Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance, page 26
“That’s just Antonia. She sees the good in everyone,” said Theo with a tired sigh, a hand to his forehead. “God, now what am I to do?” He glanced at the Duke who had gone to stand by the window to look out at the traffic of sedan chairs, carriages, and wagons loaded up for market. “Your Grace, I’m sorry—I…”
Roxton bowed politely to Lady Strathsay and it caused her an instant of uneasiness. “I wish you both a good day. Enjoy a pleasant week, Augusta. The one after won’t be.”
Theo Fitzstuart arrived at Mr. Harcourt’s Twickenham retreat to find his niece’s baggage and her maid awaiting the carriage in the paneled hall. He was informed Miss Moran was in the library with Mr. and Miss Harcourt. The butler showed him into a long, cluttered room lined with books. Mr. Harcourt was at the very top of a pair of steps searching a shelf. Antonia stood nearby, her head bent over the pages of a thick volume that rested on a rung. Miss Harcourt sat by a warming fire, the needlework in her lap forgotten as she listened to her brother and Antonia arguing over some point of scholarship that left her mystified.
Theo asked not to be announced, thus was able to surprise Miss Harcourt without making his presence immediately known to the others.
“No, don’t disturb them,” he whispered and sat beside her on the sofa. “I wish to have a word with you a moment.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Has Twickenham been an effort without my company to sustain you, Miss Harcourt?”
She smiled. “I hardly know how to answer you without making you frown, Mr. Fitzstuart. If I said I haven’t had a moment’s peace this past sennight to be anything but entertained, yet, would have preferred to spend such time quietly, you at my side, would you be satisfied?”
“I hope my niece has not been a sad trial.”
“Oh no! She is delightful! You mustn’t think she has put me to any trouble or caused a moment’s worry,” Charlotte assured him. “The first two days she was not quite herself, but once Percy got her interested in his library he managed to coax her out of any tendency to brood on—on certain particulars. There are times, quiet moments, when I see she is not far from her thoughts, but Percy has been such a Trojan. He is rather taken with Antonia.”
Theo frowned.
“You needn’t concern yourself there is anything more to Percy’s affection than boyish worship,” said Charlotte tidying her needlework into its basket. “All his great loves are atop pedestals. I don’t think one has come out of the clouds yet. And now he has put Antonia up there too. Although she is different from the rest. She tells him what she thinks, and none too kindly for poor Percy’s sensitive nerves.”
“I’m afraid my niece is given to speaking her mind,” apologized Theo. “A circumstance her father encouraged. I trust she has not shocked you in any way?”
“No. Not in the least. At first, that is, on our first meeting, I was inclined to think her of your mother’s temperament. There is a striking resemblance in form, you must agree. But as to her conduct and her nature she is as far removed from the Lady Strathsay as any stranger. Forgive me if that offends you.”
“No. We have always spoken frankly about my mother,” he said with a smile. “That is as it should be.” He glanced at Antonia who had a satin slipper on the bottom rung of the library steps and was passing a book into Mr. Harcourt’s outstretched hand. “Has she been keeping well?”
“In customary good health, Mr. Fitzstuart. Although, her appetite is wanting. I don’t believe I have seen her eat more than a morsel or two each meal. That concerns me, as does the fact she is too pale. And she suffers a slight ache in the joint of her damaged shoulder on very cold days. But she is not one to complain,” said Miss Harcourt conversationally. When Theo looked at her in a penetrating way she lost the smile in her brown eyes. “Mr. Fitzstuart, that girl is suffering. She and I do not know each other well enough for her to confide in me her innermost thoughts. But upon one or two occasions we have spoken about her life at Versailles, and of her stay in Paris. It seems she has a great deal to be thankful for in the Duke of Roxton’s protection. That French Comte sounds positively odious.”
“And, Miss Harcourt?” asked Theo. “Please, I hope you will be just as frank about my niece’s welfare.”
“She has not told me this herself, and I have no wish to alarm you,” she explained with a glance at him from under her lashes, “but Antonia is very much in love with the Duke. At first I was incredulous. I thought it nothing more than a girlish infatuation. Yet, that cannot account for it. She knows what sort of man he is and yet… Am I making myself clear to you?”
“Very clear. And…?”
Charlotte looked down at her hands in her lap, to gather her thoughts. “I am ashamed at repeating what Antonia has told me in confidence but I do so because I am worried for her and I know you, as her uncle, do have her best interests at heart. Your niece has made plans to leave for Venice within the month. She would rather flee to the Continent than be forced into marriage with the Vicomte d’Ambert. She has written to your father’s mistress, Maria Casparti, asking her for sanctuary! To think Antonia would prefer to live with your father’s whore than remain with her grandmother not only says a great deal about the Countess’s lack of feeling, but that Maria Casparti, for all her immorality, must have a kind heart. I even offered for Antonia to remain here at Twickenham, with Percy and me, but she is adamant she would prefer to live in the relative obscurity of Venice than bring shame on her family and friends…. and the Duke.” Charlotte raised her gaze to Theo Fitzstuart’s thin-lipped countenance. “I cannot imagine what shame an innocent girl could possibly bring to a nobleman of the Duke’s notorious reputation, do you, Mr. Fitzstuart? But it breaks my heart to think she feels she must ostracize herself on his account.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Theo stated, glad he would finally have the opportunity to speak privately with his niece on the journey to Treat, and abruptly changed the subject by withdrawing a parchment from his frockcoat and handing it to her. “An invitation to Treat for you and Percy. It is for tomorrow. Although it is short notice I hope you will attend the Duke’s weekend party, if only to see my mother in a hundred agonies.” He smiled. “Can you imagine it, Charlotte? The Countess to spend four days in the country under Roxton’s roof, away from London and her suitors, surrounded by animals of the barn and green fields! She will wilt, I know it!”
“I’m sure she cannot conceive of a worse fate. It is a wonder she accepted the invitation.”
“She was not so much invited as commanded. She dare not incur any more of Cousin Roxton’s wrath. She has stretched his benevolence to the breaking point as it is. It is he who manages her finances, lets her his Hanover address for a peppercorn rent, and maintains her fine carriage and six. It is useless for her to appeal to Lord Ely. He won’t support her as long as she remains in London. He wants her with him at Ely. Then his purse would be hers. Yet, she refuses to give up London!”
“Poor Lady Strathsay,” said Charlotte without sympathy. “Percy and I must attend if only to see how she copes with the country life. Mr. Fitzstuart—”
“Theo. I demand you call me by my name. Especially now that we are betrothed. Or you may, if you wish to be formal with me until such time as the notice appears in the Gazette, address me as my title warrants—”
“Theo!” Charlotte gasped, and so loudly Antonia and Mr. Harcourt looked over at her at the same moment.
Lord Strathsay jumped up and pulled her into an embrace. “Dear Charlotte, you see before you the second Earl of Strathsay!”
Antonia ran up to them and tugged on the great upturned cuff of her uncle’s travelling frock, forcing him to release Miss Harcourt and look at her.
“I do not mind at all that you kiss Charlotte, but I object to wasting time helping Harcourt. You did not announce yourself!”
“Well! I say!” said Mr. Harcourt with a wounded look. He did not bother to greet Lord Strathsay nor did he notice how red was his sister’s face. “If you did not want me to help you find this wretched book you shouldn’t have asked for it in the first place!”
Antonia tilted her little nose at him. “I only wanted it because Theo was late and I had nothing better to do with my time—”
“Well! Well! Thank you for being so forthright.”
“Besides, your French tongue, it is very bad,” admonished Antonia, but with a dimple at her uncle.
“That is unkind of you, Antonia,” lectured her uncle with mock seriousness.
When Antonia hesitated to reply Mr. Harcourt stuck out his lower lip, and this made her laugh. “Do not look so hurt, Harcourt. I was only teasing. Your French tongue, it is not so bad as your Italian, which is better than…” She paused to think.
“Better than whose, Miss Moran?” asked Mr. Harcourt eagerly.
“Than—M’sieur Vallentine’s!”
“Me cousin?” blinked Mr. Harcourt. “I’m not surprised. He speaks English badly enough!”
“Bon Dieu. All you English are related,” Antonia said with a shake of her curls. “But I should have guessed you are a cousin to Vallentine. It is in the brain.”
“Antonia!” Lord Strathsay said brusquely, but he could not help breaking into a smile.
Miss Harcourt thought it time to intervene and she took Antonia’s hands in her own. “Shall you like to have me for an aunt, Antonia?”
“Parbleu, more than anyone! I am glad Theo finally proposed. I was about to become annoyed with him.”
Lord Strathsay tweaked one of her curls. “Were you indeed?”
“What’s that you say? Charlotte! Are you—are you—betrothed,” stuttered Mr. Harcourt.
“Is it such a surprise to you, this betrothal, Harcourt?” said Antonia haughtily. “It pleases me very much because I do not have any aunts. And soon Theo and Charlotte will have babies, which will please me even more because I want many cousins.”
It was some three hours later, and approaching the dinner hour, when the elegant chaise carrying the Earl of Strathsay and his niece turned in through the imposing black and gold leaf iron gates that proclaimed the entrance to the Duke of Roxton’s Hampshire estate, Treat. The mansion stood atop a grassy hill at the end of a meandering mile-long, tree-lined drive. The main building dated back to the Restoration. Yet, with its decades of remodeling, it barely resembled its former self. Buildings swept east and west from this central structure which had a view of the man-made lake, well-stocked with trout, ducks and swans, and dotted with several small islands accessible by punt and bridge. To the east, acres of Ornamental gardens clung to the gentle slope and curved away down to the lake. To the west was a small enclosed Elizabethan garden, ivy walled and crumbling, and beyond this, forest and fields and hamlets; all belonging to his Grace the Duke of Roxton.
The drive through the tree-lined boulevard skirted the lake and Antonia kept her nose pressed to the glass and caught glimpses of templed islands and swans gliding under a stone bridge, of autumnal forest, and undulating pastures newly fallowed beyond where sheep grazed undisturbed. But nothing prepared her for her first view of the house.
When the carriage came to a halt on the gravel drive she could hardly wait for a liveried footman to open the door and fold down the steps. Grooms ran across the crushed stone to the horses heads, baggage was tossed down to waiting lackeys, and the driver jumped down from his box, stripped off his gloves, and accepted the tankard of refreshment offered him. The door was opened by a bowing lackey. But before Antonia could alight Lord Strathsay put out his hand to keep her in her seat. She looked at him enquiringly and waited an explanation.
“You tell me you are determined to make Venice your home,” said her uncle, taking her gloved hand in his. “And I will not stop you if… if after this weekend you still wish it. But I ask you to seriously consider my offer: that you make your home with Charlotte and me.”
Antonia shook her head, a curious lump in her throat. “Thank you, Theo. That is very kind of you and of Charlotte. But I—I cannot stay in England.”
He squeezed her hand. “We have known each other for such a short time and I do not want to lose you so soon. But I do not want you to be unhappy here, and you are. Why?”
“Please-please do not ask me to explain… One day the reason it will be very obvious and I—I cannot bear for you to think me a better person than I am. In truth I am more like Grandmamma than you can ever imagine! So please, now, let us go inside because this journey has made me very ill.”
With that astonishing pronouncement Antonia hurriedly bunched up the layers of her quilted petticoats and scrambled out of the carriage with the help of an attentive footman. She walked towards the collection of monolithic buildings stretching to the left and right of her without looking up until hailed by her uncle to wait up for him. It was only then that she lifted her gaze from the crushed rock of the gravel drive and her green eyes widened at the enormity of the aspect before her.
“Tiens. Vallentine was right. This place is as monstrous as the palace at Versailles!”
“Not quite on that scale,” Lord Strathsay said with a laugh. “But it is certainly monstrous. And growing more so, what with the Duke’s latest improvements. He has commissioned the whole of his private apartments be remodeled and refurbished, and of all things to incorporate into the grand vision, a bathing room, with tiled plunge bath and running heated water, along Roman lines, if you please!” Theo shook his head as he led Antonia into an Italian marble foyer the size of a Great hall in any respectable house. “Can you imagine it? Ah, Duvalier, you may take Mademoiselle Moran’s coat and muff.”
Antonia could well imagine a tiled plunge bath along Roman lines, and tears welled up at the back of her green eyes. Quickly, she took in the ceiling, with its blue skies painted with clouds, and golden cupids, and the Gods all staring down from the heavens at her and inexplicably she felt very happy, happier than she had been in weeks. Perhaps fate had not deserted her after all?
Mention of the butler by name brought Antonia’s nose instantly down from the clouds and for one horrified moment Lord Strathsay thought she was about embrace the old man. “Duvalier! Oh, Duvalier, it is such a pleasure to see a familiar face,” she said happily and shook his hand.
The butler’s face cracked and he beamed at her as he took her coat and muff and held them to him as if they were his own. “May I say what a pleasure it is to have Mademoiselle Moran as a guest at Treat.”
Lord Strathsay watched in astonishment as the butler and his niece spoke in hushed tones like two old friends. He could hardly believe this happy smiling creature to be the same girl who on the carriage ride through the countryside had looked so forlorn and with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he dared not interrupt, following them as they mounted the curved staircase.
“Do you have a long way to walk to the front door?” asked Antonia skipping beside the butler, her head turning this way and that to take in the paintings, the furniture, and all the gilt and marble of the vast rooms that lead off the passageway. “How is Baptiste?”
“Who is Baptiste?” asked Lord Strathsay but was unconsciously ignored.
“Ah! Mademoiselle remembers Baptiste!” said Duvalier beaming up to his ears. “He will never drive again, such is his elbow. It is sad for him, but he is not unhappy. M’sieur le Duc gives him the safekeeping of all his carriages and equipages in Paris. It is an important position, a respectable living. Baptiste, he is not unhappy. His wife, she is very proud of him. She is my sister’s second cousin. So, Baptiste, he is family.”
“Is that so?” said Antonia with interest. “I am glad for him and your sister’s second cousin.”
“Duvalier,” said Lord Strathsay, and was pleased to see the butler’s back stiffen to attention. “Where are you taking us?”
“Forgive me, my lord,” the butler said tonelessly and without another look at Antonia, who had wandered off to inspect the view from a set of long windows. “M’sieur le Duc directed that you be shown your rooms immediately as dinner is soon to be announced.”
Theo waved him on and took Antonia by the hand lest she wander off again. He left her at the door to her suite of rooms with the promise that she not roam the corridors but wait for him once she had changed into a suitable gown so he could escort her to dinner. He was changed and dressed before she was but he was not kept waiting many minutes. She came out of her dressing room in a froth of Venetian red petticoats. The emerald choker was about her throat and her hair was swept up off her face and left to cascade about her bare shoulders. She collected a large fan of carved ivory and her reticule and went down to the Saloon with her uncle.
About twenty guests were assembled in the Oriental drawing room off the Saloon. Not all those invited for the weekend had arrived in time for dinner. Most of the persons were unknown to Antonia and she stuck to her uncle’s side as he crossed the room in search of his mother. He found her soon enough. She was talking with Lady Paget and looked anything but pleased with her surroundings.
“They did come in time to dine!” announced Lady Paget and kissed both Antonia’s cheeks. “How was your stay with the Harcourts, my love?”
“You look none the worse for a week with Percy Harcourt,” Lady Strathsay quipped and held out her hand to her son. “Did you bring Charlotte with you?”
“Percy is bringing her down tomorrow.”
Antonia curtseyed prettily to her grandmother then dutifully kissed her forehead but could not understand why she received nothing more than a perfunctory welcome.
“Would you care for refreshment?” Lady Paget asked Antonia. “Come, let us sit down and you can tell me all about Percy’s unusual house.”
“Enjoying your stay, Mamma?”
“Don’t be an ass, Theophilus,” his mother grumbled. “What is there to do in the country but get one’s feet muddy? The child looks particularly radiant. What did you say to her? Or did a week of Harcourt’s sickening devotion restore her spirits? It wouldn’t be because you happened to mention the Vicomte’s visit? You did tell her I hope?”
“I don’t see Roxton…”
Roxton bowed politely to Lady Strathsay and it caused her an instant of uneasiness. “I wish you both a good day. Enjoy a pleasant week, Augusta. The one after won’t be.”
Theo Fitzstuart arrived at Mr. Harcourt’s Twickenham retreat to find his niece’s baggage and her maid awaiting the carriage in the paneled hall. He was informed Miss Moran was in the library with Mr. and Miss Harcourt. The butler showed him into a long, cluttered room lined with books. Mr. Harcourt was at the very top of a pair of steps searching a shelf. Antonia stood nearby, her head bent over the pages of a thick volume that rested on a rung. Miss Harcourt sat by a warming fire, the needlework in her lap forgotten as she listened to her brother and Antonia arguing over some point of scholarship that left her mystified.
Theo asked not to be announced, thus was able to surprise Miss Harcourt without making his presence immediately known to the others.
“No, don’t disturb them,” he whispered and sat beside her on the sofa. “I wish to have a word with you a moment.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Has Twickenham been an effort without my company to sustain you, Miss Harcourt?”
She smiled. “I hardly know how to answer you without making you frown, Mr. Fitzstuart. If I said I haven’t had a moment’s peace this past sennight to be anything but entertained, yet, would have preferred to spend such time quietly, you at my side, would you be satisfied?”
“I hope my niece has not been a sad trial.”
“Oh no! She is delightful! You mustn’t think she has put me to any trouble or caused a moment’s worry,” Charlotte assured him. “The first two days she was not quite herself, but once Percy got her interested in his library he managed to coax her out of any tendency to brood on—on certain particulars. There are times, quiet moments, when I see she is not far from her thoughts, but Percy has been such a Trojan. He is rather taken with Antonia.”
Theo frowned.
“You needn’t concern yourself there is anything more to Percy’s affection than boyish worship,” said Charlotte tidying her needlework into its basket. “All his great loves are atop pedestals. I don’t think one has come out of the clouds yet. And now he has put Antonia up there too. Although she is different from the rest. She tells him what she thinks, and none too kindly for poor Percy’s sensitive nerves.”
“I’m afraid my niece is given to speaking her mind,” apologized Theo. “A circumstance her father encouraged. I trust she has not shocked you in any way?”
“No. Not in the least. At first, that is, on our first meeting, I was inclined to think her of your mother’s temperament. There is a striking resemblance in form, you must agree. But as to her conduct and her nature she is as far removed from the Lady Strathsay as any stranger. Forgive me if that offends you.”
“No. We have always spoken frankly about my mother,” he said with a smile. “That is as it should be.” He glanced at Antonia who had a satin slipper on the bottom rung of the library steps and was passing a book into Mr. Harcourt’s outstretched hand. “Has she been keeping well?”
“In customary good health, Mr. Fitzstuart. Although, her appetite is wanting. I don’t believe I have seen her eat more than a morsel or two each meal. That concerns me, as does the fact she is too pale. And she suffers a slight ache in the joint of her damaged shoulder on very cold days. But she is not one to complain,” said Miss Harcourt conversationally. When Theo looked at her in a penetrating way she lost the smile in her brown eyes. “Mr. Fitzstuart, that girl is suffering. She and I do not know each other well enough for her to confide in me her innermost thoughts. But upon one or two occasions we have spoken about her life at Versailles, and of her stay in Paris. It seems she has a great deal to be thankful for in the Duke of Roxton’s protection. That French Comte sounds positively odious.”
“And, Miss Harcourt?” asked Theo. “Please, I hope you will be just as frank about my niece’s welfare.”
“She has not told me this herself, and I have no wish to alarm you,” she explained with a glance at him from under her lashes, “but Antonia is very much in love with the Duke. At first I was incredulous. I thought it nothing more than a girlish infatuation. Yet, that cannot account for it. She knows what sort of man he is and yet… Am I making myself clear to you?”
“Very clear. And…?”
Charlotte looked down at her hands in her lap, to gather her thoughts. “I am ashamed at repeating what Antonia has told me in confidence but I do so because I am worried for her and I know you, as her uncle, do have her best interests at heart. Your niece has made plans to leave for Venice within the month. She would rather flee to the Continent than be forced into marriage with the Vicomte d’Ambert. She has written to your father’s mistress, Maria Casparti, asking her for sanctuary! To think Antonia would prefer to live with your father’s whore than remain with her grandmother not only says a great deal about the Countess’s lack of feeling, but that Maria Casparti, for all her immorality, must have a kind heart. I even offered for Antonia to remain here at Twickenham, with Percy and me, but she is adamant she would prefer to live in the relative obscurity of Venice than bring shame on her family and friends…. and the Duke.” Charlotte raised her gaze to Theo Fitzstuart’s thin-lipped countenance. “I cannot imagine what shame an innocent girl could possibly bring to a nobleman of the Duke’s notorious reputation, do you, Mr. Fitzstuart? But it breaks my heart to think she feels she must ostracize herself on his account.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Theo stated, glad he would finally have the opportunity to speak privately with his niece on the journey to Treat, and abruptly changed the subject by withdrawing a parchment from his frockcoat and handing it to her. “An invitation to Treat for you and Percy. It is for tomorrow. Although it is short notice I hope you will attend the Duke’s weekend party, if only to see my mother in a hundred agonies.” He smiled. “Can you imagine it, Charlotte? The Countess to spend four days in the country under Roxton’s roof, away from London and her suitors, surrounded by animals of the barn and green fields! She will wilt, I know it!”
“I’m sure she cannot conceive of a worse fate. It is a wonder she accepted the invitation.”
“She was not so much invited as commanded. She dare not incur any more of Cousin Roxton’s wrath. She has stretched his benevolence to the breaking point as it is. It is he who manages her finances, lets her his Hanover address for a peppercorn rent, and maintains her fine carriage and six. It is useless for her to appeal to Lord Ely. He won’t support her as long as she remains in London. He wants her with him at Ely. Then his purse would be hers. Yet, she refuses to give up London!”
“Poor Lady Strathsay,” said Charlotte without sympathy. “Percy and I must attend if only to see how she copes with the country life. Mr. Fitzstuart—”
“Theo. I demand you call me by my name. Especially now that we are betrothed. Or you may, if you wish to be formal with me until such time as the notice appears in the Gazette, address me as my title warrants—”
“Theo!” Charlotte gasped, and so loudly Antonia and Mr. Harcourt looked over at her at the same moment.
Lord Strathsay jumped up and pulled her into an embrace. “Dear Charlotte, you see before you the second Earl of Strathsay!”
Antonia ran up to them and tugged on the great upturned cuff of her uncle’s travelling frock, forcing him to release Miss Harcourt and look at her.
“I do not mind at all that you kiss Charlotte, but I object to wasting time helping Harcourt. You did not announce yourself!”
“Well! I say!” said Mr. Harcourt with a wounded look. He did not bother to greet Lord Strathsay nor did he notice how red was his sister’s face. “If you did not want me to help you find this wretched book you shouldn’t have asked for it in the first place!”
Antonia tilted her little nose at him. “I only wanted it because Theo was late and I had nothing better to do with my time—”
“Well! Well! Thank you for being so forthright.”
“Besides, your French tongue, it is very bad,” admonished Antonia, but with a dimple at her uncle.
“That is unkind of you, Antonia,” lectured her uncle with mock seriousness.
When Antonia hesitated to reply Mr. Harcourt stuck out his lower lip, and this made her laugh. “Do not look so hurt, Harcourt. I was only teasing. Your French tongue, it is not so bad as your Italian, which is better than…” She paused to think.
“Better than whose, Miss Moran?” asked Mr. Harcourt eagerly.
“Than—M’sieur Vallentine’s!”
“Me cousin?” blinked Mr. Harcourt. “I’m not surprised. He speaks English badly enough!”
“Bon Dieu. All you English are related,” Antonia said with a shake of her curls. “But I should have guessed you are a cousin to Vallentine. It is in the brain.”
“Antonia!” Lord Strathsay said brusquely, but he could not help breaking into a smile.
Miss Harcourt thought it time to intervene and she took Antonia’s hands in her own. “Shall you like to have me for an aunt, Antonia?”
“Parbleu, more than anyone! I am glad Theo finally proposed. I was about to become annoyed with him.”
Lord Strathsay tweaked one of her curls. “Were you indeed?”
“What’s that you say? Charlotte! Are you—are you—betrothed,” stuttered Mr. Harcourt.
“Is it such a surprise to you, this betrothal, Harcourt?” said Antonia haughtily. “It pleases me very much because I do not have any aunts. And soon Theo and Charlotte will have babies, which will please me even more because I want many cousins.”
It was some three hours later, and approaching the dinner hour, when the elegant chaise carrying the Earl of Strathsay and his niece turned in through the imposing black and gold leaf iron gates that proclaimed the entrance to the Duke of Roxton’s Hampshire estate, Treat. The mansion stood atop a grassy hill at the end of a meandering mile-long, tree-lined drive. The main building dated back to the Restoration. Yet, with its decades of remodeling, it barely resembled its former self. Buildings swept east and west from this central structure which had a view of the man-made lake, well-stocked with trout, ducks and swans, and dotted with several small islands accessible by punt and bridge. To the east, acres of Ornamental gardens clung to the gentle slope and curved away down to the lake. To the west was a small enclosed Elizabethan garden, ivy walled and crumbling, and beyond this, forest and fields and hamlets; all belonging to his Grace the Duke of Roxton.
The drive through the tree-lined boulevard skirted the lake and Antonia kept her nose pressed to the glass and caught glimpses of templed islands and swans gliding under a stone bridge, of autumnal forest, and undulating pastures newly fallowed beyond where sheep grazed undisturbed. But nothing prepared her for her first view of the house.
When the carriage came to a halt on the gravel drive she could hardly wait for a liveried footman to open the door and fold down the steps. Grooms ran across the crushed stone to the horses heads, baggage was tossed down to waiting lackeys, and the driver jumped down from his box, stripped off his gloves, and accepted the tankard of refreshment offered him. The door was opened by a bowing lackey. But before Antonia could alight Lord Strathsay put out his hand to keep her in her seat. She looked at him enquiringly and waited an explanation.
“You tell me you are determined to make Venice your home,” said her uncle, taking her gloved hand in his. “And I will not stop you if… if after this weekend you still wish it. But I ask you to seriously consider my offer: that you make your home with Charlotte and me.”
Antonia shook her head, a curious lump in her throat. “Thank you, Theo. That is very kind of you and of Charlotte. But I—I cannot stay in England.”
He squeezed her hand. “We have known each other for such a short time and I do not want to lose you so soon. But I do not want you to be unhappy here, and you are. Why?”
“Please-please do not ask me to explain… One day the reason it will be very obvious and I—I cannot bear for you to think me a better person than I am. In truth I am more like Grandmamma than you can ever imagine! So please, now, let us go inside because this journey has made me very ill.”
With that astonishing pronouncement Antonia hurriedly bunched up the layers of her quilted petticoats and scrambled out of the carriage with the help of an attentive footman. She walked towards the collection of monolithic buildings stretching to the left and right of her without looking up until hailed by her uncle to wait up for him. It was only then that she lifted her gaze from the crushed rock of the gravel drive and her green eyes widened at the enormity of the aspect before her.
“Tiens. Vallentine was right. This place is as monstrous as the palace at Versailles!”
“Not quite on that scale,” Lord Strathsay said with a laugh. “But it is certainly monstrous. And growing more so, what with the Duke’s latest improvements. He has commissioned the whole of his private apartments be remodeled and refurbished, and of all things to incorporate into the grand vision, a bathing room, with tiled plunge bath and running heated water, along Roman lines, if you please!” Theo shook his head as he led Antonia into an Italian marble foyer the size of a Great hall in any respectable house. “Can you imagine it? Ah, Duvalier, you may take Mademoiselle Moran’s coat and muff.”
Antonia could well imagine a tiled plunge bath along Roman lines, and tears welled up at the back of her green eyes. Quickly, she took in the ceiling, with its blue skies painted with clouds, and golden cupids, and the Gods all staring down from the heavens at her and inexplicably she felt very happy, happier than she had been in weeks. Perhaps fate had not deserted her after all?
Mention of the butler by name brought Antonia’s nose instantly down from the clouds and for one horrified moment Lord Strathsay thought she was about embrace the old man. “Duvalier! Oh, Duvalier, it is such a pleasure to see a familiar face,” she said happily and shook his hand.
The butler’s face cracked and he beamed at her as he took her coat and muff and held them to him as if they were his own. “May I say what a pleasure it is to have Mademoiselle Moran as a guest at Treat.”
Lord Strathsay watched in astonishment as the butler and his niece spoke in hushed tones like two old friends. He could hardly believe this happy smiling creature to be the same girl who on the carriage ride through the countryside had looked so forlorn and with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he dared not interrupt, following them as they mounted the curved staircase.
“Do you have a long way to walk to the front door?” asked Antonia skipping beside the butler, her head turning this way and that to take in the paintings, the furniture, and all the gilt and marble of the vast rooms that lead off the passageway. “How is Baptiste?”
“Who is Baptiste?” asked Lord Strathsay but was unconsciously ignored.
“Ah! Mademoiselle remembers Baptiste!” said Duvalier beaming up to his ears. “He will never drive again, such is his elbow. It is sad for him, but he is not unhappy. M’sieur le Duc gives him the safekeeping of all his carriages and equipages in Paris. It is an important position, a respectable living. Baptiste, he is not unhappy. His wife, she is very proud of him. She is my sister’s second cousin. So, Baptiste, he is family.”
“Is that so?” said Antonia with interest. “I am glad for him and your sister’s second cousin.”
“Duvalier,” said Lord Strathsay, and was pleased to see the butler’s back stiffen to attention. “Where are you taking us?”
“Forgive me, my lord,” the butler said tonelessly and without another look at Antonia, who had wandered off to inspect the view from a set of long windows. “M’sieur le Duc directed that you be shown your rooms immediately as dinner is soon to be announced.”
Theo waved him on and took Antonia by the hand lest she wander off again. He left her at the door to her suite of rooms with the promise that she not roam the corridors but wait for him once she had changed into a suitable gown so he could escort her to dinner. He was changed and dressed before she was but he was not kept waiting many minutes. She came out of her dressing room in a froth of Venetian red petticoats. The emerald choker was about her throat and her hair was swept up off her face and left to cascade about her bare shoulders. She collected a large fan of carved ivory and her reticule and went down to the Saloon with her uncle.
About twenty guests were assembled in the Oriental drawing room off the Saloon. Not all those invited for the weekend had arrived in time for dinner. Most of the persons were unknown to Antonia and she stuck to her uncle’s side as he crossed the room in search of his mother. He found her soon enough. She was talking with Lady Paget and looked anything but pleased with her surroundings.
“They did come in time to dine!” announced Lady Paget and kissed both Antonia’s cheeks. “How was your stay with the Harcourts, my love?”
“You look none the worse for a week with Percy Harcourt,” Lady Strathsay quipped and held out her hand to her son. “Did you bring Charlotte with you?”
“Percy is bringing her down tomorrow.”
Antonia curtseyed prettily to her grandmother then dutifully kissed her forehead but could not understand why she received nothing more than a perfunctory welcome.
“Would you care for refreshment?” Lady Paget asked Antonia. “Come, let us sit down and you can tell me all about Percy’s unusual house.”
“Enjoying your stay, Mamma?”
“Don’t be an ass, Theophilus,” his mother grumbled. “What is there to do in the country but get one’s feet muddy? The child looks particularly radiant. What did you say to her? Or did a week of Harcourt’s sickening devotion restore her spirits? It wouldn’t be because you happened to mention the Vicomte’s visit? You did tell her I hope?”
“I don’t see Roxton…”
