melville’s door.

“When you see Elena—” she began, when Carey paused for breath. By his startled expression, she saw that he had not contemplated the possibility of actually speaking with her today, but she went on nonetheless.

“—you must say nothing that might cause her to think you blame her for anything. Only tell her you love her, several times if you can contrive it, and speak about your future together as if it was never in doubt. I can assure you, as a romantically minded female myself, that is what she would prefer to hear over anything else. It may be hard for her at first, but ultimately your love will win her over.”

Carey agreed with a sigh to follow her advice, but he was never to be given the opportunity to do so.

They alighted at the Melville residence, and the door was answered by Arthur Melville himself, which set Antonia back for a moment; she had not supposed the master of this house would be so inconsiderate of the proprieties as to take over his servants’ duties, however momentarily. This seemed to occur to Melville, too, when he realized what he had done, and a fleeting expression of annoyance crossed his features before he recomposed them into the countenance of a delighted host.

“Ah, Lady Kedrington—do forgive my informality. It is only that I happened to passing the door just at the moment when the knocker sounded, and—well, do come in, please.”

As if to restore the world to its rightful order, Mr. Melville immediately pulled a bell beside the door and presently they were ushered by an imposing butler into an immaculately kept sitting room and offered refreshment while a maid hovered in the background—like a tavern wench awaiting their pleasure, Antonia thought, taking the somewhat overstuffed chair offered by their host as the most comfortable in the house.

“I do so regret that Elena is not at home,” Mr. Melville said before Antonia had a chance to ask for her. “She has gone into the country to stay with my sister for a short time.”

Carey looked crestfallen and immediately fell into a renewed lethargy, flinging one leg over the other and staring out the window, his hand on his chin and his attention anywhere but on the conversation. His former anxious impatience transferred itself to his sister, who disregarded his relapse, being more concerned for the moment with learning more about Elena’s equally strange behavior of late.

“I’m so sorry,” she said solicitously to her host. “I trust Miss Melville is not ill?”

He smiled. “You are very discreet, Lady Kedrington, but I know—at least approximately—the contents of the letter my ward sent to your brother last night. When Elena sent word that she would not attend your dinner party, I naturally went immediately to her room to demand an explanation. She would say nothing but that she had decided the match would not suit, and when I said I would go to you anyway and attempt to apologize for her, she begged me not to do so and burst into tears.”

Antonia brightened, convinced that tears were a good sign. At least they showed that Elena had not thrown Carey over for any lack of love.

“Did she give no hint that—that something was preventing her, against her will, from marrying Carey?”

Mr. Melville shook his head regretfully. “Not a word. And I have wracked my brain to think of some reason, to no avail. I even searched my own conscience to learn if I had inadvertently said something…but I am reasonably certain that I have conveyed my personal approval of the match. For what it is worth. I fear that in matters of the heart, I have little experience to offer a young girl—nor any authority to compel her in any way.”

He was beginning to display the overly modest self-deprecation that Antonia found so annoying, so she prodded him in another direction.

“Could it have been some family matter?” she asked. “I beg your pardon, I know you are in essence her only close family, but I understand there are cousins in Greece…?”

“Oh, she has other family than that. She has a brother—”

That penetrated even Carey’s abstraction. He turned his head toward Elena’s guardian at the same moment that Antonia exclaimed, “A brother! But how is it that we knew nothing—that is, you do not mean to say that this brother has forbidden the banns!”

“No, no, nothing of the sort! That is, I do not know what his reaction would be to the match. We have heard nothing from Dimitri recently, and I daresay that even if he did not approve, Elena would not let his opposition sway her, since they have been estranged for some years.”

This tale was becoming stranger by the word, Antonia thought. Attempting with difficulty to curb her impatience, she said, “But you can imagine some difficulty involving this brother?”

Mr. Melville hesitated, while Carey gripped the arm of his chair in agitation. Antonia put her hand out to cover his and gave him a soothing smile.

“I can only guess,” Melville went on finally, “that Elena may fear Dimitri’s bringing some disgrace on her or giving Mr. Fairfax—and you, my dear Lady Kedrington—a disgust of her for his sake. He is, you see, an ardent Greek nationalist.”

“What the devil does that have to say to anything?” Carey burst out at last. “Kedrington’s not in the government, and I don’t give a hoot for politics.”

“I believe Mr. Melville fears some other kind of scandal,” Antonia said quietly, to calm her brother’s lacerated nerves. “Is that what you meant, sir?”

“Indeed, yes!” Mr. Melville said, looking considerably hotter under the collar. “I have heard from reliable sources that the nationalists may be planning some sort of demonstration when the Elgin marbles are moved to their permanent home. Of course, if that is all it amounts to, Elena is doubtless needlessly concerned, but….”

“But fanatics have been known to throw bombs and attack public figures,” Carey said.

“Surely not!” Antonia protested. She looked from one of the gentlemen to the other and saw from their expressions that neither of them would have been surprised at some such story appearing in tomorrow’s
Times
—with the name of Elena’s mysterious brother heavily involved. She promptly vowed to lay the whole puzzle before her husband and solicit his opinion, which was often surprisingly informed. Indeed, it was all she could do to remember to collect the pertinent facts before dashing home to consult with him.

Calling on her last reserves of patience, she asked her host, “Did you say the brother’s name is Dimitri? Does he live in London?”

“Dimitri Metaxis. That is Elena’s family name, you know, although she was kind enough to adopt my surname when she came to England. I regret I have no notion where he may be living. As I said, we have not seen him for years.”

Antonia could see that even Carey was a stranger to the name and wondered what else Elena had not told him. She was in no way swayed from her opinion that Elena loved her brother and that something other than a change in her feelings was at work here, but she knew Carey well enough to know that ferreting out social details was not something it would ever occur to him to do. Perhaps Kedrington could be prevailed upon to help him find out more about Dimitri Metaxis. In the meanwhile, she would consult Duncan’s aunts about any
on-dits
which might be circulating about mysterious foreigners.

Eager to pursue these avenues toward the truth, Antonia rose, bade good afternoon as graciously as she was able to a bemused Arthur Melville, and dragged her brother determinedly out the door.

“I don’t see that all that explains anything,” Carey grumbled when they were on their way back to Brook Street. “And I don’t believe Elena is in the country. She would have needed to leave very early this morning, and she never mentioned any cousin. We should have demanded to see her.”

“We could scarcely have stormed the upper stories of Melville’s house in search of her,” Antonia pointed out. “And the existence of a country cousin of her guardian cannot be a surprise to you, since you apparently did not even know that your betrothed has a brother. Doubtless there is a simple explanation for all this, and I am certain that I—and Duncan—will discover it when we have had a moment to devote some thought to it.”

Surprising herself at the coherence of her argument, Antonia fell silent. Carey seemed sufficiently impressed by her plan to make no objection to it, although he shifted in his seat so often and so violently that they had not crossed Oxford Street before his sister was scolding him roundly for wearing bald spots on the expensive leather seat coverings in her best visiting carriage.

When they alighted at the Kedringtons’ doorstep, Carey immediately walked off in the direction of Bond Street, saying he was going to Jackson’s boxing salon, for he needed to work off his frustrations somehow and he did not suppose Antonia wanted him pacing his room all afternoon.

Antonia bade him a brief farewell before hurrying into the house and inquiring about her husband’s whereabouts. But again she was doomed to disappointment.

“His lordship went out not half an hour ago,” Trotter informed her. “It is my understanding that he received a letter calling him away.”

“What letter?” Antonia asked, removing her hat.

“His lordship informed us that dinner should not be held for him,” Trotter went on, apparently not hearing this question, “and said that in the event of his being detained longer, he would send word of when he will return.”

On her ladyship’s further demand to see the letter, Trotter was taken aback, but sent for the viscount’s valet, who, taking in Antonia’s expression, did not waste time questioning her right to read her husband’s mail. Milford did, however, spend some moments locating the letter, while Antonia paced her bedroom, attempting to arrange her thoughts to include Kedrington’s unexpected absence. Milford then handed her a crumpled piece of paper, apparently retrieved from his employer’s wastepaper basket. Antonia smoothed out the paper and read:

Dear Kedrington:

Something rather odd is going on here. I should appreciate your advice.

Urgently,

R. Campbell

Antonia sat down inelegantly on her bed, even more mystified than before.

“Well,” she said to herself, for Milford had beat a discreet retreat, closing the dressing room door behind him, “It seems I must again be patient.”

Chapter 8

Lord Kedrington stood before Iris’s graceful marble torso at an angle which permitted him to study the other persons in the large room without drawing attention to himself. He was amused to see that the unassuming building in the lee of Burlington House was fast becoming a popular attraction, for an assortment of persons whom he would not have supposed to be patrons of the arts were present and engaged in animated discussion, some of which he perceived actually to concern the antiquities on display for their admiration.