To Deceive a Duke (10 page)

‘We should find some empty chairs, then,’ Clio said. ‘Some that are quite close. But aren’t you meant to be changing into your costume, Thalia?’

Thalia shrugged carelessly, but Clio noticed her fingers nervously plucked at a fold in her pink satin sash. ‘Oh, no, I’m the last performance. Besides, I’m not going to wear my costume. The drama will have to come from the
words
, you see.’

‘No fear of that, Signorina Thalia,’ Marco said gallantly. ‘
Antigone
is highly dramatic, and you, I can tell, will be perfect for the role of the doomed princess.’

Thalia tossed him a suspicious glance. ‘How can you tell that, Count di Fabrizzi?’

‘Because I have made a study of ancient theatre, and you have Antigone’s great passion, her great capacity to do what is right—even when it is not easy.’ He looked at Clio. ‘Your whole family is like that, yes?’

Thalia peered between Clio and Marco, her lips pursed as she nodded. ‘I suppose we are, in a way. Complete nuisances, the lot of us. But you say you are a student of theatre, Count? How very fascinating, and useful…’

Thalia took Marco’s arm in a light clasp, turning with him towards the chairs with a most determined look on her face. Clio followed, sure of one thing now—she would soon see Marco on the amphitheatre stage, Haemon to her sister’s Antigone.

But that was really the only thing she knew. The rest was still obscured by shreds of silvery mist, a disguising shroud that only allowed her fleeting glimpses. Like Etna on a stormy day. Soon, though, like the clouds parting, she would discover all.

‘“O City of Theba! O my country! Gods, the fathers of my race! I am led hence, I linger now no more. Behold me, lords, the last of your kings’ house—what doom is mine, and at whose hands, and for what cause—that I duly performed the dues of piety.”’

Edward watched as Thalia Chase finished her dramatic scene, her arms folded and gaze cast forwards towards eternity. She was really quite good, he thought. Despite the fact that she wore a stylish pink-and-white muslin gown and jewels of pink pearls and diamonds, he had forgotten where they were for a moment. Forgot the modern world outside, transported by her simply spoken words, her solemn, dignified mien to ancient Greece. To a land of warring principles,
of strict gods, high-minded maidens, unbending kings, and love destroyed by it all.

And he was not the only one so moved, either, to judge by the taut silence in the room. The breathless pause before everyone broke into effusive applause. Thalia made her curtsy, her eyes shining. It was really too bad she was a Chase, a baronet’s daughter, he reflected as his applause blended with the others’. If not for her position, she would reign supreme on the London stage.

He watched as Clio turned to say something to her father, clapping madly. Her face glowed with pride for her sister, and for an instant Edward felt a strange, wistful pang. How must it feel to know you belonged with someone, with a family? That you were part of something larger than your own solitary self, that no matter where you went or what you did someone cared about it. Supported it. Loved it.

It sounded like a dream to him, a bright fantasy-world he had never actually seen except in Clio and her sisters. Nothing could break their loyalty and love for each other. He could only admire it, protect it, from afar.

He glanced toward the man who stood along the wall, alone. The dark, far-too-handsome Italian Count who had been Clio’s cohort in Yorkshire. He was a gypsy-thief no longer, but a polished, well-dressed gentleman who had all the ladies sighing. He and Clio had seemed to take no notice of each other during the performances, but Edward had seen them talking quite cosily together when he had arrived. As if they made secret plans.

Blast the man, anyway! Blast him for his easy charm, that comfort and understanding between him and Clio. The Count’s appearance in Santa Lucia was yet another shadowy fold in a mystery.

Edward had known when he set out for Sicily that his task would not be an easy one. Too little was known of the treasure. But the secrecy of the local townspeople, the determined sociability of the English visitors, and especially Clio’s involvement, made it all that much harder. Matters were seldom simple where she was concerned.

So, progress was slow, but it was early days yet. And he was a very determined man.

Lady Riverton took the stage as Thalia exited. ‘My dear friends!’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Miss Thalia’s performance was, alas, the last of this evening’s theatrical scenes. Yet I think you can agree we have a wealth of rare talent here in our little community.’ There was more applause, and Lady Riverton made a pretty curtsy, as if she alone was responsible for that ‘wealth of talent’.

But then, poor old Viscount Riverton, though an excellent judge of ancient coins, had been no keen judge of females. A pair of pretty eyes had quite blinded him to a certain lack of good sense.

Not that Edward was in any position to judge someone else’s choice of love!

‘There is, however, a supper waiting for us in the dining room,’ Lady Riverton continued. ‘If you would all care to join me?’

A great rustle and commotion arose as everyone made their way out of the drawing room, gilded chairs pushed back, the stage abandoned. Edward kept to the edges of the crowd, hoping to evade their hostess’s attention for a moment. She soon gave up looking for him in the press, and took the Italian Count/gypsy’s arm instead.

The Chases, he noticed, also lagged behind, lingering among the chairs.

‘Lady Rushworth has a headache, and I said I would see her home,’ Sir Walter was saying, as Edward listened in the sudden quiet. From the open double doors of the dining room could be heard the clink of china, the rise and fall of laughter. But the Chases were an island to themselves.

‘And,’ Sir Walter added, ‘I must admit I am quite tired myself. These social evenings are quite fatiguing. I don’t know why I come.’

‘Are you ill, Father?’ Thalia asked in concern.

‘Not at all, my dear. Merely tired. I would like to get an early start at the villa tomorrow, also.’

‘We will go with you, then,’ Clio said.

‘No, no! Thalia must stay and enjoy her theatrical triumph. I will send the carriage back for you…’

‘Forgive me, Sir Walter,’ Edward said, stepping forwards. ‘I could not help but overhear. If Miss Chase and Miss Thalia would care to stay longer, I can see them home after supper. My house is not far from yours, and it is the least I can do to repay Miss Chase’s kindness in showing me the castle.’

‘Ah, Averton!’ Sir Walter said happily. ‘Very good of you, I’m sure. It would certainly make me feel more at ease to know they were with you. So late to be out and about.’

‘Father,’ Clio said, shooting Edward an unreadable look, ‘we really should go home with you, I think.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Thalia agreed, but her glance towards the noisy dining room was wistful.

‘Nonsense, Clio,’ Sir Walter said. ‘You young people should have your amusements. Averton will see you home later, and I will no doubt be tucked up safe and sound long before then. Goodnight, my dears! Enjoy your supper.’

With no further to-do, Sir Walter took Lady Rushworth’s arm and strolled out of the drawing room. Thalia, with a mis
chievous smile at her sister, hurried off to supper, no doubt to ‘enjoy her triumph’.

For an instant, Clio seemed uncharacteristically nonplussed. She turned one way, then the other, as if seeking some recourse from his company. Finding none, finding indeed that they were quite alone for the moment, she turned back to him, her arms crossed.

‘What did you do that for?’ she asked quietly.

‘Did you not want to stay for supper?’ he asked, mock-innocent. At the castle, it had seemed as if they had come to a new understanding. Now, it was as if they had moved back two steps. Maybe a drawing-room party was not the right place for them. They belonged on that tower, or in a clover-dappled meadow, where there were no boundaries. No expectations.

‘I would rather go home and finish some reading,’ she said.

‘I doubt your sister would agree,’ he answered. ‘And going home to read would be such a waste of your beautiful gown.’ He offered her his arm, and she slowly slid her gloved fingertips into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead her towards the dining room. ‘Also, I wished to take advantage of the time to ask you a few questions.’

‘Questions about what?’ she asked warily.

‘Oh, this and that. Most particularly about your friend. The Count di Fabrizzi, is it?’

Clio stiffened, but did not pull away. Neither did she look at him, as a slight pink flush stained her cheeks. ‘I hardly know him. Indeed, I did not know he was in Sicily at all until we met at Lady Riverton’s tea.’

‘Hardly know him? Ah, yes, I suppose you know only a gypsy nomad named Marco. A fellow most adept with a crowbar and lockpick.’

‘I don’t know why he’s here,’ she said stubbornly. ‘But I do know he has given up his former ways.’

‘Like you?’

‘Yes. In fact, your Grace, his motives in coming here are as unknown to me as yours are.’ She looked directly at him, a bright green stare that burned away secrets and lies, laying them both bare. ‘Unless he is part of the “danger” of which you spoke. But you seem to be the only one who would know about all that.’

She broke away from him, making her way to an empty seat at the end of the long, food-laden dining table. Edward followed her slowly, reflecting that it had probably been a mistake to give her even the merest hint of why he was here. They were too much alike, curious and determined. They were like an inferno when they were together, burning all before them.

He would have to be far more careful in the future.

C
lio wandered the length of Lady Riverton’s terrace, her sandalled heels slapping on the old white marble. Behind her, the tall glass doors were half-open, releasing patches of amber light, the hum of voices as the others gathered for an after-supper hand of cards. Before her was a row of terracotta pots, blooming with fragrant flowers and herbs that blended their bright colours with the darkness, the silvery glow of the waxing moon. Beyond the well-manicured garden was the village, quiet and peaceful—outwardly, anyway.

But, as Clio knew, quiet façades often concealed the greatest tumult.

She leaned her gloved palms on the cold stone balustrade, peering out into the night, the dim concealment and silence that had always seemed her friend. In only a few days, according to Rosa, the night would be torn by the music and illuminations of the springtime
feste
. A time to celebrate that fattening moon and the end of winter’s chill, to hope for a good harvest and prosperous year to come. Once, it had been a feast of Demeter and her daughter. Now it was an excuse for a party.

What would
she
celebrate, hope for? What would the rest of the year hold for her?

Clio sensed she was at a crossroads of sorts, a turning of what had been and what was to come. She couldn’t go on as she had, yet she could not go forwards, either. The Lily Thief was done, but not the ideals that drove her to such an extreme in the first place. What was she to do?

Clio heard the squeak of one of the glass doors opening, the soft sound of a footstep on marble. She knew who it was even before she turned, could smell his spicy-clean scent on the evening breeze, feel his beckoning warmth.

Edward placed a glass of ruby-dark wine on the balustrade by her hand. ‘I thought you might be thirsty,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she answered. She sipped at the sweet brew, half-turning to study him in the moonlight. His blue coat was dark as the sky itself, but his bright hair shimmered like a beacon, luring unwary ships on to deadly rocky shores. ‘You don’t have any yourself?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care for wine any longer.’

‘Nor cards, either, it would seem,’ Clio said, gesturing toward the doors, beyond which piquet and loo went on.

‘I got my fill of such things when I was young.’

‘Yes. I suppose we all have to give up that which is bad for us eventually.’

‘Or be killed by it.’

Clio took another fortifying sip of the wine. ‘I did give up my bad habit, you know. I promised my sister I would, and my work with antiquities has been strictly aboveboard ever since.’

She did not know why she felt such a need to assure him of that, but she did. She needed him to know that, why ever he had come to Santa Lucia, whatever he was trying to
discover, she had nothing to do with it. She wanted only to work on her farmhouse, to be with her family.

‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘I also gave up the bad habits of my youth. Yet sometimes our actions follow us far into the future, have consequences we cannot foresee.’

Clio studied him in silence, turning the glass in her hand. She ached to know what he meant, what had happened to him when he was young. She certainly knew he had got into the usual trouble of rich, titled young men—drinking too much, gaming. Frequenting women of dubious morals, no doubt. But for all the things about him that angered her now, common vices were not among them.

What she wouldn’t give to find out the whole truth, why Cal’s husband hated him. But Edward was not a person to give up his inner self so easily. And neither was she. Thus they circled each other, not entirely trusting, not certain, but attracted beyond all sanity.

‘I really don’t know why Marco is here,’ she said. ‘Any more than I know why you are here. I don’t understand anything at all, it seems.’

Edward laughed. ‘Then we have something in common, for I am as perplexed as you are. Perhaps your friend has come for the
feste
, eh? An acolyte of Demeter?’

‘As you are the acolyte of Hades?’

‘Indeed, my dear, you wound me. I have long sought to serve Athena, to absorb some of her cool wisdom. Yet she eludes me.’

‘Was it Athena who sent you here? Or someone, something, more prosaic? The Antiquities Society, maybe.’

‘Clio, I am a seeker, just like you. I travel here in search of scholarship. New sites, new works of art.’

‘New ways of thinking?’

‘That, too, my dear. And with you I find that every day.’

Clio finished the last of her wine, placing the empty glass back on the balustrade. ‘You are not going to tell me why you are here, are you? Not beyond vague warnings of “danger”, like infuriating Delphic riddles.’

‘I have told you all I can, all I know. But you would be wise to take others with you to your farmhouse.’

Take others with her? When her quiet hours at the farmhouse were the only things that belonged only to her? ‘Oh, Edward. Surely
you
are all I have to fear there.’

He gave her a strange smile. ‘Clio. Have I not shown you that you have nothing at all to fear from me?’

From beyond the open door came the sound of chairs being pushed back. The voices and laughter were louder. The card games must be ending, which meant someone would soon come looking for her.

Clio glanced toward the doors, and when she turned back that smile was gone from Edward’s lips. He was the Duke again, all calm arrogance. How many other masks did he possess?

‘Shall we go in?’ he said, gesturing to the palazzo. The jewelled rings on his fingers glittered.

Clio nodded, hurrying past him before she could do something truly foolish—like kiss him again. Clasp him so tightly he could never escape her, never hide from her, and she could lose herself in the essence of him for ever.

The drawing room was filled with clusters of people, conversing, studying Lady Riverton’s collections as the servants set up tea. The chatter was quieter than earlier in the evening, but everyone was still clearly reluctant to disperse, to yet give up the amiable company of their own countrymen. Clio saw Thalia by the pianoforte with her swain Peter Elliott and
some of the other young people, and she made her way towards them. Perhaps she could persuade Thalia it was time to return home.
Without
the Duke’s escort, if it could be arranged.

Behind her, she heard Lady Riverton hail the Duke, latching on to him again. ‘Oh, Averton, there you are! You are just the one to help me lead everyone in a new game.’

‘Lady Riverton, I fear I am a hopeless fool at party games,’ he protested lightly. ‘My friends all quite refuse to have me on their teams for charades.’

‘I vow this is
not
charades!’ Lady Riverton answered. ‘It is far more amusing. A little pastime I hear is all the rage in Paris. Gather around, everyone!’

Clio took Thalia’s arm. ‘Thalia, dear, should we depart? It grows rather late.’

‘Oh, no!’ Thalia protested, still obviously flushed with her thespian success. ‘Not yet, Clio, please. Let’s just see what this new game is. If it’s not amusing, we can go.’

Clio found she could not disappoint her sister, not when Thalia was having such a good time. She nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well. Just one game, though. An old lady like me needs her rest.’

Thalia laughed, and drew Clio with her into the crowd gathered around the fireplace, where Lady Riverton presided from her great velvet armchair. Clio and Thalia sat together on a couch, with Peter Elliott still staying close to Thalia. Edward stood beside Lady Riverton, his jewelled hands on his hips. His face was set in lines of cynical amusement, yet Clio saw tense suspicion in the set of his broad shoulders.

She, too, was suspicious. Party games were such a vast waste of time.

‘Now, the title of this game is “Truth”,’ Lady Riverton an
nounced. ‘And it is perfectly simple. Everyone will surely be able to grasp it,’ she added, with a glance at the giggling Susan Darby. ‘Dear Mr Frobisher told me about it after his recent voyage to France.’

Mr Frobisher, seated on Lady Riverton’s other side on a measurably lower chair, laughed. ‘Yes, and it is
vastly
amusing! One discovers the most shocking things about one’s friends.’

‘
That
doesn’t sound boring, Clio,’ Thalia whispered.

No, not boring. Just potentially hazardous. Clio was certainly glad she had not overly indulged in the wine tonight, as it was clear that others had. Flushed faces and overly loud laughter flooded the drawing room.

Not with Edward, though. He folded his arms across his chest, looking quite as wary as she herself felt.

‘Now, as I said, it is a simple game,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘We will go around the circle, and each of us will tell one truth we have never before revealed. The best truth of all, the most shocking, will receive a prize.’

‘Oh, how delicious!’ Susan Darby cried, clapping her hands even as her mother tried to restrain her. ‘May I go first?’

‘Of course, my dear Miss Darby,’ Lady Riverton said, exchanging amused smiles with Mr Frobisher.

‘I bought
two
ribbons at Signora Cernelli’s shop yesterday, instead of only one. It was
red
,’ Miss Darby said in a hushed voice. ‘I hid it in my dressing-table drawer.’

Mrs Darby rolled her eyes, and Clio bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was a good thing her father had left early; his intellectual heart would cry out in fury at such twaddle! Ribbons had never interested him in the least, despite all his female offspring.

‘I hardly think that will win the prize,’ Thalia murmured
in Clio’s ear. ‘Perhaps everyone would like to know how we used to swim in the pond at Chase Lodge, wearing only our old chemises…’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Clio whispered back. ‘Though I’m sure the tale would liven up the proceedings considerably.’

As the circle moved outwards from Miss Darby, the ‘truths’ followed much the same vein. Pilfered teacakes, items lost and lied about, the time Peter Elliott told his parents he was going to Bognor Regis but instead went to Weymouth.

Clio suspected it would be a far more interesting game if only the older, married people were present without their offspring, with the wine and brandy flowing. But there were young ladies here, supposedly including herself and Thalia, and things could not get too out of hand. Though Clio was fairly sure Thalia had a whopper or two up her sleeve.

And Clio’s own ‘truth’, of course, was a very great one. The Lily Thief, after all, had once made off with the Elliotts’ own red-figure krater depicting the labours of Hercules, and sent it back where it came from in Tuscany in the care of Marco di Fabrizzi.

Marco’s ‘truth’ was a romantic one. The girl he loved madly as a teenager had been forced to marry another, leaving him brokenhearted and sure he could never love anyone else. All the ladies in the room were left sighing.

Their hostess followed with yet another romantic ‘truth’, one that could have been easily predicted. ‘I have had only one love, as well,’ she declared, more dramatic than Thalia’s doomed Antigone. ‘One great, great love, my Viscount Riverton. Quite astonishing in these libertine days, I know, yet truly no one could ever compare to him.’

After her sniffles subsided, it was the Duke’s turn. Clio watched him with great interest. Surely he, too, had a wealth
of secrets he could share! His entire being was one hidden truth.

But his wry smile never wavered. The veil never lifted from his eyes. ‘My truth is much like yours, Lady Riverton. I, too, have had only one love. Yet it was not to be.’

‘Oh, Averton!’ Lady Riverton cried, her hand pressed to her heart. ‘How terribly sad.’

‘Did she die?’ Lady Elliott asked in a hushed voice, awed by the tale of the so-romantic duke.

‘No, but she is far too good for me. Now, Lady Elliott, you must tell us your own secret.’

By the time the circle came to Clio, she had some faradiddle about how once, when she was a girl, instead of attending to her Latin lessons, she read one of her friend Lotty’s horrid novels.
The Tragedy of Madame Marguerite
, she believed. And she enjoyed it. Very much.

But all the time she did not stop thinking about Edward and his ‘one true love’. The perfect angel who was too good for him. Clio did not know the lady, of course, did not even know her name. But she was fairly certain she did not like her.

‘Too good’, after all, was a prickling reminder of how far she herself had fallen short of feminine perfection, in all ways.