My Dearest Enemy (17 page)

There was no way out of it. If she wanted to promote Bernard's interest in the Camfield girls, she needed to go to that party.

"You know, Bernard?" she said brightly, taking a quick step back and to the side, holding the mail at arm's length between them, "I believe I've talked myself into attending. I'll reply in the affirmative this very day."

"There they go." Polly Makepeace released the brocade drapery on the sight of Lily and Avery striding purposefully off down the lane. "I must say, I think it was a stroke of genius having that pregnant gel drop all of Miss Bede's 'rationals' in the mud beneath the clothesline." She gave Evelyn an admiring glance. "And hiding her only remaining pair away so she'd be forced to don that fribbly skirt."

"Lily does look rather nice," Evelyn allowed in a cautious tone but with a soft smile as she glanced out the window at the receding couple. "She looks so well in pink. But then, so many women do."

"Hmm," Polly murmured, her interest in fashion rapidly waning. She brightened. "And I think our little playacting yesterday at the picnic went jolly well."

"Do you?" Evelyn selected a fine ecru strand of lisle from amongst those arrayed across the arm of her chair and began working an intricate series of knots, her fingers flying with nervous energy. "Do you think the best way to promote their, uh, regard for each other is to encourage their fighting?"

Polly, after another glance out the window, rolled her wheelchair closer to where Evelyn sat. "Oh, yes," she stated. "They adore sparring with each other. Passionate sorts, both of them. If they pussyfooted around each other they'd never admit to what is quite obvious."

"And that is?" Evelyn asked. What would this plain, pugnacious woman know of passionate types?

"Sex."

Evelyn blinked.

"They hum with it whenever they're within a half dozen feet of each other. If I were a genteel lady like you, Mrs. Thorne, I should be thoroughly scandalized by such extravagant goings-on. I must own your broad-mindedness surprises me. You can pratically feel the air crackle, haven't you noticed?"

"She will now that you've alerted her to the matter," Francesca said, entering the room amidst a whisper of orchid-colored chiffon. She looked a bit muzzy. Strands of hair flew out from her temple and the ruffles bordering her low decolletage were askew.

"May I give you some advice from a master?" she asked.

Evelyn glanced guiltily at Polly. It was one thing to agree to try to maneuver a person she was very fond of into an involvement with a man who frankly scared her—her maternal concern for her son's future demanded such extraordinary measures—but it was another to be found out.

"I don't know what you mean, Francesca," she mumbled.

Polly, rather than looking abashed, simply eyed Francesca assessingly.

Francesca paused before the enormous Sevres vase overflowing with fat cabbage roses and delphiniums that squatted in the center of the sideboard. "This vase is one of the loveliest things Mill House owns," she murmured half to herself. "I'm amazed old Horatio allowed something so valuable to reside here."

"What advice would you give us, Miss Thorne?" Polly asked.

Francesca snapped a faded bloom from the bouquet and dropped it on the table. "You ought to be more subtle. Luckily, Miss Makepeace is correct in her appraisal of your two victims. All right, Evie, if you object to 'victims' how about 'subjects'?

"Whatever you want to call them, if they weren't so completely absorbed in each other, they'd realize immediately they're being manipulated. Neither of them is dull-witted." She abandoned the vase and went to fill a crystal glass with port.

"Good point," Polly said.

"Polly!" Evelyn exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Thorne, but why deny it? Miss Thorne here wouldn't be making helpful suggestions if she were going to blow the whistle on us would she? The only question remains is why she would help us?"

Francesca gave them her most enigmatic smile. "Oh, I still might 'blow the whistle' on you, Miss Makepeace. I'm very fond of Lily. Very fond."

"So am I!" Evelyn exclaimed guiltily.

"Of course you are, Mrs. Thorne," Polly soothed. She faced Francesca. "Let's lay our cards on the table, Miss Thorne. Though Mrs. Thorne and I have a com-mon interest in seeing that Mr. Thorne and Miss Bede become involved our reasons are quite dissimilar."

"So I gathered," Francesca said, tipping her glass in Polly's direction. "I'd like to hear them."

Polly drew herself up in her chair. "I believe Miss Bede lacks the necessary commitment and resolve to become the next chairwoman of the Women's Emancipation Coalition. Now before you fly into fits, please hear me out."

Evelyn scowled. Though she knew Polly's arguments were self-serving, she could not fault her honesty.

"Without a doubt Miss Bede has qualities that recommend her," Polly said. "Charm, smarts, her father's blue blood and her mother's not-so-blue blood… even her illegitimacy is an advantage since it extends her appeal to the lowest classes. But most important of all is how Miss Bede, a very pretty girl, has lived without a man, completely independent of men, and swears she'll continue to do so."

Francesca listened. "Go on, Miss Makepeace."

"There are certain people in the Coalition who feel we need a popular, charismatic leader like Miss Bede." Polly leaned forward in her chair. "They'd like to raise her up as a sort of Virgin Queen: strong, independent, above physical urges."

Francesca laughed. Polly waited until Francesca's chuckles had subsided. One would almost think she regarded the older woman with something like pity.

"Forgive me, Miss Makepeace," Francesca said, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "I'm simply stunned that anyone would—pray, continue."

"Miss Bede is not above such impulses. Her reactions to Mr. Thorne are proof enough of that," Polly said. "Now, if Lily Bede forms a relationship with Mr. Thorne, legal or otherwise, she's not going to be eligible to be anyone's Virgin Queen. The Coalition can then elect a leader, not a figurehead." She slapped her hands on her knees. "And that's my reason for doing what I'm doing."

Francesca tapped her fingertips thoughtfully against her lips. "All right, Miss Makepeace's motives for playing matchmaker are clear," she said, turning her cynical gaze on Evelyn, "but I confess I am at a loss to understand what you hope to achieve, Evie."

The short band of narrow lace forming beneath Evelyn's fingers dropped off. "Oh, my. How clumsy of me!"

"Evie?" Francesca repeated softly.

Her head bent, Evelyn fumbled to pick up the lost knots. "I do it for my life," she whispered to her lap. "Bernard's life."

"Excuse me?" Francesca said blankly.

"Francesca." Evelyn's gaze pierced Francesca with its impact. "You know. You saw what things were like when Gerald was alive. You lived with him," she murmured. "You know how he… I couldn't ever…"

She almost stopped then. But Francesca was demanding answers and Polly's face had aged with sad wisdom and she might as well admit, to them and her-self, the reason she was willing to surrender Lily to a man. "I am a coward."

"No, you aren't, Mrs. Thorne," Polly said. "You are a survivor."

Evelyn shook her head. "No. I'm a coward. I spent a decade cow—" Marriage was a private matter, sacrosanct. She spent her entire life believing that, living by that. The dignity of the family name, Bernard's name, must remain unassailable, no matter what.

Polly's head was averted, her gaze fixed outside the window, allowing Evelyn time to collect herself. The simple innate sensitivity of that gesture touched Evelyn, allowed her to gather her dignity and go on.

"I cannot deal with Avery Thorne," she said. "I cannot. If I cannot make the simplest request of him for my sake, I can scarcely make petitions on my son's behalf. And," her voice trembled with self-loathing, "should it be necessary, even for Bernard's safety, to make demands on Avery Thorne, I doubt whether I should be able to do so."

"Surely, Evie," Francesca said, "if Bernard's safety were at stake you would—"

Evelyn lifted a stricken face. "Would I, Francesca? I would like to think so, but I am unwilling to entrust Bernard's future to something so uncertain as my courage. The fact is that I am afraid and Lily is not.

"She'll never be afraid," Evelyn said. "If she stays— and one way or the other she must stay, she'll have nowhere else to go if she loses and Avery cannot throw her out—she'll act on Bernard's behalf where I

cannot. She'll never betray her conscience to save her flesh; she'll never run instead of stand. And if he should abuse her, she'll have the courage to leave."

"Oh, Evie," Francesca said, her voice weary. "I wish you could have known something different. It can be so wonderful."

"Can it?" The brittle, cynical tone coming from Evelyn sounded as unnatural as a cat's cry coming from a dog's maw.

"Oh. Yes," Francesca whispered and in that moment revealed her frailty. Tissue-thin skin pouched beneath her lovely eyes, the wavering line of too-red salve on narrowing lips, the delicate mauve veins that lay like tracery beneath marble smooth temples were signs of age that her vivacity alone usually kept at bay. "Oh, yes.

"It can be so wonderful," she went on. "You think for one brilliant instant, that it is all worth it, that you have found your heart's desire, your Nirvana… your Eden, and you are as pure and innocent in taking your pleasure as you were wicked in seeking it."

Her eyelids fluttered shut and her head fell back against the cushions and she laughed, a gruff sound: a little lost, a shade betrayed. "Of course, it's not Eden. It's not even the Promised Land. But just the echoes of the illusion keep you searching, looking… bargaining."

She opened her eyes and for a second Evelyn could see the hunger in her, the desperate hunger, before the old self-mockery overtook it and disguised it in insouciance. She took a long draught of port.

"Some people swear it exists," she continued. "That it can grow with each encounter, not fade. And that it freshens the spirit not sickens the soul. And that it lasts forever. Of course," she sniffed, "I have my suspicions about those people's drinking habits, but still, as a romantic, I am willing to suspend my disbelief.

"But whether or not it exists, I am at least absolutely certain that no one should end their life without experiencing even that dim echo of it with which I am so well-acquainted. There. Haven't I couched that in the most delicate terms, Evie? I swear father would be proud."

"Francesca—"

Francesca rose to her feet, ignoring Evelyn's outstretched hand. "And that, Miss Makepeace, is your answer."

"My answer, Miss Thorne?" Polly said, her usually strident voice subdued.

"As to why I would help you throw Avery and Lily together." Francesca adjusted her neckline. "As I said, I am very fond of Lily. I'd like to think she is one of those who can find… Eden."