“Heavens, I imagine any woman would! You like it here, then?”
“I do. When I reached England, I had the odd feeling I had come home, though I had never been here before. Everything in England is so fresh and green, so beautiful after all the arid deserts in which I have lived. It was all my mother said it was. I do not ever want to leave.”
“And what do you think of the estate?”
“I have not seen much of it, I’m afraid. I have been so busy with the excavation work, I have not had a chance to explore, although I have walked through the gardens on occasion. It is a splendid property, but a bit intimidating when you first arrive.”
“Yes,” Viola agreed. “I know what you mean. When I was a girl, I had been at boarding school in France for several years, and when I came home, I was struck by just how intimidating it was. I had forgotten. Anthony will not let me change a thing, though. Family history and all that.”
“I can see his point.”
“You would, Daphne, for you also see the point of clay pots. If it were your home, you would be like Anthony, no doubt, and refuse to redecorate a thing.”
Daphne caught her breath at the sudden wave of longing that swept through her at the other woman’s offhand comment, but she shoved that feeling aside at once. This was not her home. She did not have a home. “I would change one thing,” she replied, forcing lightness into her voice. “I would remove those hideous gargoyle finials from the main staircase and consign them to a dustbin.”
“They are awful. When I was a little girl, they gave me nightmares. Perhaps when Anthony marries, his duchess will have them tossed into a dustbin so their children are not frightened.”
An image of Anthony and his duchess with their children came into Daphne’s mind, and she banished it at once, tucking her chin to hide her expression.
“I am sure you wish to marry, Daphne,” Viola said, breaking into her thoughts.
“I...” She took a deep breath and bent down beside the table to dip the brush in the pail again. “I had not thought about it,” she said as she straightened. She resumed her task and did not look at the woman opposite her. “It is unlikely to happen.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I recognize that I am a plain woman, and rather on the shelf at twenty-four. I have little opportunity to make new acquaintances. And, if I did marry, it would only be for a deep, true, and lasting love. So, you see,” she added, glancing up with a little laugh, “the odds are against me.”
Viola did not reply, but Daphne could feel her new friend’s gaze on her as she returned her attention to her work, and it was a long time before the other woman broke the silence.
“It is a shame you’ve not seen London.”
Daphne looked up, startled by the change of subject. “I would like to, one day. Do you and your husband live there?”
“It depends on the time of year,” Viola answered. “I spend my autumn and winter at Enderby, our estate in Chiswick, which is just outside London, while Hammond stays at Hammond Park in Northumberland. In the spring, we lease a town house for the season together. In the summer, I go to Brighton and Hammond returns to Northumberland. It is an arrangement that suits both of us quite well, for we are only required to spend a few months together each year, and that is enough for the sake of appearances.”
Daphne was rather shocked, but she did not show it. She also felt a wave of compassion for her new friend. “I see,” she murmured.
“I make Enderby quite lively in winter,” Viola went on, a brittle sort of brightness coming into her voice. “I give many house parties and surround myself with company, for I do not like being lonely—” She broke off and gave a half laugh. “Listen to me, sounding so self-pitying. I am quite ashamed of myself. My only excuse is that you are a very good listener, Daphne.”
“There is no shame in being lonely,” Daphne said gently. “I, too, know what that is like. For much of my life, I have lived in desert tents miles from anywhere, places where I was the only Englishwoman within fifty miles. Papa and I stayed in Rome during the winter, and while he spent his time with other scholars and antiquarians, I would wander about the libraries and museums, reading anything about England I could find. History, politics, society, customs. I should love to see London one day.”
“Oh, Daphne, I wish I could show it to you! It is the most exciting city. I should love it if you could come with me when I go to Enderby. You would be such good company for me, and Chiswick is only an hour’s ride from London. Why, if you stayed for the season, you could come into town with us, and I could introduce you into society. We might be able to find your mother’s family.”
“That is impossible,” Daphne answered. Anthony was here, and she could not imagine leaving Tremore Hall for a long time to come. “I have far too much to do.”
“Anthony’s museum opens in March. Could you not come after that?”
“No, for I will still need to carry on with excavations here even after the museum opens. I doubt we will be completely finished for at least five years.”
“I understand, but it is such a shame.” Suddenly, Viola gave a cry of vexation. “Oh dear, I must go back. If my brother discovers I have run away from this excavation of his, he will be so disappointed in me. He is always trying to persuade me to intellectual pursuits.”
Viola started for the door, but turned in the doorway to look at her one more time. “By the way, Daphne, beauty does not mean a thing, you know.”
Daphne watched as her new friend vanished through the doorway, and she smiled a bit ruefully. “Beautiful women always say that,” she murmured to the empty doorway.
Chapter 4
Anthony leaned one hip against the pianoforte, studying Viola’s expression in the candlelight as she stared into space and tapped out a soft melody on the keys. He did not fail to observe the half smile that curved her lips. “You look quite pleased with herself,” he said, “and whenever you look like that, I begin to worry. What are you thinking about?”
