The Lord's Portrait (A Regency Romance) (The Regency Brothers in Love Book 2)

by Eliza Dawkins

  Cat shrugged. ‘No one heard me.’

  ‘I did! I suppose it doesn't matter anyway since no one wants to dance with me tonight.'

  ‘Let me see if I can persuade one of my new brothers to do the honours,’ Cat replied and headed off towards Benjamin and William, tossing her chestnut hair back over her shoulders with a smile.

  ‘Cat, don’t you dare!’ Arabella called after her and felt herself colouring up again.

  Someone tapped her shoulder from behind, and she turned around. ‘Franny!’ she exclaimed, rising for a proper greeting.

  Frances was glowing: ‘I’ve missed you so!’ They exchanged a hug. ‘You’re still wearing this silly veil?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Arabella replied. ‘It’s all the on dit. No one will even dance with me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because you’re wearing this!’ Frances said, lifting the veil by one of its edges. ‘You don’t need it! You aren’t in mourning.’

  ‘I cannot very well show my face in public,’ Arabella hissed.

  ‘Such a shame, since you look so lovely tonight. Maybe I shouldn’t be seen in public, either.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well…’ Frances smiled. ‘I’m in a family way.’

  ‘Franny! That’s wonderful news!’ Arabella exclaimed.

  ‘I’m not showing yet, but when I do, I’ll have to stay at home and perhaps stay out of sight,’ Frances said. ‘Ah, the joys of motherhood.’

  ‘I wish I had that excuse to stay out of sight.’

  ~~*~~

  ‘Arabella!’ someone called from across the ballroom. She looked up but couldn’t see who it was.

  ‘Arabella!’ Now she recognised William’s voice. He was coming through the crowd towards her. And then he was right beside her.

  ‘My lord, I am so happy to be here tonight,’ Arabella said, curtsying.

  ‘Of course,’ William said, bowing to her. ‘You are the guest of honour. And I must say that you look beautiful tonight, even if you can’t see me properly.’

  Frances gasped at his impertinence, but Arabella giggled. ‘I can see just fine, thank you!’

  ‘Frances, it’s nice to see you again,’ William said, kissing her gloved hand.

  ‘And you as well, William,’ Frances replied. ‘It seems you and Bella have become friends.’

  ‘We have, during the sittings,’ he said. ‘Arabella, may I ask you to dance a set with me?’

  Arabella coloured up. What would people think of her dancing in public with the subject of her portrait? ‘I … hmm, I … I’m not feeling well tonight.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Bella!’ Frances exclaimed. ‘Dance with him!’

  William extended a gloved hand to her, and she felt herself flush all over. ‘It’s those silly rumours, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘I know you didn’t paint that scandalous painting. That’s all that matters to me.’

  ‘But your reputation —’

  ‘I don’t care about that. I’ve been trying to track down that blasted painting, and I even secured copies of the receipts from the Scunthorpe’s accountant —’

  ‘You what?’ Frances exclaimed, looking shocked.

  ‘I’m determined to find that painting and clear Arabella’s name.’

  ‘Oh, William,’ Frances sighed. ‘Even if you find the painting, it won’t prove anything.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think it shall,’ he said. ‘That painting was nothing like Arabella’s portrait of me. I remember its style.’

  ‘You do?’ Arabella asked.

  ‘Yes, but I never got to see the signature,’ William said. ‘I’m certain anyone who put so much time and effort into such a large painting would sign it.’

  ‘You could have asked me for help,’ Frances hissed.

  ‘While you were in Manchester?’

  Arabella felt as if she were flying. William had gone to all this trouble to clear her reputation. He believed she hadn’t painted the scandalous painting.

  ‘My lord,’ she said softly, feeling that she was being quite forward, ‘I’d like to let you know that my evening is still open, should you wish to ask me for a set of dances.’ The musicians had just begun a waltz.

  William smiled and offered her his arm, which she took. She felt giddy as he escorted her onto the floor, then melted again as he grasped her waist and they began the waltz. His touch reminded her of their first waltz, scarcely two months before, when she barely knew him. So much had passed between them since then.

  Two dances weren’t enough for Arabella, for the feeling of floating in William’s arms, not needing to worry about her reputation anymore. She wished she could stay in his strong, protective embrace forever.

  When their set was over, William walked her back to Cecil and Tessa’s table and bowed. She curtsied in response. A lady didn’t dance more than one set with a man unless engaged to him, so she sipped her negus and savoured her magical memories of the waltz.

  A merchant’s son asked Arabella to dance and she was happy to oblige, although she didn’t find it as exhilarating as dancing with William. Whether or not William ever fancied her, she decided, she was thankful for his friendship and belief in her. How differently tonight was turning out than her last party!

  ~~*~~

  As the night went on, the big moment grew nearer, and Arabella was no longer so sanguine. Indeed, she was in high fidgets. She was going to be the centre of attention again. What would the guests — many of them influential members of the ton — think? Would they like the portrait? Of course, she knew William loved it, and she had told Hannah that his was the only opinion that mattered to her. Still…

  At the appointed time, the velvet-draped portrait was brought to the ballroom and positioned in full view of all. The guests, anticipating a dramatic moment, stopped their chattering. Tessa, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand in support.

  The major-domo called Arabella up to stand on one side of the painting, with William on the other. She would rather have run to the kitchens — a sip of Mrs O’Herring’s Irish whiskey sounded possibly helpful at this moment — but all eyes were upon her, so there was no getting out of it.

  Why did I agree to this? Arabella thought desperately. I could be at home browsing through Ackermann’s Repository while Hannah danced up a storm here in my place. I must learn a ladylike way to decline such invitations…

  Then, with a mercifully quick flick of the footmen’s wrists, the velvet was off, the portrait unveiled, the guests’ reaction heard at last:

  ‘Aahhhh!’ And … applause! She risked a glance in William’s direction. He was smiling at her, his green eyes twinkling.

  Guests came forward to congratulate her. One mother wished to commission a portrait of her sixteen-year-old daughter next spring, for her Come Out. Delighted, Arabella invited the mother to call on her at Bedfordshire House, said a kind thank you to the other well-wishers, and realised she was utterly exhausted. Cecil and Tessa graciously offered to take Hannah home in their coach.

  Cat and Frances made their way through the throng of admirers. ‘Tabby Varden was in such a pelter,’ Cat said exultantly. ‘She had nothing to say, and the whole family has already left. I’d call that a bloody successful evening!’

  ‘I was surprised to see Edward Crane, Duke of Routland, sitting at their table,’ Frances said. ‘I wonder what they might be conspiring about.’

  Arabella didn’t know the Duke, and she was glad Lady Tabitha had nothing bad to say about her portrait, but she was so drained by the many emotions of the evening that she could scarcely remain standing. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m completely fagged out,’ she said. ‘Will you forgive me for leaving before midnight supper?’

  ‘Of course,’ Cat said. ‘You’re the guest of honour — you may do as you please!’

  ‘This has been a wonderful evening,’ Arabella said. ‘Thank you both for all you’ve done to help my aspirations.’

  ‘It’s been our pleasure,’ Cat said. ‘Enjoy your rest. You’ve done well tonight.
’

  ~~*~~

  Arabella went to gather her shawl and bonnet. In the foyer, William appeared a few feet from her.

  ‘The unveiling was a success, don't you think?' He asked, a smile crossing his handsome face. Arabella could only nod, lest she melt into a puddle on the floor. She cast a furtive glance around, hoping no one would see her speaking to him unchaperoned.

  ‘Arabella, would you like to paint my full portrait?’

  She smiled with surprise and pleasure, all her caution cast aside. ‘I’d be honoured, my lord!’

  ‘Good —’

  ‘Bella!’ Frances called. ‘Oh, Bella — oh, it’s nice to see you, William. I wanted to speak to both of you, actually. William, would you walk Bella and me to our coaches?’

  ‘But of course.’

  The Duke of Scunthorpe was outside, chatting with a few lords. Frances and Arabella each took one of William’s arms.

  ‘I asked my husband if he saw anything suspicious on the night of the art show,’ Frances whispered. ‘He remembered seeing that scandalous painting being wrapped up by the footmen and taken out back. He went out to the stables and saw it being loaded onto the Wolverhampton coach!’

  ‘No!’ Arabella cried, horrified. ‘Why would anyone do such a thing to me? What did I ever do to —’

  ‘I suspect the Wolverhamptons were trying to ruin the first event that Cat and I organised,’ Frances whispered. ‘They probably wanted to hurt Cat more than to ruin you, Bella.’

  ‘I wonder if they still have the painting,’ William whispered. ‘I’ll call on Tabitha and see if I can locate it at Wolverhampton Hall.’

  Arabella felt as if she had been slapped; she scarcely knew the Wolverhamptons and had never done a thing to wrong any of them, especially Lady Tabitha. And the idea of William courting the redhead, even if just a pretence, made her feel jealous and angry and sick all at once.

  ‘They could have moved it,’ Frances whispered. ‘They have several homes, you know.’

  ‘I do know,’ William said. ‘I’ll call on her tomorrow night and see what I can find out. Arabella, Mother and I will have you over soon to discuss commissioning the full portrait.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, curtsying. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

  ‘You don’t have to call me that,’ he said. ‘You can call me William.’

  ~~*~~

  William felt a little disgusted to be paying a call at Wolverhampton Hall, knowing that this family might have thought nothing of ruining sweet Arabella’s reputation to harm another.

  He dismounted and handed Ember to a groom. He had bought a perfect rose for Lady Tabitha from a street vendor on the way.

  He was greeted at the door by the footman. ‘Lord William Windham. I’m here to call on Lady Tabitha Varden.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ The footman announced William, and he entered the parlour.

  ‘Oh, Lord William!’ Lady Tabitha sang out as she came downstairs. ‘I just finished eating dinner and was about to practise my singing!’

  ‘It’s nice to see you, Tabitha,’ he said, bowing. He kissed her gloved hand, and she curtsied. ‘Please, call me William. You don’t have to use my title.’ He offered her the rose.

  Her mother, the Duchess of Wolverhampton, snatched up the rose and motioned for her lady’s maid to find a vase. ‘Lord William!’ she said. ‘We have been hoping and praying that one of you brothers would pay our Tabby a visit! Come, take a seat. Better yet, let’s have Tabitha sing you a song. I’ll accompany her!’

  The Duchess sat down on the piano bench and got out her harp-lute.

  ‘I hope you like my singing,’ Lady Tabitha said, clearing her throat. ‘Mother, why don’t we sing Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” for Lord William? In the original German, of course!’

  Lady Tabitha began, and William was impressed. She was a decent vocalist.

  There was a knock at the door as she was singing. A moment later, after she had finished ‘Ode to Joy,’ a footman came to the parlour. ‘Announcing John Milton, Marquess of Epsom.’

  Lord Epsom appeared at the entrance to the parlour.

  ‘Oh, Lord Epsom! I’m so happy to see you!’ Lady Tabitha exclaimed, her face lighting up. ‘How is your father, the Duke?’

  ‘He’s well, thank you.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She’s also well.’

  ‘John,’ William said, rising. ‘It’s nice to see you —’

  ‘I do hope she appreciated the fern we sent for her birthday,’ Lady Tabitha interrupted. Turning her back on William, she crossed the parlour to Lord Epsom. She flirted and giggled as they spoke, making William feel invisible.

  And so he realised: Lady Tabitha had no interest in a mere lord as a husband; she wanted a duke — or at least a marquess, who was certain to become a duke in time. Like so many among the nobility and the ton, this duke’s daughter wanted even more wealth and power.

  Tabitha is no Arabella.

  William was shocked at his own thought. Could I be in love with Arabella?

  ‘May I be excused to the washroom, please?’ William asked.

  ‘Of course,’ the Duchess said.

  William climbed the staircase to the second floor, still shocked at himself. Was he in love? He was. It was obvious. He loved Arabella. He’d rather be with her right now. And her reputation didn’t matter to him, because he knew the truth. Her reputation might be bruised, but she was not altogether ruined.

  The second floor was deserted, and he found the washroom quickly. The room next to it was the Duke of Wolverhampton’s study, and he was not home tonight.

  William peered cautiously into the study and then entered. After a bit of searching, he found a few paintings — and large ones, at that. He took the blanket off the first one, but it was a mountain landscape, perhaps in the Swiss Alps. Another was a depiction of pheasant hunting. But the third one — to his surprise — was the nude painting, the one that had scandalised Arabella.

  By this point he had thoroughly absorbed her distinctive attention to colour, her brushstroke pattern, and her style of painting. This painting was nothing like hers. He picked it up carefully, so as not to make noise, and searched for a signature.

  He didn't have to look for long since the painting was out of its frame.

  ‘Wolverhampton.’

  Someone in this family had painted it!

  His sweet Arabella was innocent. But how could he prove it? The painting was their property, and he couldn’t steal it.

  And as for Arabella's reputation … he didn't care if it was bruised. She was honest enough for him, and Cat could vouch for her character. Why did it matter if she had some silly rumours attached to her name? Indeed, his family had the same. He covered the painting, put it back where he had found it, and went downstairs.

  No, he couldn’t prove anything publicly. But perhaps there was another way to restore Arabella’s reputation…

  Lady Tabitha didn’t even notice when William returned to the parlour.

  ‘Your grace, thank you for your hospitality,’ William said to the Duchess, bowing. ‘It was lovely seeing you, Tabitha,’ he said, kissing her gloved hand. ‘I must go home for the night, so I bid you adieu.’

  He had seldom been so happy to see Ember again.

  Chapter 9

  Arabella usually rose early to paint. When she did so the next morning, she found an envelope on her plate at the breakfast table.

  ‘Who’s it from, Bella?’ Hannah asked. She had been eyeing the envelope for some time, waiting impatiently for Arabella to arrive at the table. ‘Are you going to open it?’

  ‘It was delivered this morning by messenger,’ the footman said.

  Arabella looked at the envelope cautiously. ‘It’s not proper to open a letter from a stranger…’ she began. It could be an uncouth advance from a bounder.

  ‘How could it be from a stranger, you goose? It’s addressed to you,’ Hannah pointed out sagely. ‘Open it!’

  Truly,
I should let Andrew open it, Arabella thought. She knew a proper lady was not to accept correspondence from a man unless she was engaged to him. But she couldn’t tell if this letter was from a man or a woman. How could she know unless she opened it?

  Hannah was right, she decided at last. The envelope was addressed to her. Holding her breath, she broke the seal and pulled out the letter inside.

  My dearest Arabella,

  I want you to burn this letter after reading it. I went to court Tabitha Varden last night under false pretences. I managed to get into her father’s study, where I discovered the scandalous painting. It was signed by a member of her family.

  I’ve studied your work for a few weeks now, and I could see the difference between your paintings and this one. I cannot clear your name by this alone but be assured I know your virtue is still intact. I shall never believe any rumours that attempt to besmirch your reputation. You shall always be dear to me, my sweet Arabella. I look forward to seeing you soon when we begin work on the full portrait.

  Yours sincerely,

  William

  Postscript: I do hope you will continue to make me more handsome in my portraits than I actually am.

  Arabella clutched the letter to her heart for a moment. She could not stop smiling at William’s words. He had called her ‘dearest’ and ‘sweet’!

  ‘Who’s it from? What’s it about? Bella!’ Hannah was insistent.

  ‘Do you promise to keep a secret if I tell you?’

  ‘On my honour and virtue.’

  ‘Lord William found it,’ she said, tucking the letter back into the envelope and folding it shut again.

  ‘Found what?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘The painting. You know,’ Arabella said, standing up and walking over to the hearth, where the footmen had lit a fire to warm the parlour. ‘The one that ruined my art show.’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ Hannah said. ‘Who could forget that?’

  Arabella tossed the letter into the fire. ‘He found it!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘The letter —’

  ‘It was lovely,’ Arabella said. ‘He said he found the painting in the Duke of Wolverhampton’s study, and it was signed by someone else, not me. He said he can’t clear my name by this alone, but … he knows the truth.’ A lump formed in her throat. ‘He said that’s all he needs.’