Envy: A Luxe Novel Part 5

Penelope's eyes rolled coyly to the mirror above her head. She straightened her bangs and considered her words. "Yes, but not too nice. Get her to like you, but then hold back. You understand, don't you? Keep her busy, but see if you can't toss her heart around a little. She's so young, and she could afford to be played a few times yet." She wrinkled her nose and winked at her brother. She wasn't sure if he was going to ask why, and not wanting to dwell on the rationale, she added: "Just for fun. We have such a long train ride, and one needs to entertain oneself and one's guests during a seaside stay."

Grayson looked at the Hollands one last time, and then turned back to his sister with a vaguely amused expression. He ran his fingers through his slick, dark hair and then shrugged, as though it were all the same to him. "Well, why not? She's pretty enough."

"I told you you'd like it!" Penelope laughed, although Diana Holland's physical qualities were not the least bit funny to her when, in the next moment, her husband entered the car, looked down the aisle at the girl, and immediately a.s.sumed the expression of a man struck by Cupid's arrow. If Grayson-whose gaze wavered momentarily between both Schoonmakers-made any connections, he gave no sign of it. Then Mrs. Schoonmaker stood, extended her rose chiffoncovered arms to her husband's shoulders, and blocked his view. A few seconds pa.s.sed before Henry's black eyes met hers, but there was scarcely any recognition in them at all.

Fourteen.

Travel can be time-consuming, dusty, over-heated, and odious, even for the wealthiest tourist. A lady never shows her discomfort, however, which is why she must approach any steamer or railcar prepared to play make-believe.

-DRESS MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY 1900 T HE TRAIN SHOOK A LITTLE AS IT RUMBLED toward its destination, but Diana moved down its length with determination, heading north while the iron beast went south, pulling the pale blue skirt clear of her long strides as she did. Her chin jutted forward and her left arm swayed. Her hair, which her sister had so neatly arranged for dinner, was now loosening about the ears; in a less distractable mood she might have acknowledged that that moment when her curls took on a life of their own was also often the peak of her loveliness. But just now her emotions had overruled rational thought and she was so overcome by something-though she hardly knew what it was-that she had found she was occasionally mouthing words to herself and had to rein herself in before she began babbling like a fool.

She was on her way to nowhere in particular, although she was in too featherbrained and selfish a mood to be with her sister any longer. Dinner had exhausted Elizabeth, who was now sleeping in their berth. Most of the other travelers were asleep too-the lights were low in the corridors, which were filled with a stern hush. Back in the Aries, Penelope and Carolina were playing cards; the men had retreated to their own single-s.e.x, post-dinner world.

She might have gone to bed too, she knew, but her mind was all lit up. Travel always excited her-the strong and unfamiliar smells, the movement, the anxiety of arrival and departure times, the shouting of conductors, the idea of her tired old self changed by ever new surroundings. The train fascinated her too-it was made up of all the rooms and apparatuses of everyday human existence, except rendered slightly smaller, as though it were some kind of display case for mannequins, and then strung together on a very long necklace.

More than anything, though, her thoughts marched relentlessly back to Henry, and how she had been near him again after so many months. He had worn a tuxedo to dinner and given her only fleeting looks. But he had said that he still wanted only her, and that was enough kindling for her imagination. Now every time he touched his wife she saw his scorn; each time he so much as turned his dark eyes in Diana's direction she felt the brush of lips against her throat. There was no sleeping after that. She was like a heroine in a novel that she herself was writing; the character kept protesting that she was too strong for love, and yet the narrator went on describing her desire.

So she had taken off, at a pace that might have been better suited to a jaunt in the park, down the aisles of the train. She had no destination and, in any event, resided more in head than body. Parts of the country that she had never seen and ordinarily would have been curious about were pa.s.sing in the windows, illuminated by moonlight, but she did not pause to look. Time pa.s.sed and she continued in the same way. The only thing that stilled her restless walking was the sound of her own name, followed very quickly by the feeling of hands on her arm.

She spun and focused her gaze on the man whose path she had crossed. They were in a narrow pa.s.sageway-her back was against a paneled wall, and Henry Schoonmaker was standing in front of her, the golden quality of his skin obvious even in the dim light. His eyes were a little puffy, she couldn't help but notice, and they were on her, boring into her, the way a man just coming out of the desert might stare at a gla.s.s of water.

"Di, I'm sorry," he whispered wearily.

She glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no one was watching them. He had caught her at a windowless juncture, and there was only the light of a few sconces. "Whatever for?" she replied, her voice straining in an attempt to sound careless and witty.

She inhaled the familiar smell of him, of cigarettes and musk and all those other undefinable masculine things, and she wondered if he wasn't maybe a little drunk. She wondered how he could drink-she herself felt entirely too light-headed already, just from being in his general vicinity. Then he looked away, just long enough to catch his breath and let his eyes dart right and left before settling on her again.

"Your being here is such a risk. If Penelope told anyone what we have been to each other it would never be the same for you. I fear I've been very selfish...." Diana was distracted by Henry's broad, aristocratic face, with his long, narrow eyes and fine nose and the lips, which she wanted, even now and against all her better judgment, to press her own against; she had lost track of what he was saying. "If that is the case, I am so sorry."

"I'm not," she said.

"Oh, Di," he replied hoa.r.s.ely.

She was acutely aware of the speed with which the floor she stood on was pa.s.sing over the earth, rendering landscapes and idle observers blurry, if only she could see them. She herself felt blurry and rushed. One part of her wanted to listen to Henry for hours, but another part-the one that was all tingly-knew that someone might come down the aisle at any moment and see a married man in a dark corner with a vulnerable girl. Then she would never find out how this story ended.

The train rattled on its tracks, the movement of the car unsteadying Henry, so that suddenly he was much closer to Diana. He was still looking at her with those ardent eyes, and for a brief moment she was sure that the same idea was in both their minds.

Diana's lips parted. He was close enough to her now that she could feel his pulse, which was quick. Her breath had grown short, and she knew his had too, because she could feel it against her face. He hesitated for another second, and then a door opened at the end of the car. All the loud, outside noises broke the moment. Diana turned her head toward her shoulder and Henry lowered his chin. They would have to move fast. He let his hand run down her arm and across her fingers, and then he turned and walked toward that opened door, his shoulders squared with the old, inveterate ent.i.tlement. A moment later, she heard him intercept the porter.

Diana turned left and hurried in the opposite direction. There was plenty more train to walk, and already she knew that she wouldn't sleep at all that night.

Fifteen.

A woman coming out of mourning, especially if it is her husband who has pa.s.sed, must be ever vigilant of her nerves. I have known not a few ladies who, when they went back into society, with its excess of voices and tendency to overstimulate, saw stars, became dizzy, and had to be taken hastily to bed.

VAN KAMP'S GUIDE TO HOUSEKEEPING FOR LADIES OF HIGH SOCIETY, 1899 EDITION "O H, LIZ, IT'S SO GOOD TO HAVE YOU ALL TO MYSELF away from the city." Penelope approached at a rapid gait and reached for her old friend's hand. Over her hostess's shoulder, Elizabeth could see the bobbing heads of the other guests, and perhaps she made a doubtful face, because Penelope went on quickly: "Or all to ourselves, rather, which is the next best."

Elizabeth managed not to appear disgusted by these false sallies and opened the small roundness of her mouth into a generous smile. Yesterday, after the train had finally departed and after so many h.e.l.los, and also after being corseted by the train's on-call lady's maid and rouging her once-famous alabaster complexion so that it did not appear quite so deathly, she had felt a little tired. This was to be expected, and anyway, she didn't mind so much, because every time she grew weary, she knew she might find her eyes drifting shut, and then she might be with Will for a time. But this morning she was feeling better than she'd expected, not in the least because of the contented little sighs that Diana had let out in her sleep. She was glad that she had helped her little sister come on this trip, and that knowledge made her feel not so weak.

"What a lovely and gracious hostess you are, Penny," Elizabeth replied as she drew her onetime friend closer to her. She had known Penelope for some time, and was quite aware how little she cared for that diminutive.

They made a pretty picture, which had probably been one of the former Miss Hayes's motivations in befriending her in the first place. Their long necks were both emphasized by high collars-intricate, shimmering lace for Penelope, fine blue cotton for Elizabeth-and their narrow waists were showcased by fitted tailoring. The girls' opposite coloring set each other off. Elizabeth had taken a little extra care with her hair that morning, and it rose in a hazy blond cloud over her forehead. She looked back once and saw her sister give a little exhale of disapproval, and then she focused the full force of her social capabilities-what was left of them-on the dining car's private room, where breakfast was being laid out on silver trays.

"You've lost so much weight since the fall, we'll have to get some food into you quickly," Penelope went on as they swept into the room. Elizabeth noted the subtle sadism of that last bit, but chose to ignore it as they joined the rest of the party, who were gathered in a loose group just beyond the door.

A long table was placed below a gothic ceiling of carved and engraved walnut with arched windows set high above them to let in the morning light. Penelope pa.s.sed Elizabeth off to Teddy Cutting, who escorted her to her place at the table. She had been glad when she saw his name in the paper, alongside her own, in the column that reported notable departures from the city, and had felt a kind of relief at his presence in the dining car that morning. Teddy did not play games like the rest of their peers. He pulled her chair back, and she tried not to reveal the dizziness that came upon her as she sat. Penelope's brother, Grayson, who was wearing a coat the color of a dove's wing, took Diana's arm, and Henry took Lina's, and they all moved to the table, the gentlemen pulling back chairs and then seating themselves so that no lady sat beside a member of her own s.e.x.

Elizabeth smiled-faintly, but with the old grace-as Teddy took the napkin resting on her silver plate, shook it open, and laid it across her lap.

"Thank you, Mr. Cutting," she said. "But I'm not an invalid, you know."

Teddy glanced at her, but only for a polite moment of mute, gray-eyed concern. His blond hair wore less pomade than usual, although it did by habit part on the left side of his head and cross to the right. She had not seen him since last September, when he visited her family on Sundays, when people still did such things.

"I know," he replied after a moment. "It's only that you seem so delicate after your...trials, and one always wants to protect you." He paused and took a long sip of water. "I find myself always wanting to."

Elizabeth felt her cheeks blushing, as much because of his earnest tone as his familiar words. But Teddy was an old friend and a constant gentleman, and she supposed it was normal for him to have spoken to her with such care, just as she supposed the word always had no special connotation. n.o.body else seemed to have noticed. He picked up a tray of scones and proffered it to her. The train rattled on through the countryside and Henry, who was sitting at the head of the table on her right, looked absently into his juice as his wife spoke loudly of Newport cottages and favorite architects and other things very few people could afford.

"I find his work utterly self-aggrandizing," came Leland's reply with blazing animation. He expressed everything with his whole body and with total conviction, as Elizabeth remembered him doing when he was more of a boy. It was just one of the characteristics that set him apart from his peers. "Although I appreciate the Islamic influences that he occasionally incorporates. Their architecture is so fascinating to me, all the minarets and mihrabs, all the arches and tiles, all that intricate calligraphy. Did you know that they use the calligraphy in decoration because images are forbidden? Oh, yes..."

Elizabeth smiled privately, thinking how frustrated Penelope must be to have engaged herself in a conversation in which she was destined to be the less active partic.i.p.ant. Leland, meanwhile, continued unabated, as though delivering a sermon. Beside him sat Lina, wearing a suit of light brown herringbone trimmed in dark brown velvet. Everything she wore looked ill-fitting in the way that brand-new things often do; none of her clothes had yet softened to her body, and they seemed to be occasionally laughing at the less than fluid way she moved in them.

That was uncharitable, Elizabeth admonished herself. For though she had not quite gotten over the discomfort of seeing her former maid socially, losing Will made it difficult to sustain a feeling of hatred for anyone not made of pure evil. And of course what Lina had said at No. 17 was true-she had loved Will too, and so she couldn't be all bad. She did look pretty in a way, Elizabeth could see now. With her lichen-colored eyes and her hair done up, she reminded Elizabeth of her childhood nurse, Lina's mother, who was beautiful and kind and always so calm amidst the Hollands' chaos.

Elizabeth broke off a ladylike portion of scone and put it into her mouth, hoping that a bit of solid food would have a steadying effect. She felt Teddy watching her, and tried to smile at him rea.s.suringly. Just then the train went round a bend. She became aware of how fast they were going and had to reach out to steady herself on the table. The curve had destabilized everything else in the dining car too, it seemed. The cups trembled in their saucers, and the serving bowls on their platters. Everyone stopped taking, except Leland, who always moved so restlessly that perhaps he was uncomprehending of the train around him. He gestured wildly and his hand met with a carafe of water, which tipped, trembled, and eventually splashed Lina. Elizabeth's eyes darted to her. For a moment the former maid looked as though she'd dropped a strand of pearls and was watching as they broke apart and rolled away on a hard marble floor.

"Oh!" Penelope cried, snapping her fingers at servants.

"I am so sorry," Leland gasped, horrified with himself, as he began to blot Lina's skirt.

"I'll have some more juice," Henry said to no one in particular.

"Oh...it's all right." Lina was blushing from all the attention and seemed to have already gotten over any potential devastation about her dress. She was staring at Leland as he furiously tried to soak up the water from her lap. Black and whiteuniformed servants descended on them with fresh napkins and a new carafe. Henry received a gla.s.s full of juice. Down on the other end of the table, Diana leaned forward and plucked a croissant from a silver tray, several shiny dark curls spilling forward across her chin as she did, then sat back into her chair.

"Miss Diana," Grayson, Penelope's older brother, said. "Can I pa.s.s you the b.u.t.ter?"

"No, thank you, this is quite deliciously b.u.t.tery enough," Diana replied tartly. She was full of some strange energy that morning. Her every movement had purpose and life, and she seemed to find satisfaction in every little thing.

"There's quite a lot of deliciousness here, I must say...."

Penelope's brother was positioned at the far end of the table, and though Elizabeth wanted to look at him to make sure he wasn't flirting with her younger sister, a sense of propriety kept her from turning. She disliked his lascivious p.r.o.nunciation, and it did sound like flirting, though perhaps it was just a casual comment, she told herself as she glanced at Henry. But when she glanced over, Henry simply stared into his juice gla.s.s. Everyone was acting so...strange.

"Miss Elizabeth," Teddy said. His voice was gentle, even as everyone else began to babble. He reached forward and placed his fingers lightly on her wrist. "Are you all right? You don't look well. It was a sharp bend, and I suppose there may be more...."

Teddy's fingertips, resting on her pale skin, communicated such exquisite kindness that for a moment she felt a variety of glowing happiness that she had not experienced in a long time. It lasted only a second and then it was overwhelmed by a terrible turn in her stomach. She realized with dread and self-disgust that she had allowed herself a pleasant sensation-something she surely could never deserve again-and that it had been inspired by another man, a man who had been born lucky and safe and who most certainly was not Will. In an instant she knew that she was going to be sick.

Her head was very cold and her body was very hot. Everyone at the table was caught up in their own loud voices and pressing thoughts. She let her eyelids droop for a moment and prayed that she would make it to the washroom; then she pushed back her chair and rushed from the private dining car.

Sixteen.

We have it on good authority that society's latest point of interest, Miss Carolina Broad, is accompanying the Schoonmaker party to Florida, which no doubt impresses all of her new friends. She is reportedly traveling with only a maid and without her usual chaperone, Mr. Carey Lewis Longhorn, which may make some of those new friends chary, although it will certainly make none of us lose interest.

-FROM CITe CHATTER, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1900 "M ISS BROAD, I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THIS morning. I will make it up to you by taking you for a drive in my motorcar when we arrive in Florida. Would you like that? Have you ever been in a motorcar? I a.s.sure you, my clumsiness only reveals itself in drawing rooms and at fancily laid dining tables. You can trust me to be your driver. In a motorcar..."

Carolina beamed and nodded enthusiastically. It was difficult to catch everything Leland said, because he spoke so fast, and she also sometimes lost track of whether she was supposed to be nodding or shaking her head, since he asked so many questions in pa.s.sing and she wanted to answer them all in a way that would ensure her spending more time in his company. She felt so giddy and delicate with him and not even very much like herself. She had changed out of the water-soaked dress after breakfast, into a smart suit of navy silk with complicated darts and white ribbon detail, and ever since then he had been showing her around the train. There were little explosions of lace at her wrists and around her throat, and she made demure flourishes with her hands whenever she got a chance to say something because she liked to see how they looked in flight. Leland had already taken her to visit with the train's engineer and hear the brakeman's a.s.sessment of the state of the train. (The brakeman was certain they would all reach Palm Beach in one piece.) Now he led Carolina from the observation car onto its deck, which looked back along the tracks that trailed behind them, curving so that they disappeared amongst the bare trees.

The day was cool and crisp, and the afternoon landscape lazily unpopulated under the blue sky. Carolina's dress rippled in the wind as she stepped out behind Leland and felt the air-it was warmer than in New York, but still a little bracing. Like the parlor car behind them, which was outfitted with stuffed sofas and huge maps and velvet drapes, the observation deck was grandly constructed, with a domed and ta.s.seled roof held aloft by gold-plated pillars over a half-circle platform. The railing was made of finely whittled wood with a high shine.

"I love the way the land just falls behind you when you travel on a train. Can you imagine what it must have been like for our great-grandfathers, who hardly knew what a train was and never would have experienced travel with such ease and comfort? What a privilege it is to live now, at just this moment, and to be able to go anywhere...."

Suddenly he paused and looked out at the trees. It was almost a shock to see Leland standing still, and Carolina's breathing became irregular as she gazed at him and saw how truly, unbelievably, preternaturally handsome he was. There was still the rocking of the train, however-he reached out and put a hand on the gold pillar. She blinked, but could not help but continue looking at him. He was so big-boned, and yet so slender, his torso tapering away from his broad shoulders. It made her feel pet.i.te to be next to someone of such considerable physical presence. His hair was a little overgrown, and it flapped over his ears. When he turned back she realized she'd been staring again and felt a stab of shame.

"We should be in Florida by tomorrow afternoon," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft and measured.

Carolina, whose gaze had wandered bashfully to her shoes, now gave herself a little speech. Surely he would not have spent so many hours with her if he did not already find her pretty, she rationalized, and if he had not yet said anything sweet to her, perhaps it was because he didn't want to take advantage, or because he himself was shy in that department, or for a dozen other reasons. For a moment the inevitability of her own seat and the specter of returning to it without sharing a single romantic moment with Leland rose, horribly, in her thoughts. She looked at his wide-set blue eyes and decided it was up to her to show him how she felt.

She pa.s.sed her parasol into her right hand and took a step toward Leland. She knew that she should be smiling, but the nervousness had already spread through her and she had forgotten how to make even the most basic gestures. All she could think to do at the moment was complete the series of steps that she had imagined for herself: toward Leland, then a little twirl, so that she would land between him and the railing and very close indeed. Then maybe she would remember how to smile. He was watching her intently now, and she moved backward coquettishly, leaning against the rail. She never got to smile, however, because at just that moment the car hit a b.u.mp and she lost her footing and her whole weight fell against the wooden bars behind her.

There was a terrible snapping sound. The wind came rushing past her ears, and in an instant she knew she was going to die. The wheels were shrieking on their tracks and the headlines were already reverberating in her mind. SOCIETY NEWCOMER'S GRISLY END SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF MASON-DIXON, they would read, or UNGRATEFUL PARVENU ABANDONS MEAL TICKET, MEETS MAKER ONE DAY LATER. She knew that her body, which had experienced so little in its seventeen years, was going to be crushed and left behind by all the more graceful and lucky people still safely on the train.

Then she opened her eyes and realized her life wasn't over, after all.

Leland had her by one arm, and was holding on to the gold-plated pole by the other. There was a serious steadiness about the way he was looking at her, even though the sky above and land below were falling behind them so frightfully quickly. Her heart beat with such rapidity that she wondered if the thing wasn't going to jump out of her throat, but there was also an eerie calm settling inside her. Leland's face was red from all the blood that had rushed there-she could tell he was engaged in a tremendous effort. Beyond him, the clouds were shot through with gold from the sun. He pulled with all his strength, and then Carolina was righted again. She glanced at the broken rail and had to close her eyes as the full realization of how close she'd been to being torn limb from limb dawned in her consciousness.

"Oh, thank you," she whispered.

"Are you all right?"

She looked at Leland, and saw that he was just as shaken as she was.

"Yes," she said. "Or I will be in a minute or two."

Her fright at what might have been had not yet subsided when she began to see all the bright, shining possibilities of the moment. She was not a deft manipulator of social situations-not yet, anyway-but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. She let her lids flutter shut, let her lips part weakly, and then threw herself forward into his arms.

"Oh, Leland, if you hadn't been here..." she went on. But she didn't have to say anything more, for already his arms had folded around her, and the full spread of his palms was pressing against her silk-covered back.

Seventeen.

The Schoonmaker party is said to arrive at the Royal Poinciana, Palm Beach, Florida, this evening, barring any travel complications. I can a.s.sure the most exclusive details of their southern getaway. Many notable people have been wintering at the hotel, including the Frederick Whitneys, the family of Lord Dagmall-Lister, the British amba.s.sador, and the Prince of Bavaria and his retinue....

-FROM THE "GAMESOME GALLANT" COLUMN IN THE NEW YORK IMPERIAL, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1900 H ENRY LOVED A GOOD HOTEL, AND WAS KNOWN TO take rooms either for a party or for a few days rest in several of the New York establishments, even when one of the clubs he and his father belonged to would have done just as well. He found very little pleasure, however, in the Royal Poinciana, a great lemon yellow wood structure with white tr.i.m.m.i.n.g sitting between Lake Worth and the sea, on the evening of his party's arrival there. He was by then wretchedly sober, and he had been watching the ruthlessness with which Penelope attended to their guests. It was as though she wanted them in a state of controlled awe at all times. Now that he was more clear-eyed, he wondered if there were any limits to her behavior when something she felt was hers was on the line.

"There we are, Mr. Schoonmaker," said the concierge, who had accompanied them personally to their suite. Henry watched the flurry of bellhops and housekeepers before them, still struggling all across the room to place the luggage just so, as he reached into his pockets for tips.

"We are a very large hotel," the concierge went on. "Our hallways cover over four miles, and our grounds are nearly thirty acres. But for you, we want it to feel like home. We want it to feel personal. Please do not hesitate to call on us at any moment, for any little thing. Do not hesitate..."

Henry stared off at the fine white net canopy of the gigantic bed-which was made of polished black walnut and stood on a raised and carpeted platform in the far corner of the palatial room-even as the concierge prattled on. The elder Mr. Schoonmaker and Henry Flagler, who owned not only the hotel but most of Palm Beach, had done railroad business together in their youth, and so Henry suspected that the sycophancy would continue apace until the last bellhop had received his reward. He had heard many speeches like this before, in all kinds of hotels, and had often entertained himself by asking impossibly arcane questions about the history of the building or by demanding specific vintages of wines that were impossible to acquire on short notice. None of those antics appealed to him now.

"The bathroom in this suite," the concierge was saying, "is seventeen feet long, and has a sunken bathtub of imported Italian marble. Perhaps Madame would like a bath before dinner? I could have one drawn up-"

"No," Henry interrupted sharply. He paused and let his index finger dart to the inside corner of his eye, where he sc.r.a.ped after an invisible spec of dust. "No, that is really quite all right."

He could see how abrupt he had been in the faint flitting of the concierge's fair eyelashes. The negative ripple continued across the room, which was now littered with great pieces of patterned luggage, bound in buckles and straps, so that the housekeepers turned their faces to the floor and the young boy with the bra.s.s cart moved to exit, until it reached Penelope, who removed her hat and turned to give Henry a cold look. Her dark hair was in a high, rigid form, and the two pieces of her red costume met in an impossibly narrow waist, where she placed her hand.

"My wife loves dirty rumors, you see," Henry heard himself say with stale jollity, "and so she has never been over-fond of bathing."

Penelope turned away, the curve of her back catching a late-afternoon blaze of light, and then spoke in a voice he had never heard before. It intimidated precisely because it was so low and soft. "You may all go now," she said as she handed her hat to her lady's maid without looking at her.

The maid took the hat, which was small and plumed and had been fastened with black velvet, and stepped down from the platform onto the main Spanish-tiled floor. As she walked to the door, she gave Henry what he imagined to be a pleading look. The hotel staff began to shuffle past him toward the door, and as they went he extended his hand to slip them coins. The concierge gave him a crooked smile that confirmed he had been rude to his wife in front of the help, followed by a deferential nod, and then left the room, closing the huge bronze door behind him.

When they were alone he noticed the warm breeze from the French doors that opened onto a terrace, where Penelope stood. Her back straightened and she kept her slender figure facing away from him, but even so he detected in her stance a kind of challenge. There was no doubt that the thoughts in her head were all about how she was going to keep him away from Diana forever, and the idea that anyone would hurt Di made his blood steam.

Henry removed his jacket, and tossed it carelessly onto a satinwood settee. He moved across the floor toward the terrace with a certain restless aggression, undoing his cuffs and then dropping his monogrammed gold cuff links onto the little decorative table by the door. They clattered against its marble top, causing a noise that startled both Schoonmakers.

"Henry?" Penelope had turned to a.s.sess the situation, and though she a.s.sumed a thoughtful, questioning tone, it carried an undercurrent of decided malice.

"What is it?" They faced each other across the great shining floor, both stiff and wary of each other. All the furniture between them had been polished that day, and it glittered expensively in the fading light. When Henry began to undo the top b.u.t.tons of the shirt he had worn all morning on the train, his fingers moved with an almost bellicose energy. Penelope's anger was just as clear in the fierce batting of her black lashes.

Eventually she put her hand on her hip, and then she let her whole body relax into what she said next. "You know it's in neither of our interest to make the servants talk."

He exhaled sharply and stepped toward her as though to contradict that notion. But she was right, and he couldn't forget the angelic faith with which Diana had waited to be kissed in the corridor of the train. No matter how much he hated his wife in the moment, he could not be impulsive, for it was not his reputation that was most at risk.

"I'd rather not tell everyone that my husband once de-flowered one of the famous Holland girls, but I will if I have to," she went on pointedly. Each word met the air like the whistling thrust of a rapier. "It would be unfortunate if you, in your own stupidity, let this information become known pa.s.sively, to some maid or other. Don't think I haven't noticed how happy you are to have your former lover along on this trip."

He grimaced, but there was no way for him to return her words. She was frightening when she was like this, and she was also right.