Corinna pursed her lips as she looked down at the undoubtedly intoxicated Duke of Chavanage. “Hmm. I see what you mean. He's in his cups, isn’t he?”
“Almost unfailingly,” Anthea replied sadly, “and has been this past year or more. Before then ...”
“Yes?”
“Before then he was incomparable.”
Corinna looked thoughtfully at her, then out the window again. “Oh, who is his friend?” she asked with quick attention, as the other gentleman removed his hat and ran his tan-gloved hand through his raven hair.
He was a stranger to Anthea, who knew little of Jovian’s more recent circle of friends. A boon companion, she decided disapprovingly, although she had to concede that he seemed as sober as a judge. He was about the same age as Jovian and very good-looking—hence Corinna’s surge of interest—and his immaculately tailored riding clothes were the obligatory pine green coat and cream breeches of all gentlemen of the ton. Whoever he was, he could not lack a fortune, Anthea thought, for his black Arabian horse must have cost him a good few guineas.
As Anthea gazed down, he suddenly glanced up. She had expected him to notice Corinna’s golden-haired loveliness, but to her surprise, she herself was the recipient of his admiring smile.
Corinna was a little stung. “Well, he appears to be your conquest, Anthea. It’s not fair, for I do find him attractive. Much more so than—”
“Than Viscount Heversham?”
“Yes.” Corinna lowered her eyes a little guiltily. “I feel I ought to have eyes only for the viscount, but when I look at this stranger ...”
“So, miss, the unfortunate viscount is not the apple of your eye?” Lady Letitia’s voice right behind them made them both jump. She had entered the room unnoticed and was standing on tiptoe to peer over their shoulders into the square.
“As it happens, I know the name of that particular gentleman. He is Sir Erebus Lethe, a baronet who has been the duke’s neighbor this past twelvemonths or so. He bought Wycke Hall, an estate that adjoins Cathness Castle. At least, that is my understanding.”
“How do you know him, Aunt Letty?” Anthea asked.
“He sat next to me at dinner last week. Now, where was it? Ah, yes, the Farnboroughs. He is a most charming and entertaining fellow, whose company took my mind off the dreadful wine.”
“He is Scottish, I presume?” Anthea said then.
Her aunt looked at her. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, his surname is Leith, and I—”
“Oh, he doesn’t spell his name that way. It’s L-e-t-h-e, as in the River of Forgetfulness, and he’s definitely English.”
Anthea was surprised by such a name. “How very odd to be called after the brother of Chaos and the River of Forgetfulness,” she murmured.
Lady Letitia smiled. “I mentioned that to him, and the name Erebus seems a corruption of some ancient German version of Herbert. Herebeorht, I believe. He thinks Lethe may indeed have originally been Leith, although he does not know of any connection north of the border.”
Corinna sighed. “Whatever his name, he has eyes only for Anthea, not for me.”
“I doubt that very much,” Anthea replied, a little embarrassed.
“I’m not imagining how he looks at you. Am I, Lady Letitia?”
“You certainly are not, my dear, although much good may it do him when Jovian is at his side.”
Anthea’s face became hot, and she looked away.
Lady Letitia’s face assumed a thoughtful expression as she continued to regard Sir Erebus. “Hmm, I believe I shall send him an invitation to dinner,” she said. “If Viscount Heversham is not the one for you, Corinna, mayhap Sir Erebus will soon forget Anthea when confronted by you.”
Anthea was offended. “Thank you very much, Aunt Letty. It is pleasing to know that Corinna is Miss Goldilocks, while I am one of the three bears!”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. You have virtually withdrawn from the Marriage Stakes, Anthea, but Corinna has yet to be guilty of such folly. Sir Erebus is all that is charming and eligible, so I will do my best to see that she meets him properly.”
The remarks stung Anthea a little more. “Methinks the pot is calling the kettle black; after all, did you not also withdraw from the Marriage Stakes?”
“You do not know anything about it, miss,” Lady Letitia replied tartly.
“I am not a fool, Aunt Letty, and know sufficient to make an informed guess that you were once deeply in love but for some reason could not marry the man concerned. Am I right?”
Now it was Lady Letitia’s turn to go red. “That is enough, Anthea.”
“My sentiments exactly, when it comes to your pronouncements upon my unmarried state.”
Lady Letitia had the grace to look contrite. “Very well, my dear, I promise never to mention it again.”
“Then I shall promise likewise,” Anthea replied, a little huffily, and turned on her heel to leave the room.
Corinna gazed after her in astonishment. “I had no idea Anthea was so sensitive about the subject of marriage,” she murmured.
Lady Letitia nodded down at Jovian. “And there, seated so drunkenly upon that gray horse, you have the reason. You mark my words, Corinna, the headiness of a true love match can be followed by sentiments that are very painful indeed. I know, for my heart was once broken, as Anthea’s is now, although for a very different reason. You may gaze upon Sir Erebus and think him all that is exciting and desirable, and maybe he is, but sometimes it is best to settle for someone gentle and steady, like Viscount Heversham. Still, you are not yet quite nineteen, and there is ample time to reflect.”
* * *
Corinna was nineteen on the last day of July, Lammas Eve. The following day, Lammas itself, was the ancient harvest festival, and it was set to be one such as London had seldom seen before. With the European monarchs gone, the British nation’s own peace festivities were to commence, with fireworks, fairs, and all manner of delights in the parks. It was also one hundred years since the House of Hanover had acceded to the throne, so there was much to celebrate, and it was all to take place on the first of August. With so much to look forward to, it was decided that Corinna’s birthday should not be too eventful and strenuous.
The warm, cloudless afternoon was spent sailing on the Thames with Lady Letitia’s old friend, the Bishop of Fairwells, who hailed from a naval family and prided himself on his skills on a river. He was short, rotund, bald as a coot, and inclined to utter the occasional very unholy oath, in which failing he was matched by the other gentleman in the party, Lord Henley, another of Lady Letitia’s many friends. His lordship was tall and thin, with a head of wispy white hair, and thus the very opposite of the bishop, although it wasn’t just in appearance that they differed. Lord Henley was a radical Whig, while the bishop was a staunch Tory, and they argued politics whenever they met.
The wrangling commenced from the moment the hired sailing boat left Whitehall Stairs and continued for most of the day thereafter. Nevertheless, the three ladies enjoyed their cruise and the leisurely picnic beneath the willows upstream of the capital.
When they made their way home at nightfall the two gentlemen were still at loggerheads. Lady Letitia explained to Corinna that they had always been the same and would probably never change. They throve on continuous conflict and would have hated to be denied the pleasure.
As the last minutes of July ticked slowly away, Corinna lay awake in her bed thinking about the unexpectedly happy birthday she had just enjoyed—the first since her mother’s death. She felt a little guilty, yet knew her mother would have wanted her to be happy. Only one thing had spoiled it, and that had been the sight of Viscount Heversham rowing a lovely redheaded lady in a little boat near Vauxhall. He hadn’t even glanced at the passing sailing boat and seemed to have eyes only for his beautiful companion, who languished in the stern of the little craft, a vision in yellow muslin twirling a blue parasol.
For Corinna it had been a salutary experience, forcing her to realize that the viscount was not her slave after all. It made her view him in a very different light, but although she tried to picture him now in her mind, all she could see was darkly handsome Sir Erebus Lethe.
The night was hot, and the window had been raised, so the curtains moved gently in the breeze that played across Berkeley Square. A carriage drove past, rattling on the cobbles, and she heard an owl in the plane trees. All seemed peaceful and ordinary, when suddenly she was conscious of a sound that was much nearer to hand—at her bedroom door, to be precise.
Puzzled, she leaned up on an elbow and pushed her loose golden hair back from her face. The clock on the mantel began to chime midnight, and at the first stroke the door opened softly. The gentleman she had met by Lough Erne entered. Until that moment she had no memory of him at all, but as he smiled at her now, she not only recalled their previous meeting but recognized him as Sir Erebus.
He was dressed in evening black, with a diamond shining brightly in the folds of his neckcloth. How handsome he was, and how wonderfully exciting. She felt her heartbeat quicken, but strangely she felt no fear, and she stretched a hand out to him as he approached the bed. His warm fingers closed reassuringly over hers as he gazed down at her. “One month from now the nineteen years will have come full circle,” he said softly.
“Nineteen years?”
“Your mother sought to keep you from me, but now she has gone, and my path is clear.”
“I don’t understand.”
He put his hand to her cheek. “There is nothing to fear, my sweeting, for you will come to me. I’ll be your king, and you’ll be my queen.”
“As in the lavender song?”
“Yes, as in the song. The lavender is still in bloom, and the wheat stands high. The cycle is turning fast.”
“What cycle?”
He didn’t answer the question but pressed a pomegranate into her hand. “Eat this when the full moon rises at eight tomorrow morning,” he said.
“But—”
“When you see the full moon and its blue shadow, you must eat the pomegranate. The blue image is a portent of the second moon that will come this month, the second moon that signals the ending of the cycle.”
“I don’t know what all this means, and it frightens me a little,” she said in a small voice.
He smiled reassuringly. “You do not need to worry your lovely head, for I will take care of you. For now, though, you will remember nothing of me or this meeting, except the things I have instructed you to do.” He bent to put his lips to her forehead.
“But I want to remember you,” she breathed.
“And so you shall, but only when it is necessary, as now.”
Tears filled her wonderful green eyes. “Will you stay with me now?” she whispered, with no thought of how shockingly improper a question it was. But she was not really herself now, having been overcome by feelings—and a force—she had never known before. She was his to do with as he pleased.
“Stay with you now?” His dark eyes took in the curves of her body beneath the bedclothes. “Believe me, there is nothing I would like more, but you must remain untouched.”
He drew back from her, and she reached out desperately to catch his hand. “Are you going?”
“I must.”
“Will I see you again soon?”
“Tomorrow night, provided you are still attending the celebrations in St. James’s Park.”
She nodded quickly. “Oh, yes, the Bishop of Fairwells has secured a private pleasure barge on the lake and is to hold a large dinner party on it when the fireworks display commences.”
“Yes, I know, for I will be among the guests, but you will not know we have already met.”
Her eyes were warm and filled with longing. “Why must it be like this?”
“Because the cycle cannot be complete unless the mysteries are performed exactly as they always have been.” He took a strand of her hair between his fingertips. “You are so perfect that I know I can only succeed in what must be done. Sleep now, and forget me until I next wish you to remember.”
Corinna closed her eyes, her fingers tight around the pomegranate, and as she sank into a deep sleep, she was filled with love for Sir Erebus Lethe.
* * *
Lammas Day was traditionally when the gathering of the harvest began, so fine weather was needed; instead it was raining heavily. Out in the countryside the reaping could not begin, but the merrymakers of London were not deterred, and just before eight o’clock in the morning the sound of cheers and cracker fireworks in the square aroused Corinna from her sleep. The day’s festivities had already commenced, and other fireworks could be heard across London, even though it was daylight and exceedingly wet.
Corinna lay drowsily in the warm bed, her head devoid of all memory of the night’s events. Through the ill-drawn curtains she could see the low gray clouds, and her heart sank as she thought of all the wonderful celebrations that would be ruined by such weather. But then, quite suddenly, there was a break in the endless gray and a glimpse of flawless heavens beyond. Low over the rooftops opposite she saw the pale orb of the full moon. No, she saw two moons! One pale and creamy, as always; the other, peeping from behind it, a hazy, spectral blue—lavender blue—that was barely visible against the sun-filled skies above the clouds.
She had never seen such a wonder before, although she knew the old sixteenth-century saying “If they say the moon is blue, We must believe that it is true.” Well, it was indeed true, for she was looking at it now. She moved her head slightly in order to see better and felt something hard and round against her cheek. Puzzled, she reached for it. A pomegranate? She was astonished. Who on earth had put it there?
When you see the full moon and its blue shadow, you must eat the pomegranate. The instruction entered her head, and without hesitation she sat up and took her reticule from the table by the bed. Inside was a little pair of scissors, which would certainly be needed to pare the fruit’s hard rosy-gold skin. She hesitated before cutting into it because she knew the pink juice would run and leave black stains on anything it touched, but she soon dismissed such considerations. She simply had to eat the pomegranate!
Without further ado she cut deep into the skin. The delicious juice ran over her fingers and the bedclothes, but still she kept cutting. At last she had a segment she could eat, and as she sank her teeth into the soft, seed-packed flesh she felt a surge of something she could not have described.
Outside someone began to sing.
“Lavender blue, dilly, dilly,
Lavender green.
When I am king, dilly, dilly,
You shall be queen.”