“The roof leaks.”
“Then to some other distant, rural stronghold.”
Ariana had to chuckle. “You’re sounding like a Gothic novel, but in that case I’m sure you can gather a force of trusty knights and lay siege to rescue your lady.”
He grinned. “This love business does make a fellow a bit silly. I don’t think Phyllis would think much of an armed assault.”
“You never know. Even the most serious-minded lady might be charmed by being treated as a damsel in distress just once.”
He nodded, standing straighter. “I’ll beard Kynaston tomorrow. Thanks, Sis.”
Ariana smiled tenderly as she watched him go to his room. This marriage could be the making of him. Her smile faltered, however, when she recognized a new problem. If the plan worked, she’d have Kynaston as a brother-in-law! How could she survive that and remain sane?
At best, Phyllis would be constantly mentioning him, speaking of his actions and breaking Ariana’s heart with worry over his road to ruin. At worst he would frequently visit Boxstall and torment her in the flesh.
Very much in the flesh.
This marriage business had all seemed such a simple matter once.
Had the gods laughed over her confidence that day at Boxstall?
•••
Ariana knew she should go to her room, but she didn’t want to face Ethel yet. Ethel had a way of guessing what was going on, or at least that something was going on. Ethel also had access to servants’ gossip, and heaven knew what had been seen and heard.
Below in the hall, servants were tidying up with busy footsteps and the occasional clink or clatter, but saying little. They must all have been tired and keen for their beds. There was a smell of wine, from the amount that had been drunk as well as some inevitable spillage, and even a whiff of pipe smoke.
She went quietly downstairs and to the back room that had been set apart for the gentlemen who enjoyed a pipe. It hadn’t been cleaned yet, so used pipes lay on the hearth and some tobacco had been spilled onto the table by the box. She picked up a little and smelled it.
Her father had enjoyed a pipe, but only in his study, never in the library, where the smoke could infiltrate the books. A wave of sadness made her blink against tears, and she wished desperately that he were here to advise her. What would he say about Norris and Phyllis, and about her own terrible impulse toward self-destruction?
He’d advise against marrying Kynaston, but he’d advise against marrying Sellerden as well, not for fear of hurting him, but to avoid anything lukewarm. He’d said as much once. They’d been reading Sappho, and some of the woman’s more passionate verses had embarrassed her. Stuff about a trembling heart, deep aches, and a flush of heat along the skin. Ah, yes, she understood that better now.
“That’s the truth, Ariana,” he’d said. “We dress itup in ribbons and lace, and some poets prate on about sweet smiles and tender hands, but you’ll find real poets address the power and fury of it. If there’s no fire and never the slightest touch of pain, it’s weak tea.”
That conversation had been years after her season, years after Kynaston’s cruel words, and she hadn’t recognized the fire and pain of that incident. Now she saw that it had hurt so badly because she’d cared so deeply, even back then. She’d had no hope or expectation of winning him, but she’d yearned with all her young, defenseless heart and soul, and probably unwittingly, he’d trampled on both.
Only a fool would let him do that again.
She brushed tobacco off her gloved hands and went back to the hall to go upstairs. Her mother came out of the dining room. “Not in bed yet?” she asked.
“On my way there. It went well, didn’t it?”
“Very well. I enjoyed arranging a Town party again.” Despite the late hour, her mother did look bright, and even younger.
“Did you ever do it before?” Ariana asked.
“Of course! In the early years I came to Town when your father did and entertained for him. Once you came along and then Norris, I generally stayed at home. I didn’t mind, especially as your father never stayed in London longer than he had to.”
Thoughts of fiery passions invaded, but Ariana pushed them aside. Despite her father’s words, she couldn’t think of her parents that way.
As they turned at the top of the stairs, her mother said, “You probably don’t remember the times we brought you and Norris here when you were young.”
“No.”
“Your father wanted to show you the wonders that London has to offer.”
“Now I do remember some things. A visit to Westminster Abbey?”
