“Perhaps because you are so gentle. August guards you like any fierce gladiator, and your papa adores you and I doubt has ever spoken to you in anger. My life has been… different.”
Miss Falcon saw the wistfulness that came into her friend’s eyes, and her kind heart was touched.
Twenty years earlier, when Simon Lutonville was an impoverished younger son, living at the Manor on his brother’s charity but with no expectations of ever becoming the Earl of Collington, two friends had stood by him. One of these had been Mr. Neville Falcon, and it was through his good offices that Lutonville had been appointed secretary to Count Leonardo Paviani, then one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the world of finance. Lutonville’s gratitude to Falcon had kept the two families close for some years. Throughout her early childhood, Naomi had played with and adored Katrina, and had been teased by, and quarrelled with her domineering older brother. When Count Paviani returned to Italy, and Mr. Lutonville began to spend more time out of England than in it, he sent for his wife and two daughters, and the childhood friendship might have been forgotten had not Naomi and Katrina been faithful correspondents.
Remembering those letters and what she had thought to read between the lines, Katrina had seldom referred to the period of separation, and when she’d done so Naomi had been reticent and quickly changed the subject. Intuition whispered that her friend was troubled today, and reaching out to clasp her hand, Katrina asked, “Was it very bad, dearest? You never speak of those years in Rome.”
“Of course it was not bad.” Naomi’s head tossed upward, but then she met Katrina’s concerned gaze and her defences crumbled. She looked down at her plate and muttered, “It was horrid. I had lost you and—and all my friends.”
“Thank goodness that you had your sister, at least. Oh, la! I did not mean—”
“I know just what you meant, Trina,” said Naomi with a rueful smile. “And ’tis true that Joan and I were not close friends. Faith, but she gave me five years, and found me dull. Mama talked to me, but she never heard whatever I had to say. And Papa—well, you have seen how much he is changed.”
“Yes. But I had thought it was only since he became a peer and returned to England. Or that perhaps it was because—Well, August and I are not goodton.” She cut off Naomi’s immediate and angry denial by remarking quickly, “How very lonely you must have been. I suspected that was so at first, but later your letters made it sound as though you had such a jolly time.”
“After dear Count Paviani died and made me one of his principal beneficiaries, I had a—” Naomi shrugged. “Oh, I suppose ’twas a jolly time. Certainly, it was better than the first year.” She gave a faint, defiant smile. “Even if it did win me a reputation for wildness.”
Katrina said hesitantly, “Your parents seem to have kept you so very close at first. Did they not put a check on you when you—er—”
“Flouted parental authority at last and began to make some friends of my own? When I sang with the crowds going to the opera? Or danced with Prince diFaggioli in the Colosseum in my ball gown? Oh, no. Papa laughed and said that when one is rich one can do anything. Besides, he was by then much too busy with success—and his Roman birds of paradise. And Mama—” She paused and was silent.
Katrina had long judged Mrs. Lutonville a beautiful but selfish lady, who was proud of her handsome husband but had not the slightest interest in her children. After a moment she said carefully, “She must surely have enjoyed the sunshine.”
“That alone, I think. She was miserable because of Papa’s neglect of her, and very bored. When Joan married there was much to be planned, for it was a very large wedding, as you know. It gave Mama something to brighten her days, but—she soon lost interest. I sometimes thought she did not much care for being a mother. I wish she had…”
Katrina soothed, “Never mind, dearest. From what you wrote, Joan is quite settled in Rome. And although you have lost your dear mama, here you are safe back in England again, and only look, in less than a year you have become the Toast of London, and—”
“But I do notwantto be a Toast! All I ever wanted was to—” She checked again, then, gripping her friend’s hand very tightly said in a sort of desperation, “Oh, Trina, I do so envy you!”
With a gasp of astonishment, Katrina echoed, “Envy—me? Good gracious! Why? You are beautiful, admired, sought-after, and most comfortably circumstanced! How many offers have you received this year? A dozen? A score more like! I am ogled by the fortune hunters but few well-born gentlemen would offer more than a slip on the shoulder to a half-caste; the ladies tolerate me only for the sake of dear Papa; and I am—”
“You areloved,you silly goose! Do you not see? You are loved! For a while I thought—Butneverhave I known… that wonder!”
Suddenly, there was such grief in the green eyes, such a note of pathos in the halting voice that Katrina was struck to the heart, and said tenderly, “We love you, dearest. August and I, and my father also.”
Naomi blinked rapidly, and recovering her poise, reached for the jam and said with a rather shaken chuckle, “August thinks I am a scamp, as well you know. And why you or your dear papa should care for me, I cannot think, after the way my father has served you.”
“Youhave never been unkind to us. And as for your papa, ’tis true he has become perhaps too grand for us, but he is very proud ofyou,I feel sure.”
“As one might be proud of a possession. But I am not his possession, do you see?”
“No, no! I did not mean that kind of pride! He loves you, of course.”
Naomi sank her white teeth into the warm scone, then said a rather muffled, “Stuff!”
“Naomi!”
“Well, it is, and you know it. No, be honest, Trina. Were I to expire this afternoon and August carried the word to my sire, he would interrupt his card game long enough to say,” she lowered her voice and growled, “What’s that, Falcon? Begad, but ’tis a pity! Well, make your move, Abel! Don’t take all night, man!”
Katrina looked, and was, scandalised. Glancing up, Naomi brightened. “Aha! Your grimly guardian makes his entrance, I see.”
“In time to hear you behaving like any hoyden, as usual,” came a deep voice from behind her, and August Falcon lowered his long length into the third chair.
“August, dearest,” she cried gaily, reaching out to him in her impulsive way. “Faith, ’tis lovely to see you!”
With unfailing grace he touched her fingers to his lips, but said, “Rubbish! I think you cannot find it ‘lovely’ to see a ‘grimly guardian.’”
She did find it lovely, although at times she would have been hard pressed to explain why, for Falcon was not an easy man to like. Many women found him irresistible, but an early tendency towards sarcasm had deepened over the years, his caustic tongue alienating those few gentlemen in Society willing to befriend him despite his unfortunate birth. His unpopularity was increased by his immutable refusal to approve applicants for the hand of his sister. The contempt and finality with which he dismissed all comers, even gentlemen of breeding and fortune, had driven three stricken and insulted admirers to call him out. They had all recovered, but the speed and ease with which they were vanquished had discouraged others. And although he was by this time as disliked as he was despised, men trod softly around Mr. August Falcon.
