A Gift From a Goddess

by Maggi Andersen

  Lewis bowed, paused to greet those of his acquaintance, then made his way through the noisy throng flooding the reception and card rooms. He finally located his sister and her husband on the terrace.

  “Rather cool out here, isn’t it?” he asked, as the autumn breeze stirred his hair.

  Oddly, Emmy was vigorously employing her fan. “The Mulgrave’s rooms are always so stuffy.”

  “Are they? Can’t say I’ve noticed,” Lewis looked at Colin. He shrugged, then cast a questioning glance at his wife.

  “Why would you? When you hardly ever come to these affairs,” Emmy said in an accusatory voice.

  “That’s true.” He wondered what bee had got into her bonnet. Unlike Emmy to be so disagreeable, especially where they might be overheard. What had happened to make her so? Colin appeared as baffled as he.

  Emmy craned her neck. “Oh, there she is. I feared she might not come. I arranged to meet her here. It’s impossible to find anyone inside.” She smiled in the direction of a lady in indigo moiré silk, who had just appeared on the terrace.

  Emmy rose. She hurried over and slipped her arm through the attractive brunette’s and drew her to Lewis’s side.

  “Lady Sylvia, I should like to introduce my brother, Lord Chesterton,” Emmy said, brown eyes shining. “Lewis, this is Lady Sylvia Standish.”

  He bowed. “Lady Sylvia.”

  She curtsied as her hazel eyes met his with a smile. “Lady De Lacy has been singing your praises, Lord Chesterton.”

  He grinned at Emmy who was smiling like a cat at the cream jug. “A biased opinion, I fear.”

  His sister huffed good naturedly and left them.

  Lewis discreetly observed the tall, slim widow, liking what he saw. Not one of those vacuous debutantes who clung on his arm and giggled or gazed at him as if he was Bluebeard. “Are you keen to play whist or faro, Lady Sylvia?” he asked as they strolled back inside.

  “Neither, but I daresay I shall before the evening is out. Please don’t let me keep you from your game.”

  “I would prefer to talk.” Lewis smiled and offered her his arm. “I spy two chairs in the corner near the potted ferns. Shall we?”

  “I should like to, thank you.”

  “I was deeply sorry to hear of your husband’s death. He and I were at Oxford together,” Lewis said, after they were seated.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m surprised we’ve never met.”

  “My work tends to consume a lot of my time. So much so of late that I fear I’ve begun to lack the social graces.”

  She smiled. “I don’t believe that. I have seen your latest sculpture. It’s quite marvelous.”

  “Thank you.” Lewis removed two glasses of champagne from the footman’s tray. He handed one to her. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not particularly interesting. I’ve been living quietly for the past year since Peter died. In fact,” she hesitated, “This is the first time I’ve ventured into society.” She laughed. “And I might not have come tonight, but for your sister. Lady Emmeline was determined that we should meet.”

  Lewis smiled. “My sister has exquisite taste.”

  A flush warmed Lady Sylvia’s cheek. “You are most kind.”

  “Merely honest.”

  Lewis glanced over to where Emmy talked to a dowager. Something had stirred her to make another attempt to draw him back into society. He thought she’d come to accept his preference for an uncomplicated life. He’d hoped all that was behind them, his failed marriage, and how that had affected her, causing her to lose her baby.

  “I was saddened to learn of your wife’s tragic death.” Lady Sylvia’s words pulled him back. “Peter and I were in France when it happened.”

  Lewis nodded. “Some years ago, now.”

  “Yes. Indeed. Time passes, and heals, it’s said.”

  “Time might not heal completely, but does soften the ache of loss,” he said, more for her benefit than his.

  She nodded sadly. “Peter died after a prolonged illness. One has time to prepare. But for you it must have been a terrible shock.”

  It was an invitation to pursue it. Her curiosity was understandable, Lewis supposed, but he had no intention of discussing the past with her. “Would we feel better if we spoke of happier things?”

  She placed a hand to her bodice trimmed with black lace. “Oh, yes. I apologize. My first social engagement and you, poor man, must wish me gone.”

  “I would never wish to lose a lovely lady’s company.” Lewis took her empty glass and placed it on the table. “Shall we distract ourselves by watching a game of whist? It may tempt you to play a hand.”

  “An excellent idea.” She accompanied him into the card room.

  A crowd three deep gathered around the hazard table. A lot of money was wagered, and a rumble passed through the crowd with every roll of the dice.

  Lewis and Lady Sylvia joined the observers.

  A player guessed the right number, and a cheer went up.

  A group of Whig politicians were standing nearby, their eyes on the game, talking quietly together. One was Laura’s brother, Michael Somerville, and his crony, Nicholas, Lord Thorn, a hot-blooded, unpredictable man. The third, Basil, Lord Osborne, a solidly built, dark-haired man, Lewis only knew by sight. They made a show of turning their backs on Lewis and moved away.

  Some hours later as he waited in the entry hall for his coat and hat, Somerville appeared.

  “Misplaced your lackey, Somerville?” Lewis asked.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed with dislike. “Are you considering marrying again? I imagine you barely give a thought to Laura lying in her grave.”

  “Then you are wrong.”

  Somerville cocked an eyebrow. “I guess she grew tired of you sleeping with your models. And in the same house!”

  Lewis didn’t respond. Useless to deny it, the man was convinced. “I shan’t discuss Laura with you, now or ever.”

  Cold green eyes so like Laura’s assessed him. “Because you’re ashamed.”

  “I am bitterly sorry, Michael, rather than ashamed.”

  Somerville shook his dark head, turned, and left the hall.

  A moment later, Emmy came to find him.

  “Was that Michael Somerville I saw striding away down the corridor?”

  “It was.”

  “He refuses to accept the truth about his sister. I could tell him a thing or two.”

  Lewis placed a hand on her arm. “Leave it alone, Emmy, please.”

  “Very well. What do you think of Lady Sylvia?”

  “She’s a lovely woman. A lovely sad woman.”

  “You could make her happy, if you cared to.”

  “But I don’t care to, Emmy. And I’m not at all sure that I could.” Lewis thanked the maid who brought his things. She bobbed and left the hall. At the door, a footman stood waiting.

  Emmy frowned. “You are so vexing, Lewis,” she said in an undertone, holding his hat and gloves as he put on his coat. “Sylvia is interested in the arts. You would be perfectly suited.”

  Lewis drew on his gloves. “I knew her husband although he wasn’t a particular friend. We were at university together.”

  “I never met him. What was he like?”

  “A studious, quiet fellow. Obviously, a devoted husband. I would make a very poor replacement.” He settled his hat on his head. “And pray tell why I must suddenly become a respectable married man?”

  Emmy flushed. “Because you are about to become an uncle…” Her eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth.

  Lewis drew in a breath. “Emmy! You’re going to have a baby?”

  She nodded with a tremulous smile, then turned to glance at the corridor leading to the drawing room.

  “And you haven’t told Colin, yet,” Lewis said.

  She looked stricken. “I plan to tell him tomorrow. It’s our second wedding anniversary.”

  “Goose,” he said with a soft stroke of her arm. “Do as you plan.
And not a word about telling me first.”

  “Yes, I will. I don’t suppose you’ll reconsider about Sylvia?”

  “I am sorry, Emmy. It wouldn’t work. I think in your heart of hearts you know that.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Lewis. I do want to see you as happy as we are. With children of your own.”

  “At thirty I am hardly in my dotage.”

  Colin strode in the entry hall.

  “Here comes your husband, and he’s frowning.”

  “Poor Colin. I left him with the Dowager Lady Sinclair. She has a tender for him, you know.”

  Lewis grinned.

  “Emmy, how could you go off like that,” Colin said looking annoyed. “I just spent the last twenty minutes searching for you.” He turned to Lewis. “You off, Lewis? How about a game of billiards at White’s on Friday?”

  “Count me in. Now I shall leave you two to sort out your differences. I intend to seek my bed.”

  “Which is where we are going after we locate our host and hostess,” Colin said sternly.

  Emmy tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and smiled up at him. “I believe I last saw them in the conservatory.”

  “Goodnight, Lewis,” Emmy called as Colin swept her away.

  The weary footman opened the door, and with a nod of thanks, Lewis stepped out into the cold night air. He hailed a passing hackney, sank onto the hard leather squabs, and turned his mind to those warm languid days he’d spent in Greece.

  An hour later, after he’d dismissed his valet, Lewis settled in bed. He blew out the candle and stared into the dark, his mind too disturbed for sleep. The few hours before dawn were always the worst time for those with a troubled conscience.

  Chapter Five

  The next few days passed as they settled into a routine. Although the marble representation of Hebe’s face, head and shoulders were still only rough-hewn stone, she marveled at how under his clever hands; the shapes began to take form. It was quite magical. On Friday morning she felt enough at ease with him to mention it.

  “Too early to tell, but I have a good feeling about it.” He raised his head to glance at her with a smile, then turned back to his work. “I have an excellent model.”

  His praise made her inordinately pleased. Was he just being agreeable, or did he mean it? It had required little effort on her part, but the next phase could be more challenging. Disrobing before him had become a disturbing weight on her shoulders. She found him most professional and had no reason to feel that way. And yet, especially after Marigold’s comments, she feared to see disappointment in his eyes.

  In the afternoon, Lewis gave Hebe her wages, which were extremely generous. She paused in the mews to count it again. Far more than any of her painters had paid her. She looked up at the house for a moment to the attic outlined against the sky. She would not see Lewis again until Monday and would miss coming here. But she had two whole days to spend with her mother with money in her purse. Where would Mama like to go? They might hire a carriage and travel into the country to take luncheon at an inn. Hebe could hardly wait to ask her. But first, she must see Sally. She’d been putting it off, not wishing to raise the unpleasantness of Marigold’s accusation again.

  In the narrow lanes of the East End, she entered the reeking alley which led to the garret where Sally lived with her painter. Hebe climbed the stairs and knocked on the door at the top.

  “Hebe!” Sally drew her into the room where canvasses and strong smelling tubes of paint were scattered about. A covered painting perched on the easel. “Elias has just gone out. I’ll make us some tea and we can have a good natter.” She hesitated, and her pretty face formed a frown. “There’s something I must tell you.”

  “Oh?” Cold fingers climbed Hebe’s spine.

  They sat together in the tiny living area divided from the studio by the curtain. A pot of boiling water was suspended over the coal fire. Sally made the tea and poured milk into the cups. While keeping the chipped one for herself, she handed the other to Hebe.

  “Is it about Marigold?” Hebe asked.

  Sally nodded. “She came to see me.”

  “I saw the bruises,” Hebe said. “Told me Lord Chesterton struck her.”

  Doubt filled Sally’s eyes. “According to Marigold, t’was because she refused to go to bed with ’im.”

  Hebe put down the cup with a startled intake of breath. “That’s it then. I can’t work for him.”

  “’ave some sense, girl,” Sally said dismissively. “Marigold wouldn’t refuse a lord’s advances. A ’andsome one at that! And my Elias ’eard different.”

  Hebe sagged against the back of the wooden chair. “What?”

  “It was Seth, Marigold’s brother who punched ’er. A friend of Elias’ said ’e’s done it before.”

  Hope struggled in Hebe’s breast. “Are you sure?”

  “Seth is a member of a London gang of cutthroats. Marigold gives ’im every penny she earns. And when she doesn’t get work ’e turns nasty.”

  “Poor Marigold.” Hebe paused to consider the new information. It was certainly plausible. “I couldn’t believe it was Lewis.”

  “Lewis is it?” Sally widened her eyes. “You fallen for ‘im?”

  “No of course not. But he seems a decent gentleman.”

  “It wouldn’t be wrong for you two to get together,” Sally said brightening. “After all, you both come from the same world.”

  “I am no longer a part of that world, Sally,” Hebe said crisply.

  Sally shrugged. “Sorry love. Try a coconut biscuit. Me ma made ’em. She’s cook for Mr. Thrup.”

  Hebe took one and bit into it, savoring the sweetness. “They’re delicious. Has Marigold been back to see you since?”

  Sally shook her head. “No one’s seen ’er around. She might’ve taken off somewhere until the bruising goes.”

  Hebe sipped the weak brew. “How beastly to have such a rotten brother.”

  Sally took another biscuit as the door opened. “Here’s me fella back again.”

  Hebe finished the last of the tea. She stood and pecked Sally’s cheek. “I’ll come again soon.”

  “Don’t leave it too long, love.”

  With a nod to Elias, Hebe left the studio. If Marigold was part of the murky London underworld, Hebe feared for her, but the model was wrong to have lied about Lewis. It surprised Hebe that in such a short time, she’d come to know him. He wasn’t a violent man.

  ~~~

  Fortunately, except for Colin and Lewis, the billiard room at White’s was deserted. Colin was unlike himself tonight. Lewis hid a smile as his brother-in-law missed another shot, sending the ball into the cushion wide of its mark. His brother-in-law was usually cool and rational. Attributes that would serve him well in a courtroom. But something had happened to throw him off his game. Lewis knew what that was. He took a sip of claret and waited to be told.

  “Dash it, sorry.” Colin tossed down his cue. “Perhaps we should switch to cards.”

  “In your present mood cards might prove expensive,” Lewis observed with a grin.

  A smile lifted the corner of Colin’s mouth. “You’re probably right. I had planned for Emmy to tell you, but… dash it all, I can’t keep it to myself.” He clapped a hand on Lewis back. “I’m to be a father, Lewis! You’re going to be an uncle.”

  Lewis responded with a show of surprise and delight. The delight was real. Emmy was to be a mother! It was as if something had righted itself after the sadness. Although there was eight years between them, they’d always been close. After their parents died, Lewis had become Emmy’s guardian and kept a strict eye out for rakes during her first Season. She’d married Colin soon afterward. Relieved that she’d chosen a good man, Lewis had no trouble relinquishing his authority to him. Despite her tender years, and her own sad loss, when Lewis’ life fell apart two years ago, Emmy was there for him. “We must celebrate. I’ll send for champagne.” Lewis turned to look for a waiter.

  “No. Best let Emmy tell
you, herself.”

  Lewis smothered a smile. “The condition suits Emmy I must say. She was positively blooming at the Mulgraves.”

  Colin’s forehead broke into a worried frown. “I pray she remains so.”

  “No reason she shouldn’t,” Lewis said, keeping his voice light. Please God, let everything go well this time. “Shall we visit the card room and watch the play? There’s always a few amusing on-dits, despite Brummel’s absence.”

  “Unless some daft young fellow has lost his shirt and a good deal besides,” Colin said as he followed him out.

  Some hours later, when Lewis sat alone in the club library nursing a glass of whiskey, Nicholas Thorn entered. “Alone, Chesterton?” he drawled.

  “I was. And hope to be again,” Lewis said, pointedly fluttering the journal in his hands.

  Thorn shrugged his big shoulders. Not a handsome man by any stretch, his features blunt, but Lewis had seen him turn on the charm when a lady was involved. Tonight he seemed to be spoiling for a fight. Perhaps his present mood came from the fact that his father had threatened to disinherit him due to his son’s refusal to toe the line.

  “Saw an amusing caricature of you in a print shop window,” Thorn said, his thin lips pulled into a rictus-like grin. “Drawn as Pan with a chisel in one hand having your way with your latest sculpture. Diana the huntress, wasn’t it?”

  “Small things amuse the smallest of minds they say,” Lewis commented returning to the article he’d been reading.

  “They did not draw you small you’ll be pleased to hear,” Thorn said. “But then these cartoonists tend to exaggerate. We have only to ask your models.”

  Lewis had had enough. “Be careful, Thorn. If we were to meet in Potter’s Field at dawn, I would draw your cork. Then your father would hear of it and he is ready to disown you, I hear.”

  Thorn swore volubly and left the room.

  Lewis spent the next two days in the studio working hard. The filing and smoothing that would tease the beauty from the stone would come later, but he was now ready to move ahead. He had advised Hebe of it, but when she entered his studio on Monday morning, she appeared subdued, and avoided his gaze. He thought of suggesting a glass of wine, he rather needed one himself, but dismissed the idea. Better to offer her something to eat. He doubted she ate breakfast.