The Education of Mrs. Brimley

by Donna MacMeans

  No need, Nicholas thought. No need for many, just for the one. They both upended their drinks.

  “Now that you’ve come to town, you might as well stay for the exhibition,” William offered. “They’re hanging a week from Monday and opening two days after. You’d enjoy it.”

  “I suppose now that I know that my picture is in no jeopardy of being viewed, I would rather enjoy the exhibition.” The brandy blossomed in his stomach, spreading pleasant warmth and cheer throughout his body. It would be good to view the Academy’s choices and maybe call upon some old acquaintances in town. Emma’s reputation was safe, and she had promised not to run from Pettibone. Yes, he could afford to bask in a bit of his brother’s hospitality.

  “Then it’s settled.” William took his empty glass and placed it on the sideboard. “You’ll stay here. You look exhausted and I have spare beds aplenty.” He clapped him on the back. “Good to have you home, brother.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Thank you, William.”

  FORTUNATELY, MOST OF THE TON HAD LEFT LONDON for the summer, preferring to dwell at their country estates. William introduced Nicholas to his social clubs and favored gambling hells to fill the social void. Nicholas begged off after only a few nights, preferring to use his daylight hours to sketch the city’s landscape rather than sleep off an evening’s frivolous pursuits. His brother had scowled but accepted his decision without complaint.

  A parade of women, orchestrated no doubt by his brother, found their way to Nicholas as well. Pasty-white, social aristocrats whose passions consisted of little more than fashion and gossip. Nicholas supposed they could read. They were rumored to be educated. Yet not a one could quote a line of poetry or entertain a novel thought in their empty heads. They could never stand up to a Yorkshire winter, Nicholas reasoned. No backbone.

  Then his thoughts would turn to Emma, who had a magnificent backbone, and many fine front bones as well. He smiled. She read for more than just pleasure and actually retained what she had consumed. Would any of these silly sheep be willing to defy society and undress for him for the purpose of modeling?

  Well, yes, at least one of them would.

  At the Haddocks’ party, Lady Cavendish seemed most anxious that Nicholas be introduced to her new charge, a Miss Penelope Heatherston, a comely creature whose best attributes were amply displayed in her low-cut gown. No intelligence, however, registered behind her attractive and vaguely familiar visage. Something about her name pulled at him, though he couldn’t make the connection. Undoubtedly the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed might explain the lapse.

  Nevertheless, he smiled at the appropriate intervals and feigned interest in conversation, just so his boredom would not cast unfavorably upon his brother. Surrounded by all these people, Nicholas was lonely, there was no denying it. Back home in Yorkshire with only Emma in his studio, he had all the company he needed.

  Indeed, he’d be back there now, his desire to see Emma again even stronger than his desire to view the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition, if not for his promise to his brother.

  He wrote to Emma to tell her of his change in plans so she would not arrive at an empty Black Oak for painting sessions. There was no need to mention the switch in the painting. No need to upset her that a remote threat to her reputation had ever existed, now that it had been thwarted.

  After two weeks, the grand day for the opening of the exhibition arrived in some of the foulest weather to hit the city that week. Traffic around Piccadilly Circus came to a complete standstill as a horde of wet, black umbrellas thronged to the exhibition.

  “It’s really quite a crush on the first day, old man,” William said to Nicholas as they waited impatiently in the carriage.

  “We could walk,” Nicholas said. “It’s not far.”

  “I refuse to walk a single block in this downpour. Look at it. We’d be soaked through and through before we took five steps.” A low rumble of thunder confirmed his displeasure.

  “In Yorkshire—”

  “Oh please, no more comparisons between London and Yorkshire,” his brother groaned. “I’ve heard little else these last two weeks than how beautiful the scenery, how sweet the air, and how hardy the women. You forget I was just there myself, dear brother, and I’m afraid I don’t share your appreciation.”

  Nicholas chuckled beneath his breath. The criticism was just, his preferences apparent.

  “I say we come back tomorrow,” William said. “The day will be drier and the crowds thinner.”

  “I had planned to leave tomorrow,” Nicholas replied with a bit of a growl. He could feel the pull of Yorkshire, the pull of Emma, even as he sat in this ridiculous little carriage waiting for other ridiculous little carriages to move forward.

  “The trains will run the day after as well. Come on, brother. Did I tell you Arianne is here?”

  His sister? “No. You failed to mention that.”

  “She arrived yesterday and is staying at Father’s house. I propose we go visit there instead of the gallery. This can wait for another day.”

  “As opposed to visiting Father?” Nicholas frowned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you planned this standstill so you could propose this venture.”

  “Seriously Nicholas, what kind of brother doesn’t go visit his sister on the rare occasion when she’s in town?”

  Nicholas sighed. “Let’s go and get this over with. Of course I want to see Arianne again, but Father?” He shook his head and glanced up at his beaming brother. “You appear quite pleased with your artful manipulation.”

  “I am, dear brother. Believe me, I am.” He tapped on the roof and redirected the carriage to his father’s residence.

  WILLIAM AND NICHOLAS WERE DIRECTED TO THE FAMILY salon, where Arianne with her delightful humor and effervescent chatter already entertained the dour Duke of Bedford.

  He looked considerably older than Nicholas recalled, he thought with a twinge of guilt. Even the full white beard trimmed meticulously to the top of his collar failed to hide the deep bags gathered under his father’s eyes. His skin had paled to a papery thinness, but his eyes retained their hawklike stare. The rich satin dinner jacket tied at the waist emphasized the Duke’s vivid blue eyes now directed in assessment of his youngest son. Nicholas cast a quick glance to his brother, who solemnly nodded in return.

  Arianne rushed forward, encircling him with her flowery scent and demanding his attention until dinner was served and throughout the many courses. Finally, the three men retired to the library with their brandies. Nicholas waited for the inevitable attack to begin, on his lack of character, on his lack of responsibility, on his lack of talent.

  “Nicholas, as you are well aware, we have had our differences in the past,” the Duke began. “I suspect those disagreements are the primary reason why so much distance has gathered between us.”

  Nicholas just sipped his wine. To say anything would add fuel to his father’s fire.

  “That is why it gives me great pleasure to admit to my fallacies. I was wrong about you, Nick. Grievously wrong. I have seen your work and can now acknowledge that all that time spent with your paintbrush has not been wasted. I wish to offer a toast to your talent.”

  “Hear, hear,” added William with a lifted glass.

  Stunned, Nicholas fumbled for words. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. On what occasion have you viewed my work?”

  His father laughed, a hardy sound Nicholas couldn’t recall having heard before.

  “All of London is lifting a glass to your talent, my boy. It isn’t everyday that one’s painting is accepted into the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition. Why, your work will hang in museums and galleries long after I’m buried and forgotten.”

  Nicholas jerked as if punched in the gut. He looked to William for answers.

  “I told you Father would be pleased to see you.” William beamed.

  “What painting is hanging in the exhibition?” His tone alone could have turned the June rain beating against
the windows to hail pellets.

  “Artemis’s Revenge, of course, the one with the naked woman.” His father chuckled. “I must admit, I thought you were just having your fun with those women, not painting them. I attended the private showing yesterday for the artists and guests. I’m surprised you didn’t attend, but William said you were busy with one thing or another.”

  Twenty-one

  NICHOLAS LOOKED FROM HIS FATHER TO HIS brother and back. A cold, blind fury settled around his heart. He’d been tricked! Manipulated by the very brother he had trusted. His eyes bored into William.

  “I tell you that painting was the talk of the show,” the Duke continued, oblivious to the rising tension between his sons. “I understand a new record was set for attendance today. Why, half of London must have come to the opening.”

  “You told me the painting was rejected,” Nicholas stated with deadly calm. “You lied to me.”

  “You would have pulled the painting if I hadn’t,” William replied. “A few pounds appropriately placed can buy a good deal of silence.” He met his brother’s stare. “I did it for your own good. Artemis’s Revenge is a masterpiece. It deserves to be seen.”

  “You thought your painting was rejected?” The Duke of Bedford laughed again. “This is too rich. A jest played by your brother. Well done, William.” The Duke’s glance darted between his sons. “Look at Nicholas! Why, the boy’s in shock. Drink up, man. The brandy will bring you to your senses. Then we can discuss you moving your studio to town.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” The Duke of Bedford’s butler stood at the door. “Lady Cavendish desires a word with Lord Nicholas Chambers.”

  “Lady Cavendish?” the Duke roared. “What in the devil is that busybody doing here?”

  The butler extended a note to Nicholas. He quickly unfolded it: Emma is in danger.

  “Lady Cavendish remains?” he asked.

  “She waits in the green salon, sir.”

  Nicholas stood and crossed to the door.

  “What goes on here?” His father demanded. “Where are you going?”

  Nicholas glanced back. “I must see this woman.” He scowled at his brother. “No amount of apology will justify the damage you have done. I expect you to retrieve my painting before the exhibition opens tomorrow.”

  William sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous. The show is hung. They won’t remove a painting once it’s on display.”

  Nicholas replied over his shoulder. “Then have it covered. I won’t have the populace gawking at my Emma.”

  “She’s just a—”

  Nicholas turned, ice dripping from his words. “Be careful choosing your next word, William. Your very life may well depend upon it.”

  William gulped his wine. His father’s wide smile faded.

  Nicholas hurried to the green salon near the front end of the manor, perplexed as to how sweet Emma could possibly be in danger in tiny Leighton-on-the-Wold. What he recalled of Lady Cavendish did not suggest she would engage in a cruel jest. No, that remained the realm of his brother. His teeth set on edge. Of course, Lady Cavendish had traveled with his brother. The two could be partners in crime.

  He found Lady Cavendish pacing furiously in the salon. “You sent for me?”

  “Why?” Her gaze knifed through him like a finely honed rapier. She shook a lace-covered fist at him. “Why did you do it?”

  “Madam, I haven’t a clue to your reference. Nothing I’ve done affects your household.” He narrowed his gaze. “Why did you send me that note? What kind of danger?”

  “Why did you paint that picture of Emma and then submit it to the summer exhibition?” she countered.

  “I did not submit a painting, although one was submitted for me. However I fail to see—”

  “I attended the opening with Emma’s uncle, Mr. George Heatherston. He recognized his niece immediately.” Her scowl suggested an attachment to Emma of which Nicholas was previously unaware. He was suddenly enamored with the constantly inquisitive Lady Cavendish. In this household of backstabbing relatives, he recognized an ally.

  “Your note said she was in danger.”

  “Heatherston was very upset. He’s been searching for Emma for months and months. Did you not know? He was leaving to reclaim her as soon as he left me. She must be warned before he finds her.”

  Nicholas called for his hat and then scribbled a hurried message to his family. “Even if he recognized Emma, how would he know where to look?”

  “I am afraid that may be my fault.” Lady Cavendish grimaced, averting her eyes for a moment. “I had mentioned that I had visited Black Oak, not realizing at the time that the details would put Emma at risk.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if dismissing the matter. “We turned a corner and saw your Artemis. But enough of this. We must hurry.”

  Nicholas paused in his writing. “Does the uncle know that she teaches at Pettibone?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answered with a pensive look. “But it wouldn’t be difficult to find someone who recognized her in Leighton-on-the-Wold. It’s such a small village, and Emma is memorable.”

  That much is true, Nicholas thought ruefully.

  The butler appeared with Nicholas’s hat in hand, as well as Lady Cavendish’s wet umbrella. For one brief instant, Nicholas was glad that she had checked her weapon at the door, else he suspected the umbrella would have been bashed across his head. He didn’t understand the origin of the woman’s loyalty to Emma, but he was grateful for it.

  “Did you come in a carriage?” he asked.

  “I have a cab outside.”

  “Madam,” he said, “I have no time to concern myself with society’s transgressions. I wish to take your cab to the train station. Will you ride with me and tell me all you know?”

  She smiled. “At my age, I don’t have many opportunities to set tongues wagging. Let’s be off.”

  Twenty-two

  ALICE SUGGESTED THEY PACK A PICNIC LUNCH and share it out in the garden while reading their favorite passages aloud from Mr. Shakespeare. Emma suspected the ploy was meant to lift her spirits. Ever since Nicholas had left for London, doubts about the wisdom of her actions, and the sincerity of his, had left her muddled in a cloud of despair.

  Once, while reading a dated copy of the Times, she noticed mention in the society column of Lord Nicholas Chambers in the company of a debutante. A sharp pain had stabbed at her heart, and she was tempted to retrieve Mr. Copland’s A Dictionary of Practical Medicine from the top shelf in the library. But she doubted she would find a sufficient remedy for a broken heart even in that copious work.

  Still, she couldn’t resist scouring the society columns for his name. She found frequent mention of the parties and dances he had attended. The knowledge rankled. He would not dance with her at the Pettibone ball, but he would dance with the society ladies at the fancy parties of the polite world. Her temperament grew sullen and irritable.

  “I’m so glad you remained at Pettibone,” Alice repeated for the umpteenth time. “Especially now that all the girls have left for the summer. My past summers were always so lonely.”

  “You weren’t alone.” Emma tried to focus on Alice’s conversation rather than Nicholas’s social opportunities. “Miss Higgins and Miss Beatrice were here.”

  “Yes, but they never knew what to do with me. I endeavored to stay out of their way as much as possible. I believe they vowed to stay out of mine as well.”

  “That does sound like a lonely existence,” Emma said quietly, gazing down the hillside at the crisscross hedges and the fields of ripening grass. Lambs bleated in the distance, their cries carried on the same breeze that chased cloud shadows across the valley. She kept her back turned to the path on the left that led down to the woods and beyond to Black Oak. Too many memories lie in that direction. She hadn’t even hope that Nicholas’s issue would break the heavy mantle of her loneliness. Her monthlies had arrived last week, an event she welcomed with a bit of relief, but also mourned as one might a los
t dream. She sighed heavily.

  “At least you had this glorious countryside for your own. I can see a hundred magical reading spots right from this hill.” Emma smiled. “That’s what helped me through my lonely spells when I was your age. My books.”

  “Still it’s good to have someone to share a book with,” Alice observed.

  “That it is,” Emma agreed.

  “Mrs. Brimley!” Cecilia called from the terrace. “We must see you immediately. You have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” Emma smiled at Alice. “I can’t imagine who that could be. Shall we go see?”

  Visitors no longer terrified her as they once had. Ever since the Pettibone ball, several of the village men made their way to the school, dressed in their Sunday best, to call upon the young widow. They were kind, she was polite, but none of them stirred her passion as Nicholas did. Indeed, she often hoped the caller in the parlor would wait for her with a wicked grin, a tilted mustache, and a dancing dimple. However, the likelihood that Lord Nicholas Chambers, noted recluse and rake, would present himself at Pettibone as a suitor was beyond even the fantasies of the popular light novels.

  Hand in hand, Emma and Alice walked back toward the school, chatting like sisters. However, once they reached the terrace, Cecilia stopped them from entering together.

  “Alice, I think it would be better if you went to your room,” she instructed with a nod.

  Alice’s forehead wrinkled in concern.

  “It’s all right,” Emma reassured. “I’ll come get you after meeting whoever has come to call.” Alice departed, leaving Emma and Cecilia on the terrace.

  Cecilia frowned. “He’s waiting in the sitting room.”

  Only one person could earn Cecilia’s scowl. A smile crept to Emma’s lips. Nicholas was back! His letter had indicated that he’d return in two weeks, and so he had. Although Cecilia had softened her criticism of Lord Nicholas Chambers after his assistance in locating poor lost Charlotte, that frown proved her reluctance to drop old grudges.