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“Marrying down, it’s not to be taken lightly. I wonder what Mama and Papa would have thought. They were rather fond of the Sideris family, but could they have imagined…” He shuddered. “I don’t know.”
“Then why areyouconsidering it?”
He shook his head. “It’s as you said. After the fire, I’m viewing matters with fresh eyes.”
“Oh, David.” She put her hands over her heart. “You wish for us to have more family. For me to be loved.”
He shook his head impatiently. “The arrangements I’m considering are nothing more than practical measures to ensure your welfare in the case of my demise. Viewed thusly, I’d be foolish not to consider Irons. I’ve already entrusted him with my reputation and business affairs.”
“So why not with your sister?” she asked blandly.
Palms in the air, David looked contrite. “What I meant is Irons has proven trustworthy time and time again. I couldn’t consider anyone less for you, Clara. And you, would you consider him?”
Clara swallowed. She needed her brother to remain open-minded to a match with a merchant—but a different one. “It’s an intriguing idea, marrying into trade. You know I’ve admired what you’ve built, David, and I respect Mr. Irons. But I need more time to give you an answer.”
He nodded.
“David, please, I need your word that you won’t take any decisions until you and I come to an understanding. That’s not what tonight is about—is it?”
“It’s not. In fact, I haven’t spoken to Irons about the matter. It’s occurred to me his father hasn’t either. You have my word. No decisions until you and I decide together.”
Clara hid her relief. Though she adored Vassilis as an uncle of sorts, he was a high-handed and prideful man who’d had his share of clashes with Nicholas over his future. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the idea was Vassilis’s alone.
They arrived shortly at their hosts’ enormous home in Bayswater, just north of the entrance to Kensington Gardens, where the family moved to be closer to the Greek community. Previously, they spent over a decade in Mayfair, which had been cold to them at the best of times—and intolerable after the death of Clara’s parents.
Vassilis and Sirena were in their fifties, and their welcome was parental and enthusiastic, with a series of alternating kisses on both cheeks for both her and David.
“Clah-ra! Clah-ra!” Sirena exclaimed as Clara bent to receive the smaller woman’s greetings.
As much as their reunion was genuinely happy, Clara noticed the swollen pockets of fatigue under Sirena’s eyes.
Next, she embraced Penelope, their striking seventeen-year-old daughter who had sparkling eyes, a surprisingly husky laugh, and a penchant for frilly gowns. Tonight Pen wore a powder-blue silk concoction with sloped shoulders and tiered skirts liberally decorated with ivory lace.
Adrian and Nickolas were likewise visiting for dinner. Both were dark-haired and of similar height; Adrian had his father’s muscular, bullish frame, while Nicholas was lean and moved with agile grace.
When Clara was Pen’s age, she’d even had a slight infatuation with Nick.How strange life is, she mused, looking upon him with nothing more than distant appreciation. She admired his many qualities, including his fortitude in pursuing his own path. In truth, she was jealous of that independence.
To her relief, she detected no new interest on Nick’s part beyond his ordinary politeness.
Vassilis, however, observed their greeting with unmistakable watchfulness, exchanging an approving look with David.
If Nicholas was aware, it wasn’t evident, though he was known for his unflappable demeanor, and was more than accustomed to rebuffing his father’s attempts to influence his life.
Over dinner, it became clear that everyone at the table was preoccupied in their own fashion.
Adrian, usually quick to laugh, offered no more than a tight smile. Heavy sadness clung to him, and though he sat at the same laden dining table, he barely ate and didn’t participate in the conversation.
His family’s concern for him was palpable, with both of his parents’ eyes lingering on him when they thought he wasn’t looking.
Nick, ever watchful and the peacemaker, observed enigmatically.
Sirena tried to show interest in everyone, but couldn’t sustain conversation for long before gazing off. Clara noticed colorful remnants of oil paints around her cuticles, evidence of Sirena pulling herself away from her studio.
For her part, Clara spent the meal experiencing wave after wave of nausea, dreading the delivery of each course. She sat next to Adrian, and the dark cloud that enveloped him saved her from scrutiny.
For a short while, David, Vassilis, and Nicholas exchanged predictions about whether parliament would take up the future of firefighting in London after the warehouse disaster.
Ultimately, most everyone retreated into companionable silence, listening to Vassilis recount his recent visit to Constantinople. He and Sirena immigrated from the labyrinthine city thirty years earlier, following the massacre of Greeks during the Greek War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire.
