He hurried off and Ariana and Ethel went downstairs.
“That must be why Lord Kynaston’s living at Lady Cawle’s,” Ethel said.
“But why sell? This place had probably been in his family since it was built.”
Ethel had no answer to that. They went into the cloakroom, where Ethel took down Ariana’s pelisse and helped her into it.
Ariana answered her own question. “He’s probably squandered his all, like the owner of the Egyptian artifacts. That would explain him living abroad as well. Any number of people are doing so for cheaper living, even one of the Regent’s brothers.”
“Idiot wastrels.”
“The end of the war has created unanticipated problems, even for the more careful,” Ariana said, pulling on her gloves, then realized she was inventing excuses for Kynaston. “Nothing excuses bad manners, however. The wretch has abandoned us.”
“Some people are very afraid of death.”
“An ancient mummy is no more threat than a graveyard.”
“Some don’t like to pass near a grave,” Ethel said, but then added, “His greatcoat’s still here.”
Ariana saw that was true. “Lurking after all?”
She was tempted to leave without him, but supposed she should make a minimal effort. She went into the hall and checked the nearby rooms. A half-open door led into the reception room, which had been abuzz with talk earlier. It was unoccupied now.
She opened a closed door to find a conventional dining room. The next door opened into a library. The shelves were half-empty, but a number of unopened boxes on the floor could hold books. She immediately wondered what treasures they contained, but she’d found the lurking wretch.
He was lounging in a chair to her left, looking completely at home, legs stretched out toward the fire. Clearly he’d not hesitated to order service as if he still owned the place. He had a glass in his right hand and a decanter stood on a table close by. If it had been brought to him full of wine, he’d made inroads.
At her entry he looked around; then he put down the glass and stood with a lazy grace that denied inebriation. “You’re ready to leave, Lady Ariana?”
“If it’s not too inconvenient, my lord.” Ariana allowed herself sarcasm, but resisted an urge to criticize his drinking.
It must have been upsetting to see one’s family home in the hands of another and so drastically changed. The threat to Boxstall had driven her here to London in search of a husband. Her success would lose Boxstall to her forever, but her home would be preserved.
He accompanied her out of the room and went to the cloakroom for his outerwear.
In a turmoil of emotions, Ariana tugged the bellpull hard and heard the jangle below. Perhaps she’d sounded impatient, for the young man who hurried up was still shrugging into his jacket. Given the order, he dashed out. Kynaston joined Ariana and Ethel in the hall, but he made no attempt at conversation, so neither did she.
The servant returned. “Coach’s here, milord!”
Kynaston gave him a coin and they went out. He instructed the driver to take Ariana and Ethel to Albemarle Street, handed them in, and joined them, and the coach set off.
The silence continued. Ethel never chattered when Ariana was with other members of the nobility, and Kynaston looked fixedly out at the passing streets. He might as well have shouted that he didn’t want to talk about anything.
Ariana let him be. He was probably contemplating the road to ruin that had led to the loss of his house and who-knew-what-else.
His primary country estate would be entailed and thus safe, but he could have sold off any contents that were legally free. Secondary estates would have gone. She could only hope they’d been purchased by better landlords who’d take care of the tenants and laborers as he doubtless had not.
Did he have family who’d been dragged down with him? A mother, brothers and sisters? She should have been furious at him, but instead she felt the ache of threatening tears. She’d known, even at a raw seventeen, that he might be heading for disaster. That such a glitter could not last. Or was that simply the wishful thinking of the outsider?
The rich must be miserable.
Luck must run out.
Beauty will fade.
In fact, the poor were more often miserable than the rich; some people lived blessed lives even without doing anything to deserve them; and though the bloom of youth passed, some people were beautiful all their lives, through good bones and graceful movement.
Kynaston was an example. As he was turned away, she felt able to study him. Despite his ruined life, his features were still classically fine, and the years had added strength. He could model for a marble bust of a god. Apollo, she thought, remembering a bust of the god at Boxstall. A noble head set perfectly on a strong neck, curls on the brow.
