“A perfect Apollo” meant the epitome of manly beauty. The nobility of his high brow, the straightness of his nose, the fullness of his perfectly formed lips...
Kissable.
Ariana twitched away from that thought, looking away and praying Ethel wasn’t watching her and guessing her mind.
He was a ruined wretch! He’d been blessed with everything and thrown it away, probably to the ruin of his family, servants, tenants, and all. No wonder he feared death. He’d go straight to hell.
Perhaps that mummy had reminded him of some particularly vile betrayal of a charming young woman. If so, she hoped it had seared his soul and would haunt him all his days.
Chapter 5
When they arrived back at Albemarle Street, Kynaston separated from Ariana with only an inclination of his head, presumably to go in search of brandy to try to blank out his sins. She wished him joy of it.
She went to her room, took off her outer clothing, and washed her hands. Ethel was unusually silent and Ariana didn’t probe that. Instead, she went to join her mother and Lady Cawle in the small drawing room. She gave an account of her visit, but left out any mention of Kynaston’s distress or drinking. She’d not carry tales back to his aunt, and in any case, Lady Cawle must have been aware of all his faults. She was having to house him and hadn’t hesitated to be tart with him.
“I might like to meet this Mr. Peake,” Lady Cawle said.
“He’s somewhat eccentric,” Ariana warned.
“So am I. I would like to see the mummy you mentioned. I will ask him to bring it here.”
Ariana had already been thinking that Lady Cawleand her skirts would never get down into the basement, but this startled her.
“Do you think that appropriate?” she dared to ask.
“Whyever not?”
Clearly commanding others to fetch and carry was normal, so Ariana said, “It is a person, in a manner of speaking.”
“Then it, or she, should not be in a basement.”
Ariana had no argument to counter that. “I was told that Mr. Peake’s house was once Kynaston’s.”
She’d succeeded in surprising Lady Cawle. “This Peake has bought the Burlington Street house?”
“So it would seem.”
Ariana’s mother said, “How odd that he sell.”
“It’s on the fringes of the current fashion,” Lady Cawle said, “and he’s spent years traveling abroad, during which it’s often been rented out. We are to go to the theater tonight, Ariana.”
That was a clumsy change of subject. Lady Cawle didn’t want Ariana to know Kynaston was ruined.
“I thought I was to lie low until I have my fashionable wardrobe.”
“An early foray will be useful preparation and the theater won’t involve extensive mingling. You have one adequate gown.”
“I do?”
“Madame d’Estreville delivered your dark blue refurbished with black trimmings, as agreed.”
Ariana wished to object simply because she hadn’t been consulted, but she’d enjoy a trip to a London theater. Nothing outside London quite compared.
When she went to her room, Ethel already had the gown spread on the bed, and it did look well. The addition of black Vandyke lace on the bodice and at the hemmade the deep blue gown more sober, yet grander at the same time. Black gloves and slippers and all would be complete.
When she dressed that evening, Ariana added jet jewelry. She wanted nothing odd to attract attention.
Once she was ready, she considered herself in the mirror. Anyone who might remember her last visit to Town would find her much improved. Back then she’d been dressed in conventional pale shades, with too many frills and flowers. She winced at the memory of rosettes that had drawn attention to her big feet, but then buried that memory deep. Now she at least had dignity.
