Page 11 of The Viscount's Pearl
A shadow passed over Barrington’s face. “Lady Hyatt and I were not always the best of friends. She wanted her husband at home, naturally enough, not off visiting his old companion.”
He sighed again, then pointed beyond the cabinet of masks to a large painting of a naked woman with long golden hair, standingon a giant shell, surrounded by the sea. “That is from when we moved from Venice on to Florence and I first saw Botticelli’s Venus. Legends tell us that the goddess of love, known as Aphrodite in Greek, was born from the waves,aphrosmeaning foam, and that she came ashore on the island of Cyprus. Because of her origins, she was also considered the goddess of the sea. Here Botticelli shows her arriving on a giant scallop shell, blown ashore by the winds. It is only a copy of course, made by a local artist, it does not have the true delicacy of the original, but I could not resist bringing her home to better recall my time in Florence.”
Frances was peering out into the gardens, where the rain was slowing to a drizzle. “Your mulberry tree still has some fruits on it,” she said, surprised.
Lord Barrington wheeled himself over to the window beside her. “That tree is a wonder. It positively pours down fruits every year, Mrs Norris can barely keep up with it. But you are right, those ones are very late.” He smiled. “The orchard is my delight. I have planted many trees in my years here. Lord Hyatt was always the one for sweet pastries and fruit drinks, so many of the trees were there to satisfy his desires. Quinces, apples, cherries… it was our Eden.”
He was silent. “I am weary,” he confessed. “I have grown lazy in my old age and now often allow myself the indulgence of a nap in the late mornings. Will you both excuse me? The servants are at your command should you require anything and I will trust that you are not in need of a chaperone.”
“Of course, Sir,” said Laurence, surprised at his uncle’s tiredness. He was weaker than when he had last visited, some four years ago. “May I assist you?”
“No, no, I can manage, dear boy.”
When Lord Barrington had gone, Laurence turned back to Miss Lilley, somewhat dreading the duty of staying by her sideand making polite conversation. But to his surprise she was already tugging on the stiff handle of the door which led outside.
“Let us go into the gardens,” she said, the door opening, a chilly breeze entering the room.
“It is still raining,” objected Laurence.
“The walkway will keep our feet clean,” she said. “And the swing is set under a vast oak, the canopy will keep us dry.” She looked round at him. “You need not accompany me if you do not wish to,” she added. “I will be quite all right by myself.”
It was an easy escape, he could nod and make his way to the library to read in front of a warm fire, but Laurence felt that Frances had been left to his care in his uncle’s absence and that it would be ungentlemanly of him to leave her to get wet and cold outside. “Allow me to fetch an umbrella to at least take you to the swing,” he managed although by the time he had gone to the hallway and back, now armed with a large umbrella, she was already out of the door and he had to hurry to catch up to her, carefully holding the now open umbrella over her as they made their way along the walk.
She was right, the wooden planks kept their feet away from any mud and they soon reached the swing, where Frances took her seat, and began to swing herself back and forth, her eyes closed and her lips curved into a peaceful smile. Laurence stood under the umbrella and watched her for a few moments, but it seemed as though he were witnessing too intimate a moment, almost as though they were together in a bedchamber, a thought which startled him, considering how unlike she was to the women he had bedded over the years. Flustered, he turned away and looked out over the orchard, which boasted a fine array of pears, apples and quinces. The view reminded him of his uncle’s words, which had confused him at the time.
“What do you think Lord Barrington meant by this being anEden for himself and Lord Hyatt?” he asked, turning back to Miss Lilley.
She did not open her eyes. “That they were lovers and this was their paradise,” she said, as though this were an obvious interpretation.
“I beg your pardon?” said Laurence, truly shocked. She could not possibly have said what he thought she had said, nor be referring to the Italian Vice, jokingly referred to amongst his racier friends when in their cups.
She opened her large grey eyes and fixed them on him, still swinging to and fro. “Lord Barrington and Lord Hyatt were lovers in their youth. They went on the Grand Tour together and lived close to each other in London. That is why they spent so much time here away from their families and why Lord Barrington never married. It is why Lord Hyatt used to visit him here alone after his marriage. It is why Lord Barrington speaks of him with such sadness and spends much of his time here, even though his proper estate is in Surrey. Northdown House is the place where they were happy together. Surely you knew that?”
Laurence stared at her in silence. How could this young woman know such a thing and not be shocked by it? She seemed entirely unperturbed about such a scandalous matter, her feet still kicking the ground in a gentle rhythm which kept her swing moving evenly back and forth.
“You’re very quiet,” she observed at last. “Have I said something to shock you?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I suppose I must have done. Is it that you did not know of their liaison, or that you consider it scandalous? Or both?” She made a face. “Or is it that you thinkIshould not know about it?”
Laurence cleared his throat. “I am surprised,” he began, sounding pompous even to his own ears, “that a young lady should…” he trailed off.
She nodded. “Oh, it is me, then, not that you did not know or consider it scandalous yourself?”
“I did not know.”
“And it bothers you?”
“Does it not bother you?”
She gave a small shrug, still swinging smoothly back and forth. “It does not concern me with whom Lord Barrington was or is in love,” she said. “It would concern me if I were his wife, I suppose, which is probably why Lady Hyatt did not care for my godfather. And why Lord Barrington never married. But otherwise… what has it to do with me?”
“To associate with…”
She regarded him calmly. “Lord Barrington is the kindest man I know,” she said. “He has always been good to me, he has never chastised me for being odd or different, for failing to meet theton’s expectations of me, which everyone else in my life most certainly has. He has always tried to help me. I am here now because I wrote to him and asked him to invite me, for I could not bear the thought of my fourth season and all the whispers that will accompany me wherever I go.”
Laurence was still disconcerted by what she had said, even though he was beginning to glimpse the truth of it. Lord Barrington had never married, which was odd enough, but on top of that he had always spoken fondly of Lord Hyatt and indeed of the importance of loving and being loved. There were several portraits of Lord Hyatt about Northdown, both alone and with Lord Barrington on the Grand Tour from their youthful days. The truth had been there for all to see, it was not very well hidden, yet it had taken this slip of a girl, this odd creature, to point it out as though it were common knowledge, and not only common knowledge but also entirely acceptable, which it most certainly was not by polite society. He was unsure of how to proceed. Yet Uncle Barrington had alsoalways been kindness itself and Laurence’s mother had loved him dearly. Now that Miss Lilley had brought the matter up, he recalled a time, some ten years past, when he had accompanied his mother to Northdown House for an unexpected, extended stay. He remembered entering a room where his mother was embracing Uncle Barrington who was sobbing on her shoulder, his confusion and bewilderment, her gentle smile and gesture to close the door, to leave them alone. Had that stay, then, been occasioned by the death of Lord Hyatt, had his mother come to comfort her brother in his grief at losing his beloved? His muddled thoughts were interrupted by the footman, Andrew, appearing in the doorway to summon them for the midday meal. Miss Lilley rose promptly from her seat and went indoors without a backward glance, leaving Laurence to join them at the table, still trying to decide how he felt about this new information.
They were joined by Lord Barrington, who was in fine spirits. “Now that I am rested, we will eat and then we can play cards in the drawing room or Frances can play the harp for us, though she will have to spend some time tuning it. The sea air is no friend to the harp, I am afraid, they are very sensitive instruments.”
Laurence nodded politely.
