The Mad Herringtons, page 6
“Why as an Italian?” She followed his reasoning but not his conclusion.
“Lord, Ditie, it’s a lark. Just a lark.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I planned to get sick, just pretend to, before you arrived, then stay in my room until we could figure out what to do. As Geoff said, we didn’t expect you until much later.”
“We left London earlier than . . .” Aphrodite stopped, refusing to be distracted from the subject of his misconduct, as her siblings were prone to try. “Aski, have you ever seen an Italian?”
“No, but I think I look bang up.” He patted his hair and straightened the green jacket.
“Have you ever spoken to an Italian?”
“No, but Geoff’s aunt once had an Italian dance master, and he told me all about him, how he dressed and how he talked.”
“What did you do to get your hair so curly?” She stood to pat his ringlets and watched them spring back from her touch.
“I put it in papers every night. I swear, I don’t understand how you girls can sleep in those things. They hurt.” He rubbed his scalp.
“And the ribbons around your head?”
“That was my idea. Geoff said that Italians are flamboyant. I thought they made the disguise more authentic,” he said with a toss of his head.
“Italians don’t wear bands on their heads, Aski. You’re thinking of the Romany. They tie ribbons around their heads and carry tambourines.” Her voice became so loud that, when she turned to look at the group on the shore, she saw they were looking toward the summerhouse. Oh, dear, she never shouted.
“You look absurd,” she said in quiet tones. “You’re not fooling anyone.”
Aphrodite looked back at the party on the shore. They were sneaking covert looks at the length and the animation of the conversation between Lady Aphrodite and her old family friend. It was time to return.
“Meet me tonight so we can talk about this more. On the steps in front of the house at midnight.” She started to leave the summerhouse.
“Ditie, when do Mama and Papa arrive?”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Mama and Papa have gone to the country.”
“Why didn’t they come with you, Ditie?”
“Why do you think, brother?”
“Not again! Is that all they do?”
“I would guess. Now, why don’t you stop this ridiculous deception and just be a guest?”
“Don’t you understand, Ditie? I can’t. Someone will tell Papa, or it will get back to the magistrate that I’m here. We’re not that far from school.”
“For heaven’s sake, Aski, no one’s going to tell Papa that you’re here. The reason you don’t want to shed the disguise is that you’re having such a wonderful time.”
The words could be the motto of the Mad Herringtons: I’m having great fun. Don’t interrupt an adventure.
Chapter 5
Mrs. Horne hunched over the table, dripping gravy on her stained white ruffles and dribbling wine down her immense chest. On her right sat Aphrodite, the guest of honour; to Mrs. Horne’s left was Warwick; her son faced her at the other end of the table. On Aphrodite’s left was Fothergill, a quiet young man who ate silently.
On each side sat ten other guests. At the far end, close to Frederick, sat Asklepios. Next to him sat the squire’s younger daughter, Elsie, a vivacious dark-haired miss not even out of the schoolroom. Aski flirted with her outrageously. Did anyone in her family ever flirt in any other way? Aphrodite asked herself. He’d changed his headband to a floral creation with golden baubles. When he flung his head back, the ribbons danced and the spangles bounced and glittered.
Four chairs down the table from her sat Terpsi, another problem. Aphrodite’s unconventional sister stared at Warwick with a smoldering gaze. The viscount, however, pretended he didn’t see her, chatting with his dinner partner or attending to his meal or drawing Mrs. Horne’s attention from Aphrodite with a question.
Terpsi changed her tactic, flirting with the gentleman to her right, a Mr. Hugh Ridley, a friend of Mr. Horne’s since childhood. A pleasant young man, a little plump but amiable and with a lovely estate in Sussex, Aphrodite had heard.
Her sister’s neckline dipped to such an immodest depth that Aphrodite feared her sister’s vast bosom would tumble out. Although most of the men at the table watched the delicate balancing act with rapt attention, Warwick kept his eyes firmly fixed on the head of the table and disregarded the signals Terpsi hurled toward him.
When she realized Aphrodite watched her, Terpsi rolled her eyes toward Aski and smiled. Aphrodite knew her sister considered the Italian disguise a marvelous lark and would never say a word.
At least Athena was behaving herself. She was five seats to the right of Warwick and recognized the futility of attracting him at such a disadvantage. Nor had she noticed Aski. Since Athena’s recent and unfortunate experience with the son of an impoverished French noble, she had little romantic interest in foreigners.
After she ascertained that her family would not cause too much embarrassment, Aphrodite turned to her hostess. She discovered that conversation with Mrs. Horne was impossible. The older woman slurped and belched, tore her meat from the bone and chomped on it. When she saw a morsel she coveted on Aphrodite’s plate, she impaled it on her fork and shoved it in her mouth, chewing in openmouthed satisfaction.
“Who’s that demmed foreigner down there making such a cake of himself with Newton’s daughter?” Mrs. Horne demanded of Warwick.
“I don’t know him well. A friend of Susannah’s son Geoffrey,” he answered. “However, I believe Lady Aphrodite is acquainted with him.”
“Who is he, gel?”
“He’s from Italy.”
“Aah, an Italian. No wonder.” With that, Mrs. Horne returned to her food.
When Aphrodite turned to Fothergill, her dinner partner on the left, Mrs. Horne pounded on the table with her fist and said, “Gel, tell me about your family again.” And Aphrodite did, beginning to think of it as a nursery rhyme or a bedtime story. Indeed, the third time the crone demanded it, Mrs. Horne fell asleep with a spoonful of pudding halfway to her mouth before Aphrodite had even mentioned her brother Ares.
Aphrodite blinked and looked across the table, where Warwick smiled and nodded, then pretended to fall asleep with his head dangerously close to his pudding. She bit her lips to keep from bursting out in thoroughly unsophisticated and impolite laughter, but she could feel her lips quivering.
This is awkward, Aphrodite thought, attempting to be mature and kind. Poor woman, she’ll be mortified when she realizes she was snoring in front of her guests.
Aphrodite reached out a hand to awaken her when the viscount whispered, “No, don’t. She always does this.”
To the roar of Mrs. Horne’s snores, Aphrodite finished her gooseberry cream.
“Doesn’t she have a wonderful hearty appetite?” Frederick came around the table. “Mother, the ladies are ready to adjourn to the parlour.”
Mrs. Horne hoisted herself from the chair and, between two footmen, led the ladies to the parlour while the gentlemen finished their port. As Aphrodite left the room, she saw that Athena had not departed with the ladies but, with a smug grin, had settled in the chair next to Warwick. With a sigh, Aphrodite returned to the dining room, took her sister by the hand, and dragged her toward the parlour.
“Why would you dare stay with the gentlemen? The only female there! Athena, you behave like a wanton,” Aphrodite whispered.
“What’s wrong with being a wanton?” Athena demanded and pulled back on Aphrodite’s hand like a spoiled donkey. “I like men.”
Aphrodite stopped. If Athena didn’t know what was wrong with being a wanton, she hadn’t the least notion of how to explain to the child. Instead, she grabbed Athena’s arm even more tightly and towed her down the hall.
As they entered the parlour, Aphrodite pushed Athena toward the two girls her age and looked around for Terpsi. When she spied her sister alone in a dim corner, Aphrodite sat down next to Terpsi. “Have you talked to Athena yet?” she demanded.
“Dear sister, I haven’t had time. I didn’t realize when we spoke that you would rush into this engagement and drag us off to this terrible woman’s house. I promise that I will talk to our sister.”
“Soon?”
“Yes, Ditie, soon. Now, did you wonder why I have settled myself in this secluded corner? It was not to talk to you. I’m waiting for Warwick and wish you would leave so he and I can have a private tête-à-tête.” She leaned back in the chair and arranged her robe.
“But I have something to tell you, about Asklepios,” Aphrodite persevered.
“Not now.” Terpsi shooed Aphrodite away. “Warwick has just come in.”
Aphrodite stood to move toward Susannah, but Warwick ignored Terpsi’s frantic waves and winks and took Aphrodite’s hand. “Lady Aphrodite, could we continue our unfinished conversation of this afternoon?” He led her toward two chairs as far from the fire and Mrs. Horne as could be found.
Aphrodite looked over her shoulder to where Athena and Terpsi glared at her. She shrugged and returned her attention to Warwick. “Of course, my lord. I wasn’t aware that we had not completed it.”
He allowed her to sit, then moved the other chair closer. “You were so deep in thought when we returned to the house that I didn’t get to ask you. You seemed to be delighted and a little surprised to see the conti. Is he an old acquaintance?”
“Yes, he is.” She paused for a long time. Good heavens, what should she say? “I’ve known him for many years.”
“How many years?” he queried.
“Oh, since he was a child. I even know his parents. They are like family to me.”
“Aah. Did you meet him in Italy?”
“No, no. He’s often been to our estate.”
“And how did your family become acquainted with him?”
“I really don’t know. My parents met him when I was but a child.” So far she hadn’t lied, but she could not divulge that the conti was her brother. How would she ever explain that to Frederick and his mother? How could she explain it to Warwick, the head of their family? Blast the Mad Herringtons. She was always the one left to clean up after their escapades.
“He’s a handsome young man, don’t you agree?” The viscount leaned forward as he spoke. His eyes held a glitter she didn’t understand but some part of her body did. She tingled.
“Yes, very handsome.”
“But, certainly his colouring is unusual for an Italian. Most are quite dark, and yet the conti has light hair and fair skin.”
“Yes, that’s not unusual. In his region of Italy.” Oh, dear, the prevarication had begun.
He leaned closer to her, his lips so near her ear she could smell the scent he used. Spicy, a little sharp, but very pleasant. More than pleasant. She had trouble concentrating on his question.
“He dresses eccentrically. I didn’t realize Italians dressed like that.”
She saw that sparkle in his eye, again. Certainly he wasn’t laughing, was he?
“I believe they do,” Aphrodite said. “He always wore bright colours when he visited us.” She looked down at her lap where, to her surprise, her fingers fidgeted, pleating the embroidered cambric of her dress. She folded her hands in her lap.
“And the ribbons around his head?”
“Oh, yes.”
His lips twitched. He knew she was lying, but she had to carry on with the charade by explaining, “I believe the ribbons are part of the . . . umm, traditional national costume, from his region of Italy.”
“I have visited Italy and never saw that style before. What part of Italy is he from?”
“It’s a very small region. In the mountains. No one goes there. It’s through a very narrow and dangerous pass. The . . . Vertotsi Pass. His people lead very isolated lives and are suspicious of outsiders.” She was breathless from the effort of so many lies. She wasn’t good at this. Would the interrogation never end?
“And yet, suspicious as the family was, they allowed him to leave this isolated valley, to visit your family in England?”
Her brain was becoming tangled. What had she said? “Oh, yes. My grandfather was a friend of his . . . of his great-uncle, whom he rescued from . . . from an avalanche. For that reason, they’ve always trusted our family.”
“Yes, yes, I can see why saving the great-uncle’s life would do that.” Warwick leaned back in the chair, and Aphrodite relaxed in relief until the dratted man continued. “But I thought he said he was Conti di Versanti, and yet you said the Vertotsi Pass. Was it not named for the family?”
She had thought the interrogation over and relaxed too soon. “Oh, you must forgive me. My Italian is atrocious. My tongue always gets tangled with all those vowels, and I never use his title. I always call him . . .” She stopped and searched her memory for an Italian name. “I call him Luigi.”
“Then if you are being informal with your friends, may I ask you to call me Thomas?”
“Oh, I’m informal only with Luigi. We’ve know him so long. My parents met him years ago so he’s . . . he’s like a brother to me.”
“How fortunate that your parents were able to make his acquaintance, when he lives in such an isolated part of Italy.”
“Yes, fortunate.” Aphrodite looked over her shoulder. Where were her sisters when she needed them?
“How, exactly, did they meet?”
Had she answered the question earlier? She couldn’t remember. She glanced at Warwick and surprised a smile, which he hastily stifled. “How, exactly, did they meet?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he repeated. “How exactly did they meet?”
Oh, she knew she’d answered this before, but the fabrications were running together in a brain overwhelmed by his presence and the unaccustomed strain of lying. She did it terribly, and she could tell by the look of irreverent amusement Warwick wore that he didn’t believe a word she said. “Oh, yes, my grandfather . . .”
Aphrodite never thought she’d be glad to see Terpsi but, when her sister swooped down on them, Aphrodite leaped to her feet.
“I was wondering—” Warwick stood as Aphrodite attempted to excuse herself. “My Italian is not good, but thought the word for ‘count’ is conte, not conti.”
“I believe in his region of Italy . . .”
“Ahh, yes, that isolated region again.”
Terpsi took Warwick’s arm and smiled up at him with a shake of her head. “Certainly the conti knows his own title.”
Aphrodite hurried away from him, delighted to leave him with Terpsi, who could handle fabrication so much more easily than she.
Drat the man! He knew something was havey-cavey. Well, so would anyone with any brain, but the others had politely accepted the fiction. She looked back over her shoulder and Warwick winked at her. The man had no manners.
She started toward Athena, but her younger sister’s eyes flashed as she stared at Warwick and Terpsi. Her mouth was a straight line. Well aware that this signaled an anger Aphrodite wasn’t willing to provoke, she looked for another chair.
Mrs. Horne beckoned to her, thumping the floor with her stick and shouting, “Gel!”
Oh, please, no, she said to herself. In answer to her supplication, a hand grasped hers and pulled her down on a bench against the wall.
“Please, won’t you sit with me?” Susannah asked. “Now that you’re about to join the family, I’d love to get to know you. Tell me all about yourself.”
After a comfortable coze, Aphrodite felt at ease enough to say, “I wonder if I might ask you a question? There is something that confuses me.”
“Of course. Whatever could it be?”
“I had thought that Frederick was an only child because his mother was unable to have more. From what I’ve heard, she wanted a large family.” She paused because, under normal circumstances, she did not possess the ill manners to ask the question she now very much wanted to pose. However improper it would be for a virgin and proper young woman to inquire, she had to know, for her own future. “Perhaps she lost some children at birth?”
“Oh, no. It is my understanding that, after Frederick was conceived, Uncle Bernard was pleased to have an heir and Aunt Matilda felt she had done her duty, well, they decided not to . . . oh, how do I say this? They decided to have no more children.”
“Oh.” Aphrodite considered this. “Is that possible?”
“Yes, although I can see how with your family that might surprise you,” Susannah said in a gentle voice.
“How did they do that?” Aphrodite wondered aloud.
“Oh, dear. This is difficult to explain to an unmarried woman. They decided not to . . . not to . . . be in the same bed together.”
“People do that?” Aphrodite’s voice went up an octave.
With a laugh, Susannah answered, “Not in all families, but, yes, within a marriage of convenience it is not uncommon.”
“Gel, come here.”
Aphrodite could no longer ignore the summons, especially with Frederick standing next to her and holding out his arm.
“Please excuse me,” she said to Susannah and turned toward the white toad. Could she live with her? She banished the question for the moment in the hope she could find something to like in Frederick’s mother.
“Your family’s loose,” Mrs. Horne said. “Look at that oddly dressed chit over there, flaunting her breasts at Warwick.”
Aphrodite couldn’t refute the statement. “I believe she finds him very attractive. Now, Mrs. Horne, why don’t you tell me about Frederick when he was young? I would love to know more about him.”
“All women find Warwick attractive. Don’t the gel know he’s seen more breasts than my chef? Don’t impress him. I don’t know why the gels flock to him. Don’t know what he’s looking for, but breasts ain’t it.” Mrs. Horne emphasized each of the last words with a nod of her head and the thump of her cane.
“Mrs. Horne, I imagine Frederick was a darling child. Do tell me . . .”
“And that younger sister. What’s her foolish name?” She waved her cane toward the group of young women.
