Chapter 4

 

 

Mrs. Horne looked like a toad. An enormous white toad, lurking on a huge green lily pad. Her eyes—tiny, bright and malevolent—glittered within the puffy white flesh surrounding and burying them. They followed Aphrodite’s every step across the room as if, any second, a long tongue would dart out from this creature and snatch her.

“Come here, gel.” When Mrs. Horne spoke, her mouth barely moved and no tongue issued from it, but with each word she rapped on the floor with a thick wooden cane.

More than anything, Aphrodite wanted to turn and flee when she’d just entered the room.

Aphrodite had arrived at Windwillow only minutes earlier in Frederick Horne’s well-sprung town coach. Her sisters and Mignon and the luggage followed in two of her father’s carriages. An odd itinerary, but Aphrodite preferred not to travel with her sisters because they always lagged two or three hours behind her in their preparations. When the vehicle stopped in front of the mansion, she was enthralled by its beauty. Soft pink brick with white trim reached far to the left and right.

“How lovely.” Aphrodite slowly descended from the carriage with Frederick steadying her with his hand. She turned to admire the lush green park in front of the house. “I want to see it all.”

“Later, Lady Aphrodite, later. My mother wants to meet you immediately.” Mr. Horne took her elbow and hurried her up the graceful front steps and through the door held by an impassive butler.

“I need to wait for my sisters and . . .”

“They will be taken care of. Don’t worry. But I’ve told Mother how much she’ll like you. You have a rare surprise ahead in meeting her.”

While her shoes tapped across the marble floor of the enormous entrance hall, Aphrodite turned to study the magnificence of the hexagonal entrance hall. A life-sized statue of a Greek god, tastefully draped, stood in each angle. The ceiling soared three stories, held up by six magnificent columns, and a curving staircase arose from the middle of the entranceway and floated and twisted to the top story. An imposing fireplace graced one side of the hall. Enormous paintings hung on the other walls. Aphrodite would have loved to examine the entire area, but Mr. Horne took her arm and hurried her toward the wide staircase.

“This is Morgan.” He gestured toward a young woman in a plain brown gown with a stiff white apron. “She’ll take you to your chambers now and help you refresh yourself. My mother will expect you in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Aphrodite gasped. “I don’t think I can be ready so quickly.”

“If you don’t hurry, Mother will be very disappointed. The darling can be so impatient when she has a treat coming. She doesn’t like to wait.”

Although the trip in Mr. Horne’s comfortable carriage had been short, Aphrodite still wished for an hour to wash off the dirt of the journey and change clothes. Not that her luggage had arrived, but she knew her hair needed care. She barely had time to reach the suite, remove her hat, and wash her hands before Morgan mentioned, hesitantly, that Mrs. Horne had requested her immediate presence in the parlour.

Aphrodite studied herself in the mirror. Hair straggled down her neck and there was a smudge on her left cheek. What was it? She splashed water on the dirt, then looked down at her wrinkled and dusty traveling gown. She needed to change, but Mignon had yet to arrive with the luggage. “Please tell Mrs. Horne I will be down as soon as Mignon arrives. I must change my clothes and have her arrange my hair.”

The maid paled slightly. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but no one refuses to do what Mrs. Horne asks.” She curtsied. “If you would please come with me?”

Aphrodite rubbed at the smudge on her face and patted her hair in place with her hands, then turned to follow Morgan, ready to meet the wonderful woman who was to be her mother-in-law. There was a flutter of nerves in her stomach as well as a feeling of joyful anticipation as she faced a new beginning, an important change in her life.

Aphrodite followed Morgan down the stairs, across the marble floor of the entrance and down a hallway covered in thick carpet. She hoped Mrs. Horne would like her. Most people liked her, she reminded herself as she entered the parlour, where she caught her first glance of the estimable woman.

Yes, Aphrodite repeated to herself, Frederick’s mother did truly look like a grotesquely fat toad, enormous but not jolly. No, definitely not jovial. The behemoth was dressed in white with ruffles and flounces and furbelows that magnified her bulk. Her face looked like an overstuffed pillow with nasty, glittering eyes, a lump of a nose, straight line of lips that looked as if they never smiled. As Aphrodite moved farther into the room, she was aware of a musty smell, like unwashed clothing and stale food.

But, Aphrodite thought, Frederick loves her. She is probably a lovely woman. Inside.

“Looks too skinny to breed,” Mrs. Horne barked, then turned to her son. “Much too skinny. No hips. How’re you going to procreate with her?”

Aphrodite swirled to look at Mr. Horne, expecting him to protect her from his mother’s vicious words, but he nodded his head in agreement.

“That’s what I thought at first, Mother.” He approached his mother’s throne and leaned down to kiss the cheek she held up for him. “But her stock is impeccable. She has twelve brothers and sisters, and her mother is still young.”

“Ah, I know all about those Herringtons, but she . . .” Mrs. Horne pointed toward Aphrodite with her cane. “She don’t look big enough to have a brood.”

“I assure you that the marchioness is very slender and yet has children with great ease.”

“Come here, gel!” Mrs. Horne shook her cane at Aphrodite.

Aphrodite looked behind her. Surely the woman spoke to a servant, not to her. But there was no other “gel” in the room. “Do you mean me?” She took a few steps toward Mrs. Horne, who was ensconced in an enormous muddy green chair.

“Turn around, gel.” The grimy shawls that protected the woman from a draught Aphrodite couldn’t feel shook as Mrs. Horne pounded the cane on the floor again.

Aphrodite blinked. “Frederick?” He nodded at her.

“Go on, gel. Turn around,” the toad shouted again.

Instead, Aphrodite walked forward and held out her hand. “I’m Aphrodite Herrington. So pleased to meet you. Your son has spoken of you with such great affection.”

“Of course he has. He’s a good boy. Knows his duty.” Mrs. Horne thumped on the floor with her cane. “Turn around, gel. Let me see you.”

Aphrodite looked at the floor, where a hole was worn in the dark brown carpet from the thumping cane. “How delighted I am to be here. What a lovely home you have.” She gave Mrs. Horne her most winning smile.

“Are you deaf, gel? I said turn around.” Mrs. Horne’s enormous bosom quivered with the pounding of her cane.

Instead, Aphrodite said, “May I?” She sat in a chair next to the woman and fanned herself with her hand. The room was stifling, especially so close to the blaze in the fireplace. “Please tell me about the other guests you are expecting.”

“What’s the matter with the chit?” Mrs. Horne shouted at her son.

“Nothing, Mother. I believe you just need to get to know each other.”

“Well, then, gel, tell me about your family.”

“My parents . . .”

“No, no.” She banged on the floor with the cane again. “Tell me about your brothers and sisters. Twelve, huh? How old are they?”

“My oldest brother is Aeolus. He’s in Africa . . .”

“I don’t care what he’s doing.”

“He’s twenty-five.”

“Gel, what I want to know is, does he have any children?”

“He’s not married.” Aphrodite waited for a moment for another question but the woman just pounded on the floor again. “My sister Artemis is twenty-four,” Aphrodite continued. “She’s married but has no children.”

“Why not?” Mrs. Horne demanded.

“We have not discussed it,” Aphrodite said in an icy voice. Did the woman have no understanding of manners or privacy? Aphrodite vowed to discuss this with her fiancé. “Next is Terpsichore, twenty-two. She’ll be here shortly, with my sister in my father’s traveling carriage.”

“Hmmph,” Mrs. Horne grumbled. “I’ve heard about the chit. Fast. Wears odd clothes. Go on.” She waved her cane at Aphrodite.

“I’m next, then my brother Asklepios is eighteen; Athena’s seventeen. She’s coming with Terpsichore. At home are the twins, Ares and Celina, who are fourteen.” Aphrodite ticked them off on her fingers. “Ceto, twelve; Helios, ten; Eurus, seven; Demeter, four; and Hepaestus is an infant.”

Mrs. Horne leaned back in her chair with a sigh of satisfaction and, Aphrodite was amazed to note, a smile. “You have chosen well, son.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“But terrible names.” She leaned forward and wagged her finger at Aphrodite. “You name your children good English names: Samuel and Eleanor and Frederick and Matilda.”

Aphrodite bristled. “I think we all have lovely names. My parents chose them with love and great care. They wanted the perfect name for each of us.”

“They made a lot of mistakes, didn’t they, gel?” She emitted a dry, choking sound that Aphrodite guessed was a laugh.

Aphrodite cringed.

“Leave, gel. Go on. Get out.” The stick thunked against the floor again. “Go to your chambers. I want to talk with my son.”

Aphrodite glanced up at Frederick, who remained at his mother’s side. With a nod and smile at Aphrodite, he said, “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he picked up his mother’s hand. “I haven’t seen Mother for weeks and need to catch up with the old dear’s gossip.”

The old dear, indeed! What a nasty old woman, Aphrodite thought as she swirled to get out of the fetid atmosphere. She threw the door open, dashed into the hall, and took a deep breath of the cool air.

As she slowly recovered from the horrific experience of meeting Mrs. Horne, she noticed Warwick lounging against the wall across from the parlour.

Her mouth dropped. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Then, embarrassed at her rudeness and the fact that he’d seen her when she was so obviously upset, she almost went back into the parlour and locked the door. Only the thought of the gargoyle on the other side kept her in place.

 

• • •

 

Warwick studied Aphrodite. Not proper for him to call her only by her first name, not even mentally, but they were to be family soon. No need to stand on formality. She’d been through a terrible ordeal, he noted. Her lovely skin was mottled, probably from the heat and strain, the lovely reddish-blond hair was disordered, and pale violet blotches coloured the fair skin under her eyes. Exhaustion and shock, the normal reactions to meeting Matilda Horne. She’d drooped until she saw him. Then the look on her face showed that he was the last person she expected—or wanted—to see.

As Warwick pushed himself away from the wall, he said, “So you have met my dear aunt?”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were related to the Horne family.” She attempted a pleasant conversational tone.

“It is not a connection I mention often. When my father’s youngest brother married the very wealthy Matilda Horne, he had to assume that name to share the fortune. My father is the head of the family and asked me to represent him at this gathering, to welcome you into our family.”

“Oh.” She seemed to sort through responses until she finally said, “How delightful.”

It was obvious she was shaken, as would be any young woman who’d just met such a Gorgon and realized what her life would be like with Matilda Horne as her belle-mère, but she tried not to show it. He admired that. Pluck to the backbone.

The gossip that Frederick was bringing home a young woman for his mother’s inspection had titillated the family. If Warwick hadn’t known Aphrodite, he probably would have left the young woman to her fate, but he had accepted the invitation because he guessed she had no idea of what awaited her. Probably imagined that the mother of the pleasant Mr. Horne would be a little white-haired lady cocooned in shawls who would welcome her future daughter with delight.

What a shock to walk into the lair of Matilda Horne.

Why did he care?

He did not owe Aphrodite anything. So why had he hastened to Windwillow? Certainly not to rescue her. Well, perhaps that was part of the reason. He felt sorry for her. Odd. Horne was a good enough chap, but Frederick would never guard his wife from the woman he called his beloved mother. Aphrodite had a spark of spirit. The thought of it being crushed by that monster bothered him. It must be, he decided, his sense of justice. It was only fair that someone help her make a decision about her future.

But, why did he care? He never bothered himself with other people, but he could not force back the thought that, if it had been any other young woman Frederick had brought home as his prospective bride, had it been Ladies Terpsi or Athena Herrington, he wouldn’t have cared a whit. Would’ve headed to East Wickham with his friends to enjoy a mill instead of rushing to Windwillow to protect the young woman who had chosen to marry his cousin.

He did find Aphrodite interesting and attractive. A few years ago, he’d courted her for a sennight, a day or two longer than he usually courted a young woman. A long time, for him. Although it had been a pleasant interlude, he hadn’t been tempted to make an offer. When he married, it would be far in the future. He’d marry when it was time for him to do his duty for his family.

He’d enjoyed flirting with her, still did. She was so bad at it. He believed that she’d been more attracted to him than he was to her, those few years ago. Even after she’d cut him cold for no reason he could imagine, he couldn’t forget a light, sweet kiss he’d stolen long ago, even though he’d kissed many women much more experienced than she.

That one kiss? Was that why he was putting himself out for her? Certainly not. Not him.

She deserved a better life than the hell offered by Matilda Horne. He’d do his good deed, chat with her to make her feel better, maybe even steal another kiss or two as he tried to steer her away from Frederick. Well, not Frederick, but the ordeal of living with Matilda Horne. Then he’d be on his way.

His actions weren’t all unselfish, he knew. There was an imp that lived within him. His sister said he found amusement in the most peculiar places and in the oddest situations.

The imp had come forth when he’d heard that her sisters accompanied Aphrodite. The addition of those tempestuous personalities and the efforts of the proper sister to control them contained the elements of a farce. He’d been bored, and the fortnight should prove amusing. Perhaps he could stir up the brew at the same time he did a good deed.

But he still didn’t know why he cared. Didn’t have the slightest idea why he should put himself out for any Herrington. His decision had been based on more than the odd propensity for entertainment or that imp within him. As soon as he’d heard of the gathering, he had almost bullied his father into sending him to represent the family without a thought or pause, except to tell his valet Taylor to pack and follow him in the whiskey. Then he’d leaped on his horse and ridden hard for Windwillow.

Why? He wasn’t sure he wanted to consider why, to identify the reason, and so he moved his thoughts past it.

Immediately upon his arrival, the butler had told him Lady Aphrodite had been summoned to see that terrible woman. With a speed that would have caused his valet to threaten to leave had the man been present to witness it, Warwick brushed and straightened his own clothing, attempted to arrange his hair into something close to the style that Taylor turned him out in, and hurried to await the victim outside the parlour door. Only seconds before she emerged, looking as if she’d faced Lucifer herself and barely survived. But she’d survived. He admired her.

Not that she had allowed her agitation to show. As soon as she saw him, her back straightened, and she’d demanded, “What are you doing here?”

After his explanation, he’d offered his arm. “If I may take you for a walk? It will soothe your nerves.”

“I can’t.” She caught sight of herself in the mirror. “My hair.” She attempted to shove the strands back in place. “And my dress.” She brushed at the worst of the wrinkles. “Oh, and my face.” She stared at herself in the mirror, obviously aware that the damage done by the trip and the subsequent meeting with Mrs. Horne could not be repaired in a trice. “But thank you,” she said as she belatedly remembered her manners. “You are very kind.”

“I’m not a bit kind, as you well know. I’ve just arrived and would like to take a walk. You need some fresh air and a few minutes to recover from your interview.”

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed as Warwick continued.

“Horne has a lovely estate. You should see it, to help you decide if the beauty of this site will make up for spending the rest of your life with his mother.” He offered his arm again, and this time she took it.

He guided her out the door and down the steps toward a path that wound down to the lake. Large trees on each side shaded the trail but enough light filtered through to make lacy shadows on the stones.

After they strolled for a few minutes, she sighed. “This is lovely. And very peaceful.”

“Would you like to rest on this bench? There’s a lovely view of the lake.”

She sat and, through the trees, studied the brilliant blue of the lake just down the hill and the glistening white of the ruins on the island in the middle of the lake. They could hear voices and laughter. Probably his sister and her brood and some of the guests who’d arrived earlier.

“Don’t they sound happy?” Lady Aphrodite smiled up at him.

She lacked Lady Terpsi’s flash and Lady Athena’s ethereal beauty, he reflected, but how very naturally lovely she was. Her light auburn hair reflected the filtered sunlight, which also added a glow to her skin, now that she had regained some colour. A neat figure, too, he thought. If she could unbend just a little, be a bit more of a Herrington, they could have a delightful flirtation as the drama unfolded. Did he care that she was almost betrothed to Frederick? Not at all. After all, he wasn’t willing to take his cousin’s place in the parson’s mousetrap, but a flirtation might save her from making a terrible mistake. He would sacrifice himself with the most altruistic of motives.

“Oh, my, it is beautiful.” She studied the view of the vast estate while Warwick sat on the marble railing surrounding the bench. “I had no idea Windwillow was such a lovely place. Frederick doesn’t act like a wealthy man.”

“No, Frederick is a very pleasant young man. The money comes from his mother, my dear Aunt Matilda. She was the daughter of a rich merchant who brought a much-needed infusion of wealth to my father’s youngest brother, Bernard. At the time, it seemed advantageous. However, it is said, Uncle Bernard died with a smile on his face because he was escaping his dear wife.”

“Oh.” She considered that for a moment. “Marrying a wealthy woman to replenish the family coffers is hardly unusual.”

“Not at all,” Warwick agreed.

After they had both studied the vista in silence for a few minutes, he continued. “I do believe you need to know Aunt Matilda has always stated that the sorrow of her life is she was blessed with only one child. That’s why she has always insisted that his bride be a good breeder.”

She leaped to her feet. “My lord!” That lovely pink rushed up her cheeks. He discovered he enjoyed making her flush.

“I apologize if you feel my comment was indelicate. I thought you should know that the entire family knows of your—how should I say this?—endowment. Perhaps familial gift might be a better description.”

“Oh, dear.” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “I shall never be able to face them.”

“I considered not telling you this, but Aunt Matilda is likely to bellow out the information at any time and I thought you should be warned.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” She dropped back on the bench. “Frederick had told me, and she was so interested in my family, but I didn’t realize that everyone knows that my parents’ . . . oh, dear.” The lovely pink still coloured her cheeks. “They all know that my large family is what recommended me to Frederick?”

“I’m sure there is more to his choice than that. You’re very lovely and, after all, there must be three or four other young women on the marriage mart who come from large families.”

She turned disheartened eyes toward him. “Not as large as mine.”

“No, but, as I remember, Lady Sophia Jeffrey has seven siblings. And Miss Pemberton has six. After a certain number, I believe they are all equal.”

“Sophia has a twitch, and Miss Pemberton has that terrible laugh.” She turned to look up at him quickly. “Oh, please forgive me. I never discuss the faults of others.”

“Such statements clearly indicate your deep agitation.” He sat on the bench and took her hand. “I’m sure it was your many charms that attracted Frederick.” When she didn’t reply, Warwick continued. “And you’ll have many years together—you and Frederick and Mrs. Horne.” He chuckled to himself as her mouth dropped open.

“Many years together?” She clutched at his hand.

“Oh, Aunt Matilda is quite young. Frederick was born when she was seventeen. He’s twenty-four now. She’s forty-one.”

“Only forty-one?”

“Oh, yes, the three of you will have twenty, thirty, perhaps even forty or more years together. Unless Frederick were to die first. Then it would be you and dear Aunt Matilda together, until one of you dies.”

“Thirty or forty more years?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and worried. “Oh, dear. Do you really think she’ll live that long?”

“Undoubtedly. She comes from a healthy family. Her great-uncle is Josiah Horne.”

She gasped. “You mean the man they call Methuselah?”

“Yes.” He nodded and patted her hand. “One hundred and four on his last birthday and still in good health. They say time has not softened his tongue. As vicious as ever. Just think, Aunt Matilda might live for sixty or more years.”

“I would be eighty.” Aphrodite swallowed hard.

“That’s true. Sixty years with Matilda Horne.”

He could tell that she was considering the next sixty years with dread. Her shoulders drooped. Then she sat up.

“But she’ll be in the dower house. Certainly she wouldn’t live with Frederick and me.”

“Frederick is a good son. He’d never throw his mother from her home. Besides, she wants to be around to spoil those dozens of children you’re going to have.” With every sentence, he watched her head fall and her shoulders curve inward.

“He tells me she is wonderful, admirable,” she whispered.

“He has always been a most dutiful son.”

“But we didn’t get along very well, Mrs. Horne and I.”

“She has a strong personality.”

“Yes.” Aphrodite stood and took a deep breath. “This view is lovely. I would like to see the lake. Would you escort me there?”

He silently congratulated her on her recovery. This was a resilient young woman. “Delighted, Lady Aphrodite. It’s an easy walk. My sister and her children are there. I’d like to introduce you.” When he held out his arm, she placed her hand on it.

“Please tell me about them.”

“Susannah has three children. The eldest, Geoffrey, is in his first year at Cambridge.”

“Isn’t that amazing,” Aphrodite said as she strolled by his side, leaning slightly on his arm. “My brother Asklepios is also in his first year at Cambridge. I wonder if they know each other.”

“If your brother is always in scrapes like Geoffrey, I would imagine they might be acquainted. I believe my nephew has recently been sent down, due to some prank or another. Susannah also has two daughters: Melissa is . . . I’m not sure. I think she’s about twelve. Maria may be eight or nine. I believe a few of Frederick’s friends will be here, but I don’t know which ones. They all look forward to meeting you.”

“And every one of them knows about . . . oh, never mind. Please tell me about your family seat.”

A very polite young woman, attempting to carry on a conversation when she must be overset, he thought, then began to tell her about Crusader’s Cross, his family’s historical estate.

As Aphrodite headed downhill on Warwick’s arm, she attempted to sort her thoughts, but the information about Mrs. Horne jumbled her brain. Then the path ended, and they had a clear view of the group assembled on the shore. Two laughing children and a young woman were in a boat paddled around an island by a young man, Fothergill, she thought. A woman sat on a blanket with two other young men, one wearing a brilliant green jacket. Standing close to the lake were several other people whom Aphrodite guessed to be her age or a little older.

“That’s my sister Susannah. People say we look alike. The young scamp in shirtsleeves is my nephew Geoffrey. The other young man is the friend visiting him.”

After they took a few more steps, Aphrodite stopped and put her hands on her cheeks. “What in the world is he doing here?” Then she ran across the uneven land toward the three on the blanket.

Asklepios! But it couldn’t be her brother. Why would he be at Windwillow? Why wasn’t he at Cambridge? Then the words of the viscount echoed in her ears: “If your brother is always in scrapes like Geoffrey, I would imagine they might be acquainted. I believe he’s recently been sent down, due to some prank or another.”

Oh, no! Asklepios must have been sent down from Cambridge with Warwick’s nephew. Her father would kill him. Although the high spirits and outrageous larks of his children usually delighted the marquis, that didn’t include anything that interrupted their education.

“Ask—,” she began. Before she could complete the name, the young man in the startling green jacket turned around to look at her. Aphrodite swallowed her word in surprise. Not only did her brother wear a hideous jacket, but his normally straight light brown hair curled and bounced. Tied around the riotous locks, he wore a green and red band. His face paled when he saw his sister.

“Buon giorno,” he shouted when she stopped and stared at him. “And who-a is this-a bella lady?”

She blinked. “What in the world . . . ?” she began.

The other young man leaped to his feet. “Good day. And how are you today?”

Asklepios strode toward Aphrodite, held out his hand, and whispered, “Don’t say a word. We’ll explain later. Please don’t give me away.” Then he stepped back. “Bella, bella, bella,” her brother said loudly as he took her hand, bowed, and feigned a kiss on it.

“I’m Geoffrey Hamilton, Warwick’s nephew.” The young man nodded. “This is my friend, the Conti di Versanti. He’s from Italy.”

Asklepios tapped his heels together and nodded his head, the ends of the band around his head flipping up and down with the motion.

“Yes, Geoffrey. How pleasant to meet you. I’m Lady Aphrodite Herrington.”

“Lady Aphrodite, we didn’t expect you so early.” Geoffrey swallowed.

“That’s obvious.”

“I’m Susannah, Warwick’s sister and Geoffrey’s mother. So happy to have you here, Lady Aphrodite.”

She turned to accept the hand Susannah Hamilton held out. “I am so pleased to meet you, Lady Susannah. Your brother has told me about you and your family.”

“He believes we are a band of ruffians. You must not believe a word my brother says, although they are often true. We have descended upon Frederick so we could meet you and are so rag-mannered that we brought two extra guests.”

“Unexpected guests. They were sent down for the remainder of the summer, as I understand,” Warwick said.

“I have met the conti before,” Aphrodite said. “If you don’t mind”—she included Susannah and Warwick in her glance—“I’d like to chat with him for a moment. To ask him about his dear family.”

“His family back in Italy,” Geoffrey said with a grin and a nod.

“His family,” Aphrodite repeated. “With whom I have a long acquaintance.”

“Certainly, Lady Aphrodite,” Susannah said. “There is a gazebo just up the hill.” She pointed toward a small summerhouse. “It will afford you some shade and privacy.”

“Thank you.” Aphrodite glared at her brother, forcing him to follow her. “We shall not be long.” She smiled at the group left on the shore as she shoved a lagging Asklepios.

When she had settled herself on a bench inside the gazebo, she frowned at Asklepios, who stood across from her. “What are you doing? Were you sent down?”

“Not exactly.” He refused to meet her eyes.

“Well, what happened and how did you end up the conti of whatever?”

“Wasn’t that an inspiration, Ditie?” His face lit up with joy.

“Aski, I want an explanation.”

“It was a prank, although it was for an interest that burns within me.” Aski thumped his chest and stared out of the gazebo like a martyr, allowing her a view of his pensive profile. The Herringtons were inclined to strike poses that showed them at their best. “You know how much I love medicine, the healing arts, the study of anatomy. I want to . . . I need to . . . I hunger to dissect and study a body but cannot. The unjustness of society.”

“Aski.” Aphrodite’s voice took on a forceful, no-nonsense tone.

“Oh, the prejudice that turned anatomical study into a crime,” Aski continued. He ignored the interruptions and pounded himself on the chest again.

“Aski, resurrectionists have not been imprisoned for years. Just tell me exactly why you are here.”

“Alas, I am a scholar but I’m only—”

“Answer my question,” Aphrodite interrupted.

Aski turned and finally met his sister’s eyes. “I heard that a dog had died and the family buried him. Geoffrey—he’s the best of all fellows, Ditie—he and I decided to dig him up so I could dissect him.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible, Aski. What happened?”

“The dog belonged to the magistrate’s daughter.”

“Oh, Aski, no!”

“And he found us digging it up at midnight.”

“Aski!” She covered her mouth with her hands and leaned forward. “What happened then?”

“He chased us out of the yard. He was shooting at us, Ditie. We knew he’d come to the university to look for us, so we decided it was best to play least in sight. We told the proctor that Geoff’s mother wrote us and we had to attend this house party because of the joining of our two families.”

“You knew I was coming here?”

“Of course, Ditie. Everyone in Geoff’s family knows you’re here. All of society knows. And they know why.”

Aphrodite groaned.

“Geoffrey’s family is worried because it seems that Mrs. Horne is the most horrible person. Are you sure you want to marry her son? Aah, but, that’s your decision, isn’t it?” he continued when she nodded. “Well, we decided we’d better get away from Cambridge because the magistrate’s daughter was upset. One of our friends who lives close to the magistrate said she really loved this dog and having him dug up distressed her.”

“I can certainly understand her feelings, but why are you pretending to be the conti?” She leaned back in preparation for the convoluted reasoning unique to the other Herringtons.

“I couldn’t tell Papa, Ditie. You know that.”

And she did. Their father had a gaze he directed on any of his erring children that made even Aphrodite regret a misstep. Aski had met it often before.

“I thought Papa would be here, and I didn’t have anyplace else to go. I couldn’t explain to him. Ditie, you know that.”

She nodded.

“Where else could I stay? All my friends are still in school, and our relatives would have told Papa that I was visiting them. So, I disguised myself as this Italian for a few days of freedom.”

“Why as an Italian?” She followed his reasoning but not his conclusion.

“Lord, Ditie, it’s a lark. Just a lark.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I planned to get sick, just pretend to, before you arrived, then stay in my room until we could figure out what to do. As Geoff said, we didn’t expect you until much later.”

“We left London earlier than . . .” Aphrodite stopped, refusing to be distracted from the subject of his misconduct, as her siblings were prone to try. “Aski, have you ever seen an Italian?”

“No, but I think I look bang up.” He patted his hair and straightened the green jacket.

“Have you ever spoken to an Italian?”

“No, but Geoff’s aunt once had an Italian dance master, and he told me all about him, how he dressed and how he talked.”

“What did you do to get your hair so curly?” She stood to pat his ringlets and watched them spring back from her touch.

“I put it in papers every night. I swear, I don’t understand how you girls can sleep in those things. They hurt.” He rubbed his scalp.

“And the ribbons around your head?”

“That was my idea. Geoff said that Italians are flamboyant. I thought they made the disguise more authentic,” he said with a toss of his head.

“Italians don’t wear bands on their heads, Aski. You’re thinking of the Romany. They tie ribbons around their heads and carry tambourines.” Her voice became so loud that, when she turned to look at the group on the shore, she saw they were looking toward the summerhouse. Oh, dear, she never shouted.

“You look absurd,” she said in quiet tones. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Aphrodite looked back at the party on the shore. They were sneaking covert looks at the length and the animation of the conversation between Lady Aphrodite and her old family friend. It was time to return.

“Meet me tonight so we can talk about this more. On the steps in front of the house at midnight.” She started to leave the summerhouse.

“Ditie, when do Mama and Papa arrive?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Mama and Papa have gone to the country.”

“Why didn’t they come with you, Ditie?”

“Why do you think, brother?”

“Not again! Is that all they do?”

“I would guess. Now, why don’t you stop this ridiculous deception and just be a guest?”

“Don’t you understand, Ditie? I can’t. Someone will tell Papa, or it will get back to the magistrate that I’m here. We’re not that far from school.”

“For heaven’s sake, Aski, no one’s going to tell Papa that you’re here. The reason you don’t want to shed the disguise is that you’re having such a wonderful time.”

The words could be the motto of the Mad Herringtons: I’m having great fun. Don’t interrupt an adventure.