12

After they had breakfasted, everyone drifted off to their own quarters to dress, with plans to reconvene for a tour of the formal rooms downstairs. Emmie had just selected an apple green reception dress, which had seen better days, when Lottie peeked in at the doorway of her dressing room.

“I wondered if you might be in need of a helping hand, milady,” she said hopefully.

“That would be very kind,” Emmie said at once, for she usually had Pinky’s help with out-of-reach fastenings.

Lottie bustled in at once and made unerringly for the few drawers that contained Emmie’s stockings and undergarments, making the selection for the day.

“Was it you that packed all my things away for me?” Emmie guessed. “Thank you so much. You must have been busy while I was fast asleep.”

Lottie beamed at her. “I always wanted to be a lady’s maid,” she confessed, “but, well, I never got a fair chance with—” She broke off her words in confusion and turned red.

“With my predecessor?” Emmie asked lightly. “You must not think I will be offended by your referring to such things. I am well aware that Lord Faris was married before.”

Lottie’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, yes. She took against me on account of I sometimes hum a tune under my breath when I’m not thinking. She said it was ‘an intolerable dirge’ and she would not stand for it, so I had to fall back on a chambermaid’s duties.”

“I see, what a pity.”

“But ’praps you won’t be so particular, milady. In which case I could have another shot at it.” She looked so eager that Emmie did not have the heart to refuse her.

“Do you have such a thing as a combing jacket, milady?” Lottie asked as Emmie seated herself before the dressing table.

“A what?”

“It is a garment specifically designed to be worn over your nightgown while I brush your hair,” Lottie explained. “That way, any shedding will not get on your clothes.”

“Oh, I see. No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Emmie admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned such a thing, not even during my London season.”

Lottie looked rather crestfallen at this news but when Emmie informed her that she was expecting the imminent arrival of new clothes from a fashionable modiste, she perked up a little. “Doubtless, she will have made you one, milady, if she knows what’s what,” she opined with confidence. “And a nice sacque gown for you to wear during your morning toilette.”

The neat maid cast a somewhat disparaging look over Emmie’s nightgown. Oh dear , Emmie thought. No one was impressed with her nighttime attire but after all, it had never been intended for such scrutiny! She hoped Madame de Flores had included a sacque gown with her trousseau or Lottie would be most disappointed. “Possibly,” Emmie responded cautiously. “I sort of, well, gave her free rein over the contents.”

“And if she has not, you can always write to her and order one, now she’s got your measurements,” Lottie said blithely.

“You seem very knowledgeable about a lady’s toilette, Lottie,” Emmie commented as the young woman started sectioning out her abundant hair in a businesslike fashion.

“Yes, milady. I was properly trained by her ladyship’s—I mean the former Lady Faris’s original French maid, Eloise. She always intended returning to Paris but when both replacements from France did not suit, she trained me and Eliza from scratch in the hopes that one of us might do in her stead.”

“What happened to Eliza?”

Lottie’s expression soured. “She’s still with our old mistress now, so far as I know. Took her with her, her ladyship did. She preferred the way Eliza executed an Apollo’s knot.” Lottie sniffed. “I expect she’s living godlessly on the Continent now,” she continued disapprovingly. “Always had a flighty streak did Eliza Simpkin.”

“Oh, I see,” Emmie said, vaguely aware that an Apollo’s knot was a popular hairstyle. “Well, it turned out fortunately for me in any case,” she said placatingly.

Lottie’s expression brightened. “Yes, milady, thank you, milady,” she said, her quick, clever hands braiding a section of hair which she then wound about Emmie’s head like a riband, coaxing a series of drop curls to frame Emmie’s face, spraying them finely with water. “You could do with a pot of nice waxy hair pomade, milady,” she commented.

It was true that while Lottie worked, her mouth full of hairpins, she did hum rather tunelessly under her breath, however Emmie found she did not really mind it. Once the front of her hair was arranged nicely, Lottie did up the back in a professional-looking chignon.

“That looks very well indeed,” Emmie exclaimed as Lottie angled a mirror to show her the full effect.

“Some flowers might be nice for decoration, milady,” Lottie suggested tactfully, and Emmie realized her hair accessories were not up to the expected standard. “If you were agreeable to my doing your hair again, I could always bring some with me,” she offered.

“That would be lovely, Lottie, thank you.”

Once fully dressed, Emmie hurried down the corridor to find the sweeping staircase leading down to the hall. She had been tired the night before and the dim lighting had not shown just how high the painted ceilings were or how detailed the marble friezes that decorated the walls.

Without thinking, she found herself slowing to a more reverent pace, as though in church, and trying to make as little noise as possible as she crept down the steps. Rounding the final bend, she spotted Teddy, dressed quaintly in a frilly shirt and knee breeches, sitting on the third step from the bottom.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You took an age. Are you ready for your tour?”

“Yes indeed,” Emmie responded at once. She glanced about at the quantity of marble statues thronging the hall. “Where is your father?”

“He’s not down yet. Why are you whispering?” Teddy asked.

“Oh, sorry, I did not realize I was.” Emmie cleared her throat. “Why is your Cupid playing with snakes?” she asked, pointing to a nearby statue, hoping to distract him from her awkwardness.

“That’s not Cupid, that’s Baby Heracles,” Teddy answered promptly.

“I have heard of him,” Emmie admitted, “but the picture I have in my mind is of some bearded brute bulging with muscle, not an infant.”

“Yes, we have one of him like that in the long gallery, wrestling with the Nemean Lion.”

“He was much prettier as a baby. No wonder the snakes like him.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Teddy said doubtfully. “His stepmother sent them, you know, to destroy him in his crib.”

“Good gracious! Did she really?” Emmie peered closer at the statue’s serene expression. “I take it her wicked plan went awry. The child does not look remotely distressed.”

“No, because it was too late,” Teddy explained. “He had already gained godlike strength from drinking his stepmother’s milk. She was a great goddess and was tricked into nursing him at her breast when he was a newborn.”

Emmie blinked. “So, his stepmother…?”

“Was Hera, queen of the gods. Heracles was named in her honor. His name means ‘Glory of Hera.’”

“That’s rather sad,” Emmie remarked, looking at the chubby alabaster baby. “I suppose they named him that in order to placate her. Were they ever reconciled?”

“Oh yes, after he died.” Emmie’s confusion must have plainly shown for Teddy continued, “Only his mortal side died. His immortal side ascended to Olympus where he and Hera were reunited. In the end she let him marry one of her daughters, I forget her name,” he said airily.

“Hebe,” Jeremy supplied, arriving at the step above them.

“Oh yes, that was it,” Teddy said vaguely as Emmie’s eyes widened, taking in Jeremy’s appearance.

This must be what he wore when relaxing in the country. How silly, that she had somehow expected him always to wear elegant frock coats and trousers of the palest, most delicate shades. Today, he was dressed simply in a burgundy waistcoat and shirt with nankeen trousers.

Noticing her abstraction, he glanced down at his ensemble. “You approve I hope, Ballentine?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

Emmie flushed. “Of course! You are always impeccably turned out, my lord,” she said, embarrassed she had been caught staring.

Teddy tugged at Emmie’s sleeve. “Don’t you think, Mama, that it would have been better if Baby Heracles had tamed the snakes his stepmother sent instead of strangling them?”

“I do,” Emmie agreed at once, glad of the distraction. “Then he would have had pet snakes. Only think how impressive a baby with pet snakes would have been. I daresay his nurse would have fainted on the spot.”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve always thought so. I’ve named these two Fang and Fitz,” he said, stroking the stone snake heads. “Heracles could have given Fitz to his twin brother, Iphicles. Then they would have had a snake apiece.”

“Heracles had a twin brother?” Emmie asked with interest. “Why am I only just hearing of this, and why, pray, do you not have a statue of Baby Iphicles?”

“Because,” Jeremy interrupted, sounding amused, “Iphicles was a mere mortal child and not the son of a god. He cried when the snakes appeared and was entirely useless in subduing them.”

“But wouldn’t that have given the statue a pleasing asymmetry?” Emmie protested. “One baby laughing and playing with the serpents, the other crying and cringing away from them.”

“The baby did not play with the snakes until they were dead,” Jeremy pointed out dryly. “The two of you are creating a wholly new fiction around snake-taming babies.”

“A jolly fine fiction,” Teddy put in. “I’m going to pretend that’s what really happened from now on.”

“So am I,” Emmie decided. “It’s a far superior story. Perhaps the stepmother really sent the snakes to be their pets all along, and the gesture was simply misunderstood. Stepmothers are always doing rotten things in stories. I suspect they are much maligned.”

“Hera was not precisely Heracles’s stepmother, and she was nothing at all to Iphicles,” Jeremy objected, frowning faintly. “You two seem to be deliberately confusing the issue.”

“What do you mean, she was nothing to them?” Emmie asked. “Did she not nurse them at her breast? Did she not give Heracles his fantastic strength?”

“She did not nurse Iphicles,” Jeremy responded firmly. “And why are we loitering on these steps instead of proceeding into the hall?”

Hastily, Emmie descended the last few steps and Teddy slipped his hand into hers. “Let’s us two pretend that was so, Mama,” he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. Emmie nodded in perfect agreement.

“You should not indulge him in these flights of fancy,” Jeremy groaned. “His knowledge of the classics is already sadly patchy.”

“I’m afraid it is too late,” Emmie said, lifting her chin. “For I have already decided to be a very encouraging sort of stepmother. Besides, I think his imaginings quite charming.”

“You just wait,” Jeremy warned but there was a smile playing about his mouth while Teddy looked smug.

Emmie turned about to cast her eye over the grandeur of the magnificent hall. The floor was of black and white marble and the ceiling, which she had noticed the previous night, illustrated with the pantheon of Mount Olympus. All about were strewn various treasures displayed on ormolu decorated tables with elaborately carved legs.

Feeling rather overwhelmed, Emmie turned instead to the nearest portrait. “And who is this imposing gentleman?” she asked.

“That,” said Jeremy, “is my father, the fourth viscount.”

Emmie’s interest increased. “He looks rather formidable,” she said, noticing the sitter’s dark good looks and sardonic expression.

“Papa looks nothing like him, does he?” Teddy chimed in.

“No,” she agreed, sneaking a look at Jeremy’s blond perfection. “Not at all.”

“You shall see who does when you meet my uncle Nye,” Teddy promised.

Emmie briefly wondered what this relationship was that Jeremy had promised to explain at some later point.

“Let me draw your attention to the first and third Lords of Faris,” Jeremy said, moving on and gesturing toward a couple of busts sat atop two Roman-style plinths. Emmie joined him and studied their profiles in thoughtful silence.

“That’s not what their hair was really like,” Teddy hastily explained. “They wore wigs in those days,” he added disapprovingly.

Emmie turned back to Jeremy. “I think you have inherited the third viscount’s nose, my lord.”

“Do you think so?” He stepped up to the plinth and turned his head obligingly so they could compare.

“The very nose!” Emmie pronounced and even Teddy looked impressed.

“No one has ever noticed that before,” he remarked, “have they, Papa?”

Emmie looked around. “But where is the second viscount?” she asked, for she could not see another.

“Not here. You will see him shortly,” Jeremy explained. “He elected for a family portrait rather than a sculpture. He’s in the dining room.”

“Ah, a family man, was he?” Emmie mused. “I see you must also resemble the second viscount, at least in outlook if not in appearance.”

A fleeting look of surprise crossed Jeremy’s face, but he bowed slightly as though in acquiescence, and they proceeded from the hallway into the state dining room, which again, was a very grand affair.

Its red damask walls were covered in heavy gold framed portraits. “We have several pictures of Queen Anne here at Vance,” Jeremy said gesturing to one of the last Stuart monarch which dominated one wall of the room.

“Because she raised your family to the peerage,” Emmie recalled.

“Exactly so.” He looked pleased she had remembered this detail.

“This is the second viscount,” Teddy announced, halting beneath a large painting showing a bewigged nobleman sat on a chair and surrounded by daughters playing various musical instruments. To his right, the viscountess sat proudly displaying the long-awaited heir in her lap.

“The baby looks rather like a girl,” Teddy said critically, “but that’s actually the third viscount, Charles Augustus. The one you said has Papa’s nose.”

“And he had four older sisters,” Emmie counted. “What a lucky boy!”

“By all accounts they were most devoted parents,” Jeremy said.

“What happened to all of the children?”

Jeremy grimaced. “Maria died of smallpox at age sixteen, Elizabeth married a second cousin and died in childbirth, Lydia remained at home to look after her aged parents and we’re not entirely sure what happened to Hannah. She was struck out of the family bible, so it seems there was some scandal that was hushed up. Possibly she went overseas.”

“She ran away to become a pirate,” Teddy supplied. “That’s what I would have done if I was her.”

“Which one was Hannah?” Emmie wanted to know. Jeremy indicated the youngest daughter, an impish-faced child dressed in primrose yellow. “Yes, I feel sure you’re right,” she said to Teddy. “Something about the way she handles that lyre tells me she could brandish a cutlass with equal aplomb.”

Teddy giggled. They had moved on to the fireplace at this point and Emmie admired the large stone nymphs that stood either side, holding up garlands which hung down from the mantel. “Why, they are as tall as you are, Teddy,” she remarked.

“The ceiling in here is considered particularly fine,” Jeremy said, drawing her attention to the detailed plasterwork all gilded in gold.

“You cannot take all of your meals in here,” Emmie marveled. “It is far too grand for everyday dining.”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed, “there is a breakfast room on the second floor, which can be used for informal dining.” The vague way he said it, though, sounded as though he had never personally done such a thing.

“When it is just the family, you mean?” Emmie enquired.

Jeremy and Teddy exchanged conspiratorial glances. “Papa often takes afternoon tea in the nursery with me,” Teddy volunteered. Once again Emmie was forced to reconcile these new impressions of Jeremy with her own preconceptions. She would never have expected him to take nursery tea with his son most days.

“I know you do not take breakfast, for you told me the fact,” she said slowly, “but where do you usually take your evening meal, my lord?”

He shrugged. “Whichever part of the house I happen to be in,” he supplied.

“He has a tray,” Teddy put in helpfully. Jeremy sent a quelling glance at his son and Teddy retreated to fiddle with the drawer on a large sideboard.

Emmie’s attention wandered back to the fireplace. “I always thought nymphs would be a good deal svelter than those two,” Emmie admitted, her eyes dwelling on the substantial forms of the stone figures.

“Why?” Jeremy enquired.

“To escape all those lusty gods,” she answered immediately. “They look too hefty to be fleet of foot. I can’t imagine that Apollo, or whoever it was, would have much trouble chasing them down.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I daresay my ancestor had similar tastes to my own.” His gaze transferred from the marble nymphs to rest on her appreciatively. Emmie cleared her throat, and he glanced toward Teddy, who was headed back toward them.

“Let us proceed,” he said, and they passed next into the music room, which was decorated in pale green, housed several instruments, and looked out onto the south lawn.

Emmie’s favorite thing, though, was a series of charming miniatures in display cases, which depicted various daughters of the house dating from Tudor times right through to the second viscount’s daughters.

“Oh!” exclaimed Emmie, leaning forward to examine them closer. “Please tell me you have a miniature of at least one of your resident ghosts!”

Jeremy laughed. “But of course! We have both,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her toward a second case of miniatures. “Allow me to draw your attention to Mistress Mary Vance, and next to her, Mistress Frances.”

“They look the same to me,” Teddy said disparagingly. He drifted over to the pianoforte and started plunking on the keys.

“Which was the spinster sister?” Emmie asked, looking from one to the other. Both had white oval faces, light brown hair, and rather hooded eyes.

“By all accounts that would be Frances.”

Both sisters wore matching French hoods, though Frances’s dress was green, and Mary’s a rather murky red. There was not much else to differentiate between the two, other than their jewelry. Lady Frances wore a gold chain around her neck and Lady Mary a pearl brooch upon her bodice.

“I suppose I will only ever have the option of seeing Lady Frances, for I am already married, am I not?” she concluded at last. “And she betokens ill fortune, I think you said? Or was that the other?”

Jeremy looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid my experience was highly unusual, for I saw them both, walking side by side. Popular opinion has it that Mary heralds marriage, and Frances misfortune, but like I said, it can be hard to realize which of the two you saw unless you have a keen eye.”

“I see,” Emmie said thoughtfully.

Jeremy excused himself and, turning abruptly, told Teddy to stop creating such an infernal racket. “Is it too much to hope that Miss Pinson could resume his music lessons anytime soon?” he sighed in a swift change of subject.

“Oh yes, she is quite competent on the pianoforte.”

“Well, thank heaven for small mercies. Did you hear that, Teddy?”

Emmie thought Teddy looked far from pleased by this news. Carefully shutting the fall board, he made his way over to them and leaned against his father’s legs.

“Library next, Papa,” he prompted.

“Yes, library,” Jeremy agreed, resting a hand fleetingly on his son’s curly head.