The Painter

by Mary Kingswood

  “What did you say to him, that is what I should like to know. For there must have been some… enticement. He would scarcely have noticed you otherwise.”

  “I am sorry if I have offended you in some way,” Felicia said, surprised but not unsettled. “However, I am at a loss to understand you.”

  “Oh, that is the attitude you intend to take, is it? Complete innocence… as if you have not determined to set your cap at him from the first.”

  “I assure you I have not set my cap at anyone,” Felicia said. “If you mean the earl—”

  “The earl!” Her face registered incredulity, fading swiftly into suspicion. “You would not—”

  “Of course not!” Felicia said, stung into a hasty response. “He is as far above me as the moon!” Yet she could not suppress a blush, even as she spoke the words.

  “Hmm…” Lady Drusilla narrowed her eyes, perhaps not entirely convinced, but she decided not to pursue the point. “I refer to Godfrey Buckley, as if you could possibly mistake my meaning! You must have said something to him on that cosy walk back through the park.”

  “Oh… Mr Buckley… I cannot think… Oh yes, he told me how you hated the season in London, my lady, and how useful you now are to Mr Giles Warborough and the parish. Nothing else was talked of, I promise you.”

  “Hmph. Well, whatever was said, he wishes to further his acquaintance with you, so you will come to Compton House for dinner on Wednesday next. You may wear the blue spotted muslin. We eat at six, and I shall have a turbot which must not be spoilt, so be there promptly by half past five.”

  Felicia opened her mouth to object, realised there was no possible way to escape the engagement without giving offence and closed it again with a snap. A respectful curtsy signalled her acquiescence.

  “Hmph,” Lady Drusilla said again. “Miss Oakes, you are not a fool, so I will speak plain. Godfrey is an amusing rattle, but he will be a marquess in the fullness of time, and must marry according to his anticipated rank in society. Expect nothing from him and you will not be disappointed, for he will not look for a wife from the governess class, you may be sure. Above all, do not be drawn in by him, not if you place any value on your reputation. Even the lightest flirtation could be damaging. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I understand you perfectly,” Felicia said. “You need not have any fears on my account, or on his. Mr Buckley is a very agreeable man, but I know my station in life, I hope, and have no desire to attach myself to any man, least of all one of his ilk. He is quite safe from me.”

  And I am safe from him, she could have added. Her heart had already been bestowed, and no other man, be he ever so agreeable and amusing a rattle, could win her affection.

  When she returned to the studio, she was so unsettled that she could not take up her brush again immediately. She retreated to one of the comfortable window seats in the bay window at the far end of the room, where she gazed out at the regimented pleasure grounds with their straight paths and square beds, not a leaf out of place.

  “What the devil are you doing?”

  She jumped, and instinctively blushed, but she had grown so used to Fin’s irascible manner that she no longer regarded it. “Thinking.”

  “Hmm. Never a good idea,” he said, which made her laugh. He plumped himself down on the other end of the window seat, feet up. So close! “Are you quite well?”

  “Perfectly well, merely puzzled. I have been invited to dine at Compton House, at the express request of Mr Godfrey Buckley.” She was having troubling breathing, so her voice sounded odd in her ears.

  “Buckley? What the devil does he want with you?”

  “Exactly the question I ask myself, although couched in more decorous terms,” she said, her lips twitching in amusement.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “A just reproof, Miss Oakes. I apologise for my intemperate language.” The laughter quickly faded into a frown. “As for Buckley, I was not aware that you were at all acquainted with him.”

  “I have met him precisely twice, once when he almost knocked me over outside the Shotter Arms and mistook me for the Lady Olivia Dulnain, and once at Lady Drusilla’s house over a cup of tea, after which he accompanied me the quarter mile back to the Hall.”

  The frown deepened. “Lady Olivia!”

  “The eldest daughter of Lord Cottersmere and a great beauty, I am given to understand, so I suppose I should be flattered.”

  “Juliana’s niece,” he said thoughtfully. “There is much beauty in that family, it is true. Her older sister Alexandria was a very handsome woman.” Felicia struggled to place Alexandria. Was she the one who had married Lord Arnwell and died in the fire? She rather thought she was. Fin went on, “I have never seen Olivia, but I see no resemblance between you and either Alexandria or Juliana. Do you have any connection with the family? Is it possible that your father was a Dulnain? You have been left well provided for, after all, so he must have been a man of wealth.”

  “I have not the least idea who my father is,” she said. “Or my mother, either. The only person who might have known was Miss Armiger, who looked after me when I was a child, but she told me nothing except that she was not my mother. She died when I was ten.”

  “And she left no clue? No papers? No letters from anyone who might have been related to you?”

  “Nothing,” Felicia said sadly. “When she died and I was sent to Miss Latimer’s Academy, the cottage in which we had lived was let to the curate for a peppercorn rent. All Miss Armiger’s things were locked away in her room, and I was not allowed to look through them until I was of age. The attorney and clergyman who were my guardians and trustees felt there might be letters containing things I should not know about until I was an adult. But when I was finally allowed to examine them, there was nothing — no letters at all, no documents, no journal that might have given me some clue. So I am none the wiser, my lord, and I do not imagine I will ever discover the truth now.”

  9: Dinner At Compton House (June)

  Felicia looked forward to dinner at Compton House with keen anticipation. She could not expect the society to be congenial, but at least Fin would not be there to unsettle her nerves, and she was determined not to be embarrassed at finding herself in such elevated company. Having been invited, she would behave as was proper for her station, initiating no conversation but responding to any overtures. With luck, the food would be plentiful, and she need not restrain herself from enjoying all that was on offer. She had been hungry enough in the past to make her heartily grateful for a well-provisioned table.

  It was a long time since she had dressed for an evening engagement. As a parlour boarder at the Miss Latimers’, she had accompanied them to evenings with friends, and there had been the assemblies, too, but once established at Summer Cottage, there had been no more such occasions. The Itchen residents had not been unkind, and the servants had had their friends, but for Felicia, and presumably for Lady Juliana before her, there had been no invitations.

  At least she did not have to consider what to wear. Lady Drusilla had decreed the blue muslin and so the blue muslin it would be. Some scraps of matching ribbon would decorate her hair and shoes, and Mary hastily stitched a reticule. As for jewellery, she had none, apart from the small silver cross the Miss Latimers had given her on the occasion of her confirmation. That, therefore, would be her only adornment.

  That morning, she was reading to Juliana and Margarita in the schoolroom when the door opened, and Fin’s head appeared. All three of them, as well as Ellen, who was sewing in the corner, rose and curtsied to him.

  “Miss Oakes, at what hour would you like the carriage ordered for you?”

  “The carriage! We do not need the carriage today, my lord.”

  “You are to dine out this evening, are you not?”

  “Oh… oh, I see. Yes, but… but there is no need… I can walk, my lord. It is not far, and the weather is settled.”

  “Nonsense. Drusilla dines at six and you will want to be there by a quart
er to the hour, so—”

  “Half past, my lord. I am instructed to present myself at Compton House at half past five precisely, or else the turbot will be spoilt, and that would be a great tragedy.”

  His lips flickered into a sudden smile, and Felicia’s heart executed a somersault. Lord, if he would only refrain from smiling!

  “Carriage at a quarter past five, then, and no argument.” So saying, he whisked out of the room again, leaving Felicia thoroughly discomposed.

  But that was not the only surprise that day, for when Felicia descended to the hall in her finery, she found the earl there before her, pocket watch in hand, and he too was dressed for the evening. She had never seen him formally dressed before, for on Sundays after chapel he had never bothered to change for dinner. Now, however, he wore silk knee breeches, stockings and pumps, with a deep blue coat and a cream waistcoat embellished with gold thread. He looked magnificent, and Felicia could not quite catch her breath.

  “You keep to time, at least,” he said in his usual brusque manner. “The carriage is on its way round. Miss Oakes, are you quite well? You look a trifle pale.”

  “Pale? Well? No… I mean, yes… perfect… perfectly well, sir. My lord.”

  He chuckled at her confusion, and she hoped he did not suspect the reason for it. “You do not look it. No need to be nervous, you know. You will not be expected to entertain the company with exceptional wit or erudition. Ah, here is the carriage now.”

  She could not take her eyes off him. As she gazed at him, the perfection was not merely in the unusual clothing, but in the form beneath. He was not a sportsman, broad of frame and with the muscles of a smith, but his height was imposing, and the well-fitting coat and breeches emphasised his slender waist and shapely legs. In such a setting, beneath the towering pillars and the soaring ceiling, standing amidst the splendours of Hawkewood Hall, he was the embodiment of nobility, and it was crushing to realise just how far above her he was — in rank, in wealth, in education, in every possible measure. Except perhaps in civility. ‘Not be expected to entertain the company with wit or erudition’, indeed! In manners, at least, she could count herself his equal if not his superior.

  Somehow she got herself past the impassive butler and footmen and out of the door, although her legs were trembling. The earl himself handed her into the carriage. In a moment of pure terror, she thought he would get in beside her, and she could not imagine how she would cope with such proximity. Instead, he waited until she had arranged her skirts and then said, “I shall walk down. Tell Drusilla there will be one more for dinner.”

  She was too flummoxed to do more than nod her head, and before she knew it, the door was shut, the signal had been given and she was rolling slowly down the drive. One more for dinner? He planned to attend, then, and he had not given his sister warning of his intentions. Yes, he was very definitely lacking in manners.

  It took some time to reach the front door of Compton House. The grounds of Hawkewood Hall were criss-crossed by a spider’s web of small footpaths but there were fewer carriage drives, so the route was circuitous and by the time the door was opened and the steps let down for her, Felicia had had plenty of time to compose her thoughts.

  “Lord Finlassan will be joining the company for dinner,” she said to the more senior of the footman attending her, as she mounted the steps to the entrance hall.

  “Lord Finlassan? For dinner, madam?” he said, in a strangled voice, and his junior gasped audibly.

  “I am afraid so,” she said, trying not to laugh at his horror as she unfastened her cloak. Handing it to the junior footman, she said to him, “Better go and alert the kitchen, and I shall myself inform Lady Drusilla of the delight in store.”

  There was no need, however, for the man himself arrived at that moment, smiling benignly at them. “Good evening. Laver, I believe? Is everyone in the drawing room?”

  The poor footman uttered another gargling sound, but he led the way with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Felicia was enchanted, having never seen the earl in this mood before. His manner was light, almost playful, and she could have sworn that he winked at her as they followed the footman.

  “What the devil are you doing?” she whispered.

  For an instant, his eyes widened in shock at her language, then he burst into laughter. “Annoying my sister,” he hissed back, and this time he definitely winked.

  Laver threw open the door to the drawing room. “Lord Finlassan, milady,” he said, forgetting to announce Felicia altogether.

  “Fin?” Lady Drusilla said. She had been deep in some light-hearted conversation with Mr Giles Warborough and a dumpy middle-aged woman, but the smile faded from her face as she saw her brother, and took in his attire. “Whatever are you about?”

  “The turbot, sister, that is what I am about. I am excessively fond of turbot.”

  “Fin, you cannot simply turn up unannounced for dinner.”

  “Why ever not? You turn up unannounced at the Hall frequently, so why may I not return the compliment? I am sure you can squeeze another cover around the table.”

  “You never dine out!”

  “Tonight I do.”

  “But the numbers are perfectly balanced.”

  “Well, then Giles may take himself home. He can eat here any day of the week, I daresay.”

  There was a long, tense silence. Then Lady Drusilla said, “Laver, lay another place for dinner.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Wait… I must speak to Hampton. Giles, do the honours, will you?” So saying, she bustled out of the room, the hapless Laver trailing in her wake.

  Giles whisked Fin away to be introduced around the room, and Felicia found herself abandoned on the threshold. She did not mind, gazing unembarrassed around her. She recognised Miss Claypole talking to an elderly man, and Lady Mabel half asleep in her chair. From the other side of the room two ladies of middle years, rather overwhelmed by jewellery, eyed Felicia and whispered behind their fans.

  It was Mr Godfrey Buckley who crossed the room to greet her with a smile and a graceful bow. “Miss Oakes! How delightful to see you again. The room is brighter already for your presence. The footmen seem to have disappeared, so may I assist you to a glass of sherry?”

  She declined it, and he offered her a dish of bon-bons instead, which was far more to her taste.

  “Lady Drusilla always provides every comfort to her guests,” he murmured, as she helped herself to a second one.

  “Have you often been staying here?” Felicia said.

  “Once or twice a year, in my fruitless attempts to see Lord Arnwell,” he said, in a good-humoured tone. “Nor does he respond to my letters. I should dearly love to get to know him a little, and perhaps demonstrate to him that I am not entirely a good-for-nothing fellow. It is my great hope, if the time comes that I inherit—”

  “If?” she said in surprise.

  “The future is always uncertain, Miss Oakes. I make no assumptions. If it should come to pass, however, I would wish to be worthy of the honoured title he now bears, and it would be beneficial for me to learn from his experience and example. I must soon be looking for a wife, too, and should be glad of his advice on the subject. As head of the family, he may have strong opinions on the subject, and I should not like to go against his wishes.”

  “Your feelings do you credit, sir,” she said. He sketched a small bow of acknowledgement, and she went on, “Yet it is hard to see what may be done about it. If he will not meet you or correspond with you, then you must conclude that he has no interest in whom you marry.”

  “Indeed, and his actions must also reduce my prospects of marrying well.”

  Felicia could not help laughing at his glum face. “Hardly so! The heir to a marquessate may marry as high as he chooses, surely? You need only go to London and let it be known that you are considering marriage, and the daughters of the nobility will be scrambling for your favour.”

  “No daughter of the nobility will
be of the least use unless she brings with her a large dowry. My own fortune is small, and unlikely to be enriched by Shotterbourne.”

  “There must be many such,” Felicia said with a smile. “Come, I will not have you downhearted, Mr Buckley, for tonight we have bon-bons in abundance, and later there will be turbot to enjoy.”

  Lady Drusilla returned just then. “Oh! Miss Oakes! Well,” she said, startled, as if she had forgotten that she had herself invited Felicia. “Do come and meet everyone.”

  There were two middle-aged couples who had driven out from Derby for the occasion, and Felicia was intrigued to discover that the dumpy lady was Godfrey Buckley’s aunt, Miss Edith Buckley. She was drably dressed, a nondescript woman but with sharp eyes and an astute glance that seemed to quickly appraise Felicia.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Oakes,” she said, her voice almost as deep as a man’s. “Godfrey has talked about you a great deal, and I confess to some curiosity to know more of you.”

  “There is little enough to know,” Felicia said, politely, although wondering greatly at such interest in one so lowly. “My ignoble history is no secret, after all, nor has my life been so interesting as to be worthy of retelling.”

  “No one has a life so dull as to be unworthy of retelling,” she said. “Even we women who toil in the service of others have our stirring moments, those times when we become heroines in our own lives. Is it not so, Godfrey? For me, such opportunities are in the past, but for you, Miss Oakes, there may yet be a time when you step forward to take your place at the front of the stage.”

  Felicia laughed and shook her head. “Only in my imagination, Miss Buckley. It amuses me to pretend that I was born to this kind of life, that I am some kind of noblewoman entitled to be here. But the truth is that I am trying not to step on my fine new gown or drop my reticule, and before too long I shall return to my rustic cottage in Hampshire and spend the rest of my life growing potatoes. No heroine, just another spinster struggling to survive.”