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Chapter 11
When a man and a woman embrace each other while the woman is sitting on the lap of the man... then it is called an embrace like a “mixture of milk and water.”
The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
Or too fond of me, Nick added silently.
“I am descended from a long line of madmen, Alice.” He strode across the cavernous room, lantern held aloft, stopping to point out the more notorious of his ancestors.
He paused before a forbidding portrait of a man with black eyes and black hair. “Edgar Hatherly, the ninth Marquess of Hatherly, until he was created Duke of Barrington by Queen Anne in the early 1700s. Poor old Edgar was convinced he could fly. Built this house and then died by flinging himself from a tower with a pair of feathered wings strapped to his shoulders.”
“Gracious.” Alice shivered as she studied the portrait. “He does have rather a maniacal gleam in his eyes.”
“Exactly.” Nick drew her by the hand to another painting. “My great-great-grandfather, Warren Hatherly, whose elder brother died in infancy. He believed he was being persecuted by miniature men with green skin who probed his brain with common household implements at night in order to steal his thoughts.”
“An inventive fellow, your great-great-grandfather.”
“A madman,” Nick corrected. “He published a letter to Parliament warning about an invasion of the tiny green men who wished to take control of first Parliament, and then the world. Very embarrassing for the family, I’m told.”
Alice nodded. “I imagine so.”
He walked past several portraits, marching swiftly, avoiding her eyes, and stopped in front of a painting of a woman wearing red silk skirts stretched stiffly to either side with the aid of panniers. “The third duke’s sister, Lady Grace, wife of the Earl of Langdon.”
Alice lifted a hand to trace the lines of Lady Grace’s cheek. “She’s beautiful—such silver eyes, and such a feline face. Staring straight ahead. Such an impression of strength.”
“She accused the earl of poisoning her and ran away one night, never to be seen again.”
“The family curse strikes females as well?”
“There’s no discernible pattern. Sometimes it skips a generation. There’ve been several sober, sane Hatherlys.” They walked farther down the row. “Virgil Hatherly, brother of the fourth duke. Entered the clergy and denounced his brother from the pulpit every day.”
The man in the portrait was thin and ascetic, but his eyes were no less filled with demons and shadows. Nick lowered the lantern. He’d made his point.
Alice continued walking down the line. “Is this the duke?”
Nick nodded. He hated to look at his father’s image because it made him too sad.
His father had been so hale and robust, the battle lance of his nose balanced by the strength of his shoulders and his proud, upright carriage.
The artist who had painted his father had been more creative than most. The duke held an orchid, its pale white flowers glowing eerily near his heart.
Reluctantly, he joined Alice, illuminating his father’s portrait. “He thought he could avoid going insane by strenuous mental exercises. He memorized thousands of plant species and became an expert botanist and celebrated orchid collector.”
Alice placed a gentle hand on his arm. “How wonderful that he achieved so much.”
“And yet he couldn’t stave off the inevitable,” Nick said bitterly. “He was attempting to extract a serum from a species of orchid in Nepal that he believed to be a lunacy preventative. But nothing helped in the end. The madness took him on the voyage back from Nepal. As it will most likely claim me.”
“I’m so sorry.” She touched the back of his hand, and a lump rose in his throat.
“My mother left for the Continent soon after. Their marriage couldn’t survive his descent into madness.” He laughed. “I tried to stop everything from falling apart but it was useless. I couldn’t fix my mother’s broken heart or stop her from leaving.”
The soft light in Alice’s eyes was worse than any harsh derision.
Excellent work, Nick.
Bring her here to warn her about the dangers of caring for a lunatic and then lapse into some self-pitying monologue that has obviously achieved the exact opposite effect.
Moonlight splashed across Nick’s face, caressing his angular jaw, and gleaming on dark hair and white linen.
