“Yes, m’lady. They’re of Jeanette and Mrs. Carter’s two boys, and a few neighborhood children. I did the small portraits first, and now I’m practicing miniaturizing them.”
In front of each of five small portraits, none of them bigger than a foot high, were much smaller, circular-shaped paintings, each an exquisite replication of one of the larger pictures.
“For lockets.” Emma had never seen such fine and detailed work up close.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Billings cleared her throat. “M’lady, while we have a few minutes alone, I wonder if I might impose upon you.”
Emme looked up from the paintings to see the woman staring intently at her with wide eyes in a pale face. “Mrs. Billings, what is it?”
The woman fidgeted with her hands. “It’s about Mrs. Carter.” She glanced at the staircase as if assuring herself no one was in earshot. “After the babe is born, Mr. Hartman has a mind to send her back to the factory where she worked. You are familiar with Mr. Hartman?”
Emme nodded. She had recently learned of the arrangement. The spinsters donated their initiation fees into a fund that was used to supply housing, food, and care to needy women and children, but women who were able-bodied were expected to earn at least some of their own keep. Instead of overseeing these employment requirements themselves, the spinsters employed a small group of solicitors, led by Mr. Hartman, to act as liaisons between the women needing jobs and employers looking to save money by hiring out some of their work to women for a fraction of the cost of employing men. Hence, Mrs. Carter worked at hemming and repairing clothing for a number of tailors, and Mrs. Billings worked with a house painter, blending custom paint colors for the walls of the wealthy.
“She’d make more money in the factory.” Mrs. Billings wrapped her hands around her middle and Emme feared the woman would be sick. “But she can’t return to that horrid place. The long hours away from her children, and on her feet, no less. And the beatings. She nearly lost the babe early on because of them.”
Emme felt ill herself. She lowered herself back onto the divan. “They beat her? And while she was pregnant?”
The woman nodded. “It’s not the worst thing that happens in those places. Not even close to it. I’ve been able to avoid the fate of working in such a place through sheer luck of having a knack for color and paints. Sewing is a much more common and low-wage skill, so Mr. Hartman doesn’t encourage it as a means to income unless there’s no other choice.”
Mrs. Billings dropped her voice to a whisper. “I implore you to have a word with Lady Abigail, convince her that Mrs. Carter should continue her sewing, despite the lower wages.”
“Yes, there must be something we can do.” Emme closed her eyes for a minute, desperate to settle the morning tea and toast that now churned in her stomach. She opened her eyes and glanced at the table stacked with Mrs. Billings’s paintings. “Do you sell these, then?”
Mrs. Billings stared at her, barely blinking, no doubt thinking Emme quite addle-brained for jumping from such a serious topic with no warning. Or perhaps she thought Emme hard-hearted. Still, she answered. “No, ma’am. No one in this neighborhood could afford to spend money on such frippery. I give them as gifts. Many of the women on our street have been so helpful to us. It’s a way to thank them.”
“You could sell them, though. That’s what I’m getting at.” Emme turned to face Mrs. Billings, whose face flamed pink at the edges. “To ladies of the ton. The miniatures as well as the larger portraits. My mother had portraits of my sister, brother, and me commissioned about five years ago. It was very lucrative for the artist, and I daresay he had significantly less talent than your work displays.”
“You’re very kind, m’lady. But I have neither the contacts nor the appropriate background for such work. Besides, how many peers would hire a woman to paint portraits of their children?”
Emme shrugged one shoulder and squinted at the delicately rendered, tiny picture of Jeanette. “Any who hoped for such fine work.” She turned a bright smile on the woman. “You must paint a miniature of the portrait of my sister, my brother, and me so I can give it to my mother in a locket on her birthday.”
Mrs. Billings protested, but Emma stopped her.
“I’ll pay you the going rate for such work. And don’t expect it to be the last. Such a piece will create excitement among the other ladies of the ton, and they’ll be clamoring for their own miniatures painted by you in no time.”
“I couldn’t possibly.” Mrs. Billings twisted her hands in her lap. “Mr. Hartman assigns us our work.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to turn away work.” Emme touched her hand, hoping to calm what looked like fear. Whether it was fear of crossing Hartman, angering the spinsters, or interacting with ladies of the ton, she didn’t know. “You can do the portraiture work on your own schedule, around the demands of Mr. Hartman’s clients.”
Mrs. Billing hadn’t yet agreed, but normal color had returned to her face and she’d ventured a glance at her handiwork on the sideboard. “I do love painting children’s faces. They’re so full of innocence and mischief at the same time.”
Emme stood and clasped her hands in front of her. “May I take that as a yes?”
Mrs. Billings rose slowly to her feet. “Yes, m’lady, I’ll do the locket portrait for you.”
She held out her hand and Emme shook it, then held onto it. “And if others are interested in engaging your services…?”
Mrs. Billings bowed her head. “I would be honored.”
Emme grinned. “Perfect.”
Perfect, indeed, because when it came to setting a trend among the ton, Emme knew just the woman to do it.
* * *
That afternoon, Emme stood in Picadilly on the doorstep of Her Grace Helen Wellesley, the Duchess of Wrexham, and Emme’s best hope at making her mark on the Spinsters’ Club. She twisted the handle of her large parasol, reminding herself that she really must muster the energy for a shopping trip, if only to get a more suitably-sized accessory.
To her left stood Tessa and Mr. Alcott, linked arm and arm, heads bent together. She’d ridden to the duchess’s house in a rented carriage with them, and had come to regret the decision. As far as she could observe, the couple spoke mostly in couplets and quoted poetry to each other. Still, Tessa looked radiant and the height of fashion in a bustled royal blue skirt and lady’s waistcoat, matched perfectly to the blue ribbon of her hat and the stitching on the edges of her white gloves.
To her right stood Luci, who had arrived separately, escorted by her father, Viscount Fairbank. Emme drew back her shoulders to stand straighter. She had never felt at ease in the man’s presence. Tall, slender, and guarded, he was ever the perfect gentleman, now aging gracefully and graying at his temples. But there was something intense about his dark brown eyes, and rumors about his clandestine service to the Crown had swirled for years. But to Luci, he was just her overprotective father, which no doubt explained her demure, pale blue gown with the neckline all the way up to her collarbone.
Luci must also have been assessing their assembly, as she reached out to touch Emme’s wrap, which was the same lavender color as her simply cut gown. “It’s nice to see you in something other than gray.”
In truth, Emme would have happily participated in the afternoon’s outing wearing her simple gray frock from the morning’s trip with the spinsters, but she’d tread in something unidentifiable and decidedly foul during her morning trip with the spinsters and had carried it home on the hem of the dress.
The front door cracked open and the duchess’s butler bowed in welcome. Fairbank checked his timepiece. He and Mr. Alcott both motioned to the ladies to precede them. The coolness of the large entryway, no doubt helped by the pale gray marble of the floor and stairs, felt refreshing after the minute they’d spent waiting under the unseasonably sunny sky, which had finally revealed itself after more than a week straight of rain.
Servants took hats, gloves, parasols, and Lord Fairbank’s walki
ng stick, then the butler led them to the duchess’s sitting room. The woman herself welcomed them into the room with wide open arms, looking timeless with her blonde hair swept up and off her barely-lined face, and dressed in a deep purple gown, the design of which was the height of and fashion, the color the symbol of royalty. It was rumored to be the duchess’s favorite color, whether for the way it announced her power in society or the way it set off her alabaster skin, no one could be sure.
The duchess hugged first Tessa, then Emme, and then Luci. Emme had enjoyed the pleasure of meeting the duchess frequently over the years, as she was close in age to Emme’s mother. Mr. Alcott took the duchess’s proffered hand and bent over it gallantly. Luci’s father kept his distance.
“Fairbank, I had no idea you would grace us with your presence. What an honor.”
“The honor is all mine.” Fairbank bowed slightly, but it hardly seemed reverent.
“I do fear I must let Cook know we have one more guest for tea, though.” The duchess seemed to accomplish this by raising an eyebrow at one of the myriad of servants hovering at the edges of the large, sumptuously appointed room.
“There’s no need,” Fairbank said. “I’m merely here to ensure my daughter will be appropriately chaperoned during her visit.”
The room went deathly silent. Luci, looking mortified, squeezed her father’s arm. The duchess smiled slowly and mirthlessly. “I’m sure you’re not insinuating—”
“Your Grace!” Their heads swiveled in the direction of Mr. Alcott, who held a limp Tessa in his arms. “Might I trouble you to show me where my wife might lie down? She seems to have been overwhelmed by the sudden change of weather.”
“Of course.” The duchess conducted servants with brief words and hand gestures, and at the same time, invited her remaining guests to be seated.
“Do you think she’s all right?” Emme whispered to Luci.
Luci pulled her by the hand. “Come and sit. She’s fine. We’ve learned we sometimes need to distract the duchess and my father when they put each other in these foul moods.”
“Does that happen often?”
Luci shrugged. “Only when they see each other, which they do as rarely as possible. Don’t look so concerned. He’ll leave shortly, then you can bend the duchess’s ear.”
In fact, Emme didn’t need to wait that long. As soon as she returned from assisting Mr. Alcott and a butler with situating Tessa in an adjoining room, the duchess reached for Emme’s hand.
“My dear, I need your opinion. I’m redecorating my son’s study for him. I’d like to add a bit of Spanish flair, an essence of Madrid, if you will, and I’m sure you could lend some insight.”
Emme stood, not sure about any such thing. She barely concerned herself with decorations and appointments, even less so since she’d decided she’d never run a household of her own. But a trip to the duke’s study would provide the moment alone with the duchess she needed.
“Fairbank, would you be so kind as to entertain your daughter for just a moment?” the duchess said as two servants arrived with trays of tea service and scones.
The look Fairbank shot the duchess hardly matched his polite response. Emme hoped he would leave soon or poor Tessa might spend the entire afternoon feigning swoons.
A short walk brought them to a large mahogany-paneled, leather-furnished room. From the thick brown rug on the wide-planked floor to the scent of brandy and cigars in the air, this was indeed a masculine retreat. Emme furrowed her brow, wondering just how pleased the duke would be to have his mother apply her feminine touch to the decor of his study.
“I don’t know what I can suggest, ma’am,” she said as the duchess closed the door behind them.
“For decorating?” The duchess widened her eyes. “Nothing, of course. My son would have my head if I dared touch a single tome in what he calls ‘the last refuge in his own home’. I just wanted a quick word with you, alone. You see, my dear, I’m in need of your help.”
“My help? But not with decorating. This is fortuitous.”
“Is it? How so, my dear?”
Emme clasped her hands in front of her and tried not to appear overeager. “I, too, have need of a favor.”
“I see.” The duchess narrowed her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”
Emme would have preferred standing. Sitting somehow made their discussion seem so formal and binding, when all Emme wanted was a quick, easy agreement from the duchess to help her rally portrait painting opportunities for the young widow she’d met just hours earlier. But the duchess wanted formality, and so Emme obliged.
Despite wanting to launch right into her request, Emme remembered her manners and her upbringing once they were seated. She bowed her head in the direction of her hostess. “How might I help you, duchess?”
The older woman silently assessed Emme, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. Finally, seemingly satisfied, she smiled at Emme. “I should like to hear your request first, Lady Emmeline.”
Excitement bubbled inside Emme and she made no pretense of trying to draw out the duchess’s proposition instead. “We’ve spoken of my desire to join the Spinsters’ Club.”
“A devoted group of women working for a wonderful cause.”
Emme smiled. “Yes, I think so, too. In pursuit of that, I spent the morning at the home of two women, both with young children, whom the spinsters are helping. I’d like to do something special for them, but I need your influence, ma’am.”
“I appreciate your candor.”
Emme bit the inside of her lip and wondered if that was the duchess’s subtle way of saying Emme lacked diplomatic skills.
“But I’m afraid I cannot imagine what you could possibly need from an old woman such as I. I’m hardly the epicenter of influence.”
Emme fought to control a laugh, unsure of whether the duchess was being falsely modest or playing a part for some reason. In truth, the Duchess of Wrexham was the epicenter of all of the most important business of the women of the ton.
“But if you think there’s something I can do…”
“Oh, yes.” Emme folder her hands in her lap and squeezed them together to focus her energy and tamp down her excitement. “One of the women I met this morning, a Mrs. Billings, is a remarkable artist. I fear her talents are being wasted in a workaday world.” Emme weighed telling the duchess the long story of the solicitors and their shortsighted views of how to help the women in need, but opted for the charm of brevity instead. “I’ve hired her to make a miniature copy of a portrait of my siblings and me so I can give it to my mother in a locket.”
The duchess leaned back and rested her arms on the chair, striking a pose Emme imagined the Queen herself might strike when holding court. “I’ve heard such work can be exquisite.”
“Yes, ma’am, as is the case with the work of Mrs. Billings.”
“And you, my dear Lady Emmeline, should like me to spread the word of this incomparable talent whom the ladies of the ton might find interesting.”
Emme nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you are correct. These events are fortuitous. You see, I’m in a bit of a quandary, and if I’m unable to resolve it, I hardly think I’ll have the time or opportunity to discuss your Mrs. Billings with the influential ladies I know.” She leaned forward in her seat, her bright blue eyes shrewd and sharp. “If, however, you were to relieve some of the burden of my own current project, I’m sure I could find the time to help you with yours.”
Emme smoothed the material of her dress over her lap, wondering why the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning, when all she was doing was having a perfectly lovely discussion with the duchess. “Whatever I can do to help. Short of decorating advice, I’m afraid.”
The duchess shook her head. “It is a project of an entirely different sort. A social project, if you will. I have a young acquaintance in need of making a good match.”
“A match, as in a marriage?”
&n
bsp; “Exactly.”
Emme twisted her hands in front of her. “I hardly think I can be of service when it comes to marriage, never having made such a match myself.” Despite entertaining proposals three times, with ever-worsening results.
“You needn’t be an expert. Just a young woman with the ability to say kind words regarding our subject to your peers. I wouldn’t ask if the situation weren’t desperate. Our goal is a wedding by midsummer. That will give the newlyweds time to make their appearance as a married couple at all the best events of the late Season.”
Emme arched an eyebrow. “Midsummer. Oh, I do hope it doesn’t become a Shakespearian comedy of errors.”
The duchess gave a wan smile, indicating this was no lighthearted matter. “Will you help my poor, dear friend with this important task?”
Emme furrowed her brow in a look of utmost seriousness as she wondered what sort of social misfit the duchess had agreed to help. Society could be so cruel, and the maiden must be in dire straits to admit her own shortcomings so baldly. Spinster or no, Emme wouldn’t be able to bear the sight of herself in the mirror if she were to turn away from a woman who so desperately needed her aid.
“Of course. I would be honored to help your friend.”
The duchess clapped her hands together and rose to her feet. Emme followed her lead. “Then it’s settled. We shall help each other. You shall meet my friend this very afternoon and begin discussing your plans.”
“Plans?”
“Nothing elaborate. Just advice regarding what to say, where to be seen, whom in your age group to meet, all from a young woman’s perspective. I’ll handle all the society hostesses and invitations to the best events. For you, too, of course.”
Emme hurried to keep pace with the duchess, who was now hastening to the drawing room. “Invitations? But I don’t plan to participate in the Season.” Heaven have mercy, what might happen if her father saw the chance to parade his daughter about at every event in London?
“Just the first half of the Season, dear.” The duchess stopped outside the drawing room and patted Emme’s hand. “A wedding by midsummer, remember?” The woman grinned when she heard conversations rising from behind the closed drawing room door. “It sounds like my other guests have arrived, and you can meet the man at the center of our project.”
One Kiss From Ruin: Harrow’s Finest Five Book 1 Page 10