19

The accounts she had heard of the attics had not been exaggerated. They were indeed stuffed to the gills with past treasures. Tables and chairs and goodness only knew what were stacked and piled on top of each other. Emmie spotted a green malachite table almost at once that caught her eye. “I expect this is terribly heavy,” she murmured, even as she crouched down to inspect the clawed pedestal it stood upon.

“Well, some poor devil must have dragged it up here,” Jeremy observed. “If it takes your fancy then someone else can drag it back down again.”

“What about these, Papa?” Teddy panted, his head popping up from behind a rococo-style settee.

“No, really, Teddy, that is hideous,” Jeremy pronounced with disgust. “In any case, it looks as though all the stuffing is leaking out of the side.”

“Not the sofa, Papa. These! ” Teddy stressed, pointing excitedly to a pair of tall standing world globes.

“I believe those are Georgian,” Jeremy observed. “Your grandpapa used to have them in the library. By all means, we will take them if you think them suitable for our family dining room…” he said in somewhat doubtful tones.

“Mama?” Teddy deferred judgment.

“Oh yes, the very thing,” Emmie agreed at once. Jeremy narrowed his eyes at her but nodded toward the undergardeners, who started making their way gingerly over piles of furniture to collect them.

Emmie looked around for Pinky and found her gazing about with her mouth wide open. It was rather like a museum storage room. “Have you spotted a pianoforte?” she asked, stepping carefully over a crate of assorted china.

“Oh, er, I hardly like to, um—”

“Here’s one!” sang out Teddy.

Emmie and Pinky moved toward him. “I think that’s a spinet,” Emmie said, looking at the neat little instrument painted all over with flowers. “Am I right?” she asked, turning to her friend.

“I think so,” Pinky agreed. “But I am sure it is far too valuable a piece to be allowed to leave the house.”

“If you will have use of it, my dear Miss Pinson, then by all means you must take it,” Jeremy interrupted them. “Instruments are meant to make music and if I am not mistaken, that particular spinet has not been played in many a year. It was my mother’s.”

“Oh!” Pinky looked aghast. “I would not dream of such a thing, my lord! Emmie, you must play for his lordship on his mother’s instrument.”

“No, Pinky dear,” Emmie said firmly. “You must not allow your fondness for me to color your memories of my musical ability or lack thereof.” She looked at Jeremy and pulled a face. “I cannot carry a tune to save my life.”

Jeremy merely laughed, directing the undergardeners to retrieve the spinet, brushing aside Pinky’s feeble protests.

“Now, what else?” he pondered. “I think we must have some kind of seating to retire to if we are to dine on cushions.”

Eventually a wide pair of spoon-backed mahogany chairs upholstered in mustard velvet were settled upon, along with a large “conversation settee” in green damask.

“Why is it called a conversation settee, Papa?” Teddy wanted to know.

“You see those extra sections at each end?” Jeremy asked. “Separated by arms and a winged back? They are for the chaperones to sit in, to make sure that everyone behaves themselves.”

“Is that really what they are for, Miss Pinson?” Teddy asked Pinky, slipping his hand into hers.

“Oh yes indeed,” she agreed vehemently. “We used to have one in our front parlor at the vicarage. A very fine French one with fringing and carved legs. Now, do be careful and watch your step here, Master Teddy.”

“Anything else tickle your fancy, Emmeline?” Jeremy asked. “No? Just the malachite table?”

She nodded. “We could take those colored glass lamps out of my bedroom to put in there too. That might look effective. Oh, and how about a painting or two for the walls?”

“What sort of thing do you think would match our eclectic theme?” he asked, making for the nearest crate of picture frames.

“Do you have any exotic seascapes?” Emmie asked. “Or perhaps a scene depicting the bustle of a Venetian marketplace?”

Jeremy looked doubtful. “I think there is a rendition of the Spanish Armada here somewhere,” he said, rifling through the canvases. “What about this one of a nobleman lounging under a tree?” He turned it around to show her. “It looks Jacobean.”

Emmie wrinkled her nose. “Ancestor of yours?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Look at those turquoise tights. Only a Vance would think that appropriate tree-lounging wear.”

“I don’t like his beard,” Emmie objected, “and that collar makes it look like he has no neck.”

“It’s the angle he’s lying at,” he protested. “Besides, the fashion of the time was to look entirely neckless.” Emmie ignored him, making for the stack of paintings leaning against the nearest wall.

“What about this one of Judith removing Holofernes’s head?” he called after her.

“Sounds horrible,” she said over her shoulder without looking at it.

“My great aunt painted it. Judith is apparently a self-portrait, and the character of Holofernes was based on her first husband. Apparently—”

His voice faded as Emmie peered over the edge of the first canvas. Oh!

Suddenly he was at her side. “I forgot that was there,” he said ruefully, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back.

“It’s very…beautiful,” she said, catching her breath and gazing down at the portrait of Amanda Liversedge resplendent in a dazzling white gown, her blond hair piled up on her head in a large chignon. She had almost forgotten just what a lovely creature she was. Amanda was depicted with one arm draped gracefully over a large stone urn, while the other held a white rose to her decolletage. “ Ode on a Grecian Urn ?” she asked lightly.

“More like Isabella ,” he said, naming another poem by Keats. “I suspect she has Lorenzo’s head in that urn.”

Emmie frowned. “You are confusing Isabella with Judith,” she said firmly.

“I suppose I am,” he said dismissively. “But as a matter of fact, I never cared for that portrait. It used to hang in the blue salon opposite my mother’s portrait, but I relegated it to the attic after the divorce.”

“Is that what your father did with your mother’s portrait?” she guessed.

“Yes, actually. It’s quite the family tradition.” There was a faint edge to his voice. “Did you never give Stockton a miniature of yourself?”

“A miniature?” Emmie shook her head. “No, but if I had, I feel sure he would have returned it with my letters rather than sticking it in an attic somewhere.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You know, you never did give me back my letters to him.”

“I know. They’re in my room. You can retrieve them whenever you decide to beard me in my den.”

Emmie looked at him with surprise. Now, what did he mean by that? “You want me to—?”

“Oh, Emmie!” Pinky called. “Do look at what we’ve found! Such a pretty inlaid chest of drawers. I think it’s Louis XV.”

Emmie cleared her throat. “Just a minute, Pinky. We’re trying to find a picture.” She returned her gaze to Lady Amanda’s portrait, but she could feel Jeremy’s eyes were still fixed on her face. Swallowing, she reached for the next canvas which turned out to be a drawing of an industrial building with a huge wheel next to it and a great big chimney. “What is this?”

He glanced at it. “The design for a mine,” he said shortly.

“A mine?” Emmie was glad of the distraction. “One of your family was interested in industry?”

“That’s where most of the family wealth originates.”

“From industry?”

“From mines, specifically copper and slate. China clay, too, for a while, the stuff they use to make porcelain.”

“I never knew that!”

“Well, my family never precisely broadcasted the fact we were involved in trade.” He pulled a face. “Perish the thought! My father sold all the mines before his death. That, my dear, is why we are so very wealthy.”

“And you prefer racehorses.”

“I do.”

Emmie pondered this. “Are they considered more genteel than mines?”

He looked amused. “Possibly but that is not why I like them. Did I tell you that Nye is a prizefighter? Sporting blood apparently runs in our veins.”

“Papa! I like this one!” Teddy interrupted them from across the attic. With some difficulty, he hoisted up a colorful painting of a boy with a large green parrot sitting on his shoulder. The boy was wearing a large blue velvet hat with a high brim and holding a bowl of fruit from which he was plucking grapes to handfeed his bird.

“Yes, I like that one too,” Emmie agreed.

“Then it’s settled,” Jeremy said decisively. “Let’s get out of here before we are quite covered in dust. Iversen, can you help me with this table? Smith, grab that painting.”

In no time at all they had the room set up with its new trappings. They set the green damask sofa by the window and the spoon-back chairs, malachite table, and two globes against the opposite wall. The focus of the room was the low round table surrounded by large, plump cushions as it was set in the middle of the room. The tall Turkish glass lamps now sat on the mantelpiece and all around the hearth. When lit, they would cast colorful reflections all around the room.

“Look at that,” Emmie said, placing her hands on her hips and surveying their work. “Who needs room designers?”

Jeremy eyed the boy and his parrot painting critically. “Are we sure that picture is quite straight?”

Emmie considered it. “I think so, yes.”

Teddy was lolling on the green damask sofa next to Miss Pinson. “Helloooo? No one is chaperoning us,” he sang out, pointing to the extra seat on the end which was empty.

“Ignore him,” Jeremy advised.

“I think the Turkish lamps look particularly well in here, don’t you agree?”

“They do, though your bedroom may lack decoration now.”

“A colorful rug might be nice in here,” Emmie murmured, tapping her chin. “And perhaps a statue or two. This must be the only room in the house without any marble in it.”

“I think we need to replace the curtains,” Jeremy observed. “The green ones in here should be more emerald shade than sage.”

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

Emmie lowered her voice. “When we agreed to dine privately in here tonight, I quite forgot about Pinky.”

“Did you not tell me she was family also?” he replied with a raised brow.

Emmie flashed him a grateful smile. “Yes, that’s true.”

They ate their first dinner in the new setup that evening and did not even bother changing for dinner as it was “only family.” It proved a novel experience, sitting cross-legged while eating a five-course meal, and they were a merry party throughout.

The only person who seemed a little affronted by the lack of ceremony was Garraway, the butler, who certainly looked askance as he set down the tureen of vermicelli soup but that might have been because he had to bend down lower and had a stiff back. Emmie did notice that it was Colfax who brought in the next four courses ably assisted by one of the housemaids.

“I hope the cottage is coming along, Miss Pinson,” Jeremy said politely once the last course, a selection of Neapolitan cakes and a coffeepot, had been set down in the center of the table. “You must let me know if there is anything else we can help you with.”

Colfax, who was lighting the colored glass lamps, gave a significant cough, interrupting Pinky’s automatic denial. She colored hotly. “Oh! Er, that is, well, possibly the kitchen area could use a fresh coat of paint, my lord,” she said guiltily. Colfax turned around and fixed his gaze on her, his expression carefully blank. “And, er, possibly the front parlor,” she added nervously. “I think Mr. Somerton must have been a heavy smoker and, well…” She trailed off in embarrassment.

“In that case, I daresay the whole house could do with a lick of paint,” Jeremy said calmly. Colfax gave a slight bow of assent at these words. “I shall ask Wallis to see to the matter at once.”

“Oh dear, so kind, I do hope it is not too much of a bother—” Pinky dithered, dropping her napkin and becoming quite flustered.

“There’s a good deal of brambles and rubbish in the back garden too, Papa,” Teddy chimed in. “And a broken old cart is rotting to pieces in there. Mrs. Ennis, who lives in the cottage next door, told me that Somerton was a villain and up to no good half the time like as not.”

Pinky’s eyes widened. “Dear child—” she started in appalled tones. “My lord, I hope you do not think I encouraged—”

“Do not trouble yourself, Miss Pinson,” Jeremy interrupted her laughingly. “If there is any scandal, Teddy is sure to root it out. He has a nose for such things. I will have Wallis send some men around to sort out the garden for you too.”

“Oh, but I assure you, I mean to work on the garden myself!”

“And so you shall, but clearing the way is heavy work and must be done before you can make a start with your planting and so forth.”

“He’s right, Pinky,” Emmie said gently, and her friend became very emotional. Teddy passed her his handkerchief, and she dabbed her eyes with it and thanked them all again for their “great kindnesses” toward her.

“Let’s play an after-dinner game,” Teddy suggested. “I vote forfeits.”

Jeremy groaned. “This game gets very involved, and the rules change every time.”

“First I have to leave the room for two minutes,” Teddy said, clambering eagerly to his feet. “And you all have to put something small into the box…”

“What box?” asked Emmeline.

“Oh yes, we need a box,” Teddy said, casting about. “Wait, let me go and fetch one.” He ran from the room, whooping.

“What kind of small thing?” Pinky asked timidly.

Jeremy sighed. “A ring, a shoelace, a thimble, something of that kind.” He was already removing a signet ring from his little finger.

“Would this suffice?” Pinky asked, unpinning her cameo brooch.

“Amply.”

“What is the object of the game?” Emmie asked. “For him to guess who put what in the box?”

“Exactly.”

“Then you two have chosen extremely obvious items. He will identify you in a trice.”

“Some of us just want to get this over with,” Jeremy answered cynically.

“Not me. I intend to be very devious.” She rose from her cushion.

“Where are you running off to?” Jeremy asked, catching hold of her hand.

“To fetch my father’s pipe tamper; I kept it as a memento. I think he will like it. It is a brass one, in the shape of a booted leg.” He released her and she made for the door. “I won’t be a minute.”

“Well,” Pinky said, re-pinning her brooch, “if Emmie is going to enter into the spirit of things so wholeheartedly, my lord, then I think we must also rise to the occasion.”

Emmie did not hear Jeremy’s reply because she had already left the room, but when she returned moments later, he, too, was absent. He was back by the time Teddy had located a box fit for the purpose and great hilarity ensued for the next hour as an increasingly bewildering assortment of knickknacks were produced for each round of the game.

These included a tiny bottle of sal volatile, a stick of sealing wax, an egg-shaped trinket box, a brass button bearing the image of an anchor, and a piece of jet carved into the shape of a piglet. Teddy was quite giddy by the close of the game and begged to keep the pipe tamper in the hopes it could replace Carruthers’s missing leg.

Emmie doubted it would be a perfect match for the toy soldier but relinquished it in any case and Teddy bore it off with him when he went to bed.

“I hope that is not the only keepsake you have left to you of your father, Ballentine,” Jeremy said regretfully.

Pinky had retired to her guest bedchamber not long after Teddy, so it was just the two of them now sitting next to one another in the yellow spoon-back seats.

“Well, I sold anything of value,” she admitted. “His pocket watch and chain, his tortoiseshell cigar case, his cuff link collection.”

He was silent for a moment. “Do you want me to try and track down any of his former possessions for you?” he asked at last. “There’s a chance we could—”

“Oh no!” she interrupted him with a dismissive gesture. “Thank you for the kind thought, but that’s really not necessary.”

“I suppose you have letters of his, things like that,” he ventured.

Emmie shook her head. “No. I never kept anything of that sort.”

“No, I suppose you would not. You are not remotely sentimental, are you?” he said, and his voice sounded strange. “You did tell me that once before. Clearly, I was not paying enough attention.”

When had she said that? For some reason, his words discomforted her. He sounded almost…disappointed with her.

“How would you like to have a picnic lunch on our private beach tomorrow?” he asked in a sudden change of subject. “Just the four of us. It was a pink sky tonight, so, with luck, we may have sunshine tomorrow.”

Despite her sudden misgivings, her heart warmed that he thought to include Pinky in the treat.

“I should like that very much, my lord,” she said. “Will you be going down to the racing stables first thing? I only ask as Teddy wanted to show Pinky and me the maze in the morning, weather permitting.”

“Yes, that is my habit when in the country. I could meet you on the beach at midday if you like and arrange for Higgins to bring along the picnic hamper. Teddy can show you and Miss Pinson the way.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Well, then it’s a plan,” he replied smoothly. “Are you ready for bed? You’ve had a long day.”

Emmie told herself that she must have imagined that strange note of discord.