Page 123 of The Duke Undone

Anthony had heard it before, but he liked hearing it again. He liked watching Lucy listen, her eyes wide, a smile hovering on her lips. She fit in easily with his lively relatives. There was something comforting, and comfortable, about her presence in the room. A rare bird among rarities. He wove between tables and vases, choosing the blue-and-white brocade chair and pulling it close to her. They’d dropped her friend Kate at home—the route to Leicester Square passed near to her house—but it had made no sense to take Lucy to Shoreditch before getting Effie settled. That’s what he’d said, at any rate. The truth was he wanted her here, with him, with his family. Her eyes wandered the room as Aunt Helen spoke, lighting and sometimes lingering on the objects that had fascinated him from childhood. The large pear-shaped vases with stirrup handles. The black lacquer cabinets with gold meanders. Finally, her eyes met his and held, her flush almost disguising the discoloration on her cheekbone.

Laughter and the tinkling of spoons brought his attention back to Aunt Helen. The story had ended, as it always did, triumphantly, with Yiayia losing a tooth to make a priceless discovery.

“Maria will come at once to see you,” Aunt Helen was saying to Effie, naming her older daughter. “You won’t believe how much little Peter has grown.”

“And Uncle Peter?” Effie asked. Uncle Peter traveled often for business, sometimes as far as Greece, sometimes to meet with clients at closer ports.

“He’ll be back within two weeks.” Aunt Helen beamed, imagining, no doubt, his happy return, the surprise that awaited him. It was more than Effie’s return—they’d finally effected a reunion, a closing of the distance that had separated the branches of the family. No more sneaking. Their father’s long reach had at last fallen short.

Aunt Helen poured tea from the smaller pot into her cup, the kind she liked, thick with honey and cinnamon syrup. Her enjoyment as she inhaled the steam was so apparent that Anthony poured himself a cup and winced through a single swallow before setting it aside.

Some things never changed.

“I can’t wait to see him.” Effie shook her head slightly, tears shining again in her eyes. Her voice cracked, and she locked her hands, bracing her body as though she might at any moment find herself shaken awake, ripped from a reality she didn’t yet dare to accept.

“I still can’t believe I’m here.”

“I knew you’d be back! I knew we’d see you soon,” said Sofia warmly, seizing Effie’s wrist, separating her hands so she could cradle the left against her heart.

Effie made a choking noise.

“I did not know. In fact—I thought—I was convinced that I would die in there,” she whispered.

The room grew quiet. For several moments, they listened to the tick of the clock.

“Sofia.” Aunt Helen leaned over the scrolled arm of her chair to touch her daughter’s elbow. “I will speak with my niece and nephew in private.”

Lucy stirred, but Anthony touched the back of her hand, bidding her to stay. Sofia rose slowly, frowning, every line of her body communicating reluctance.

“Go on, koukla.” Aunt Helen laughed at her outrage. “You can have Effie all to yourself afterward.”

“Koukla,” murmured Effie as Sofia dragged from the room.

“Koukla mou. My little doll, my honey.” Aunt Helen added sugar to her syrupy concoction, sipped, then added another spoonful. “Your mother called you koukla too. And you used to call Anthony koukla and make us all laugh. You don’t remember. Well, you were little more than a baby.”

Effie sank back in her chair.

“Cuckoo,” she whispered, blinking at Anthony, at the echo of maternal love they’d just discovered in that silly nomination. How much they’d forgotten!

Lucy smiled, her hand shifting beneath his fingers, lifting to trap his pinky between its pad and her forefinger. The promise of that slight pressure heated his chest. The golden warmth produced by the scotch in Jephson’s office was a counterfeit. This was true gold, what he felt now in the center of his being.

He had the strength to continue.

“Our mother,” he said and waited, giving Aunt Helen the opening to speak.

Tell us about her, about what happened.

Aunt Helen hesitated, glancing at Lucy. She knew that Lucy had been instrumental in Effie’s rescue, but she was still a stranger. Then her eyes found Anthony and his face decided her.

“Thalia,” she said, musingly, eyes suddenly unfocused, staring at a distant point.

“She provoked me terribly.”

She laughed. It was odd, to hear their mother’s name uttered aloud. It felt like a taboo had been broken, the lid of a locked box lifted. Effie’s eyes shone.

“I was twice as serious, so she was four times as free. But we loved each other for all our differences. She was filled with love. Do you remember that she ate a vegetable diet? No? One year, when we were children, she met the Easter lamb before he was introduced to the spit. That finished it for her. No one could talk sense into her head once her feelings were engaged. And she infected other people with her passions. I gave up lamb myself, for a season.”

Aunt Helen’s smile faded, and her olive skin looked suddenly waxen.