It was the most bizarre idea he’d ever heard of.
Truly, there was absolute madness in it. So why was he actually considering it?
Sebastian shook his head to himself, his brow furrowing as if to further scold. It wasn’t that bizarre, really. He’d already engaged in it before the suggestion had been made, and so, from that side, he could clearly see the logic behind it. Well, what little logic there was to it, at any rate. And he would never have told a lady that her notion was incredulous and nearly foolhardy.
But…
An illustrator? Him? His artistry only extended as far as his imagination, and frequently fell short of it. Oh, he could sketch roughly without much disappointment, right enough, and his mother had always asked him to draw things for her, but he had always considered his mother to be particularly biased where his abilities were concerned.
He almost never drew for others to see, and those who had seen had made little enough comment on it.
It was really more of a hobby, a habit, something to alleviate stress and engage his mind.
But to put such a thing to use in a way that could help another, and, in fact, earn himself a wage…
Not that he needed a wage, but if all went well, and according to plan, he could earn some slight wage, and there would certainly be a use for it, either in Kitty’s pin money for frocks or some other aspect of their life that could benefit. If he were to be doing more drawing and illustrations, the wages could just as easily be put back into further supplies.
He’d have to take far greater care with his drawings, if they were to be widely published and seen by so many.
Provided he did this at all, which was still up for debate.
He could tell that his answer hadn’t pleased Izzy, but as he had not refused her outright, she had not murmured a word of complaint, or looked so very disappointed. Not that she would have complained anyway, as it seemed she never did, but surely there would have been some sign of distress or disheartening.
But no, all he had done was tell her that he would have to think on it, and her recovery had been expertly managed.
“Of course you do,” she had said almost at once. ‘Almost’ because there had been a delay, a hesitation that spoke of disappointment. But these books were her dream and not his. So logically, it should only follow that he would not have the same level of enthusiasm or excitement as she did.
It had occurred to Sebastian that an apology for her disappointment might have been warranted, but before he could properly formulate such a thing, Izzy had continued.
“Of course,” she’d said again. “And it is only right that you should. I only ask that you consider it, and send me word of your decision?”
Her expression had been so innocently eager, despite her expressed understanding of his hesitation, that he had almost given in that very moment. Instead, he had agreed and insisted he would do so as soon as possible.
It had been two days, and he was still at war with himself. Much longer and it would be unfair to Izzy. Surely the indecision was an answer itself, was it not? To be without definitive answer after days of consideration must speak of a lack of sufficient interest in the proposed venture.
And yet…
The thought of illustrating Izzy’s delightful stories sent his fingers tingling with a strange excitement, and an accompanying a warmth spreading through him. He needed no occupation other than the army, and had no wish for it, but the idea of something else to divert him, and a part of him that satisfied him so, was a rather tempting one.
Why, then, should he hesitate?
He knew the answer, of course. He was not in the habit of giving in to his own pleasure when it did not provide logical and definitive reasoning in a way that would benefit his future.
And this had no promise whatsoever.
Other than spending more time with Isabella Lambert, which, while neither logical nor definitive, seemed a good enough reason.
“Sebastian?”
He looked up, breaking out of his reverie, to find his sister standing in the doorway of the drawing room, looking somehow both older and younger than she should. Her recent forays into Society had given her as much excitement as they had anxiety, though she still had yet to speak more than a handful of words. He had hope that soon she might break out even a little more and give herself more of a chance for enjoyment.
Izzy had already been the means of great improvement there, and for that alone he would be grateful and should accept her offer.
But gratitude was not appreciated when it led to indebtedness rather than true motivation of a deed, and he respected Izzy too much to treat her so.
“Good afternoon, Mouse,” Sebastian teased, setting his sketchpad aside. “Come in.”
She smiled and came into the room, sitting in the chair beside him. She eyed his sketch briefly. “What are you drawing?”
He glanced at it, then back at her. “A duck in a pond, strangely enough.”
Kitty wrinkled her nose up and held out a hand. “May I see?”
He shrugged and gave it to her, then crossed a leg over his knee, his hands folding over the top. “It’s not done, obviously. I need to work on the wing a bit more.”
“Shh,” Kitty scolded without hesitation, smiling softly.
Sebastian chuckled and held up an apologetic hand.
His sister’s wide blue eyes rose to his, her smile growing. “Sebastian, this is delightful!”
He matched her grin. “Really?”
“Yes!” she insisted. She scooted to the edge of the chair, her hands gripping his pad. “Yes, really! You know how talented you are, surely.”
Again, he shrugged, reaching for the book. “I know I am better than some, but as to talent…”
She rapped his hands with the book, then handed it to him. “Sebastian!”
“What?” he replied in the same screeching tone she had employed, making her giggle.
Kitty sobered quickly, giving him a pitying look she could only have learned from their mother. “Do you remember when you were at school and you would send me sketches?”
Sebastian sat back, smiling to himself, surprised at her recollection. “I do, but I had forgotten until just now.”
“I still have them,” she told him in the soft tone she usually employed during one of her shy moments.
She could not have stunned him more had she told him she had sung an aria for a roomful of guests. He stared at her with wide eyes, unable to do anything more than blink, and even that was unsteady.
He fought for a swallow, then cleared his throat. “Do you really?”
She blushed and nodded, looking away and tucking one of her dark ringlets behind her ear. “I do. Up in my chest. It’s where I keep all my precious things.”
His drawings for her were precious? Were treasured enough to be kept and valued above other possessions?
It touched him more than he had ability to express.
“Refresh my memory,” he finally managed to say. “What did I draw for you?”
Kitty smiled and looked back at him. “Me. As a mouse.”
Now Sebastian laughed in earnest, the memories flooding back. “Ah, yes. For my little mouse of a sister, I turned you into a mouse.”
“And quite well, too, I might add!” Kitty proclaimed. “You even gave me ribbons and bows and frilly dresses. There was one with a pinafore to match the one I wore at Christmas when you were home.”
Strangely enough, that one he remembered. It had taken him ages to recollect the details properly, and he had been sketching Kitty as often as he could when he was home that Christmas. She had been so proud of her new pinafore and how it had swished and spun when she twirled and had shown it off to Sebastian repeatedly. As he recalled, their mother had had a trying enough time getting Kitty to take the thing off at night and not to wear it again the very next morning.
If memory served him right, Kitty had won that battle.
One of the very few she cared enough to fight
.
“I don’t think I could draw you as a mouse now, Mouse,” Sebastian told his sister fondly, reaching out a hand to her.
She placed her hand in his and gave him a teasing smile. “No?”
He shook his head slowly, returning her smile. “No.”
“Why not?”
“In truth, you’re far too pretty to be a mouse.”
Kitty scoffed softly and rolled her eyes, yanking her hand out of his hold before smacking his arm lightly. “I am no such thing.”
Sebastian gave her a severe look. “If I am not permitted to be modest about my artistic abilities, then you are likewise forbidden to be modest about your looks. You are a beautiful young woman, and that is as plain a truth as ever I lived.”
Now his sister blushed and looked down at her hands, which sat tightly gripped in her lap. Then she surprised him by raising her gaze to his with an almost steady expression, her color still high. “And you should know that were you not determined to be a soldier, you could be an artist. And before you call me biased, do recall that I have spent a good while surrounded by brilliant works of art in our gallery and was instructed in many more. I do know what artistic talent looks like. And you have it, brother.”
Her tone was so firm, so confident, and so stern that he could only stare at her for several heartbeats. Where had this measure of strength come from?
It suited her. And it suited her well.
Kitty smiled at him again, then sat back against her chair. “And it is wonderful to see you drawing so much again. I haven’t seen you do so since I’ve come to London. I was worried that perhaps you no longer did.”
“Well, I won’t pretend that it is a frequent occupation of my time anymore,” he told her, returning to the sketch, “but I do find it relaxes me.”
“The way my playing relaxes me, I suppose,” Kitty mused aloud, drumming her fingers on the armrest of her chair.
He nodded in thought as he worked on improving the wing of the duck. “Very possible, yes.” He glanced up at her, grinning quickly. “I did happen to hear a bit of your practice today. It’s getting very good.”
Amazingly, his sister didn’t blush any further, but she did stare with wider eyes before swallowing and dipping her chin. “Thank you,” she half-whispered.
Sebastian chuckled to himself and shook his head. “You’re getting better at accepting compliments, Mouse. Still not quite accomplished at that, though.”
“No, and I think it would be a mark of good breeding not to be,” she shot back.
“Perhaps you’re right.” He returned once more to the sketch, focusing with greater intent.
It was crucial that he get this right, that he provide work that was accomplished and could enhance the stories Izzy would tell.
It had to be good enough.
It had to.
And therein, he supposed, was his answer.
He paused in his sketching, then looked up at his sister. “Kitty… I have something to tell you, but it is a matter of the utmost secrecy.”
He was going to refuse her.
She knew it, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, and it kept reverberating in her mind like the sound of a bell.
Actually, her mind rather felt like a bell these days. The inside of one, anyway. Thoughts bounced off of the edges and caused almost painful vibrations with their pounding, and she was quite sure she would go mad sooner or later.
It had been three days, and she hadn’t heard from him. Surely that was time enough, and a lack of response spoke volumes. She knew it. She knew she had been too forward to ask Sebastian to illustrate for her stories, too presumptuous to take advantage of a skill she knew he possessed. What if he didn’t wish people to know he had artistic abilities? What if he was too private to share such matters with the world?
What if he simply did not want to participate and didn’t have the heart to tell her? He was too polite to leave her with nothing. He would respond eventually, but the longer it took, the more dread she felt.
She didn’t know anyone else who would be willing to illustrate for her and not charge an exorbitant fee.
Granted, she hadn’t mentioned anything financial with Sebastian during their dance, as it seemed a poor place to discuss something so mercenary, but it was entirely possible that he might wish for more specifics there before committing.
Whatever his reasoning, he was surely entitled to them, and she had every reason in the world to be embarrassed. The fact that she was already feeling embarrassed in a room filled with her best friends who knew nothing of her embarrassment was only making things infinitely worse. Thankfully, the room was filled with conversation, and she did not need to participate for the time being.
“All I want to know,” Elinor was saying in her rather juvenile way, “is why Kitty Morton can come and go as she pleases with us but isn’t being recruited as one of us.”
Izzy glanced over at her quickly, grateful Kitty hadn’t arrived yet. Elinor hadn’t quite grown comfortable with Kitty joining them, and they were all aware that Elinor was struggling, and failing, to hide the jealousy that she was no longer the only young member of their group. And Kitty happened to be more likable than Elinor, which she knew all too well.
“Elinor, I am not going over this again,” Charlotte snapped without patience. “Kitty Morton has been temporarily adopted by us until she gains her footing. Then, I have no doubt, she will find better friends and possibly even a husband and will have no further need for us. She is not a spinster, and she will not be a spinster at any given time.”
Elinor sniffed haughtily. “With or without a capital S?”
“Either!” at least three of them said.
Georgie rolled her eyes and sipped her tea, then sighed. “Oh, bless you, Izzy, for having the tea made properly. It is just what I needed after this morning.”
Prue tsked sympathetically. “Were you i-ill again, dear?”
“Every morning,” Georgie answered with a shudder. “I do so hate being ill. But I hate to say it, I am growing accustomed to the routine.”
Charlotte made a face and munched on a biscuit. “If I am going to be ill when I am with child, I will not be populating this world in any remarkable way whatsoever. I will do my duty to my husband and his ancestors by providing necessary progeny, but only an heir and a spare. Perhaps not even the spare, if the heir is hale enough.”
Georgie looked at Charlotte in amusement. “Somehow, Charlotte, I highly doubt that you will have control enough to limit yourself thusly.”
Charlotte returned her look in utter bafflement. “I beg your pardon, I am the most controlled of all women.”
Snickering filled the room, and Charlotte glared at them all, before returning to Georgie.
“I will have you know, Georgiana,” Charlotte insisted with all prim firmness, “that it will be quite simple. One and done. No need to continue on as though we intend to breed like rabbits. There can be nothing my future husband could do that would induce me to allow myself to be subjected to such suffering.”
“I could think of a few things,” Prue muttered under her breath, smiling to herself.
Georgie looked at her in outright delight and the two shared a knowing look, and a grin, both of their cheeks flushing.
Izzy coughed in surprise at Prue’s comment, but as she had no basis for understanding, she could not add anything to the conversation.
More’s the pity.
Charlotte blessedly missed Prue’s statement, but did not miss the look between the two married women in the room and eyed them suspiciously.
Edith, Izzy noticed, did not have anything to share on the topic, either.
Curious.
“Is Kitty joining us today?” Grace asked of no one in particular, straightening her already perfect posture into an almost unnatural stiffness, though her smile could not have been more natural. Or perfect.
Such was the way of Grace Morledge.
Izzy swallowed and nodded once. “Yes,
she ought to be. I’ve been thinking we might want to introduce her to some other young women her age, if we know any that might suit.”
Elinor raised her hand, widening her eyes in obvious suggestion.
“Suit, dear,” Charlotte reminded Elinor in a would-be sweet tone. “Young ladies that would suit. You can’t decide if you’re jealous of the dear or not. She’s a mouse, you’re a cat. You most certainly would not suit.”
“Why not?” Elinor demanded, slapping her formerly raised hand on her leg. “I like her, and I am perfectly suitable!”
“Amelia Perry?” Prue suggested without a stammer in a surprisingly loud voice, keeping her gaze on Izzy.
Elinor stared at Izzy in shock, while Charlotte beamed like a proud mother.
Izzy nodded gratefully. “She would be lovely. I was also thinking of Alice Sterling. Georgie, what would you say to that?”
“It may be difficult to say,” Georgie replied with a slight wrinkle to her nose. “She’s rather outspoken compared to Kitty, and it might…”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Lambert,” Collins intoned from the doorway.
Each of the Spinsters turned to him, which had to be an unnerving prospect for the older man, but he did not react in the slightest.
“Yes?” Izzy replied, sitting up straighter.
“Miss Morton has just arrived and will be here momentarily,” Collins went on. “But Mr. Morton would like a word before he leaves.”
The room went utterly silent, and Izzy could feel the stares of the others upon her.
“He what?” Charlotte suddenly blurted.
“Oh my,” Grace said, eyes wide. “What could that be?”
“Surely, it’s about Kitty,” Georgie assured them.
“Kitty would likely be there for that,” Elinor insisted.
“Thank you, Collins,” Izzy murmured, her face flaming. “You may put him…”
“He is in the blue room, Miss Lambert,” Collins gently overrode before nodding and leaving the room.
This was it. This was where he would tell her he could not do this, and she would somehow have to hide her disappointment. She’d never been very good at that.
She rose and tried to hide the fact that her breathing was unsteady.
Spinster and Spice (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 3) Page 14