The Adventuress (11 page)

Mr. Fairchild spoke next, doing his best to rehabilitate Jeremy's reputation, pointing out that his friend often argued that he deserved medals, and that the incident in Athens was little more than a tempest in a teapot, no matter what the Greek prince on hand had wanted to call it. By the time our food had arrived, the party had settled into comfortable conversation, each of us focusing on our dinner partners, turning to the opposite side at the start of each new course. When we were finished, the gentlemen retired to the smoking room for port and cigars—I refrained from making any criticisms of what I viewed as an antiquated custom—and we ladies waited for them in the lounge, just off the lobby of the hotel. I went so far as to accept the sherry Mrs. Wells offered me, although my dislike of the beverage and preference for port were well known.

When the gentlemen returned, we decided to take a turn along La Croisette. The rain had stopped, and the night turned clear, lit by a bright moon. Amity paired us all up, putting me with her father and Cécile with her fiancé. Once again, she walked with Colin.

“Your daughter is so lovely tonight,” I said to Mr. Wells as we walked.

“Thank you, Lady Emily. It is good to see her happy. Her life, you know, has not always been so easy.”

“I had no idea,” I said. “I am very sorry.”

“Nothing serious, mind you, only the difficulties that arise from coming of age in a family like ours.”

“I am not certain I understand.”

“That is just as well. She admires you very much, but I think finds you somewhat threatening.”

“Threatening?” I asked, crinkling my brow. “Heavens, I have certainly never intended such a thing.”

“My wife and I have heard many stories, Lady Emily, about the duke's past. We were not entirely comfortable when he insisted on including you and Mr. Hargreaves in this party, but Amity requires that her fiancé have whatever he wants. I will speak to you more plainly than you are likely accustomed. Stay away from him. I will not have my daughter disappointed in love.”

My heart pounded with outrage. “Mr. Wells, I can assure you that Jeremy has never been more to me than a dear friend, and that friendship has never crossed any boundary of propriety. That you suggest otherwise offends me deeply. I am not the sort of lady—”

“It would be best, Lady Emily, if we pursued the topic no further.”

One may surmise the remainder of our stroll to have been discomforting, an observation at once inadequate and perfectly correct. When we congregated at the end of the hotel's pier and released our partners, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Miss Wells, your necklace is a work of art,” I said. “Look how the diamonds sparkle in the moonlight. You are Artemis herself.” My own choice of jewelry had been correct. Amity was decked out in a collar of stones that, while spectacular, could only be described as an exercise in excess. My own diamond necklace, delicate and understated, would have underlined the tawdry display of hers.

“I own to being more taken with yours, Lady Emily,” Mr. Fairchild said. How I wished I could have stopped him right there! “Your chain looks as if it is nothing, but then you turn and one is graced with the site of those two regal lions. If anyone is a goddess, it is you, and you are Athena. Or perhaps Hera. Who should it be? I never was good at classics.”

Amity glowered. “You are too generous, Mr. Fairchild,” I said. “It is kind of you to sooth the vanity of an old married woman, but wholly unnecessary, I assure you.”

“If you are old, Kallista, I am positively ancient,” Cécile said. “Do you mean to insult me so?”

“You know me well enough to know that would never be the case.”

“No one could claim that you are old, Lady Emily,” Mr. Fairchild said. While I was grateful for the compliment, I did not want him to say anything more.

“You are very kind. What if we return to the hotel and have some music?” I asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Amity has a voice like an angel, and I should so very much like to hear her sing. There is a piano in our suite.”

“Capital idea, Emily,” Colin said, stepping toward Miss Wells. “Your fiancé raves about your singing, and I have not yet heard you. Will you do me the honor?”

The Wells parents made their excuses, as did Cécile, but the rest of us went upstairs, where Colin poured drinks while Jeremy and Jack arranged chairs so that we might all see the performance.

“Margaret, will you accompany her?” I asked.

“Heavens, you know I have no musical talent,” she said. “Even less than you.”

“I do not think it ought to be me,” I said.

“Very well, but consider yourself warned.” Margaret lowered her voice. “I do despise her. She's being perfectly awful to you.”

“It is of no consequence,” I said, “but I am most grateful for your support.”

Margaret seated herself in front of the piano and exchanged hushed words with Amity. Soon she played the opening notes of a pleasant little song by Mozart, and from the moment Amity began to sing, we were all captivated. A mezzo-soprano, her voice was rich and evocative, with more power than her slim frame would have suggested she had. When she finished, we all sat, unable to move, profoundly affected by her performance. The spell broke, and we all began to applaud, but Amity nodded to Margaret, who began to play again, another aria from the great composer, this one taken from
La Clemenza di Tito
. At the end, when we had stopped cheering for her—for cheering was indeed required after such a display of talent—she gave me a weak and extremely pretty smile.

“That was for you, Emily. I know how you adore the ancients, and I do want to apologize for Daddy having been so dreadful to you.” It was a thoughtful gesture, given that the story, set in ancient Rome, did fit with my interest in classics. It also showed the depth of Amity's knowledge of music. So far as I was aware, the opera had only been performed once in London during our century, and probably not at all in America, yet she clearly had studied it.

“Did you hear your father speaking to me?” I asked, wondering how she knew he had been so very dreadful.

“Jeremy overheard,” she said, furrowing her brow. “The darling boy told me everything, and I am horrified. Do please forgive Daddy for me, will you? I can't bear that he has made you upset.”

“Of course I shall forgive him, and you, Miss Wells, are an angel,” I said, and stood to embrace her, not missing the calculating look she gave me as I crossed to her. I wondered why she was now trying to appear to be my friend, but forced all cynical thoughts from my head. I would be her friend, for Jeremy. He would have peace, even if it were an uneasy one, if I had anything to do with it.

“And you, Lady Emily, are simply too very.” The lighthearted charm was back in her voice. “We have spent far too long at odds with each other. It is time for us to be friends.”

 

Amity

Four months earlier

Jeremy's arrival in Cairo changed everything for Amity. She still despised the heat, but when she complained, he took her fan and waved it in front of her face. When she longed for a moonlight excursion, he was always on hand to escort her, and she, knowing his habits from the stories told to her by his brother, always carried a flask of his favorite whisky. These nighttime adventures—to the pyramids, through gardens, on short boat trips along the Nile—raised the hackles of many society mothers. Surely the Duke of Bainbridge would not now ally himself with an American? Such a thought was not to be borne.

When Jeremy and his mates at the Turf Club organized a shooting party, Amity insisted on accompanying them and then shot better than any of the gentlemen. When they wanted to camp in the desert, she organized the details for them, and saw them off with a spectacular breakfast to fortify them on their journey. Upon their return, she had arranged for them all to be pampered like sultans and hosted a fantasia the following night in their honor. When, after a long evening that included too much wine with two of his Oxford chums, Jeremy staggered into the lobby at Shepheard's, very nearly causing a scene, Amity did not rebuke him. Instead, she laughed—that irresistible, sultry laugh—and told him that if he were her husband she would insist that he promise never to change his debauched ways.

“I am not so very debauched,” Jeremy said. They were strolling through the expansive Ezbekieh Gardens, just across from the hotel, on a warm, starry evening. “Just debauched enough.”

“I do adore that about you,” Amity said, no hint of irony in her voice. “Furthermore, I understand you,
your grace.
” Now he heard irony, as he always did when she addressed him formally. “So much is expected of you, and none of it amusing in the least. My family is much the same, even if we have no title. I am to be a good little wife and have good little children and lead a perfectly tedious life. It is abhorrent to me. When I see you, a gentleman who has managed to remain vivacious and true to himself in the face of so much pressure, I cannot help but … well … I suppose I ought to say I cannot help but admire you.”

“Ought to say?” Jeremy asked. “What do you want to say instead?”

“Nothing that would do me credit.”

“I like the sound of it better and better.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Tell me.”

“No.” She met his eyes and held his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Never.” They were standing so close together she could feel his breath on her cheek. “You wouldn't want a sensible wife, would you?”

“Never,” he said.

“I wouldn't want a sensible husband.”

“Tell me more.”

“We've both so much money we could never run through it even if we tried,” she said. “Imagine the fun we could have, refusing to be sensible together. We could devote ourselves to the pursuit of decadence. From what I understand, that is already what you do.”

“Who told you that? Jack?”

“Your brother is your greatest admirer.”

“I am not sure about that. He worries that I won't do my duty when the time comes and, hence, ruin his plans for further adventures.”

“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps he isn't your greatest admirer.”

“No?”

“Perhaps I am.” She moistened her lips while keeping her eyes focused on his. “It is wholly inappropriate to say, I know, but then, perhaps I am wholly inappropriate.” And with that, she leaned forward and kissed him. He put his arms around her trim waist and pulled her close, forgetting himself, but only for an instant.

“I am so terribly sorry.” He stepped away from her. “I should never have—”

“Never have what? Kissed me back? It would hardly have been gentlemanly to leave me the only one kissing.” She pursed her lips and gave him what he could only describe as a very saucy look. No sooner had he thought it than he was ashamed of himself. “I see what you are doing,
your grace.
You are struggling with your upbringing. Nice young gentlemen don't trifle with nice young ladies, do they?”

“Of course not. You are not, I hope, suggesting that I would ever trifle—”

“With me?” Amity laughed. “No, I don't think you would.”

“We ought to return to Shepheard's. Your mother will not be pleased that we came here without a chaperone.”

“You English are so very adorable! Do you really think my dear mother cares about such things? She knows I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and my reputation. I would never have agreed to walk here with you if I were worried that news of our excursion would ruin my chances with any of the myriad sunburned and tedious gentlemen who call on me to pay court. I want something else entirely. Something they can never offer.”

“What?” Jeremy asked.

She took two steps closer to him. Her scent was intoxicating, sweeter than the flowers in the garden. “You,
your grace
.”

Jeremy stepped back.

“I have shocked you,” she said. “Good. Come to me tomorrow and we shall see what happens next. I shall be in my rooms at two o'clock.” She turned away, then looked back over her shoulder and smiled before starting down the path.

“Amity! Wait! You can't go alone. Allow me to—”

“I am quite good at taking care of myself,
your grace.
You never need worry about me. Do not even contemplate following.” She waved and disappeared from sight.

Jeremy stood, flustered. He looked around, wondering how many people in the garden had watched their exchange. There would be gossip, that much was certain, but Amity truly seemed not to care. His heart raced. That kiss. That kiss. Could it be that, at last, he had found someone who could make him forget another kiss, on a cold day in Vienna? A kiss that ought never have happened, but that still consumed him, even after all these years? He pulled a cigarette from his silver case and lit it, then drew smoke deep into his lungs. He smiled. Amity. Amity Wells. Could such a girl really exist?

 

8

Amity's offer of friendship to me coincided with a new pattern of behavior. She made a constant and dramatic show of protecting Jeremy. No longer did she encourage his debauchery, and she explained this—in excruciating detail—to be a direct result of his aborted ocean swim, which, she insisted, had not resulted in him falling ill only by the grace of God. Had she not gone on at such length, I almost certainly would never have given the matter a second thought, but her near obsession with the topic struck me as the lady protesting too much, and it left me unsettled, which, in turn, reawakened my suspicions about Mr. Neville's death.

Not wanting to draw any attention to my activities, I begged off a countryside picnic planned by the Wells parents—evidently no one was feeling too morose for such a thing any longer—and stayed behind in town. I saw them off in front of the hotel, waving with great vigor until their carriages were out of sight and feeling a pang of guilt at abandoning Colin. I consoled myself with the knowledge that Cécile would spend the day praising his unearthly good looks while Margaret alternated between playing chess with him and badgering him about Latin poetry.