If her legs had strength, she’d rush over and throw her arms around him. He was willing to sacrifice his well-earned recognition to preserve her reputation. Tears of gratitude burned at the corners of her eyes.
“Bloody hell, Nick.” William cast a disparaging frown in her direction, waving the sketchbook as if to punctuate his words. “She’s used goods. A painting like this could boost her popularity as well. She’ll be a novelty. You’ve painted her with a shy, self-conscious quality that is outright titillating. No one will deny your talent.”
Nicholas’s lips thinned. “Yesterday I had a preoccupation, today I have a talent.” He glanced her way. Her rigidity melted in response. “I’d rather have neither if it hurts Emma.”
The Marquess dropped the sketchbook, letting the binding bounce on the floor. The book flipped open to Emma’s goddess sketch.
“Not a word, William,” Nicholas warned. “Do you understand?”
The Marquess scowled but nodded assent. He marched across the studio floor to the door, leaving a boot print across Emma’s sketched cheek in the process.
As William’s boots echoed down the hall, Nicholas turned to Emma.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to keep the painting hidden.”
Nicholas fished in his pocket and removed a handkerchief. “I suppose I should have packed the painting away the moment he arrived, but I couldn’t.”
He dabbed at her cheeks. Had she been crying? She couldn’t remember.
“I just couldn’t.” He opened his arms, and she stepped into his comfort. “The important thing is that no one will ever see that painting again. Trust me, Emma. It shall be our secret, and our secret alone.”
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I uncovered it. I just wanted to see . . .” Her voice faltered, then disappeared altogether. Tears ran uncontrolled down her cheeks.
“William would have seen it eventually. It’s not your fault.” His fingertips soothed the hair back from her cheeks.
“I know.” His voice lightened. “I shall hide it in the root cellar with the potatoes, if you like. I’ll cover it from view, although I suspect Thomas would want his likeness to be revealed.”
His gentle teasing brought a smile to her lips. “Thomas?” The words forced her throat to open to accommodate them. “The man in the woods?”
Nicholas nodded, gently squeezing her shoulder. He shifted toward the easel. “I’d prefer to hang it, though, in my private quarters.” He glanced down to her. “With your permission, of course.”
Emma sniffed, not a refined sound, but necessary. “I thought this studio was your private quarter.”
He sighed and hugged her tighter. “That was the original plan when I moved to Yorkshire. My family and houseguests apparently consider this a public gallery of sorts.” He pulled back a bit to see her face. “You’re the first to recognize how much of my heart and soul reside in this room.”
“After these last few months, I think a bit of my heart resides here as well.” Emma sniffled.
He held her in silence a few moments longer then stepped back. “I suppose you didn’t come here today to pose for my next great work.”
His humor pulled at her heart. She rubbed the last traces of tears from her eyes and straightened her spectacles on her nose, then took a large settling breath. “Your brother is correct. It is a magnificent work.”
“The next one will be even better.” Nicholas smiled, and moved over to his stool. “You shall see.”
“I had thought that now that this project was complete, you could teach me about art in earnest.” Emma followed him back to the center of the room and stepped up on the dais by habit. “The sisters still expect me to teach painting to the girls.”
“Emma, everything we have done has been in earnest.” Nicholas picked a brush from a jar and held it aloft to inspect it. She recognized the sable brush instantly and smiled, remembering the silky texture on her skin.
“I’d wager you know more about art now than all of Yorkshire,” Nicholas said.
Emma sat on the divan, too drained to argue or even agree. She tried to believe Nicholas’s light banter, but the draped easel remained her focus. What she once considered a freeing experience had become a trap.
“You don’t believe me?” Nicholas pulled a mock frown. “Then I suppose we should get to work. Let us begin with the topic of negative space.”
Seventeen
THE PAINTING CHANGED EVERYTHING.
Once she returned to Pettibone, Emma feigned a headache and retired early. Even an invitation from Alice to indulge in a game of cards could not lift her spirits. Cecilia audibly supposed that the excitement of the dance had tired her unduly and urged her to seek rest. The girls would be distraught if illness would to befall their favorite teacher.
Emma smiled to acknowledge the compliment, then quickly escaped to her room to think.
She trusted Nicholas to keep the painting private, but servants talked. It wouldn’t take long for the rumors and gossip to travel from Black Oak to Pettibone. The Marquess’s words echoed in her mind. At least my brother has progressed from tavern whores to country widows. How quickly would people begin to associate her with the former group and not the latter?
She had to leave. A sullied reputation would ruin Pettibone. Cecilia had said as much the day she had arrived. Leaving her newly found family would be difficult, but leave she must. The question was, where to go?
She could teach to earn a wage. Her time at Pettibone had taught her that much. She had an affinity for the young girls that resulted in their acceptance and learning. Perhaps she could secure a position in a finishing school in Switzerland or Paris. No, not Paris, she decided. Loyalty to God and country wouldn’t allow her to teach in that godforsaken hovel. That meant Switzerland would have to be her destination. Her past surely wouldn’t follow her that far.
She had done well in her widow portrayal. The next time, she would do even better, now that she was armed with the lessons Nicholas had taught her.
So it was settled. She would approach Nicholas at the first opportunity about securing transportation out of the country. He was a reasonable man, an intelligent man. She had recognized that from the very first when they met in the carriage.
Memories of that night pulled at her heart. She could travel the world over and never meet another man like him. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them with a corner of the pillowcase.
With her departure Nicholas would be free to exhibit his masterpiece. She couldn’t deny the world of its next great artist. Her heart ached at his proposed sacrifice. She couldn’t allow it.
He had given her so much. He had taught her how to appreciate art, and herself. He had awakened her heart to what it felt like to love and to be loved. This was the only gift she could give him in return, her absence. Her chest tightened, making it difficult to draw breath.
He would see the logic of her plan. It was a brilliant plan. This would benefit them both.
Then why were tears streaming down her cheeks at thought of her future?
“NO.” WITH ONE HAND, NICHOLAS SNAPPED HIS BOOK shut before shoving it into place on his library shelf. “Absolutely not.”
“You must see the necessity of this move,” Emma pleaded, crossing deeper into the book-lined recess. Normally she would stop and savor the smell of old leather and musty paper, but not today. Not when she was pleading for an opportunity to never stand in this library again. “I don’t wish to go, but I have no other choice.”
“I see no such thing.” Nicholas crossed his arms in front of him. “I will not assist this foolish venture in any way.”
“Foolish venture!” she gasped. How could he not appreciate that circumstances had changed? “Don’t you see that it’s only a matter of time before gossip travels to Pettibone?”
“Emma, if those in residence at Black Oak were interested in spreading gossip, don’t you think the spinster sisters would already know the nature of your art lesso
ns?” Nicholas’s voice riled her with his calm logic, the complete antithesis to her own current sensibilities. “Despite his obvious faults, my brother is an honorable man. He can be trusted not to divulge the nature of the painting.”
She rolled her eyes, not sharing his appreciation of his brother’s virtues.
Nicholas’s lips turned in the slightest of smiles. “I’ve been my family’s black sheep for so long, I’ve forgotten that some may not hold my brother in as high esteem as the family is wont to do.”
Nicholas must come from a family of fools if they respected the eldest brother over the younger, she thought.
“Nevertheless, the painting is again under cover in my studio.” He selected another leather volume and slammed it home on the shelf. “The marquess and Lady Cavendish are departing for London early tomorrow morning. I see no reason why our paths cannot carry on, just as they had before the unfortunate unveiling of Artemis’s Revenge.”
“I cannot go on as before.” Emma shook her head, despondent over his lack of cooperation in this endeavor. “I am no longer in desperate need of your knowledge, and I refuse to continue to lie about my visits here. I’ve become a part of so many deceits, I have difficulty recalling where the truth begins.”
“Emma, I would give anything in my power to rectify this injustice.” He soothed his hands down her arms, as if to stop her sudden retreat. “Please don’t ask me to assist you in leaving.” He studied her beneath shuddered lids. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Then ask me to stay,” she whispered, searching his face for answers.
“Have I not done that very thing?” Frustration tinged his voice. “What more can you expect of me?”
Tell me you love me, she silently begged. Give me the only kind of protection a woman has against a sullied reputation. Give me a ring and a vow.
He studied her a moment more, his gaze flickering over her features as if to seal them in his memory. His mouth opened as if he had more to say. Yet nothing issued forth. He turned abruptly away, and in doing so, turned away from all they had shared the past five months, all the intimacies and past histories, all the unburied emotions and discoveries. He turned away.
“I see,” she said quietly while her heart screamed in the void of her chest. Numb, she stepped back, then dipped in an expedient curtsy. “Thank you for your time, Lord Nicholas Chambers. Good day to you, sir.”
Her eyes burned; a sob twisted in her throat. But she refused to cry in front of him. A proper lady had to have some pride, even when her heart had been torn asunder. She turned toward the door and hurried toward the manor’s entrance.
“Emma, wait!” His voice trailed behind her, but she continued to her waiting rig. She untied the reins, stepped up to the wooden seat, and urged the horse forward.
“Emma!”
She refused to look back. Her heart lodged in her throat, pulling forth great, shaking sobs. The horse attempted to twist his head, as if he didn’t understand the direction her quivering arms dictated. Indeed, she was unsure herself. Tears blurred her vision. Once she had pulled beyond sight of Black Oak, she reined in the horse to a stop.
Tears flowed freely beneath the hands raised to her face. Was it any wonder he wished for things to continue as they were? She had allowed liberties, admitted emotions that a proper lady would have kept hidden. She was unsuitable to be more than a convenient distraction. Unsuitable!
She fished for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She would have to leave on her own, away from Black Oak and its painful memories and away from Pettibone and its fond ones. A fresh sob shook her shoulders. She pushed the handkerchief to her mouth to muffle the sound.
Dear heavens, she could taste his scent on the linen. Instantly, his face appeared in her mind, sympathetic and compassionate. In one quick motion, she clenched the linen into a ball and tossed it to the narrow stone wall that bordered the road. Where she was going, she wanted no more remembrances of Lord Nicholas Chambers.
A moist wind, rich with the promise of spring and changing weather pushed at her face. Though tempted to remain on the road through the pending rain as a way to explain her distressed appearance, she decided against it. Poor health due to a sudden chill could delay her departure from Pettibone. Better to return quickly so as to quickly leave in turn. She swiped the tears from her cheeks with the hem of her skirt before setting the horse to motion again. Barely able to control her own life, she was in no shape to direct a horse. Hopefully the fellow would trot his way home and drag the rig behind.
“MRS. BRIMLEY,” CECILIA GREETED HER BEFORE SHE could disembark from the rig. “I’m so glad you’re back. I need your advice on some correspondence I received from an applicant.”
Emma tilted her head in the hopes that the brim of her hat would hide the proof of her tears, but Cecilia clasped her arm as she approached and faced her directly. Cecilia squinted.
“You’ve been crying. You saw the younger brother, didn’t you?” she accused. “I knew that man was no good. What did he do?”
“Nothing. He did nothing,” she said flatly, pushing her way past Cecilia. “May we continue the discussion of your recent correspondence a bit later? I’d like to go to my room for a few moments, and—”
“One would suppose that the man would be more mannerly with his refined older brother in residence,” Cecilia grumbled following behind.
Emma stopped, a defense of Nicholas poised on the tip of her tongue. Her gaze snapped to Cecilia, but she didn’t speak. What was the point? Any words of rebuttal would soon be forgotten in lieu of condemnation of her own behavior. She continued to the front door.
“Mrs. Brimley.” Fanny waited just inside. “Charlotte shouldn’t be allowed to have a cat. The vicious beast just destroyed the lacework on my best petticoat. I demand something be done about it.”
The refuge of her room appeared more distant with each step Emma took toward it. With one hand on the staircase newel, Emma directed Fanny to take the ruined petticoat to Beatrice for repair.
“But the cat—” Fanny whined.
“I’ll talk to Charlotte. Now go,” Emma snapped.
“Mrs. Brimley?” Hannah called from the top of the stairs. “What color ribbon goes best with my complexion?”
“The blue,” Emma responded with barely a glance. If she could just gain the stairs without any more interruptions, she could—
“Mrs. Brimley?” She heard Cook call in the hallway below. Emma quickly rounded the top of the stairs and hurried the last few steps to her room.
IN FIVE SHORT MONTHS, SHE HAD EVOLVED FROM someone whispered about in the hallways to something of the resident authority. The success of the ball, Lady Cavendish’s visit, and the Marquess’s apparent interest elevated her in the esteem of the school. Even Cecilia gave her the occasional nod of approval and respect.
Her heart tugged deep in the chest. Just when she had earned their respect, she would lose it all as soon as they learned the truth. She couldn’t stay to watch. Her eyelids burned for want of tears; she had cried them all out by the stone wall. She pulled her old valise from under the bed, just as the threatening cloudburst erupted outside.
Without Nicholas’s financial help, she would have to leave with just the essentials she could carry. Her jewelry might be bartered for passage for somewhere far from Pettibone. She emptied her drawers, spreading her entire wardrobe out on her bed. The last time she had done this, she had donned all these garments to confront Nicholas. A fluttering in her chest reminded her of the outcome of that adventure. No, she chastised herself, she wouldn’t think of him. She wouldn’t remember the concern in his eyes, or the power of his grip as he held her to the mattress, or the desire to feel the caress of his lips while at his mercy.
A rumble of thunder brought her back to the task at hand. Even if the temperature weren’t too warm to accommodate all those garments, her figure had expanded after sharing too many teas at Black Oak. She could never fit all those clothes onto her frame.
; “Mrs. Brimley, what are you doing?”
Emma glanced up. Alice watched from the doorway. “You’re going away, aren’t you?” Her lip trembled.
Emma sat on the bed, crushing her mother’s black crepe. “I don’t expect you to understand, but circumstances have forced me to—”
“Take me with you,” Alice said. “It won’t take me long to pack. Just let me say good-bye to Charlotte and I’ll be ready.”
Emma’s heart twisted. “I can’t take you with me, Alice, as much as I want to. I don’t know where I’m going, so it wouldn’t be responsible of me—”
“I don’t care about responsible.” Alice rushed in the room and clasped Emma’s hands. “I don’t want to be alone again. You and I are family. You said so. I won’t let you leave without me. I won’t.” A tear carved a track down the young woman’s cheek. Emma brushed it away with the tip of her finger.
“Why do you have to go?” Alice cried. “Is it something I’ve done? Did Miss Higgins find out that I put Charlotte’s kitten in Fanny’s room on purpose?”
Emma smiled, pulling the girl’s head onto her shoulder. “It has nothing to do with the kitten, or with you.” She stroked the girl’s back, soothing away her tears.
“Then why do you have to leave?” Alice looked up at her with puffy eyes. “Everything has changed since you’ve been here. If you leave, it will all go back to the way it was. Please stay. Don’t leave us.”
Was that true? Two days ago, Emma had complimented herself on how much she’d changed since arriving at Pettibone. Had the school changed as well? She hugged Alice, gently rocking her forward and back. Things were different now. Someone wanted her, needed her. How could she turn her back on the Higgins sisters or their brood of young girls without explanation?
The old Emma would have run away, but maybe this new Emma could find another solution. The thought took root and strengthened. Perhaps Nicholas was right. She knew him to be an intelligent man. Maybe life could go on just as it had. Not those modeling sessions, those would have to end. But if the painting were concealed, and the Marquess of Enon returned to London without revealing her secrets, maybe she could stay and continue teaching.
The Education of Mrs. Brimley Page 22