Chapter Seven
A light breeze ruffled strands of Kitty’s hair that had come loose from her hat. What a lovely day. People had begun to fill in some of the seats surrounding them, but not all of them were taken as yet. A giggle floated up from her throat when she glanced over at Great-Aunt Anne. Yes, she was already dozing. How could the woman sleep with all the noise and confusion going on around her? Maybe some of it was that she could no longer hear very well.
Or perhaps she just wished to ignore distractions and go into her own little world. Kitty had to admit there were times she’d wished to do the same. Escape her present circumstances with Robert. Meet a wonderful rich man who would take care of her, treasure her. Love her forever.
With a sigh, she got her paper situated on her large book and began to sketch one of the horses. It was a large black one, solid in color except for the white patch between its eyes. The horse’s muscles rippled and its tail whipped in the breeze as a man led it to the starting gate. Did the horses enjoy running? Trying to win a race?
The shading and details of the drawing she could add later. When her subjects were moving, she couldn’t very well ask them to stand still while she tried to draw everything she saw. Besides, she doubted very much the owners wanted their prized possessions to be docile. At least not on race day.
Warmth caressed her leg as Mr. Bexley leaned closer. A thrill shot through her even though the contact was brief. Was he curious about her drawing? Trying to view her work in progress? She’d been doing it since she could remember but found that the process often fascinated others who were not artistically inclined.
She lifted her pencil and turned to ask, startled that his face was so close. His gaze met hers, his eyes like two pools of sun-kissed ocean, the color so inviting she could almost believe herself at the seaside town of Brighton, of which she had once seen a painting with its clear blue waters.
His lips were full and looked soft. Would they be if she were to reach out her hand and touch them? Or if she angled her chin just so and pressed her lips against—
“—the race?”
She swallowed and leaned away. “P-pardon?”
One side of his mouth rose, slowly, so slowly she was afraid to glance away lest she might miss even one slight movement. “I asked if you were able to properly view the race.”
It had started? She darted a quick glance below them to the track. Sure enough, the horses were running.
Running?
How had she missed that important development?
Something about Mr. Bexley grabbed hold of her, threatening to heat her from the inside out until she feared she’d burst into flame. No one had ever affected her thusly, except…
The other Mr. Bexley.
But they were both rakes. And rakes weren’t to be taken seriously.
A shout from someone nearby startled her. A large man, his coat a size too small, stood up, shaking his fist at the goings-on of the track.
What on earth?
Something soft and light touched her arm. Mr. Bexley, grinning, pointed his thumb toward the man. “Guess his horse isn’t in the lead.”
Right. If she’d had money riding on a certain horse and lost, she’d be upset too. Still, the mere idea of having any extra money at all, much less to throw it away on a slight chance of an animal reaching its destination before the other animals, was ludicrous. What would it be like to have that much wealth?
She nodded to Mr. Bexley. What a farce to act like I have any idea what goes on in his world.
With a jolt, she remembered why she was even there. To sketch the race. To earn some much needed money for food and clothing. She eyed Mr. Bexley’s nice coat and shiny boots. Not that he would ever understand that.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she leaned forward over the paper. As the horses came around a curve, she was able to see the different colors of each individual rider a little better. Goodness, the men were small. Was that on purpose? With a glance at the large man to her right, who was still grumbling about his horse performing poorly, she nearly giggled. Wouldn’t it be awful if someone of his… uh… mass, were to ride one of the horses? The poor defenseless animals might crumble beneath his weight.
“Something wrong, Miss Sullyard?”
“Pardon? Oh, no. It’s nothing.” She bit down on her lip, hard. Kitty, do your work and stop allowing distractions.
People seated all around them cheered or moaned. Easy to tell whose horse was ahead. With renewed determination, Kitty quickly sketched the outlines of the horses, their hooves striking the dirt or angled behind as the horses moved forward. Strong thighs, muscles flexing as they increased their speed. Tails sailing out behind them.
Next she added the riders, small caps pressed close to their heads, long-sleeved shirts and tight-fitting breeches. Faces in frowns of concentration, boots pressed solidly in stirrups.
It wasn’t too difficult to outline them hurriedly, seeing as the horses were all the same shape and nearly the same size. Since she’d already done the panorama of the horses at Astley’s Amphitheatre, she was familiar with the equine form.
The jockeys appeared to be about the same height and weight.
Later Kitty would add the colors but jotted quick notes on another small piece of paper of the colors she’d use for the people, animals, and track. If she were drawing a still scene, such as a river bank or buildings along a street, she could afford to add more detail at that time. Kitty had a feeling, however, that even if she asked nicely, the horses wouldn’t stand still, holding their poses like ladies for a portrait, in order for her to finish her work.
A sudden image of the large beasts, standing together in a line, wearing frilly dresses, hats, and slippers over their hooves nearly caused her to sputter a laugh. She covered it with a light cough.
Control yourself.
Pressing her lips together in an earnest attempt at remaining businesslike, she glanced around. Oughtn’t she to add some spectators to her drawing? She’d want the large man, for sure, in his tight black coat and tall hat. Next to him was a woman as thin as he was large, her bonnet alight with pheasant feathers and yellow ribbons, which dipped down slightly on either side of her face.
She wouldn’t draw them exactly as they were, as she’d not want someone to possibly recognize themselves and not appreciate the way she’d portrayed them. Better to depict someone with similar characteristics and leave it at that.
The men and women sitting near them, young and old, all had one thing in common — they were dressed in amazing finery. And just to attend a horse race. She might understand if they were, say, going to a ball somewhere. Not that she’d ever been to one, but she could imagine wearing one’s best for such an occasion.
A shadow appeared on her paper as Mr. Bexley once again leaned closer. His focus was on her drawing. She pulled her hand away from the paper and caught his attention.
His face reddened. “Pardon. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your work.”
“You didn’t. Did you… want to see it?”
“May I?”
She handed him the edge of the paper and he ran his finger beneath the race in progress.
“Fascinating.”
“In a… positive way?”
He glanced toward her and beamed. “Quite.”
“Thank you.” She’d gotten many compliments on her drawing in the past. Why did his words seem to mean so much more? Make her heart warm and her spine tingle? His cousin was just as handsome, but there was something about this Mr. Bexley. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Would she have the opportunity to discover what it might be?
“I’m barely able to write legibly. Always in too much of a hurry to get work done, I suppose. This must take much concentration.”
“It does.” Especially when someone like him was sitting so near.
He leaned a little closer toward the paper. “And what is… this?” He tapped the paper lightly with his finger.
“Ah… you’ve a g
ood eye. That is something my sisters and I all do in our paintings. If you check very closely, you can see it’s the letter S, for our surname.” Kitty had drawn the tiny symbol and tucked it just behind one of the horses’ ears.
“When I first glanced at the picture, I didn’t see it. I just happened to notice it when I took another look. Does it have some meaning?”
She laughed. “Only to us. It’s a game we play. We try to find it in each other’s work. It’s like a game of hide and seek.”
“This is only in pencil. Will it be easier to see once you’ve used colors?”
“Actually, it will be more difficult. The colors draw the eye away from minute details.”
“I see. That’s how I could view it so easily now.” He gave her a frown, but one side of his mouth twitched.
“Not at all. I daresay there would be few who would have caught it as quickly as you.”
He smiled and studied her, his eyes deep pools of blue. “I hope you don’t mind my interest.”
Interest? In her? Her heart gave a little jolt, but the excitement quickly faded. Wait. He means interest in my art. And remember, he’s a rake. She swallowed down disappointment. “Of course I don’t mind.” Time to get the focus off of herself and take the conversation in a different direction. “I’m sure you’ve been told before, but you and your cousin certainly do bear a close resemblance.”
Was it her imagination, or had he just lowered his brows in a frown? It had happened so fast she couldn’t be sure. But why would that be? The two men, aside from being related, worked together. Surely they were close?
He sat up straighter in his seat and blinked. “Why yes. I’ve been told that many times. Not sure if that’s good or bad.” He laughed, but it came out sounding forced. Had Kitty stepped into a hornet’s nest of some sort?
Not caring at the moment if anyone saw her, she lightly pressed her fingers to his sleeve, wanting to soothe away whatever bad feelings she’d invoked. “It’s good, I assure you.”
He tilted his head to the side and gave her a wink. “Is that so?”
What am I doing? She whipped her hand back to her lap. “P-perhaps I’d better finish my sketch.” She pointed toward the winner’s circle. When had that happened? Kitty. You’re here to work, not flirt. “Now that the horses are standing still, I can sketch the patterns of their clothing a little better.”
“Clothing?”
“They’re wearing items made of cloth, are they not?”
“Yes, but… It’s normally referred to as their colors.”
“Oh.” Heat crawled up her cheeks. Just another reminder that they came from two different worlds. She avoided eye contact with him and instead focused on the horses. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Bexley’s hand reach out, hesitate, and return to his lap. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Had he been about to touch her?
Why had he stopped?
It doesn’t matter. Keep working. Time to cease allowing distraction from her job of earning money for Robert. Kitty quickly outlined a few shapes that would later be people. Right then she only wanted to get the spacing right as to where the spectators were sitting.
She regarded the area around them to pinpoint a few other items that might be of interest in her drawing. Boundaries surrounding the track. Grassy areas to the side and back of the spectator stands. That evening when she was at home and could add more detail and color, she wanted to have those things in mind. Otherwise, she’d draw the horses and riders and then be stumped on what else to add.
The rustle of skirts and pounding footsteps startled her. All around them, people were rising from their seats and moving toward the main aisles. Would she and Mr. Bexley be required to leave, as well? Perhaps someone else had claim on these seats for the next race.
About to ask, she was surprised when Mr. Bexley, peering at something over Kitty’s head, stiffened.
With a forced smile, not unlike the one he’d given Kitty when she commented on his cousin, Mr. Bexley stood. The limp that Kitty had noticed earlier caused him to nearly stumble, but he caught himself in time. He bowed to a young woman. “Good day, Miss Queensbury.”
Kitty, unable to keep from staring, realized her mouth hung open and snapped it closed. Miss Queensbury was striking. Blond hair so light to be nearly white, honey-colored skin with just a touch of pink on her cheeks, and eyes the color of grey storm clouds. Every man who passed by openly admired her, even though an older woman stood just a few feet behind her. Her chaperone?
Her dress, a lovely gown of buttery yellow, had white lace trim at the bodice and sleeves. A matching yellow bonnet was decorated with white daisies and thin ribbon.
Suddenly Kitty realized the other woman was staring at her too, eyeing Kitty’s attire with distaste.
“Good day.” Only after speaking did Miss Queensbury offer her hand to him.
Mr. Bexley bowed over her hand to give her glove a kiss, but his lips never actually touched the fabric. He quickly released her and straightened, giving a nearly silent sigh. Kitty wondered if it reached Miss Queensbury’s ears.
The other woman changed her focus back to Kitty.
As if having forgotten Kitty stood right next to him, Mr. Bexley softly gasped. Good heavens, was he so smitten with Miss Queensbury that he took no notice of anyone else?
He indicated Kitty with a wave of his hand in her direction. “This is Miss Sullyard. May I introduce Miss Queensbury?”
Kitty set down her paper, stood, and gave her best curtsey, which granted wasn’t much. She didn’t have occasion to worry about performing it just right very often. “Good day.” How silly she must have appeared performing a curtsey while still holding her pencil in one hand.
Miss Queensbury, living up to her name, inclined her head in a royal fashion but said nothing directly to Kitty at all, instead giving her a glare that said, You’re not worthy to breathe the same air that I do.
Clenching her jaw, Kitty held in the curse she wished to mutter. But it didn’t stop her from thinking rotten things. Snooty woman of the gentry, too pretty for her own good, her personality is probably as stiff as the skirt of her dress.
There. That felt a little better. Kitty relaxed her jaw then, noticing her fist was clenched at her side, opened her hand.
Mr. Bexley looked from the other woman to Kitty before turning back to Miss Queensbury. “How does the day find you? Good, I trust?”
Miss Queensbury stepped forward, nearly tromping on Kitty’s scuffed boot, and grabbed Mr. Bexley’s arm, though it had not been offered.
How dare she? She very nearly knocked me over.
Mr. Bexley darted a quick glance at Kitty. Apologetic? That was something, she supposed. At least that time he noticed her presence.
Wait. Why are you so upset anyway? You won’t see Mr. Bexley, either of the Bexleys after the work assignments are completed.
Much as it vexed Kitty to admit it, she needed to stick to her work and not give attention to anyone she came in contact with who wouldn’t give her the time of day in any other circumstance.
Mr. Bexley waved a hand toward Kitty. “Miss Sullyard is creating a miniature panorama for the magazine.”
With narrowed eyes, Miss Queensbury observed the race drawing as if purveying a disgusting insect on her boot. “What is it supposed to be?”
Kitty’s neck and face heated. The witch. Mr. Bexley had identified her other panorama of Astley’s Amphitheatre right off. Surely this one wasn’t so vastly different?
A slight frown marred the beauty of Mr. Bexley’s face. “Why, can you not see that it’s of the very race that just completed its run?”
The vile woman sniffed and lowered her thin eyebrows. “Indeed.”
Kitty’s hand clenched so tight she nearly snapped her pencil in two. Don’t do that. Supplies are too expensive.
Miss Queensbury, who hadn’t yet let go of Mr. Bexley’s captured arm, tugged him even closer. Any nearer and his chest would be pressed against her—
; “Oh!”
“Something amiss, Miss Sullyard?” Mr. Bexley regarded Kitty with what seemed to be genuine concern.
She flapped her hand in his direction. “No. Fine. I’m fine.”
With yet another tug, Miss Queensbury had her hand nearly beneath Mr. Bexley’s armpit. “I was so hoping you would have a free moment to take a quick stroll around the grounds with me?”
He pulled away from her, slowly, causing her to pout. “I’m afraid today is not a good day for that.”
Miss Queensbury frowned. “Why ever not?”
He indicated Kitty again. “I’m Miss Sullyard’s escort. But perhaps you could be seen safely home…”
“Yes?”
“I could have my coachman drive you.”
Miss Queensbury gasped. “Oh, no. That will not do.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ll not be able to accommodate you today.”
“Well.” With a sniff for Mr. Bexley and a look in Kitty’s direction, Miss Queensbury turned and left.
Kitty sighed. As much as she was enjoying her time with Mr. Bexley, minus of course the visit from that woman, she shouldn’t take too much of his valuable time away from his work. Besides, what if the Miss Queensbury was someone he actually enjoyed spending time with and Kitty had caused him trouble? “Since I have the rough outline I need for the panorama, I can easily finish the drawing details and add color once I reach home.”
He blinked. “Oh.” Was that disappointment on his face? “I was hoping…”
“Yes?”
“That is to say… Would you enjoy seeing another race? There’s one just about to begin. Perhaps it might aid you in your work.”
Did he want to spend more time with her, or was he only trying to be helpful so she could accomplish her work more quickly and make himself come across better to his uncle? Either way, she wasn’t about to refuse a pleasant day with a handsome gentleman.
Besides, her great-aunt hadn’t yet finished her nap.
Color of Deception Page 8