'Milord Athan!' said the butler, in a voice that combined dignity and shock. 'We weren't expecting you.'
The man bowed low. Athan looked past him, to where footmen prostrated themselves at his gaze. He was home. He stepped across the threshold, and familiar tension gathered in his shoulders.
'Hello, Fadel,' he said, with a calmness he didn't feel. 'I have a trunk in the carriage.'
'Yes, milord.' The butler motioned to two of the footmen.
'Are my parents home?' Athan asked, his eyes taking in the opulence of the foyer. It had been redecorated.
'Yes, milord. In the pink salon.'
'Pink?'
'It was yellow, milord, when you were last here.'
Athan nodded and walked across the foyer. The floor was tessellated and highly polished. He waved the footmen back. 'I can announce myself.'
With each step that he took, his tension grew. This house was a prison, with silk-covered walls and exquisite furnishings. I am escaping this, Athan reminded himself. This was the last time he'd be here. He could endure it for one day.
He paused outside the salon and laid his hand on the gilded door handle and inhaled grimly. He would not lose his temper, no matter how his father yelled at him.
He opened the door. The salon was indeed pink, quite flamboyantly so. His mother reclined on a delicate sofa, partaking of tiny pastries shaped as butterflies, and his father stood by the tall windows. They both turned their heads and Athan had the satisfaction of seeing their mouths drop open.
'Athan!' exclaimed his mother, putting down an exquisite pastry and clutching her hands to her breast. 'Whatever--' And then, accusingly: 'You gave us no warning!'
His father's mouth tightened, but he said nothing.
Athan closed the door and advanced into the room. He bowed to his mother and kissed her limp, scented hand. 'Mother,' he said.
He turned to his father and bowed. 'Father.'
Their handclasp was perfunctory. Athan stepped back and looked at his father. The Count had always been a large man, but his girth had increased since Athan had last seen him. His frame was heavy with flesh and the bones of his face were hidden beneath a layer of fat. The added mass didn't soften him, rather it made the weight of his disapproval more massive.
'So you've returned,' his father said. His height was slightly less than Athan's, but his shoes, with glittering buckles and raised heels, brought their eyes level. His gaze was as cold as his voice.
Athan spread his hands. 'As you see.'
His father left the windows and went to stand by the fireplace. His step was jerky and his mouth pinched. Athan recognised the signs of anger.
'What are you wearing?' his mother said sharply. 'You look positively rough.'
Athan glanced down at his clothes. 'They're quite comfortable.' And practical, although that wasn't something that would recommend them to his mother. He looked at his parents again and thought that they resembled exotic birds, beautiful and utterly ludicrous. Their clothes were a gaudy profusion of frills and lace and ribbons, glittering with jewels, and they both wore their hair in long ringlets. Their faces were powdered white from hairline to throat, stark contrast to the rouge and brilliant eye shadow that he remembered from his last visit home. His mother's eyebrows were plucked and repainted, high and thin and arched, giving her a look of absurd surprise. Her upper lip was painted white and her lower lip was bright red, a vivid slash of colour. His father's face had no such colour, although his eyebrows too had been plucked and repainted. The flat white of his face powder went well with the coldness of his eyes.
'Comfortable!' cried his mother, as if the word was an expletive. Her lips, white and red, curled in distaste as she looked at him. 'We're entertaining tonight and you absolutely cannot be seen looking like that! Everyone will think I have a barbarian for a son!' She shuddered theatrically. 'And your hair! Where's your valet? The man needs to be dismissed!'
'I have no valet, mother.'
'What!' she shrieked. 'That's not amusing, Athan!'
'No joke, mother,' he said calmly. He didn't need someone to shave or dress him. Although if he was to conform to the current fashion he would need some help. But he had no intention of conforming....
'So you survived your spying,' his father said sourly.
'As you see.' Athan bowed to him. 'You were correct, sir. It was sordid.'
'Hmph.' His father scowled. 'And what next? What freakish plan do you have now?'
'I intend to marry.'
'Marry!' his mother exclaimed. 'Of course you must! It's your duty to the House!'
Athan gritted his teeth and smiled. 'My brothers and sisters...?'
'Attending tonight.'
'Good. I'd like to see them.'
'Not in those clothes!' cried his mother. 'I won't have you present at my dinner party!'
Athan's smile tightened. 'Don't worry, mother. I have no intention of attending.' I would rather have my teeth drawn. 'I'll stay in my rooms. Could you please tell them I'm here?'
His father nodded shortly.
'Thank you.' Athan could think of nothing more that he wished to say to his parents. Their feelings for him were as cool as his were for them. He bowed and withdrew from the overwhelming pinkness of the room. As he climbed the wide, curving staircase he realised that his father hadn't shouted ... or welcomed him home.
