Page 87 of Dark Tides
Livia extended her black-mittened hand, curtseyed, glanced up at the gentleman from under her dark eyelashes. “I will not disturb you. I will take my letters and leave you to your discussions.”
“Not at all, please take a seat. We were just going to have a glass of claret, weren’t we, George?”
George, a rotund man of about fifty, lifted a chair from the side of the room and placed it near to the table. “Please, won’t you sit, ma’am?”
“Lady Peachey,” she corrected quietly.
“Your ladyship.”
“I will sit,” she said, sinking into the chair and smoothing her black silk skirts. “But I will not delay you. I only came to make sure that we were all ready.” She turned to George Pakenham to explain. “It is to be an exhibition tea, for those who want to see the statues again.” She put her head to one side. “Do you like them? They are said to be among the most beautiful in Venice, in Italy.”
“I’ve seen them,” George said pleasantly. “And I must say I thought they were remarkable.”
Livia clasped her hands together at his praise and smiled at Sir James.
“Some of them are modern copies, of course, and some original pieces cobbled together. But one or two are the real thing.”
She froze. He saw the convulsive little tremor of her throat as she swallowed. Then she turned to Sir James. “They’re not copies,” was all she said, her voice unsteady.
“George is something of a connoisseur. He’s a diplomat, he’s been all over. He was in Venice and Florence, and he saw some wonderful statues at the Dutch courts and the German courts, didn’t you? They’re great collectors there, he tells me…” James blundered into silence.
“My antiquities are not copies,” she repeated flatly. She turned to George. “You cannot have looked closely, sir. I have nothing but what is ancient and beautiful. This was my late husband’s collection, and he was famous for his good taste. This is my dower. You do me a great disservice if you speak against them.”
“I would as soon slander a lady’s reputation, as speak against her antiquities—not that I have ever met with a lady selling antiquities before!” He gave her a knowing smile, he almost winked. “I well understand that it is a question of value.”
Glib knocked at the door and came into the room with a dewy bottle of ratafia and a dusty one of claret and three glasses.
“Pour.” Sir James, harassed, gestured him to get on with his task. “George—you didn’t say, as we were looking round…”
“No, for what would you know, old fellow? I wanted to speak to the owner, of course, her ladyship here.”
Livia said nothing until the cold glass of wine was in her hand and Glib was gone from the room. She took a sip. “Of course it is a question of value to me,” she said quietly. “As a measure of the judgment of the Conte—my late husband, a famous patron of the arts. Value to me as my dower. And value to Sir James as a means to help a most deserving family, poor cousins of my husband’s family. Poor but proud widowed women who will accept help from me, but from no other quarter. If you devalue my antiquities, sir, you damage many people. Including, I think, your brother-in-law, who houses them.”
“Alas, madam. I have to speak, when I see my dear late sister’s house being used as a shop for some goods that are most definitely—”
She rose to her feet, summoning all her courage. She did not glance to Sir James but knew his eyes were on her. “This is Avery House,” she reminded Sir George icily. “Not Pakenham House—if there is such a place? It is Sir James’s house; not yours. Your late sister is mistress here no longer. If Sir James admires the statues and they seem good to him, if he wants them to sell at a profit because he has a charitable ambition for the profits, then what do you do here, sir, but disturb Sir James, diminish the profits for a charitable cause, and distress me?”
She was magnificent, James was speechless. George put down his glass with a heavy hand and rose to his feet to go. “I’ll see you at the coffeehouse,” he said over his shoulder to Sir James. He took Livia’s hand and bowed low over it. “You rebuke me, madam—” he started.
“Lady Peachey,” she corrected him, unblinking.
“You rebuke me, your ladyship, and I apologize if I have offended you. I will not say another word against your antiquities. Not here or elsewhere. I wanted only to know what was your intention in bringing these… these objects here for sale? What is it that you hoped for? And now I think I have a very good idea!”
He walked to the double doors, threw them open himself, turned on the threshold, and bowed himself out.
Livia hardly dared to look at James. He came quickly round the desk to her and she had no clever words to turn the situation. She turned to him white-faced, her mouth working. Without a word, he reached out for her, drew her in to his embrace. “Forgive me, forgive me for letting him speak like that to you. I had no idea that was his opinion.”
“Ohhh,” Livia sighed, leaning against him, her mind racing.
“I should never have shown him… I should never have let him…”
Livia trembled a little, with unshed tears.
“I suppose he grieves for his sister, my late wife. But he has no right to say that you should not show your beautiful statues here! He has no command in my house, I shall do as I wish, and he shall never, never insult one of my guests again. He overreaches himself. I can only apologize.”
“So unkind!” Livia breathed shuddered with relief. “I was so shocked!” Her tears brimming onto her cheeks were completely real. She was weak at the knees at the narrowness of her escape; he felt her yield to him and he tightened his grip on her to hold her up and then kissed the tears away, one and then another, and then a rain of kisses on her face, as he drew her close to him, one arm around her waist, his hand pressing her breast.
“I can never come here again.” She trembled. “I can never be alone with you again. My honor… He said such things of me…”
