Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (40 page)

I frowned in concentration over my embroidery, and said nothing.

“Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him today.” His voice trailed off as he sensed something amiss.

“He is gone,” I said, snipping off a thread.

“Gone! When?”

“Yesterday evening. He apologized for not saying goodbye to you in person.”

I found that I had dropped my blue silk, and bent to retrieve it. I sensed Herron beside me struggling to understand this new development, but he hesitated to ask a direct question that might wound me. Presently he inquired, with such elaborate casualness that I almost smiled, “There hasn’t, I hope, been some trouble between him and—er—Claude?” Poor boy, he was trying to be tactful.

“Not at all,” I said. “It is just that I don’t think it is best for us to be together.” I sounded so sensible, so poised. Perhaps I had learned something from the duchess: how to give the appearance of being in command of a situation—or at least of my feelings.

“What will you do?” Herron demanded, almost indignantly.

I tried to shrug offhandedly. “I have a few ideas; you needn’t worry about me.”

“You could go abroad with my mother and Claude, you know; I’m certain they’d enjoy your company, especially when I tell them I’ll be returning to university instead of accompanying them.”

“No, I would only be a hindrance. They need some time by themselves.”

“But you haven’t had any opportunity to travel before,” Herron persisted. “And if you and Charles aren’t… well, you would meet many young men abroad.” A mischievous light came into his eyes. “Italian noblemen. You could become the first
marchesa
in the family.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, unable to keep from smiling. “I don’t seem to be very good at keeping suitors.”

He laughed self-consciously. “You shouldn’t count me, you know; this suitor was too foolish to realize at the time how lucky he was in you. Your only mistake was settling for so dense a lover.” Then he grinned, and went on in a more cheerful tone. “No, next time we must find you a fellow intelligent enough to appreciate you properly. Perhaps a scholar, like yourself, and you can conduct your courtship in Greek verses.”

I laughed, and we went on to talk of other things. I had come to realize that in some ways I had loved Herron as I had loved Lionel: Herron had aroused the same protective impulse within me. But that was not what married love should be. Nor was it the comfort Herron had sought in me, when he had needed someone to give him the devotion he felt his mother had transferred to Lord Claude. What we had felt for each other had been sweet, but it could not last, and I could look back on it now without regret.

I might even be ready to start looking forward.

* * *

By the time Herron left for university to embark on his new course of study, spring was coming to Ellsmere. The sere garden plots, so drab during the past months, were tinted in delicate pale green hues, and trees seemed suddenly fat with leaves. The air grew so balmy that the duchess took to ordering tea laid on the terrace every afternoon. I supposed she was already imagining herself in Italy, where she and her husband could take all their meals on the veranda of a palazzo under the Mediterranean sun.

Herron refused to let us accompany him to the train station; we had to make our adieus at Ellsmere while the coach waited. I could not help but be reminded of the day my father and I bade Lionel farewell—for that was what we had believed it to be: farewell, not goodbye. A pinprick of fear touched me. But Herron was not going to war, I reminded myself. If he continued on the course he was starting now, he would become someone I could be proud to have known. I blinked firmly to discourage a few foolish tears, realizing I would miss him.

He kissed my cheek and smiled at me. “I’ll write to you, Oriel.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, smiling back.

His mother took him in her arms, but she did not weep or plead with him to stay. It was the embrace of a duchess, warm but dignified, and soon she held Herron away from her so that she could look into his face. There was sorrow in her eyes at the parting, but pride as well. “Don’t forget us, dear,” she said only, before she pressed a kiss on his forehead and released him.

One more remained to take his leave of Herron. Lord Claude and his nephew faced each other, and the duchess and I waited in apprehension. The two men had not overcome their estrangement, but had avoided each other throughout Herron’s convalescence. Although I knew Lord Claude was anxious to convince Herron of his contrition, he was always on edge in his nephew’s presence, and Herron, while never reverting to his former hostility, still regarded his uncle with forgivable wariness. He had confided in me the day before that he hoped his theological studies would teach him how to forgive his uncle, since he had not yet succeeded in doing so in spite of his efforts.

The past few weeks had aged Lord Claude as well as Herron: his hair bore wide streaks of grey, and his face was more careworn than of old. I felt a pang of compassion for him, and saw the duchess’s hand sketch a motion toward him, quickly stilled, as if she had been about to reach out and steady him.

It was Herron who spoke first. “You have it in your power to do me a favor, sir,” he said, his voice polite but betraying no emotion. “While I am gone, Ellsmere will need an overseer. You have filled that role so well since my father’s death that I wonder if I may depend upon you to do so again when you return from your travels.”

Surprise and pleasure had dawned in his uncle’s face as Herron spoke. “I would be honored to have Ellsmere in my care.”

“Excellent. I thank you.” There was a silence, and then Herron gave an abrupt nod. “Goodbye, then.”

“My boy,” said Lord Claude, and held out his hand.

Herron said nothing. Strain as I might, I could not read his face. But then he put out his hand and clasped his uncle’s.

Beside me, the duchess smiled. Our eyes met, and we shared a moment of silent relief. It was a start.

* * *

The night before the duchess and Lord Claude left for Italy, the three of us dined at Lord Montrose and Aminta’s house, five miles away. It was pleasant to see them again and to recapture for the evening the atmosphere of former times. The absence of Herron and Charles left a sad gap in our company, but we were able to be merry in spite of this. The candlelight glowed as cheerfully as at any Ellsmere dinner, and we drank many toasts: to the absent ones and their success in their respective endeavors; to the end of the war in the Crimea; to the safe voyage of the duchess and Lord Claude.

“And to my success in catching a fine husband this season,” added Felicity impishly, raising her glass. Finally eighteen years old, she wore her first true dinner gown, with long skirts and a décolletage, and her hair was dressed no longer in the girlish ringlets but in an elegant chignon like her aunt’s. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, but she already possessed a poise that showed she was ready to venture into the world. Aminta caught my eye and smiled.

“Very well; why not? A toast to Felicity as she goes forth to seek her destiny. May she show as much discrimination as I did.”

“Hear, hear,” seconded Lord Montrose, with a broad grin for his wife, and we all laughed and raised our glasses to Felicity’s future.

At the end of the evening, when we were taking our leave, Felicity drew me aside.

“I did not want to be tactless and ask after you in front of all the others,” she whispered. “Aminta felt it would be best if we did not mention your father tonight, and of course I agreed. But I thought—I wondered—well, even though Aunt says he was never a true father to you, and we know so many dreadful things of him now, I was afraid you might be missing him.”

Her eyes were filled with such sincere concern that I could not resist hugging her.

“It’s kind of you to ask, Felicity. I can’t claim to have loved him—certainly not as you do your father—but it is strange all the same to know he is dead.” I tried to ease the anxious expression on her face. “I have had some time to accustom myself to the idea, though, and I am perfectly fine.”

Her dimples broke out at once. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it. Now, are you certain you won’t come to London for the season with us? I should so love for you to be presented with me. Think of all the parties and balls we would attend! Between the two of us, we would break every heart in the city.”

“Perhaps I will,” I laughed, as the duchess beckoned for me to join her in the carriage. “If I weary of Ellsmere, I may appear on your doorstep one day.”

“Do,” she urged. “I shall tell Aminta to air the second guest bedroom for you.” There was no time to say anything further, so she and Aminta waved goodbye, and until we passed the curve of the drive we could see them waving, standing against the warm lighted windows of the house.

We had left Ellsmere a threesome, but now we were four: Miss Yates was accompanying us back to the house so that she could be my chaperon and companion while the duchess and Lord Claude were in Italy. The arrangement had been my idea, so that I could stay on at Ellsmere instead of joining one of the two sets of travelers. I knew the duchess would never let me stay there alone, and I had no wish to leave, at least until my future was more certain. Miss Yates had agreed readily.

“Lady Montrose’s children don’t yet need me; their
bonne
will be sufficient for the season. And the prospect of seeing Felicity launched, I must confess, makes me nervous. I’m certain I’ll be fighting the urge to intrude every moment. She will be better off without me there to keep her under my watchful eye.”

She was to be installed in rooms across from mine, so when there was a tap at my door later that night, after we had returned to Ellsmere and retired for the night, I assumed it would be Miss Yates. Instead I found it was the duchess.

“I’m not disturbing you, I hope?” she inquired. “I can never sleep the night before starting a journey, and I thought you might feel like talking.”

“Of course,” I said, and we made ourselves comfortable before the fire. She curled up gracefully on the divan, tucking her feet beneath her as if she were a schoolgirl instead of a duchess. Indeed, in her frilly dressing gown, with her hair in a braid down her back, she looked no more than sixteen. Somehow all the recent shocks had not seemed to age her; unlike her husband, she bore no signs of strain in her face. Her next words showed that even now she continued to think of others before herself.

“Will you not be lonely here while Claude and I are away?” she asked. “I hate to think of you alone in this great house. I would feel much easier in my mind if you would come to Italy with us.”

“I am perfectly content with my own company, and I shall have Miss Yates when I tire of solitude.”

“But you will find it very dull,” she insisted. “With no guests, and no parties, the days will be very empty.”

I went to my dressing table and retrieved a letter, which I handed to her. “I will have something with which to occupy myself. A few weeks ago I contacted a publisher in London and sent him some of my translations. He believes they will find a receptive audience.”

“But how wonderful!” she exclaimed, scanning the letter. “So you will be doing more such work, I gather.”

I nodded. “He has told me of several texts I’ve read that lack adequate translations. I plan to start work on them right away.”

“Oh, my dear, I am so glad for you.” She leaned over to kiss my cheek, then sat back, beaming. “I see I need not have worried; you seem to have found your path, as Herron has. I am very proud of you both.”

“You’ll miss him, won’t you?”

She forced a smile. “Terribly. The more, since I am not certain how much I shall see him in the future. His life will take him elsewhere, I’m sure, and Claude and I may not ever return to Ellsmere.”

“What?” I cried. “You mean, you will stay in Italy?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated, then continued. “There are so many unhappy memories linked to Ellsmere now that I’m not certain we could ever live here in contentment. We would be constantly reminded of so many things that we would rather forget—indeed, that we must forget, if we are to find peace.”

“But you must have many happy memories here as well,” I protested. “This has been your home, and your family’s home, for so many years.”

“I know, child,” she sighed. “I am not saying the decision is made. It is far from an easy one.”

“And what of the estate?” I pressed her. “Without Herron to see to it, Lord Claude’s presence is vital. Herron depends upon him to oversee everything for him.”

That brought pleased reminiscence to her face. “Yes, there is that. He has entrusted Ellsmere to Claude, and Claude will not lightly reject such an overture. It was splendid of Herron to make such a gesture, and Claude knows it well.” She spread her hands. “We shall see; I cannot say now what will happen.

“But before we part,” she added in a different tone, “I have something for you. I was not entirely honest when I claimed that I came here because I could not sleep; I had another reason as well.” From the voluminous folds of her peignoir she produced a small box, which she handed to me. “I wanted to give this to you before I left. Somehow the right moment never presented itself today.”

I gasped when I opened the box: nestled inside was an antique brooch of the Reginald coat of arms, enameled and set with jewels. Enclosing the coat of arms was a round border on which tiny diamonds spelled out the family motto. I gazed at it in wonder for a long while before I could tear my eyes away to look back at the duchess.

“It belonged to the first Duchess of Ellsworth,” she said. “She gave it to her daughter-in-law on her wedding day. When I was married it became mine, and now it is yours.”

“But, ma’am, it is not for me to have. I am not the next duchess, nor ever will be—”

“It belongs to whomever I give it to, and I want you to have it.” Softly, distinctly she added, “It is small enough thanks for saving my son’s life.”

The room went very quiet. All I could hear was the gentle crackling of the fire. Not daring to look at her, I found myself staring at the motto that encircled the brooch. To be, rather than to seem. I thought how ill suited any of us was to wear it: all of us at some time had seemed one thing and been another.