“That wasn’t the purpose?” She felt confused.
“No, I merely took advantage of having you here to see how you might respond to a conversation about my brother. My real purpose in this meeting is twofold. The first quite easy.” He held out a letter. “Your friend Constance Equiano sent you a letter while you were in Derby, and Lady Wilmot asked me to deliver it to you.”
“A menial task for a duke.” She opened the letter, a request for her to visit the African’s Daughter on her return.
“I tease Lady Wilmot that I am more her cavalier servente than a duke. But having almost lost her, it’s a role I am grateful to play.” He laughed. “Which brings me to my second task. I was hoping you might be willing to paint my Sophia, surreptitiously of course. She has refused to sit for any of the London painters, but she seems to like you.”
“Then why must I be surreptitious?” Lena found it amusing that the pair each wanted her to paint something for the other surreptitiously.
“Because she doesn’t wish to have her portrait painted.”
“But she is an artist herself, and she has commissioned portraits for her salon already. Is there a reason?”
“Oh, yes! When she was quite young, her uncle commissioned a family portrait from a very famous artist. Sophia, her aunt and uncle, her multitude of cousins, all sat together for three long afternoons with three greyhounds and a tabby cat while the artist took sketch after sketch. While the artist worked on the painting, her beloved aunt Clara died. The family, missing her desperately, clung to the idea that the painting would allow them to see Clara once more. Months after the funeral, the painting arrived, but none of the faces looked much like any of the sitters’, particularly her aunt Clara’s. So, even though she has commissioned portraits she likes a great deal, she refuses to endure the process again.”
* * *
Lena returned to her room, relieved and delighted. She didn’t expect that she and Clive could marry. Even if the duke didn’t enumerate them, she knew all too well the many obstacles to such a liaison. But to have the duke question neither her integrity nor her affection was somehow exhilarating.
The door at the short stairway was open, when she remembered specifically having shut it. She quickened her pace, eager to see Clive and feel his lips on hers.
As she approached the front suite, she heard Clive laughing, and she stopped to enjoy the sound of it, his full rich laugh that she loved so much. She walked to the door, wondering if they were moving to the other pair of rooms, when she heard a woman’s voice, and more laughter. Her stomach turned, but she told herself there had to be a good explanation. He might not have told her, but she’d seen he loved her in his eyes.
She stepped to the outside of the door and put her ear to the crack. None of the sounds were distinct enough to identify. Eventually, when the room had grown silent, she opened the door an inch. Her heart fell into her shoes. Clive. A woman in his arms. Kissing. A long ardent kiss that tore her very guts out. She could not mistake their feelings.
She pulled the door to the jamb, not risking shutting it fully, and walked, then ran to her rooms. Only an hour ago, she’d wondered how long she might stay; now she couldn’t leave fast enough. She flung her few belongings into her carpetbag. As she still hadn’t retrieved her other clothes from her studio, she allowed herself the walking dress Aunt Agatha had lent her, but nothing else. Luckily, her boots had already been returned to her, buffed and polished.
She slipped into the hall, passing the front suite, where the sound of laughter had turned to something more erotic. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she found her way out of the house, into the stable yard, and from there, into the street.
* * *
“She’s a blasted annoying woman. Refuses to do anything for her own good, except what she has already decided to do. Insists on putting herself in harm’s way all for that blasted panorama.” He punctuated each objection with a long stride across Sophia’s library. “She’s gone there now—packed her bag and left, without even telling me she was leaving.”
“You care for her,” Sophia offered gently.
“Of course I care for her. She’s stubborn and hardheaded”—Clive paced in the opposite direction—“but she’s also charming, witty, and smart.”
“No, I mean you care for her.” Sophia put a stronger emphasis on the word.
He stopped in midstride. “I have known her for less than a fortnight. I might find her company exhilarating, but one needs a longer acquaintance to care for someone.”
“Or not.” Sophia shook her head. “Sometimes love takes no time at all. After all, love often grows from a meeting of congenial minds.”
“Attraction, yes.” Clive stopped at one end of the room. “It’s a function of our chemistry. But love, no, love takes time.”
“I would have to agree with my fiancée. I fell hopelessly in love with Sophia on a bright summer day, when she wore a blue muslin dress with flowers embroidered around her ankles.” Aidan smiled at Sophia from across the sitting area.
Clive stared at the ceiling, thinking. “Well, that explains a great deal.” He looked from Aidan to Sophia and back again. “I remember that dress.”
“You couldn’t,” Sophia and Aidan objected together. Their eyes met, and the room fell silent.
“No, I do. It was after you had left for the wars, Aidan. Seth, Edmund, and I were traveling to London to meet Father, and on the way, we called on Sophia and Tom at his estate. I remember because whoever had embroidered the peonies had left out the ants that the peony needs to bloom. I was quite disappointed.”
“You were a natural philosopher even then,” Sophia said lightly, but her brow was furrowed.
“I must tell you, Aidan.” Clive shook his head slowly. “All these years I’ve thought you were distant and difficult out of grief for Benjamin and Father coupled with the pressures of the estate. But now I understand: your best friend married your girl.”
The silence in the room lengthened.
“It’s no wonder you went away to the wars. Seeing Tom and Sophia together—so devoted to one another when your love went unrequited—must have been unbearable.”
“I hope you will keep my secret.” Aidan’s voice was measured. “I would prefer that the ton not catch hold of that piece of old news.”
“Of course. I only wonder if Tom knew of your unrequited love when he made you co-guardian of Ian and Lilly. It would be like him to matchmake from beyond the grave.”
The growing tension between Aidan and Sophia evaporated in an instant. “I would like to think so.” Aidan smiled, and Sophia’s face brightened. “But we were discussing your love for Miss Frost. What are you going to do?”
“But even if she loves me, it’s impossible, isn’t it?” He sat on the chaise longue across from Aidan. “You and Sophia are of equal rank. Lena—Miss Frost—is a woman of business.”
Aidan didn’t answer immediately, and when he did his face was solemn, even stern. “From the time I was a young boy, our father taught us that our obligation as sons was to make the best possible match for the dukedom, choosing for rank, alliance, or funds, preferably all three. Had you brought this question to him, he would have told you to marry inside those considerations or forfeit your income from the estate.” Aidan paused, letting his words sink in. “Would Miss Frost be worth such a sacrifice?”
Clive’s belly twisted. Would he have the courage to oppose his brother? If he were cut off from the family fortune, would he have the wherewithal to survive? Stipends at the surgery school had never been large, and those with families struggled, taking on more and more patients, until they had no time for research. His whole life would change: he would have to change.
Suddenly, he understood, if only in a small way, how brave Lena had been to remake herself, time after time. When her expectations and hopes had been thwarted in one area, she had found the personal resources to shift to another. She would learn a new language or a new culture, find a new patron or enter
prise. With no resources but her own ingenuity and talent, she walked a tightrope, like the acrobats at Sadler’s Wells, but if she fell, no net would catch her. She was wary about offers of help, not because she wasn’t grateful, but because she didn’t have the resources to survive the loss of help she’d grown to expect. He’d never seen the terror of her situation so fully. But could he be like her?
“I understand.” He rose. “Whenever I’ve considered being without the resources of our family estate, I’ve done so from a position of strength. I could imagine not having them, but I’ve never had to actually do without them. And it’s frightening to consider what doing without them will mean.”
Aidan looked disappointed, but Clive hurried on before he could interrupt.
“But if my choice here makes those supports disappear in a single instant, then my sense of comfort and protection has been no more than an illusion.” He rose. “And to lose a woman like Lena to protect what is only an illusion would be foolish beyond measure. So, yes, Lena is worth the sacrifice.”
“Does she care for you as you care for her?” Sophia asked.
“I don’t know,” Clive answered soberly. “I can only hope she does.”
Aidan leaned back, his face inscrutable. Then he rose, facing Clive. “Our father’s attitudes were shaped by his class and his upbringing. A great many in the ton still think as he did. For choosing below your station, you will likely be criticized, perhaps even ostracized. But that’s a pill you have swallowed once already, and a second dose may be less painful.” Aidan held out his hand. “But you will not lose me and my support. I lost a decade of happiness by following our father’s rules. By any measure that matters, Miss Frost strikes me as a singularly good match, and we will welcome her.”
Clive felt tears well in his eyes, but he blinked them back and shook Aidan’s hand. “I never expected . . .”
Sophia joined them. “You forget, Clive, I’m only Lady Wilmot by marriage. Before that, I was the orphaned daughter of a country parson, a poor relation living on the goodwill of my uncle. Your father did not consider me an appropriate match even for Tom.” She smiled softly. “What are you going to do?”
“Go to the panorama and see if she will have me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
At the Rotunda, Lena found the building dark and locked tight. Her stomach—already aching from hurt and disappointment—twisted tighter. If only the Muses had kept her on schedule, she could bury herself in work. She’d done that before. But even the thought of working filled her with despair.
She made her way through the dark to the storage closet. The doors hung open, and she slung her carpetbag on the floor. For an instant, she wished she could crawl in and hide, weeping all her tears until she was spent. But what would be left?
Taking one of the lamps and some matches, she climbed the stairs to the platform. She waited until she was standing in front of the task chart to light the lamp. Then taking a long breath, she looked up.
Every task was marked through. She brushed tears from her cheeks, grateful tears for the Muses and their help. If she’d had even a crumb of that support as a child, how different might her life have been? How different would it be as an adult to have friends to aid her when her needs exceeded her resources? Was this what it was like to live within the circle of a family’s goodwill?
Sure, she had an affectionate circle among her crew, but it was the affection of coworkers, not of friends. She might see them irregularly, even hire them again for the next panorama, but she couldn’t call on them for the sort of help the Muses or Clive had offered so willingly.
Clive. The name stopped her tears. She’d never told him she loved him, nor he her. But somehow she wished she had, if for no other reason than to make the break clean between them. But it was lucky she hadn’t. If she had, even painting on top of Lady Wilmot’s scaffolding might not be distant enough to protect what was left of her heart. Sadly, the breach with Clive would extend to the Muses, and she felt the loss of their friendship—and Clive’s—bitterly.
How could she have been so foolish? She’d known he had a harem. She’d known he had obligations to other women. But she had thought those obligations were in the past, or at least platonic. She hadn’t expected him to love another, as he obviously did. No, she’d expected him to love her, as she did him. She couldn’t deny that she loved him, at least not to herself.
She told herself all the things she would tell Constance if the situation were reversed. Yes, she would heal. Yes, eventually she would forget him. Yes, she would eventually love someone who could love her as well. Even as she affirmed the sentences, she knew that healing, forgetting, and loving again were years in the future. She’d guarded her heart so carefully, so long. Then she’d lost it to a man who . . . She tried to create a list of his faults. She got no farther than he dissects bodies before the list turned to virtues. He tended my wounds. He listened to my concerns. He treated me as an equal. He . . .
She wiped the tears from her face. It did no good to remind herself of all his positive characteristics when all that mattered was that he loved someone else.
Tacked to the wall was a long note from Lady Judith and Ophelia, detailing everything completed in Lena’s absence. Only two items remained: to set up the music stands for the musicians, and to paint over her list of tasks. She’d hoped to bury her sorrows in work, but the Muses had left her with nothing to do.
Picking up her lamp, she climbed down the stairs to the lower level. She was almost to the supply closet when she heard the sound of men’s voices above her and the sound of the door being forced. How had they found her already? And what did they want, breaking into the Rotunda again? Would they damage the painting again or do something worse? She doused her lamp and hid it behind some boxes against the wall.
The sounds of movement were followed by a crash and cursing. “Raise the damn lamp. I think I’m bleeding.” The voice was raspy and coarse. One of the men from Denby.
“I thought we were going to surprise her.” The second man spoke with a rural accent, but she couldn’t place the area.
“Not with Ned falling over his own feet, we aren’t. Raise the lamp.” The third man was clearly the leader.
The wood of the platform creaked above her head, and she shrank against the wall.
“Just because she wasn’t in the office doesn’t mean she’s not hiding here.” Ned’s coarse voice carried in the round space.
“In the dark? This place is dead silent—no one’s here. She must have slipped past us.” The rural voice sounded petulant.
“If Ned hadn’t fallen asleep, we could have followed her. Eventually she’ll lead us to Seamus. We must simply be patient.”
“She could still be here, hiding in the dark, hoping to deceive us.”
“Then we search, every nook and cranny. If she’s not here, at least we’ll discover if Seamus left anything else that could point to us.”
“Why’d Seamus paint that map of Denby, if not to send her to him?”
The other men groaned. “Why does Seamus do anything?”
“Perhaps we’ll find something we can sell to make up for the trip.” The leader shifted his weight, and the floor creaked above her head. “Find more lamps.”
“Forget the lamps. There’s a canopy under the skylights. Once I find the rope pull, we’ll have all the light we need.”
Lena bit back a gasp. The canopy had only been installed a fortnight ago. She strained to identify the voice, but the man was moving away from her, the light from his lamp moving across the wall.
The floor creaked as the two remaining men met nearly above her on the platform. “We should have killed them when we had the chance,” Ned’s voice glowered.
“There’s time. But not until we know everything Horatio saw.” The leader’s voice was hard and angry. “Then, we kill him and by the time someone thinks to miss him, he’ll be no more.”
“No body, no crime.” The rural voice snickered, and the o
ther man with him.
Lena covered her mouth, biting back her horror.
“If Charters discovers we’ve run into trouble, he’ll kill us, then them to make sure no one talks. But shut the door.” The leader walked away from his position above Lena’s head. “We don’t want to let anyone know that we’re here.”
The light from the leader’s lamp slipped through the cracks between the boards on the platform above her. She rose slowly, her position still hidden. Turning toward the door, she held her hand over the latch to muffle the sound. The men were making no attempt to search quietly. She raised it, the click barely noticeable in the noise the men were making. Opening the door would let in some light, but perhaps they wouldn’t see it.
She pressed her back to the wall next to the door, intending to open it only just enough to slip through.
“Do you think Seamus told the girl about us?”
She stopped, her hand still on the latch. Staying was dangerous, but leaving before she knew what they had planned was more dangerous still.
“Whether he did or not, we use her to get to him. Then we kill them both—and that man who’s been helping her.”
“He wasn’t with her today.”
“Then perhaps he’ll be lucky. If he keeps away from her, he can live.”
Kill them both—and Clive. She felt the fear pulsing through her body. But she forced herself to breathe and wait. If she gave in to panic, she would be lost.
“Here we go, boys, all the light you want.”
The canopy over the high windows creaked as the rope pulled on the gears. As the canopy pulled from in front of the skylights, she waited, watching the light approach her slowly. To hide her escape, she had to open the outside door at the moment the light from the windows reached her location. The men began to search again. She couldn’t allow herself to wonder what mess they were making; she could only think about timing the door and the light.
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