A Gift From a Goddess

by Maggi Andersen

  “I heard you was lookin’ for a model, milord,” she said, adopting Sally’s manner of speech. “That’s if you haven’t found one.”

  “You heard correctly.” He put the implements down on a table beside him, laden with different sized hammers, chisels, and files, then turned to study her.

  Rendered nervous by his deep brown eyes she looked around. The studio was different to the painters’ studios she’d worked in. Far larger, it was also clean, the air tinged with the lingering odor of coffee, and something delicious. Her empty stomach gurgled, disconcerting her further. The sun’s rays brightened an exquisitely painted Italian screen standing in one corner and the crimson chaise longue placed before the block of marble. A table was piled high with books, journals, and boxes of pencils beside which was a Chippendale splat-back chair, like those they used to have at home.

  And not a cold draft to be found.

  ~~~

  “Well don’t just stand there. Come in so I can see you.” Lewis beckoned with an impatient hand. “Take off your hat and coat.”

  The young woman advanced cautiously into the room. He was caught by her quiet manner, more used to being greeted with a smart quip by hip swinging confident girls. She removed her straw bonnet drawing his eye to her abundant blonde hair, piled on her head as if she hadn’t come to grips with how to contain it. She slipped her arms out of the garment of some indecipherable color. Beneath it, she wore a faded blue dress with short sleeves which exposed slender, nicely shaped arms. A ribbon of a darker blue was caught beneath breasts that promised to be shapely. When his artist’s eye finished judging her proportions, he met her cornflower blue gaze which seemed to study him as critically as he did her.

  A perfect artist’s model she should be in great demand. Lewis walked over to her.

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “Will I suit?” she began, clutching her reticule, coat, and hat in her hands.

  Was she new at this? “I shall have to see you as nature intended, of course, but I have great hopes that you will be perfect for my Aphrodite.”

  “Aphrodite?” she repeated, her eyes growing wide.

  Well, it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t too bright, he thought, although he found himself disappointed at the prospect. Might be asking too much. “An ancient Greek goddess,” he explained. “Go behind that screen and undress. Slip on the robe you’ll find hanging there. I shall need time to work out the best pose for the statue. It’s my practice to make several drawings before I begin.”

  He watched her disappear behind the painted screen. “You’ve done this sort of work before?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, her voice muffled as if she had her dress over her head. “Never for a sculptor though. Painters.”

  “Why don’t you continue to work for artists?”

  Silence. “It was the smell.”

  “They smelled?”

  A slight sound which could be a chuckle. “The paint and linseed oil made me sick.”

  “Nothing like that here.” Lewis sorted through his charcoals. He was so eager to begin, he hadn’t even asked her name.

  Such concerns fled when she emerged. The robe better displayed her excellent figure and long slim legs. But what struck him most was her hair. Soft fair waves flowed to her waist lit with strands of gold. Delicate of feature, she moved with grace. Despite the way she spoke, she was nothing like his usual models.

  “Your name?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “Hebe, milord.”

  “Hebe…?”

  She hesitated. “Fenchurch.”

  She seemed reluctant to supply it. And she stared at him as if he might have heard of it. Oddly, Fenchurch did ring a distant bell somewhere in his brain. “Hebe? Well I’ll be darned. That’s an ancient Greek name. Is there a story behind it?”

  “Me pa liked it.” She firmed her lips as if refusing to explain further.

  “Hebe was the goddess of youth.” He made a swiveling motion with his finger. “Turn around for me.” The name suited her. As she turned, he tapped his chin, searching for the right pose. Aware of her subtle perfume, he took in the graceful dip of her waist and the saucy jut of her bottom. “How did your father come across it?”

  “It was in one of those publications. At the library. ’E was fond of the library.”

  “Was?”

  Golden lashes hid her eyes. “Yes. ‘E’s gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lewis began to arrange her pose. He felt strangely out of sorts as if he’d dreamed her up. But her skin beneath his fingers as he moved her arm was real, smooth, and pale as a pearl.

  “Sit down, Hebe.” He backed away and walked over to ring the bell. “We’ll have coffee before we begin.”

  “I’d be ever so grateful for a cup. Thank you, milord.”

  “Call me, Lewis, please. Society never ventures into this room unless invited.” He went to the table to select his materials discovering a surprising eagerness to begin.

  Chapter Two

  After tying the strings of her bonnet, Hebe descended the stairs leading to the kitchens. As the butler had requested, she left the house through the tradesmen’s entrance.

  Lord Chesterton, or rather, Lewis as he’d insisted she call him, was somewhat brusque in his manner, and did not seem in any way lustful, but it was too early to tell. She eased her shoulders as she made her way along the mews behind the house and into Carlos Street. She’d worked for several hours, adopting different poses, never once having to remove the robe. Strangely, it made her more self-conscious sitting there covered while he sketched in his book. How very odd. If it went on too long, it might be difficult to disrobe before him. To look on the bright side, she’d enjoyed a tasty lunch of chicken pie still warm from the oven, washed down with ale, and during the afternoon, they’d stopped again for coffee and iced cakes. None of her artists had ever fed her. And Lewis had asked her to come again tomorrow.

  Despite discovering she had left a glove behind, she was quite perky as she reached the main thoroughfare and set off in search of a hackney. It was a long way to Cheapside. The cost would cut into her wages. But if the work was regular, she might manage to save a little.

  Hebe yawned. She found remaining still in a pose surprisingly enervating. But she didn’t mind how difficult or tiring it was if it brought her dream closer to reality. She was passionate about the future she held dear; a country cottage in a quiet village where her mother could rest and be peaceful, and Hebe could grow flowers for Covent Garden.

  A hackney appeared at the end of the street, and she rushed forward and hailed it. She arrived home eager to remove her shoes, which pinched, only to find her mother entertaining Mr. Wainscott in the parlor. He jumped to his feet as she entered, his face adopting that look of quiet desperation.

  When her mother left to organize the tea, Hebe had no choice but to entertain him.

  He advanced on her, smelling oddly of camphor mixed with bay rum and making her shrink back in her seat.

  “I have my heart set on you, Miss Fenchurch,” he declared passionately, falling to his knee.

  “Please do get up, sir!” Hebe said, horrified.

  His plain face was suffused with color, his eyes wild. “I cannot go on without you!”

  Someone knocked at the front door. “Please excuse me, Mr. Wainscott.” Hebe jumped up and edged past him. “I must answer the door. It’s the maid’s day off.”

  She threw open the door ready to invite anyone who stood there inside. Her mouth dropped open. She never expected to find Lord Chesterton standing there dressed in a fine gray wool greatcoat. He swept off his hat and held her glove out to her as if it was of immense value. The one with the darned finger.

  “You left this behind,” he said with a smile. “As the weather is cool, you might have need of it.” On the road outside stood an elegant landau with a groom at the heads of a pair of thoroughbred chestnuts.

  She swallowed, and fairly snatched it from him, praying her mother w
ouldn’t come to the door. “How did you know where to find me,” she blurted.

  “It was in your note.”

  What was she thinking? “How kind of you, sir,” she murmured. “But you shouldn’t have. Really.” It would be frightfully rude not to invite him inside. “Er, would you care to.…?”

  “Who is it, Hebe?” her mother called from the kitchen stairs. “Why is that maid always occupied elsewhere when someone knocks at the door? Not the knife sharpener again is it?”

  “No, Mama. A gentleman has kindly returned my glove,” Hebe called desperately.

  “Oh, very well then. But in future send Kitty.”

  Hebe’s chest tightened as her mother’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  The viscount’s black eyebrows rose. Intelligent brown eyes met hers, with a glimmer of understanding. “I must go,” he said. “The horses dislike being kept standing.”

  “Oh, but, yes. Of course. In the cold breeze,” she said gushing with relief. “And thank you again.” She had to stop herself from dropping into a curtsey.

  Hebe watched him stride across the road. By the time he’d regained his vehicle, her mother had joined her, but thankfully, was too well-mannered to peer out.

  “I dropped my glove when I left the carriage,” Hebe explained shutting the door with a snap. “A kind gentleman was passing.”

  Her mother peered at her. “You look quite flushed, Hebe.”

  “Yes. A headache coming on, I’m afraid.”

  “My dear, have you? I do hope you’re not suffering from some malaise.” Her mother cast an anxious glance at the parlor door. “And Mr. Wainscott is still waiting for his tea. I do wish you would make your feelings plain to him. He is still holding out hope.”

  Hebe put a hand to her forehead. She clamped her lips on the suggestion of giving him last week’s stale cake in the hope he wouldn’t call again. “Please make my excuses, Mama. I must lie down.”

  “Yes, of course, my dear. I’ll be up as soon as I can with a tisane.”

  Hebe hadn’t fibbed exactly, for her temples did throb, and it worsened every time she thought of Lewis’ shrewd brown eyes. They seemed to take in a lot. Going over it again, she bit her lip. She was sure he would suspect she was not what she led him to believe. She disliked misleading him, but to confess the truth would mean he’d let her go. That must not happen. It was more than the money so desperately needed, she liked working with Lewis in such civilized surroundings. She saw no option but to continue the ruse until he spoke of it. Funnily enough, she rather liked the Hebe she’d become when she sat for him. The disguise was like a cloak she had donned, and while she was there in that beautiful studio the world outside ceased to matter.

  ~~~

  “It was her voice.” Lewis donned his hat as the carriage took him back to Mayfair to visit his sister.

  The groom briefly took his gaze from the road. “Pardon, milord?”

  “I’m talking to myself, John. Pay no heed.”

  Yes. Lewis affirmed. Her voice was different. As surprised as he was to find Miss Hebe Fenchurch living in reasonably comfortable lodgings, he accepted her need to work. But gone was the patois of the East End. Her refined speech belonged to the upper classes. Unmistakable. And her mother, who had called from the shadowy interior. There was a mystery here.

  The discovery made definite sense to Lewis, who had considerable difficulty all day treating Hebe as he did his usual models. He’d been hesitant to ask her to strip, which quite threw him off. After finding her glove, he’d decided to discover more about her, and when he recalled her address was on the note she’d sent him inquiring about the position, he decided to do something about it. Once he’d discovered the paper where he’d tossed it among the pile of books on the table, he’d sent for his carriage.

  Lewis’s thoughts returned to the present when his carriage stopped outside a handsome mansion, the residence of Lord and Lady de Lacy. Lewis climbed the steps to raise the knocker. The butler, Wheatcroft, opened the door and greeted him warmly as an attractive dark-haired lady rushed down the stairs.

  “Lewis!” His sister kissed his cheek, greeting him as if she hadn’t seen him in months instead of dining with him last Saturday. Drawn into the splendid comfort of the de Lacy’s small salon he soon learned that his opinion was required concerning their cousin’s recent appalling behavior with Lady George at the Lambton’s ball.

  “… and then Cousin Gilbert had the temerity to ask me to mind my own affairs while he would take care of his,” Emmy finished up, handing Lewis a cup and saucer painted with flowers.

  “Mm. Always was a bit forthright, Gilbert.” Still thinking of Hebe, Lewis had lost the thread, and fearing he’d be asked for his opinion on something he’d missed during Emmy’s account, sought to distract her. “Have you come across a family by the name of Fenchurch?”

  Emmy widened her large brown eyes. “Why, yes.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Now, wasn’t a lord by the name of Fenchurch involved in some frightful scandal? I believe he was. Colin told me something of it. There was talk at his club.” She picked up a shortbread biscuit and took a bite.

  “A scandal?” Lewis patiently sipped his tea while she dabbed at the crumbs on her lips with her napkin.

  “Colin is a remarkable font of knowledge, but I suspect he filters it for my ears.” She huffed. “Most annoying!”

  “Has my name been taken in vain?” came a deep voice from the doorway. Tall, fair-haired Lord de Lacy walked into the room, his blue eyes smiling affectionately at his wife. “Good to see you, Lewis. Are you here for the gossip?”

  Emmy glared at her husband, but her visage softened into an indulgent smile. “Shall I pour you a cup of tea, darling?”

  “No thank you, my love. Care for something stronger, Lewis? Wine, perhaps?”

  “I’m afraid your excellent vintage would be lost on me. My palate is spoiled,” Lewis said with a grin.

  “Well, you might have said.” Emmy believed that every ill was cured with a cup of tea. She turned to her husband who had settled beside her on the blue damask sofa. “Do you recall the scandal that involved the Fenchurch family?”

  Colin took a sandwich from the platter. “I do. I gather you refer to Adrian Fenchurch, Baron Forth. Forth, had become embroiled in a swindle involving the East India Company. He was subsequently charged with fraud. Shot himself before he faced trial. However, I suspect the poor fellow may have been set up by others to take the blame.”

  “That’s where I heard the name,” Lewis said with a nod. “What happened to his family?”

  “Lady Forth and her daughter were victimized in the most appalling fashion. Family turned their backs on them.”

  So that was it, Lewis thought, choosing an egg and cress sandwich smelling faintly of mustard. “They now reside in Cheapside.”

  “Oh, the poor things. As I recall their daughter was making her debut. She is very pretty. I quite liked her.” Emmy poured Lewis another cup despite him shaking his head to dissuade her. Brown eyes much like his gazed at him. “How do you know they live in Cheapside?”

  “Someone mentioned them, and I wondered, that’s all.”

  Emmy frowned. “Oh! I don’t believe you, Lewis. You know more, and you won’t tell me.”

  “Emmeline.” Colin used an authoritative voice one seldom heard. “That is tantamount to calling your brother a liar. And it cannot be substantiated.”

  Emmy firmed her lips. “We are not in a court of law, my lord eminent barrister, and I am not a defendant.”

  Colin laughed. “Are you using my profession against me? Perhaps you should become one.”

  “That will be the day when a woman barrister can enter a courtroom and practice law,” she said crisply. Her bright gaze settled on her brother once more. “If I ask nicely, will you tell me?”

  “I will not, Emmy. I often move in different circles to you as you well know.”

  “And I must say your circles are infinitely more interesting.” />
  Lewis and Colin laughed.

  “Are you attending the Mulgrave’s card party next Saturday?” Emmy asked. “A lady I should like you to meet will be there.”

  Lewis sighed. He couldn’t tell Emmy about his true relationship with Hebe, for fear of upsetting Colin. Even though Emmy would have handled the knowledge with aplomb. Extremely protective since Emmy’s miscarriage, Colin guarded his wife closely. It was now required of Lewis to make amends. “Of course, delighted.”

  Chapter Three

  The next day in the studio, Lewis greeted Hebe with his distant smile. “Good morning, Hebe.”

  “Good mornin’, Lewis. ’Tis brisk out.” Hebe rubbed her arms and moved gratefully closer to the fire smoldering in the grate. “But nice an’ warm in ’ere.”

  He gestured at the white silk sheet folded on the chaise. “After you undress, drape this around yourself, like so…” He indicated with a hand. “One arm and shoulder uncovered.” He glanced at her top knot. “Leave your hair as it is.”

  Hebe hurriedly stripped off her clothes. Cocooned in the sheet, she tripped out from behind the screen with the silky fabric trailing behind her. She kicked it back with a foot and almost laughed. It reminded her of the long train she’d worn when presented at court.

  With a nod of approval, Lewis approached her, the sunlight through the attic window shining on his dark head.

  Hebe held her breath while he teased out a lock of her hair to rest against her neck. She stared at his broad chest, suffering an absurd urge to trace the pattern over his Egyptian-brown silk waistcoat. He smelled of starch, fresh linens, and tangy lemon soap, which was nothing like Mr. Wainscot.

  After she was positioned on the chaise with her head slightly turned to the left, he stepped back to view the result. “Perfect.” He studied her, a hand on his chin. “You can hold that pose?”

  “I’m an old ’and at this.” She held herself stiff in the pose.

  Lewis shrugged on a white cloth coat and pulled on a pair of thick gloves. After holding a wooden sliding scale up to her, he marked the measurements on the stone with a pencil. Then, taking up one of the bigger chisels and a hammer, he began to knock wedges from the corners of the amorphous block of marble while Hebe watched. It was delicate work, but his hands looked strong, his fingers nimble.