“How did you and Aunt Deveraux come out?”
“We were in the drawing room. She was telling me of a potion she used on a randy gentleman she did not wish to bed and it turned him, well, flaccid, but do not inquire into that, you wouldn’t understand since you are an innocent. Then my lady was suddenly on her feet, amazingly fast, really, and she was out of the drawing room in a flash, waving hercane. How did she hear you when I didn’t? It’s amazing and I do not understand.”
“I don’t understand either, but I am very grateful to both of you. Thank you, Finch.”
Cam started toward the drawing room to thank her aunt, kiss her powdered cheek and eat one of Mrs. Tartle’s scones when the wordtheoremflashed in her mind. Where had that come from? Where had she heard that word? Yes, she remembered. She learned all about the Pythagorean theorem from the math tutor her father had finally sent to teach her after she’d begged him long and hard. But it wasn’t Greek triangles she wanted to review, no, it was the wordtheorem—it was a wonderful word, a word with all sorts of possibilities, a word that sounded very scholarly and profound, like she was very smart when she said it aloud. But what exactly did it mean? She detoured to the small library, lovingly cleaned three days a week, all the tomes read according to Aunt Deveraux, all of the naughty ones many times, and she’d waggled her lovely plucked white eyebrows.
Cam pulled the dictionary from the shelf and looked uptheorem. It came from the Greek in the sixteenth century. It seemed to Cam nearly everything she didn’t understand came from the Greeks. She read through the definition and grinned—such a sophisticated word and yet its meaning was simple. All that was required to fashion a theorem was to look at something with your own eyes, observe it closely, record what it did, how it acted, and draw conclusions based on logic. And what was logic? It was nothing more than common sense. It was amazing. She’d just discovered that something she’d believed was beyond her ken, wasn’t. She could see, she could observe, she could draw conclusions. She’d watched Averil manipulate her father by sticking her bosom in his face. Observation, logic—and the end product was always her father’s capitulation. Her first theorem.
Cam closed the dictionary, shoved it back onto the shelf between a well-worn copy ofFanny Hilland Molière’s plays, and returned to sit in her comfortable chair in front of the library fire. She straightened the stem on her glasses, and pictured Alex in her mind. She would speak to him of theorems and invite him to go observing with her. He would think she was very smart indeed.
On the other hand, Alex hadn’t answered her note to him. Perhaps he was no longer interested in her. Perhaps he never had been interested in her, only very polite. He didn’t care. He’d forgotten all about her.
No, that couldn’t be. Cam rose, shook out her skirts, and up went her chin. No more pitiful helpless damsel. She was going to do something. She was going to read two scientific books in her father’s library, then she was going to hunt Alex down like a fox. She was going to impress him, demonstrate how smart she was, maybe teach him how to observe properly, and she would kiss him.
Cam told her aunt Deveraux about Alex, how she admired him and how he hadn’t answered her letter. Aunt Deveraux patted her cheeks and said at the top of her lungs,“YOU ARE A SPLENDID, VERY SMART YOUNG LADY. THIS HANDSOME YOUNG BUCK HAS NO CHANCE. MAKE ME PROUD AND BRING HIM DOWN.”
Six days later, Cam and Cilly left Bath.
CHAPTER 33
King’s Head
Vereker announced to the table at large, “I’m glad all of us are here. I’m pleased to say after our second lovely gathering last night, the entire neighborhood nearly all the way to Canterbury has had its curiosity satisfied. All welcomed Graham warmly.” He looked at his magnificent son, marveled at his mother’s brilliant blue eyes.
Eugenie said, “Of course many remembered you, Graham, and they were so very pleased and surprised you survived, so happy to see you home again after so many years.”
Vereker said, “Well, all except Marlin Cox. He’s still a worthless little trout-wit. He was always jealous of you when you were boys.”
“Marlin,” Graham repeated. “The young man who was very solicitous and—”
Vereker merely shook his head. “When you were a boy, you always made excuses for him, Graham, but believe me, what I said is true and he never changed.”
Donner said, “What I really appreciated was Cook’ssplendid boiled capon with oysters. I must say Lady Elsworth ate more than her fair share.”
Vereker laughed, shook his head. “If there is an oyster hiding in the neighborhood, Lady Elsworth will find it and pop it right in her mouth, always has since I was a boy. Her poor husband is always on the lookout for stray oysters.”
Strive as hard as he could, Graham couldn’t picture Lady Elsworth in his mind, eating oysters or not. Last night when she’d seen him, she’d leaned onto her toes and given him a kiss on the cheek. She then allowed him to bend over nearly double and kiss her parchment cheek.
His father continued to wax eloquent, so pleased he was until Eugenie swallowed a bite of her scrambled eggs, and said, “Several guests asked me if we had word of Simon. I had to tell them no, Papa.” Vereker felt a flash of numbing cold, felt that cold deep in his heart. He said only, “I am hopeful he will come home as did Graham. But for now, my heart is filled.” He raised his coffee cup. “Welcome home, Graham.”
Cups were raised, smiles radiated.
Eugenie set down her cup, cocked her head. “I wonder if Uncle Tally knows Graham is home.”
Vereker said, “You know as well as I do, Eugenie, Tally knows everything that is going on everywhere. If he’s interested, he will come. Otherwise we will see him for his monthly dinner, ah, it’s only in two days.”
Graham asked, “Who is Uncle Tally, sir?”
Eugenie sat forward. “His full name is Tallyrand Louis Xavier Hepburn, he’s thirteen years younger than Father and he’s quite eccentric since he got his head bashed on a rock as a young man fighting at Waterloo.”
Suddenly, no warning, Graham saw a flash of white, a sort of filmy white, like fine curtains, pushed about by an unseen wind. No, wait, the filmy white was being pushed about as if by shadows trying to come through. He strained to see but then all were gone, the shadows, the filmy white. Grahamwould swear in that instant he heard a faraway man’s voice calling out, but Graham didn’t understand. He froze. He knew it a memory trying to come through, an actual memory. About this Uncle Tally?
Graham realized his father was staring at him, his fork raised, now motionless. “Are you all right, Graham?”
“What? Oh yes, sir, forgive my inattention.” Graham cocked his head to the side exactly like his father, if he’d known it. “I’m sorry, but I have no memory of him.”
Eugenie never looked away from Graham. “You remember nothing? About anything? Anyone? Even Uncle Tally?”
