When You Wish Read online

  “Be very cool,” Theo advised. “Cool and intimidating and gracious.”

  “You do ask a lot,” Emily threw over her shoulder as she walked into the house.

  She was not at all sure that this scheme of Theo and Rosie’s would find favor in their mother’s eye. Elinor Belmont had no truck with deceptions. But two of her sons-in-law would support it. Sylvester would be amused, Edward entirely partisan. He’d been an honorary member of the Belmont clan since childhood and would no more tolerate an insult or injury to any one of them than the sisters themselves would. And if Edward would approve, then Emily had no scruples.

  She crossed the drawing room and entered the hall. “Mr. Larchmont?”

  “Ma’am.”

  Everything about Charles Larchmont was a shock and Emily had to muster every ounce of her famed poise in order to control her reaction. She was facing a tall man of about her husband’s age, immaculately dressed in beige knitted pantaloons and a dove-gray silk coat. His cravat was elegantly but simply tied, his shoes were of the glossiest black leather. He bowed with a flourish of his hat and smiled. His eyes were a cool dark brown, his complexion tanned, his hair fashionably cropped à la Brutus.

  “Mr. Larchmont?” she said again.

  “Your most obedient servant, ma’am.” He straightened, giving her a quizzical smile. “I am expected by Mr. Balmain, I believe.”

  Elinor gathered her wits. “I’m afraid we are unable to receive visitors at present, sir. If you would care to return after dinner and join us at the tea table we should be delighted to receive you.” She extended her hand. He raised it to his lips, noticing the slim gold band on the ring finger of her left hand.

  “And may I ask whom I have the honor of addressing, ma’am?”

  “Lady Emily Fairfax,” Emily said, realizing that in her astonishment she’d neglected to introduce herself. “At six o’clock, if that would suit you, Mr. Larchmont.”

  “I look forward to it, ma’am.” He became aware that the butler was already opening the front door for him so he took his leave without further ado, strolling down High Street with a puzzled frown. There had been something most curious about his reception.

  Emily hurried back to the terrace to be greeted by a chorus of, “Well? What’s he like?”

  She sat down and smiled mysteriously at her sisters, keeping them in suspense as she picked up her embroidery frame and began to thread the needle with a new silk.

  “Oh, Emily, don’t be so provoking,” Rosie exclaimed. “Is he old and fat or old and thin? Does he have disgusting snuff-stained yellow whiskers and warts on his nose and—”

  “None of those things,” Emily said. “He’s young and handsome.”

  “What?” Theo exclaimed, glancing at Rosie, who had gone suddenly pale. “What is it, Rosie?”

  “I suppose he wasn’t wearing waders and canvas ducks,” Rosie said.

  “No, he was dressed like a gentleman, most elegantly.”

  “But he had brown hair and brown eyes and he’s tall and slender, and he has a nice voice,” Rosie recited dully.

  “Yes.”

  All three women stared at their baby sister, who was now doodling on the sheet of paper on which she’d been drawing the exoskeleton of a crab.

  “You’ve already met him?” Theo asked.

  “This morning, along the tide line. He was looking for specimens.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Why else would a biologist be wearing waders and examining the mud?”

  “Did you speak with him?”

  “Not really.” Rosie pushed back her chair. “I have to go and feed the axolotls.” And she rushed off.

  “Now what’s going on?” Theo asked into the astonished silence. “Why would she rush off like that?”

  “Do you think he’ll recognize her from this morning?” Clarry frowned.

  “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it,” Theo responded.

  In her bedchamber, Rosie ignored the aquarium, going instead to the windowsill where the glass bottle glowed, bathed in sunlight. She picked it up. It was cold, despite the heat of the sun. She gazed down into the swirl of colors, seeing the shape of the rolled leather in the neck.

  Why did it seem everything had changed now that she knew that her enemy, the thief of her work, was not some stuffy, decrepit old scientist, his brain tired, dulled with age? Why did it matter that, instead, he was young, fresh, probably brilliant. She knew Charles Larchmont’s work, but only from references in learned papers. He was immensely well-respected, but she had somehow assumed that was because he was an old, tired member of the scientific establishment. And now to add insult to injury, it appeared that once again they could be in competition if he too was devoting his scientific attention to small crustaceans.

  She turned the bottle around in her hand. To thine own wish be true. Why should it matter who or what he was? He still stood in the way of her ambition. He had still stolen her work. And she was damned if she was going to let him get away with it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROSIE, WHAT HAVE you done to yourself?” Theo exclaimed when her little sister entered the drawing room before dinner.

  “I haven’t done anything.” Rosie glared fiercely behind her glasses.

  “You look like an owl,” Theo stated.

  “I can’t help that. I can’t help wearing glasses.”

  “You don’t usually look like an owl.” Theo came over to Rosie. “If you did, of course I wouldn’t mention it because it would be very rude and hurtful.” She stood back and surveyed her sister with a critical frown. Rosie had scraped her hair back from her face, fastening it in a tight, matronly bun at the nape of her neck. It had the effect of accentuating her glasses so thoroughly that her features were eclipsed. “And that is the most ugly gown,” Theo continued.

  “I like it,” Rosie said stubbornly, sitting down on the cushioned window seat with a decisive thump.

  “But it’s two sizes too large, Rosie,” Emily protested.

  “And it’s such a dingy color,” Clarissa put in.

  “I must say, dear, it isn’t very becoming,” Elizabeth Grantley said. “I find it hard to believe your mother could have ordered it for you.”

  “She didn’t. It was a present from Great-aunt Clara.” Rosie flicked at the greeny-brown cotton folds of her skirt.

  “Oh, in that case it was one of Cousin Becky’s castoffs,” Theo said. “Great-aunt Clara always sent them to us. She’s so stingy she can’t bear to throw anything away.”

  “Frugal, Theo. Not stingy, but frugal,” Emily said with a mischievous chuckle.

  “No, she’s stingy,” Clarissa stated firmly. “But we never wore any of them, so why are you wearing that ghastly thing, Rosie?”

  “It was a present.”

  “Well, since Clara isn’t here to appreciate the sacrifice, dear, I don’t think it’s necessary to make it,” Elizabeth pointed out. “And particularly since we’re expecting a visitor for tea.”

  “I suspect it’s because of the visitor,” Theo said shrewdly. “Why do you want to look ugly for Charles Larchmont, Rosie?”

  “Oh, I wish you’d all leave me alone! What I choose to wear is my business.”

  “Not when you make yourself into an antidote that will put us all off our dinner,” Theo said, grabbing Rosie’s hands and hauling her to her feet. “Help me with her,” she demanded of Emily and Clarissa as she pushed and pulled the protesting Rosie out of the room. Emily and Clarissa followed with alacrity, leaving Elizabeth placidly sipping her sherry. One Rosie would be no match for her three elder sisters.

  Rosie continued her complaints but gave up the idea of resistance as Emily unfastened her hair, brushed it vigorously, and twisted it into a casual knot on top of her head. “You have such pretty hair, I can’t think why you hide it all the time.” She loosened a few curls at the sides, deftly arranging them over Rosie’s small ears.

  “It gets in the way. You can’t look through
a microscope with hair flopping all over the place.” She wriggled as Theo unhooked the dingy greenish gown at the back, pushing it off her shoulders.

  “This one,” Clarissa said, emerging from the armoire with a simple cambric gown of periwinkle blue. “It’s a wonderful color with your eyes.”

  “You can’t see my eyes.”

  “Yes, you can.” Clarissa dropped the gown over Rosie’s head. “There, that’s so much prettier.”

  Rosie gave an exaggerated sigh, but endured as she was hooked into the blue dress. “Can we go and have dinner now? I’m famished.”

  Elizabeth looked up with approval when the sisters returned to the drawing room. “Very pretty, Rosie. It goes so well with your eyes.”

  “I told you people could see them,” Clarry declared.

  Rosie was unsure what had motivated her urge to appear at her worst before Charles Larchmont. She wanted to think that it was a perfectly intelligent, rational response to the situation. She was a scientist, even though Larchmont was not to know it, and she had no interest in parading her femininity, dressing up for a man whom she despised. That would have been a rational explanation, but she had a nasty feeling that there was more to it than that. There was another reason why she didn’t want Charles Larchmont to notice her as a woman. She had been far too aware of him as a man that morning on the salterns and Rosie was not in the least interested in men. She had no intention of marrying, ever. And was not remotely tempted by the flirtatious games played by the young women of her age and situation.

  So why did she keep looking at the clock during dinner? And why, as the hands approached six, did a field of butterflies take up residence in her stomach? Because, of course, she would have to come up with a plausible explanation of why she’d been paddling in the mud that morning. That was the perfectly simple, understandable reason.

  She took a seat as far from the door as possible in the drawing room after dinner, half hidden behind a tapestry fire screen, and picked up a periodical. Its subject matter was fashion, something that wouldn’t hold Rosie’s interest for so much as a minute, but with apparent attention she leafed through the pages. When the door knocker banged, she found herself retreating yet farther behind the screen.

  “Mr. Charles Larchmont, madam,” Wellby intoned from the door.

  Elizabeth rose in a rustle of dark gray silk. “Mr. Larchmont.” She extended her hand.

  “Ma’am.” He bowed over her hand.

  A man of considerable address, Elizabeth judged, finding no fault with his evening dress of black silk coat and gray doeskin pantaloons. Emily had not been exaggerating. Mr. Larchmont, elegantly and expensively dressed, was a far cry from the eccentric and somewhat down-at-heel individual they had been expecting.

  “You’ve met Lady Emily, I understand.”

  Emily gave him a small unsmiling bow.

  “The countess of Stoneridge.” Elizabeth gestured to Theo, seated haughtily on a striped sofa. The arrogance of her posture was somewhat belied by her gamine features but there was no mistaking the chill in the deep blue eyes.

  Charles had the distinct feeling he was not welcome. He looked in vain for the young man, his quarry, but met only another pair of blue eyes, another chilly nod, as he was introduced to a Lady Clarissa Lacey.

  “And Lady Rosalind,” Mrs. Grantley continued.

  Charles bowed toward the figure seemingly hiding behind the fire screen. Then his eyes sharpened. He stepped a little closer and the girl from the salterns met his scrutiny with a distinct air of challenge.

  “I’m delighted to renew our acquaintance,” he said gravely, taking her hand, raising it to his lips. It was a slim, long-fingered hand, but the nails were brutally short. Presumably it made for easier cleaning after a morning’s raking through mud. An unmistakable glare was all he received for his pains, so he turned back to the room. “I believe I was engaged to meet with Mr. Ross Balmain?” he said in a tone of polite inquiry.

  “Our cousin is not here.” It was Lady Stoneridge who spoke. “He was called away and asked us to receive you in his stead.”

  “I see.” He frowned.

  “Do sit down, Mr. Larchmont, and take some tea.” Elizabeth gestured to the sofa, then poured and handed him a cup. “If you will excuse me, I have some letters to write. You will be well looked after, I’m certain.” She gave him a charming smile, before gliding from the room.

  Charles sipped his tea and looked around a trifle uneasily. He was being subjected to four icy stares and he had the unshakeable impression that Mrs. Grantley had abandoned him to the lion’s den.

  He cleared his throat. “I assume Mr. Balmain acquainted you with the purpose of my visit.”

  “He acquainted us with your theft.” Lady Rosalind suddenly emerged from hiding. “He acquainted us with all the details … of how he had submitted his research to the Royal Society, and how they were going to elect him to membership, and then he acquainted us with how you were so dastardly and—”

  “Rosie,” Emily protested softly, too well-mannered to be able to listen to such a naked attack on a guest, however justified. “Mr. Larchmont is our guest.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Charles said dryly, putting down his cup and rising to his feet. “And clearly a most unwelcome one. In the absence of Mr. Balmain, I need inflict myself upon you no further.”

  “Oh, pray don’t leave, Mr. Larchmont. Rosie is dreadfully partisan and liable to let her feelings run away with her.” Theo rose fluidly, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “We would dearly like to hear your side of the story. There are always two, after all.”

  “Theo!” exclaimed Rosie, outraged by this apparent betrayal. “How could you say such a thing?”

  “Sit down!” Theo insisted in an undertone. “We don’t want him to leave before we’ve had our fun.”

  Rosie, still glowering, sat down on the window seat. “Well, Mr. Larchmont, justify your theft, if you can.”

  “It was no theft,” he said wearily. “My own research had been finished for over a year. The timing was documented, I merely neglected to present the paper to the Society as soon as it was completed.”

  “That’s what you always say in your letters,” Rosie snapped. “And it’s the most lame, feeble excuse for plagiarism that I’ve ever heard.”

  Charles’s gaze sharpened. “You have read my correspondence with your cousin, then?”

  Rosie pinkened. “I am in his confidence,” she mumbled. “I help him with his research.”

  “Ahh. Lucky man to have such an assistant.” Charles attempted a little flattery but was met with such an incredulously indignant stare he realized his mistake immediately. “I daresay that was why you were down at the river this morning,” he remarked in an effort to break the grim silence. “Collecting specimens, perhaps?”

  “You don’t think I’d be fool enough to tell you what I was doing?” Rosie stated. “You’d steal my res … my cousin’s research again.”

  “Are you married, Mr. Larchmont?” Emily inquired, aware of what a ridiculous non sequitur it was, but she could think of no other way to silence Rosie’s invective. A more subtle vengeance had been planned, but Rosie was not known for her subtlety.

  “No,” he said, making no attempt to hide his surprise.

  “I daresay you have found that most women prefer husbands who are known for their rectitude,” Theo suggested sweetly.

  “On the contrary, ma’am,” he flashed. “It is I who find that marriage and scientific research cannot comfortably coexist. Women do not in general have the intellectual energy to tread the paths of learning, and without that companionship there could be no true marriage.”

  “You are the most particularly pompous man!” Rosie exclaimed. “What gives you the right to say that women are not your intellectual equals?”

  “Simple experience, Lady Rosalind.” He regarded her across the room, meeting her angry stare with a calm challenge in his cool brown eyes.

  “Then you cannot have met very m
any women,” Theo stated, stung as much as Rosie by such a blanket and offensive judgment.

  “On the contrary, my lady, in my thirty-one years, I have met many women, of many kinds.”

  “I am going upstairs.” Rosie flung herself off the window seat. “Curiously, I find the company of an axolotl infinitely more stimulating than that of a patronizing coxcomb.” She stalked to the door.

  “Axolotl?” Charles was galvanized. He leaped to his feet. “You have an Ambystoma? I have been wanting to examine a neotenic salamander for five years. Does it have all the characteristics of a larval salamander—external gills? I must see it.” He had put an arm around Rosie’s waist and swept her from the room before anyone, least of all Rosie, could catch their breath.

  “Sweet heaven,” Theo murmured. “That didn’t turn out quite as we planned.”

  “No, but we should have known Rosie wouldn’t be able to keep quiet,” Clarry said. “But whatever are they doing now?”

  “Drooling over those disgusting prehistoric quadrupeds, I imagine.” Theo shook her head. “Rosie’s going to give the game away in no time.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Emily said. “Mr. Larchmont would never believe his rival was a woman, let alone such a young one.”

  “Perhaps,” Theo said, but doubtfully.

  Upstairs, Charles squatted before the aquarium where the axolotls floated soundlessly. “Oh, fascinating,” he said. “Where did you get them?”

  “Mexico. An advertisement. You see the gills?” Rosie lifted the cover from a glass dish and dropped a piece of raw chicken into the tank. The two formless creatures became instantly energized, swirling toward the flesh, jostling, tearing, devouring until it had disappeared.

  “Most unattractive creatures,” Charles observed. “Do you have a net? I’d like to take a closer look. There was a study done on the reproductive capacity of Ambystoma—”

  “Marchpane,” Rosie interrupted excitedly. “He said the axolotl can’t mate in captivity, but I am determined to try.” She lifted the pink albino axolotl out of the water in the net. “I haven’t had a chance to study the gills, but they are the most particularly interesting aspect, I believe. I would postulate that evolutionary pressure causes the gills. Why would they want to develop lungs like a mature salamander when their habitat is aquatic? Gills are much more efficient.”