Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) by Penny Vincenzi Read Free Book Online Page B

before, but I felt – what can I say – embarrassed. That I should have – that this should have – happened—’ Sebastian hesitated, then went on, speaking faster with each phrase. ‘Happened so unequivocally and so suddenly. At my rather advanced age.’
    ‘You make it sound very – serious,’ said Celia. Her voice was louder now.
    Sebastian looked at her. There was a long, a very long, silence. Then, ‘It is – serious,’ he said, ‘very serious indeed.’
    ‘Well,’ said Celia with a rather slight, but gracious, smile. ‘I’m sure she has every virtue. And of course we look forward to meeting her.’
    ‘You will,’ said Sebastian, ‘of course you will. Very soon. Because you see – well, because we are to be married.’
    There was an absolute silence. Then, ‘Married!’ said Celia, and the word cut through the stillness, so loudly it was almost shocking. ‘You are going to be married?’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
    ‘I see,’ she said, and it was as if Oliver was no longer in the room, no part of this conversation, had indeed no need to be. ‘Soon?’
    ‘Yes, Celia. As soon – as soon as it can be arranged. We see no point in waiting.’
    ‘I see,’ she said again, and sat back in her chair, staring at him: and then she raised her hand to take a cigarette, knocking over the glass she was holding; the red wine spread slowly across the white tablecloth, sinister and somehow threatening, and looking horribly like blood.

CHAPTER 3
    ‘Oh, my darling, congratulations. I couldn’t be more delighted, or proud. It’s wonderful news. You must be thrilled. I’m going to organise a big party to celebrate.’
    ‘Oh no, please don’t!’ Barty felt the familiar panic rising. ‘Honestly, Aunt Celia, I’d rather not.’
    ‘But – why not? You deserve it and it would be fun—’ She sounded hurt; Barty promptly felt mean. It would be the least she could do, really, to allow Celia to give her a party, small thanks for all her support, both financial and moral through her three years at Oxford. She took a deep breath, forced enthusiasm into her voice.
    ‘Yes. Yes, of course it would. I’d love it. Thank you. But – maybe not for a week or two. I’m awfully tired and—’
    ‘Of course. Whenever you like. Three weeks, perhaps? Summer is really more or less over here by then, I’m afraid.’
    What she meant, Barty thought, was that the summer season would be more or less over. She smiled; the seriousness with which Celia still addressed the social calendar always amused – and astonished – her. There she was, brilliantly clever and innovative, as important to Lyttons as Oliver himself, if not more so, wielding immense power over authors, books, editors, illustrators, indeed over the entire publishing industry: and she remained obsessed with all the nonsense of her upbringing, country house parties, the London season, race meetings, balls, court dinners, royal garden parties, titles, society gossip – it seemed to Barty, even after all the years she had known Celia, quite extraordinary. And this year, with the twins’ coming out, it had dominated her thoughts and indeed her life more than usual. Well, it didn’t really matter to her; although there had been the hideous time when she had said she really thought Barty should do the season, to have a dance, to be presented. Barty could never remember being so frightened. She had begged Wol to try and talk Celia out of it, but he had said he wouldn’t have a chance; she had even started talking about dates and courts when Lady Beckenham heard of it and told her not to be so ridiculous, and that if she wanted to make both Barty and herself a laughing stock then she was going the right way about it.
    ‘It’s those absurd socialist principles of yours,’ she said, ‘and I absolutely forbid it.’
    Barty, who had been called to the room by Celia while this discussion took place, lest she might wish to express a view, found it difficult to see