These then were Tiberius’ guests, and we made polite noises at one another as he completed the introductions. Just as he finished, Collins came to the door.
“Dr.Gresham and Miss Gresham,” he intoned solemnly. He stepped aside to permit the last pair to enter. Unlike the two couples who had travelled down from London, the doctor and his sister were clearly countryfolk by their dress, and I remembered the pretty cottage Merry had pointed out in the village. They were of similar years to Tiberius, well past the first flush of youth. The doctor wore his evening suit a little stiffly, the collar clearly chafing him, and he blinked at the assembled company as if nearsighted. He bore a passing resemblance to a common hare, with a twitching nose, slightly pink at the tip, and tall, slightly pointed ears. But he smiled jovially and greeted the others with warmth.
His sister, I judged, was a trifle more acidulous in personality. Her hair was threaded with silver and her cheekbones stood proud, as if time itself had whittled away all excess flesh. On Lady MacIver, such signs of maturity only served to heighten her sophistication, marking her a woman of the world. On Miss Gresham, they gave an air of dustiness, like a bit of mantelpiece china rarely polished and seldom appreciated. Her gown was half a dozen years out of date and smelt strongly of mothballs, which she had attempted to cover by a lavish application of violet toilet water. I saw Tiberius’ nose vellicate in protest as he bent over her hand, but his greeting was every bit as gracious as one he would have shown to the highest lady in the land.
“Timothy. Elspeth. I am so glad you could join us. You know my brothers, of course, but it is some time since you last met these three,” he told them, drawing their attention to the MacIvers and Count Salviati. Polite murmurs were exchanged on the part of the men, but it was Augusta MacIver who came forward with real warmth. “Of course. Dr.Gresham, I believe you were newly arrived in Dearsley when last we met. And Miss Gresham, you had only just come out,” she added, perhaps a trifle tactlessly. Elspeth Gresham must have nurtured matrimonial hopes if she had been brought out into society, and they had clearly been thwarted.
Miss Gresham gave her a stiff little smile in return. “You look very well, my lady. I see the years have been kind to you.”
Lady MacIver laughed. “It is you who are kind. I find more wrinkles every day.”
Tiberius stepped in once more to introduce Countess Beatrice, who inclined her head graciously. “How do you do?”
“Oh, an American!” Dr.Gresham said with enthusiasm. “You must tell me all about automobiles. I understand one of your countrymen has purchased the very first and I long to know more.”
The countess blinked a little at his exuberance. “I am afraid youhave the advantage of me, Doctor. I am unversed on the subject of automobiles.”
He tried manfully to cover his dismay, but it was obvious the countess had disappointed him deeply. “Never mind, never mind,” he murmured.
Tiberius completed the introductions. “Here is Revelstoke’s colleague, Miss Speedwell.”
We exchanged polite greetings, but I detected a distinct coolness in the physician’s. His ears seemed to twitch at the word “colleague.” “Indeed! A lady of science, are you, Miss Speedwell? What a singular thing. Can you imagine, Elspeth? How very extraordinary. A lady scientist!”
Elspeth Gresham’s thin lips stretched into a semblance of a smile.
“Extraordinary.”
Her tone was sour, and I did not know whether she bore an antipathy towards other women or was simply bashful of strangers, but I was grateful when Collins stepped in once more.
He raised his chin and in his most refined tones pronounced the words for which we had been waiting.
“Dinner is served, my lord.”
CHAPTER
12
As an unattached lady—and Tiberius’ unofficial hostess—I was led in by the viscount himself, with the Salviatis and the MacIvers following, Stoker partnering Miss Gresham, and the remaining bachelors bringing up the rear. It was a flagrant breach of etiquette, but I suspected Tiberius had his reasons.
“Oughtn’t you be escorting the countess?” I whispered to Tiberius as he escorted me through to the dining hall. “It would have been proper.”
“You know that nothing delights me as much as the improper,” he chided. “Would you care to be improper with me later tonight?”
He was merely japing—Tiberius had long since given up any serious attempts at seduction. But if his guests overheard, it might prove awkward.
I poked a stiff finger into his ribs and he gave a short cough. He grabbed my hand and dropped a kiss to my gloved palm. “The first rule of rough play is never to leave bruises, my dove.”
I suppressed a sigh as I took my seat at the foot of the table. Tiberius sat with the two married ladies flanking him, which left me tucked neatly between the count and Sir James, the two highest-ranking male guests. Stoker, Merry, and the Greshams were fitted in between. The table was a large one, spacious enough to accommodate our party of ten but small enough to make general conversation possible if we chose. It was heavily laid with starched linen embroidered with the Templeton-Vane crest. Several enormous candelabra wrought of Renaissance Italian silver and wreathed in creamy hothouse roses dotted the table. More milky roses were grouped in low silver bowls and still more filled a lavish display on a pedestal at the end of the room.
The countess gasped at the sight of the décor, for the walls were painted a striking shade of green and embellished with life-size figures of smooth white plaster. More plaster had been worked into vines and pilasters, and the effect was like walking into a living piece of Wedgwood.
“How magnificent!” she said, hand fluttering to the garnets at her throat.
Tiberius favoured her with a smile as everyone took their seats. “Thank you, Beatrice. My father designed it as an homage to a small dining room in the palace of Catherine the Great. He was a tremendous Russophile.”
“I know exactly the one you mean,” she assured him, and they launched into a discussion of their respective travels as the first course was carried in. Julien’s delectable food was complemented by vintage wines and pleasant conversation, yet as the meal stretched on, I detected undercurrents, small notes that seemed faintly out of tune, like a badly plucked string on a violin.
The countess continued to chat with Tiberius, and while I attempted to make conversation with her husband, the count’s manner often seemed distracted as his gaze lingered upon his wife. She dazzled, with an arch manner and a winsome smile that would have won a far less susceptible man than Tiberius. When she turned her charmsupon Merry, he blushed to the roots of his hair and ducked his head whilst she teased him gently.
