THREE

LONDON, ENGLAND

SIR ANTONY TEMPLESTOWE would have been greatly encouraged had he been privy to the Countess of Salt Hendon’s thoughts. As he was not, he alighted from a dust-covered traveling coach laden with his personal luggage, weary, travel-worn and none the wiser that at least one family member had forgiven him for past indiscretions. He had not realized how much he missed his home city until now, standing on the pavement of South Audley Street looking down the row of Palladian terrace houses to the palace-sized mansions on Grosvenor Square. He stood as a statue for a moment, an ear to the discordant familiar sounds of the largest city in Europe: Horses’ hooves clip-clopping; carriages lumbering over compacted earth; the lilting cadence of barrow sellers shouting out their wares, and loud enough to be heard over the constant din; the endless cacophony of building noise, hammering and banging and the general racket of industry.

He smiled, invigorated by it all, and finally went up the two shallow steps to the front door of his elegant double-fronted townhouse.

The townhouse, once occupied by his sister Diana, Lady St. John, had reverted to his possession upon her incarceration, whereupon he ordered the rooms stripped of every vestige of her existence. While he was in Russia, the rooms were freshly painted, wallpapered and furnished to suit his tastes. He was most looking forward to the Etruscan Saloon. Before his departure for St. Petersburg, he had had only time to consult with the architect and choose colors. From letters he was told the room was now furnished with deep-cushioned gilded sofas and spindle-legged tables, the sash windows draped with velvet curtains in hues of terracotta and chocolate brown to match the classical wallpaper of vases and ancient draped figures. It was the ideal space for his silver samovar and assorted teapots and Imperial tea service.

In his dressing room, there was a niche between the full-length window and the door into his closet, and this is where he would position the enormous Imperial copper bathtub with its canopy of diaphanous curtains to keep in the warmth while he soaked. Brought from Russia with great care and expense, it was a parting gift from his mentor, Prince Mikhail. He wondered if Semper had managed to have it positioned yet, and could think of nothing he wanted to do more than soak in scented water with a nice hot cup of caravan tea, perusing the latest edition of The Gentleman’s Magazine.

He noticed the silver knocker was fixed to the black lacquered front door, signal he was at home to visitors, and reasoned Semper must have reinstated it knowing he was due to arrive any day. His majordomo, contingent of Russian servants, and personal effects he had sent on ahead by sail from Esjberg, while he traveled by carriage from Lubeck to The Hague to deliver diplomatic correspondence too sensitive to be trusted to a courier. More importantly, it allowed him to recover from the sea sickness suffered on the sea voyage from Helsinki to Lubeck. Stepping on to English soil after the final sea crossing, he was green but utterly relieved to be on terra firma.

The door opened and there was Boyle, his rake-thin butler, and behind him a footman who was quick to help him shrug out of his fitted greatcoat and divest him of ornate sword and tan leather kid gloves.

“So good to have you home at last, Sir Antony,” Boyle said with a welcoming smile and short bow. “Mrs. Boyle and I have waited this day for a very long time.” With a wave of a hand, he sent three hovering footmen out into the street to help offload the assortment of portmanteaux and parcels. “And may I say how well you’re looking.”

“You may, Boyle. Thank you. I trust Mr. Semper and my Russians have not disrupted your household routine to any great degree?”

“Not at all, sir,” the butler replied, following Sir Antony into the black and white marble entrance foyer with its elegant Adam staircase.

“Mr. Semper found them all places to perch?”

When his lordship raised an eyebrow and waited, the old retainer said with a knowing smile, “There’s no need for your lordship to concern yourself about the household staff. Mr. Semper has proved himself an excellent majordomo, and Mrs. Boyle couldn’t be happier with the young Mrs. Semper. They are trying their best with a lingua franca, and Mrs. Boyle can’t praise enough a more diligent seamstress and embroiderer as Mrs. Semper. Five of the Russians are quartered in the annex and been given odd jobs, and those who speak Frenchie have been put into footman’s livery as requested. A more polite lot of foreigners I’ve yet to meet.”

“Good.”

At least his household was organized, which left him free of distraction to pursue the matter of getting his personal life in order. The thought of facing his cousin the Earl with the news his mad sister had broken free of her bonds and was lurking somewhere near—he did not doubt that for a moment—brought him out in a cold sweat.

Possibly, the Earl already knew. A month had come and gone since the apothecary’s letter and no news of any kind from Salt. Admittedly, he had been traveling and not told his family of his intention to return, so letters could have crossed. But he did not think so. His sister was mad, that was indisputable, but she was also exceedingly intelligent and mind-bogglingly cunning and would wait the most opportune moment to be reunited with the Earl, at a time and place that best suited her evil intent. As to how he was to find her and confine her before she could inflict harm to those he loved most in the world, he still had no clearer idea than he did before he set off from St. Petersburg. One thing he was very clear on. Once she was recaptured, he intended to have her transported to the furthest reaches of the Russian empire.

Diana running free was enough to dampen his enthusiasm for returning to the city of his birth, but there were also his strained relations with Lady Caroline Aldershot. If he had the choice between hacking off a limb or seeing her happily married to another, he’d choose the former any day! What was he to say to her? How could he congratulate her husband when he wanted to wring the life out of him? What was he to do…?

The butler repeating his question, a little louder than before, brought Sir Antony out of his reverie and he let go of the mahogany balustrade, suddenly aware he was gripping the polished wood.

“Would you care to change out of your travel clothes before joining the small party in the Saloon?”

Sir Antony stayed his jockey boot on the first step of the elegant staircase. His gaze traveled up the curved wall covered in gilt-framed ancestors and fixed on the first landing. “Small party…?”

“Yes, sir. Afternoon tea is being served in the Saloon before the party heads off to Vauxhall Gardens. I believe there is a recital this evening…”

Sir Antony looked over a shoulder. “Guests?”

“Lady Porter, Lady Dalrymple and a Mrs. Smith. Although, as Lady Dalrymple has come to stay and as Mrs. Smith is her ladyship’s companion, there would in truth be only one guest: Lady Porter.”

Sir Antony turned away from the staircase and faced his butler.

“I beg your pardon, Boyle. My brain is rather tired. All that traveling, you understand. You will need to enlighten me further.”

“Her ladyship has taken to having a regular gathering on Thursdays. This being the third Thursday in a row, I would call it regular.”

“And Lady Dalrymple has come to stay? Here?”

“Yes, sir. At her ladyship’s invitation.”

“And this other personage, this Mrs.—Smith, she also now resides under my roof?”

“As companion to her ladyship, Mrs. Smith is installed in the small apartment adjoining her ladyship’s rooms, while Lady Dalrymple, after consultation with Mr. Semper, was given the second-best bedchamber, the one with the partial view of the garden that has a small adjoining sitting room, and is across the passageway from her ladyship. Lady Dalrymple’s maid is being accommodated with the chambermaids and not wanting for anything. None of these arrangements, I assure you,” the butler stressed, observing the blank look to his master’s handsome features, “will affect your lordship’s comfort in anyway. The ladies are ensconced on the south side of the staircase, while your lordship retains complete dominion of the north wing. On that, her ladyship, Mr. Semper, Mrs. Boyle and myself were in complete accord.”

If Sir Antony was weary and wanting a bath when he alighted from his carriage, he was now in need of a nap to clear his mind, newly clouded with such assiduous household arrangements. One matter remained in complete fog. He realized later that there could be only one response to his question. Yet, at the time, the possibility remained so far removed from his consciousness that he never gave it a moment’s consideration, despite it being the reason for his return to London. His complete and utter shock and failure to grasp what was staring him in the face exacerbated his reaction tenfold.

“Her ladyship…?”

The butler smiled in sympathy with his master’s tiredness, for who else could her ladyship be if not his nearest and dearest? As if in response to his question, the door to the Etruscan Saloon opened and the noise of conversation and female laughter spilled onto the landing. Her ladyship, a clutch of talkative females at her back, peered over the balustrade, ivory lace fan gently waving across her low décolletage. Seeing who it was in the entrance foyer below, she let out a gasp of surprise and turned to the others to announce the master of the house was finally home safe. She came sailing down the stairs in a billow of brocaded yellow silk taffeta petticoats and matching mules that clack-clacked on the steps. Her arms, three tiers of delicate white lace cascading from the elbows of tight three-quarter length sleeves, were outstretched in welcome.

The butler grinned at such an effusive reconciliation and said with a sense of the grand occasion and sweep of an arm,

“Sir Antony, the Lady St. John.”

EARLIER, when outside his townhouse listening to the sounds of the city while admiring the view, and blissfully unaware of what awaited him indoors, Sir Antony was equally oblivious to the yellow-painted landau with its three female passengers that drew alongside the pavement. Had the female occupant on the house side of the landau extended her pretty silk parasol, she could have tapped Sir Antony on the shoulder. She did not. Her first reaction was to quickly avert her face lest he recognize her. But as he was in profile, gaze fixed on some distant point, there was little likelihood of him turning in any direction but the front door of his residence. He certainly would not want to front the congestion of a line of carriages that had come to a standstill because of a hold-up in the flow of traffic further down the street.

With this in mind, the female slowly turned to boldly stare at him. As she was wearing a very pretty straw Bergere with a wide brim and a string of blooms encircling its shallow crown, she had to move not only her head but also her shoulders, and tilt her chin up, so the brim did not obscure her view. Such was her shock at seeing Sir Antony returned from Russia, she was blind to the quizzical look of her sister-in-law sitting opposite, who stared openly from Lady Caroline to Sir Antony and back again. She was also deaf to her elderly aunt’s monologue on the accident that had brought all traffic traveling north and south to a stop. Preoccupation with Sir Antony’s profile also made Lady Caroline unaware her eccentric aunt had taken advantage of the stationary landau, and with the help of Kitty Aldershot, and the aid of her Malacca cane, was up on her heels to have a clearer view of unfolding events.

“Oh dear! Oh dear! A sedan has overturned. The idiotic chairmen tried to outrun a wagon and mistimed their run. Dolts! The poor driver did his best to halt his beasts, but part of the load shifted in the attempt to avert a crisis. Now the tarpaulin is flapping about and disturbed whatever is in those crates… Fowl. Yes, fowl. And by the great to-do, I’d say geese. Who knows how many have been crushed and now roused by fear they’ll flap each other to death! I wonder who the poor thing is in the sedan…? A female. Yes, a female. Her hat has come through the window with her hairpiece still attached and landed in the muck. Dear me! Those plumes will never look the same again. Foolish of her to have the glass down on such a dusty, hot day. Must’ve had her head out the window, barking orders, and got it snagged.”

“Is it anyone we know, my lady?” Kitty Aldershot asked politely, only half-listening and briefly looking over her right shoulder. She quickly returned her gaze to her sister-in-law, wondering at the identity of the handsome gentleman who had all Lady Caroline’s attention. “Perhaps Caroline will know who it is in the sedan chair? Her eyesight is vastly better than ours. My eyes are ruined through stitchery, which I know is Caroline’s least favorite occupation. Caroline? Will you peek to allow us to know the identity of the unfortunate in the sedan chair? Caroline…?”

Her sister-in-law’s unresponsiveness surprised Kitty. She might not listen to Lady Reanay’s monologues, which were frequent and often delivered in lengths of a paragraph or two, but she could always rely on Caroline to be politely attentive to the elderly lady’s speeches. This allowed Kitty to spend her time over her embroidery daydreaming. She had just been daydreaming about the need to visit Jackson’s Habit Warehouse for the perfect costume for the Salt Masquerade Ball. But Lady Caroline’s interest in the handsome stranger with the resolute chin and strong straight nose had Kitty sitting tall on the landau’s velvet cushion, Lady Reanay and her observations of the traffic accident of no interest whatsoever.

Lady Caroline was doing the thing she was always telling Kitty never to do in public: Ogle.

But how could Lady Caroline help ogling a man who, in Kitty’s opinion, was as close to male perfection as she had ever seen, dressed in his fitted traveling cloak and shiny jockey boots. Had she not been seated, she was very sure she would have swooned, just to give the handsome stranger the opportunity to catch her in his strong arms before her head hit the pavement. The prospect of being in the stranger’s arms was so thrilling that it forced an involuntary giggle, and Kitty was quick to clap a gloved hand to her mouth to stop any further embarrassing outbursts.

Lady Caroline’s preoccupation was such that she was deaf to Kitty’s giggle. She had suffered a shock. Sir Antony Templestowe was the last person she expected to see in London. He was supposed to be fixed in St. Petersburg for a good many years yet, and as her brother had not told her otherwise, St. Petersburg was where he should still be. Not here in London—not outside his townhouse.

He was as tall as she remembered, his shoulders just as wide, but his stance, with back straight and chin up, was self-assured and proclaimed he was aware of his physicality. He gazed out on the world as if he knew his place in it, and others should know it too. This was in such marked contrast to the last time she had been in his company, when he had staggered about drunk at a musical recital and made a complete fool of himself, that she was forced to blink to make certain it was indeed him.

She did not hear the snap as her gloved thumb pressed too hard against the delicate ivory sticks of her gouache painted fan. Nor did she hear Kitty Aldershot’s gasp as the fan fell limp in two parts. When Kitty touched her wrist to have her attention, Caroline turned and looked without seeing, thoughts still very much with the man on the pavement.

“Who is he, Caroline?” Kitty asked, a quick sidelong glance at Sir Antony just as he turned a square shoulder on the street and went up the two shallow steps to the open front door.

Caroline felt the pressure on her wrist before she heard Kitty’s question and instantly she felt her face grow hot.

“Who? Oh, he—It is not important,” she muttered, coming out of her abstraction. She gave a start at the broken fan in her gloved hand and quickly shoved the pieces in her velvet reticule, glad to dip her head and thus her hat to hide her flushed cheeks from Kitty’s inquisitive gaze.

“But you do know who he is, don’t you?” Kitty persisted, watching three liveried footmen come out of the townhouse to offload a mountain of baggage from the carriage.

“Yes. Yes, I know,” Caroline stated and turned to Lady Reanay, signal discussion was at an end. She was surprised to see the elderly lady on her feet. “Aunt? Is there a possibility the obstruction to the traffic has cleared by now? Would you like me to help you sit? Your legs…”

Kitty’s eyes narrowed. She may be just out of the schoolroom, but she knew the handsome stranger had greatly affected her sister-in-law. It heightened her curiosity and she said with that streak of inquisitiveness universal to females interested in a particular male, “Such a fine-looking gentleman arriving at this direction with so much luggage must have an equally fine name, mustn’t he, Caroline?”

“The door won’t open. One of the chairmen has fallen on his rump trying to tug it free. It’s stuck tight,” Lady Reanay announced evenly, still up on her heels, leaning on her cane with gaze on proceedings up ahead.

Yet, she had heard the exchange between her niece and Kitty Aldershot. She had also seen who had captured Caroline’s attention and was not surprised the girl was flustered. She continued with her monologue about the traffic accident, to allow her niece time to regain her composure and to fill the awkward void of pleasant conversation in the landau.

“Perhaps, with her hairpiece missing, our lady of the sedan should sit tight and wait to be taken up again. I wouldn’t come out in full view of the world with half my hair in the muck, all London looking on. A very handsome dark-haired young man, whose frock coat would match one of Salt’s creations on theater night, has gone over to the sedan’s window. He reminds me of Roxton’s son, whom I met in Constantinople when his parents were—” She stopped abruptly and used the sticks of her fan to tap the knee of the liveried footman sitting at her back. “Barnes? Barnes! Be of assistance or we shall get nowhere fast and Lady Caroline and Miss Aldershot will fry like eggs in this noonday sun. At least try and rouse some of those fellows over there to set those crates upright before there are enough feathers flying about to stuff a pillow.”

With a sigh of annoyance, she resettled herself on the cushioned seat and fluffed out her silk petticoats, Kitty Aldershot quick to offer assistance by pushing the padded footstool within range of her ladyship’s walking shoes.

“Thank you, my dear. Oh, and, Barnes? Barnes. Don’t you deal with the crates. You attend to the poor creature trapped in the sedan. It may be someone we know… Now, my dears,” she continued brightly, looking from the wide-eyed Miss Aldershot to the flushed cheeks of Lady Caroline, “as soon as we are within doors you will apply wrapped ice to those heated complexions. Girls with such gloriously pearly skin should not be out-of-doors in the middle of the day. That is my fault. I would insist upon fresh air and a walk before nuncheon. We could very easily have had our usual promenade about the house, room to room, and received the same amount of exercise as we had walking the length and breadth of Hyde Park. But fresh air is best.”

“Yes, my lady. And I do so enjoy promenading,” Kitty agreed with a smile, and followed the old lady’s gaze to Caroline, who was staring down at the velvet reticule in her silken lap, adding for her benefit, “Soon the Salt Hendons will be in town, and mayhap Lady Salt will permit us to take Miss Merry walking? In the morning, of course, because she is even younger than me! I have not seen her since my visit to Salt Hendon before Easter, and she is such an agreeable child. It would be a pity to keep her confined to the house, would it not, Caroline?”

“Yes, it would,” Caroline agreed. “But we cannot go against Salt’s edicts. The children—and that includes Ron and Merry—are not permitted beyond the walled garden. If the weather is inclement, there is always the royal tennis court to run about in. Salt will not have them exposed to the staring masses of a public park. He does not consider it safe.”

Kitty knew this but she argued the point anyway.

“Walking Hyde Park is so agreeable and such a harmless diversion, surely with Miss Merry almost thirteen years of age there can be little harm in her accompanying us, particularly with Lady Reanay to watch over her?”

“It is not for us to question Salt,” Caroline replied, though privately she agreed with Kitty. As a much older brother, Salt had been very protective of her. Indeed, she hardly ever came to London in her girlhood. With his own children and the twins he was morbidly so. It was as if he feared to let them out of his sight, even for a moment, lest one or all of them be snatched from him. “He knows what is best for his own children, Kitty.”

“Of-of course, Caroline, his-his lordship knows-knows what is best,” Kitty stammered in apology. The Earl of Salt Hendon never ceased to make her nervous, despite his Countess having a sweet nature and making her welcome.

Instantly repentant for her harsh tone, Caroline stretched out a gloved hand to her sister-in-law and said kindly, though she did not believe it for a moment, “Perhaps we can persuade him this spring…”

“Salt may change his mind if Antony was to accompany us. Merry is his niece, too,” Lady Reanay added conversationally, not a look at Caroline, whose jaw dropped at mention of Sir Antony, and addressed herself exclusively to Kitty. “Sir Antony Templestowe is my other nephew. His father, Lord Salt’s mother and me were all siblings and Templestowes; not that that is of the slightest interest to you! What will be of interest, my dear, is the gentleman on the pavement you spied just now is that very Sir Antony—my nephew. Yes. He lives in that house,” she added when Kitty turned to stare wide-eyed at the activity of servants going up and down the shallow steps of the South Audley street townhouse. “Such a handsome man and quite the athlete, so I am not surprised he caught your attention.

“One of the highlights of my visit to ’Petersburg to visit Antony was the privilege of watching a match on the newly-completed Imperial tennis court,” she continued, ignoring Caroline who had sat up straight. “Antony and his playing partner, Prince Ivan-Something-or-Other… Do you know everyone at the Russian court is a Prince Something-or-Other so one just simply calls them all Prince. Antony and Prince Ivan completely vanquished their opposition. It was only my second tournament of real tennis. I was present at a match at Fontainebleau. Fascinating. I never realized how compelling a sport it was until the Russian tournament, or how attractive men are in sweaty clothes—”

“Aunt Alice! You can’t—you can’t make such remarks about Antony in front of Kitty!”

“But I just have, my dear,” Lady Reanay responded placidly with practiced vagueness. “It wasn’t Antony I was referring to in the sweaty clothes, but now that you mention it, he, too, is swoon-worthy in a damp shirt and breeches.”

She gave a little laugh, half giggle, as she unfurled her fan to stir the still city air across her painted face. The twinkle in her eyes she directed at Kitty, who was all wide-eyed attention now the handsome stranger had a name.

“You think because I am a gray-haired grandmother I no longer appreciate the male form, or feel any lust for the opposite gender? I’m old, not cold, child. Huzzah! Finally we are moving! And here is Barnes returned from playing the knight-errant,” she proclaimed as the liveried footman hopped back up on the foot rail at her ladyship’s back. “A moment longer and I was about to send poor Barnes to knock on Sir Antony’s door for iced water. It is as well, though, that we leave the boy alone so soon upon his return. He does not need to see more of his relatives, not when his sister has made the decision to reside with him.”

Lady Reanay could see by Kitty’s wide-eyed look that the girl had no idea who she was talking about, so she said with a sigh and a smile,

“Sir Antony’s sister Diana, who has come to stay with him, is not only my niece, she is also my daughter-in-law, as she was married to my dear son Aubrey St. John. As a consequence, she is the mother of my grandchildren Merry and Ron. More I could say on Diana, and an opinion of my daughter-in-law I certainly have, but it is not for me to comment beyond saying her residing with Antony is a grand presumption. The rest I will keep it to myself. Although—”

Kitty certainly had a clearer idea of whom Lady Reanay was talking about, but as her interest was in the nephew, and not the niece, and as the old lady never showed offence at having her conversation cut short in order for others to be able to speak, Kitty felt within her rights to ask abruptly,

“Will I—will we have the opportunity to become better acquainted with Sir Antony, my lady?” She could scarcely conceal her excitement, adding because she had just made an interesting connection, one she was sure would help her quest to accompany Lady Reanay on a visit to her nephew. “I would very much like to hear his tales of his time in Russia. I am aware of the precise location of ’Petersburg on the Globe because Miss Merry asked me to show her, and where Moscow is situated, too, because a mail service runs between the two Russian cities. And I helped Miss Merry calculate the distance her letters travel to reach her Uncle Antony. And we prepared scissor outlines for his birthday favor.” Kitty looked at Caroline for confirmation, “Sir Antony is Miss Merry’s Uncle Tony? And his birthday is in March?”

Caroline nodded, frowning. “Merry asked your help to construct a favor for Sir Antony’s birthday?”

“Yes. She also shared with me one of his letters, in which he promised to send her a doll dressed in the latest fashions.” Kitty suddenly had a frowning thought. “I do hope Miss Merry’s birthday card arrived before Sir Antony departed ’Petersburg…”

Lady Caroline turned to her aunt, the increase in traffic noise as the horses picked up pace and drove past the squawking of distressed geese in crates stacked by the side of the road, forcing her to shout in her aunt’s ear.

“Why wasn’t I informed Diana had returned from her Continental wanderings?”

Lady Reanay pulled her niece close.

“Salt did not say a word to me, either. Lady Porter told me the news.”

“Diana wouldn’t dare return without Salt’s blessing. Nor would Antony!”

Lady Reanay shrugged.

“Then Salt must have forgiven them both, because brother and sister are indeed returned to town.” She smiled over at Kitty, who was as wide-eyed as ever to adult conversation, and said without raising her voice because the landau had come to a halt at the entrance to Grosvenor Square, “We can discover the answers to all our questions tomorrow. Lady St. John has invited us to afternoon tea. I, for one, cannot wait to be reacquainted with my dearest nephew, and you, dear Kitty, will have your opportunity of receiving Sir Antony’s grateful thanks for helping Merry with her letters.” She glanced at Caroline, the words on the tip of her tongue; And you, my dear girl, if you know what is in your best interests, will swallow your pride, come to your senses and marry the man you love!

But she did not say so. She sat back in silence, a satisfied smile hovering about her painted mouth. Caroline did not see the smile. She was wondering why Salt had failed to tell her that Diana, and more particularly Antony, was returned to London. As for Kitty, she had lost interest in everything but the picture in her mind’s eye of the petticoats, bodice and shoes she intended to wear to afternoon tea to catch the eye of Sir Antony Templestowe.