“It matches well with your taste for the harpsichord. You do still play?”
“Yes.”
“And you love him. Why won’t he marry again? Grief?”
“In a way.” It felt like talking of a personal secret, and yet the whole world knew. “His wife died in childbirth. He’s determined never to put another woman at risk.”
“Oh. I can imagine how terrible that must be, but... it’s not practical, is it? The human race would come to an end.”
“I don’t think he’s arguing it for everyone, though in the current mood others might join him.”
“I very much doubt the whole nation has taken to celibacy,” Hermione said drily. “There is rather an imperative about it.”
Ariana knew what she meant, and for her it was only a half-sensed hunger. “Kynaston may have enough willpower to hold his course. The death of Princess Charlotte must have reinforced his intent. The wound is still very raw. Is there an unused bedroom here?”
“I believe so. At the back. Why? Are you planning to drag him there for a tryst? That might overcome his scruples. The imperative,” she added as explanation. “I sensed a strong interest in him.”
“You did?”
Ariana would have pursued that, but Hermione asked, “The unused bedroom?”
Best not to talk more about Kynaston’s interests, and Hermione needed to understand the problems. Ariana wriggled off the bed. “I need to show you something.”
They left the room, bearing the candle, and went to another door. Hermione opened it cautiously, but the room was empty and unused. The lack of fire made Ariana wish she were wearing a thick shawl. As soon as they stepped in, the candlelight illuminated Cleo.
“Oh, my,” Hermione said, moving closer.
Ariana went as well. She hadn’t anticipated the mummy’s effect in a simple unused room with nothing to prevent anyone from approaching and even touching.
“Be careful with the candle. The portrait uses a wax base, I understand, and it might be damaged.”
“She’s lovely,” Hermione whispered.
“And very like Kynaston’s dead wife.”
“She was Egyptian?”
“I don’t think these portraits were of Egyptians, or not entirely. The ones we know of come from the time of Roman rule in Egypt. Seraphina was Italian.”
“Seraphina?”
“Kynaston’s wife. I’m told they were a magical couple, seeming to be blessed by the gods.” Ariana took a step closer and put her hand on the mummy’s shoulder. She found only a cool, dry, rough surface. Cleo’s expression seemed to ask,What did you expect?
“I think I’m going mad,” she said.
Instead of protesting, Hermione said, “Love will do that. He can’t mourn forever.”
“People do, but even if grief passes, his resolve will not. I thought of a celibate marriage, but I doubt it could work.”
“So do I.”
“And as he said, what point in him marrying other than to get an heir?”
“Companionship,” Hermione said. “I would be very unhappy never to couple with my husband again, but I’d be even unhappier to be without his company and precious friendship.”
Cleo seemed to be listening with rapt attention. Had she loved? Had she married, borne children? Perhaps even died in the attempt.
“We’ve hardly spent enough time together to discover companionship,” Ariana said. “And nearly every encounter has been fraught and difficult. I should return to the company.” She made herself turn and leave the room.
