“I wish our parents would return from Ceylon,” Antonia said wistfully. “I’ve almost forgotten what mother looks like, except that she has blond hair and is very beautiful.”
“That was ten years ago. Females go off in the heat of the tropics,” Anthony said irreverently.
“Not Evelyn,” said Roz. “Her ability to take good care of herself is tantamount to a holy crusade.”
“Roz! Sometimes you give the impression you don’t like mother,” Antonia admonished.
“Mmmm,” her grandmother replied noncommittally. “Molly, you may pack the wig and gown with the rest of Antonia’s new wardrobe. I think we’ll go up to town a day early so you may have twelve hours of rest. Once the season starts you won’t see your bed before dawn each day.”
The summer day was absolute perfection. The warm sun had opened up the profusion of roses and lupins and the light breeze from the south wafted their perfume through the open casement windows of Lamb Hall. Antonia was humming happily, caught up in daydreams of the social whirlpool that awaited her in London. A small bubble of excitement seemed to be expanding in her chest now that her debut approached, and she realized she probably was ready. At least she was ready for powder and paint, high-heeled slippers, and fashionably low necklines. Her very existence was about to undergo a metamorphosis with balls, routs, plays, soirèes, galas, masquerades, and ridottos.
Her grandmother had made sure she had had a sheltered upbringing, rather like a country caterpillar, but now the time had come to spread her butterfly wings and attract the attention of suitors. Her parents had set aside money for her dowry and she knew this added to her attraction as did her father’s title, so she was not without hope.
Her eyes fell on the verse she had cut fromLe Beau Monde,the fashion periodical, and Antonia read Luttrell’s witty lines again, entitled “Advice to Julia”:
“All on that LIST depends;
Fame, fortune, fashion, lovers, friends:
’tis that which gratifies or vexes
All ranks, all ages, and both sexes.
If once to Almack’s you belong,
Like Monarchs you can do no wrong;
But banished thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove, you can do nothing right.”
Antonia laughed out loud. She could afford to. Thanks to Lady Jersey, she had her subscription to Almack’s, the exclusive establishment where society’s debutantes met prospective husbands. From her window she could see the boathouse where the lawns sloped down to the River Medway. She caught her breath as a heron winged through the trees, then waded out into the water. She would be gone all autumn and winter. There was much she would miss here in the country.
Antonia loved Lamb Hall with a deep and abiding passion. She had been born here and it was more than just a home. Up until now it had been her whole life. When her parents had gone to Ceylon, the beautiful country estate had represented security to her. The warm red brick covered by dark green ivy had stood there for a century and she knew it would always be there for herself and her brother, and would pass down through generations to her brother’s son, then his son. It was a comforting thought that though people might come and go, the hall would remain a bastion against the storms of life for at least another century.
She knew how much she would miss her wild rides over the meadows and the exhilarating sea when they took out their sailboat, but she knew as well that she would be far too busy for homesickness and wouldn’t give up this opportunity for anything in the world.
A carriage was being driven up the gravel driveway and Antonia watched with curiosity as a gentleman stepped from it and approached the front door of Lamb Hall. She didn’t recognize him as one of her grandmother’s frequent callers, so she went along the landing to the front staircase and was descending just as Mr. Burke opened the door to the stranger.
Her step was light, her spirits high; she had not one hint of foreboding. When she and her twin were ushered into the library, however, and she saw the pinched look in Roz’s face and watched her hands holding the paper tremble, she sensed the stranger was from London and the news he had brought would burst her small bubble of happiness.
“Anthony … Antonia … this is Mr. Watson of Watson and Goldman, your parents’ solicitors. He has brought us some dreadful news … oh dear, I don’t know how to tell you.” Roz’s hand went to her throat.
Icy fingers clutched Antonia’s heart, while Anthony glowered at the man who had dared to cast a shadow over the sunshine of Lamb Hall.
“Father’s ill.” Antonia voiced her premonition.
“Yes, love,” Roz said gently, “his heart … but his illness was fatal, darling. I’m afraid he has died.”
“When?” Anthony demanded, rejecting the unwelcome news.
“Apparently in April. It has taken some months for the letter to arrive from Ceylon.”
Anthony held out his hand for the letter. Roz saw the blood drain from Antonia’s face until her pallor was alarming.
Mr. Watson cleared his throat and turned his attention to the new Lord Lamb, who was desperately scanning his mother’s delicate script. “My lord,” Mr. Watson said with great deference, “I have taken the liberty of having copies made of the papers granting you the title and of course the deeds to Lamb Hall. Because you don’t come of age for almost a year and a half, your money is in trust. Before the late Lord Russell Lamb passed away, he appointed one Adam Savage as your legal guardian.”
“Who?” Anthony asked, a dull ache beginning to fill his chest.