Passion Wears Pearls

by Renee Bernard

  The urge to cry had finally passed and she dried her eyes.

  “Tomorrow, Eleanor Beckett,” she told herself as she moved her feet closer to the warm grate. “Tomorrow, you will find less scandalous employment and be able to thank Mr. Hastings by paying him back for all of his generosity.”

  If not, I’m not sure what the future holds.

  For then I may have to actually consider the remarkable promise of fifteen thousand pounds and decide if I should redraft my vows about not accepting any help to make an exception for insane artists with beautiful brown eyes.

  Chapter

  6

  “Ah! There you are, Miss Beckett!” Mrs. Clay greeted her warmly as Eleanor tried to tap the worst of the snow from her boots before reentering the lodge. She had been out all day seeking employment and encountered only rejection and humiliation. She had no recent references, most glaringly none from her last employer. One agency had told her directly that she appeared to have no real skills when it came to domestic work and was too well mannered and too pretty for any woman to allow into her home. Unable to afford a carriage, Eleanor had walked the streets of London until the weather had finally turned her back toward the inn. She’d even begun to wonder if Mrs. Clay might let her work in her establishment to help pay for her room and board, or if a smaller room would suit.

  She couldn’t feel her toes and had to grip the wall to keep her balance. “Good day, Mrs. Clay. I shall do my best not to track in any water onto your floors.”

  “Don’t mind that! Mr. Hastings has come calling for you and is waiting in the upstairs parlor. There’s a fire blazing there and it’s nice and toasty.”

  “Mr. Hastings? Has he … been waiting long?” Eleanor wasn’t sure what to say. Mrs. Clay seemed perfectly content to see her have gentleman callers, and instead of knowing looks, the woman was cheerfully gesturing for her to hurry.

  “Awhile, I’d say,” Mrs. Clay replied. “But I’m forbidden to say exactly how long as Mr. Hastings said you were sure to ask and he didn’t want you to worry about it. Isn’t he dear?”

  “I don’t know him very well, Mrs. Clay, but he seems very considerate.” She glanced down at her cold, wet skirts and wondered if he were “dear” enough for her to keep him waiting until she’d changed. Eleanor sighed and decided to ignore her skirts. This wasn’t a social call, after all, and no matter how disturbingly handsome he might be, she didn’t actually possess the wardrobe to try to impress the man, so there was no point in trying. Nor was she willing to admit that she cared what the man thought about the state of her hem. “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.”

  “Shall I send up Tally to sit in the corner? As a sort of a chaperone, miss?” Mrs. Clay reached out to take her damp scarf and help with her coat. “He couldn’t eavesdrop,” she added with a smile, “but a good girl like yourself might be comforted to know he’s there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clay. If he truly wouldn’t mind, I am so grateful for your thoughtfulness.” Eleanor stepped up into the hall and headed up the narrow staircase.

  The upstairs parlor was just off the stair landing and available for the monthly lodgers to use. It was a semiprivate space for conversation and even meals for anyone who preferred something more quiet than the bustling common dining room below.

  As she reached the landing, she saw him standing in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the orange glow. Broad shouldered and lean, she was struck by the long lines of him and the latent power there. His light brown hair was far too long and tied back in a loose queue with a strip of leather, but the old-world style suited him. It made him look more rugged and otherworldly, just as an artist should, she imagined.

  She cleared her throat to alert the man to her presence. “Mr. Hastings,” she said. “I’ve kept you waiting.”

  “You didn’t know I was coming so how is that possible?” he countered with a smile. “It was only a few minutes.”

  Eleanor allowed the lie, flattered that he would go to such trouble. “I’m pleased to see you again, Mr. Hastings. If only to thank you once more for your kindness, but also to see if there is some way to rectify the arrangements.”

  “Is your apartment not comfortable enough? Mrs. Clay has a reputation for being accommodating, but if you’re not happy here, I can look for something else.”

  “No, you misunderstand. It’s very comfortable and far too luxurious for what I can afford.”

  “It costs you nothing. Surely that isn’t too taxing for your purse?”

  “Mr. Hastings, I cannot allow you to pay for my lodgings. It isn’t proper.”

  His look was pure innocence, as if the concept was new. “Mrs. Clay is simply repaying me for a favor by offering you a room until you’re on your feet.”

  “I do not like to feel cornered, Mr. Hastings.”

  All playful pretense fell away, and he squared his shoulders like a man facing sentence. “You aren’t.”

  As if on cue, a small pixie of a boy appeared quietly on the stairs and came into the parlor to take a seat on a footstool by the fireplace with a shy smile. The small storm brewing between them lessened, and Josiah returned the boy’s smile with one of his own. “I see our chaperone has arrived.”

  “Mrs. Clay suggested that she send her son along.” Eleanor instantly recognized the humor of her diminutive guardian’s presence but did her best to maintain what decorum she could. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I don’t. I don’t mind it at all, Miss Beckett.” He sighed and turned his attention back to her, and Eleanor had the odd fleeting notion that a woman needed a fire screen when standing this close to a man like Josiah Hastings. Even with cold, wet shoes and stockings, she had the urge to fan herself to keep a flush from her cheeks.

  Eleanor took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Let me be frank. I am at my wit’s end, sir. My reserves are … if I described them as dwindling, it would be kind. I’m not ungrateful for what you’ve done, for what you’re doing for me, but …”

  “Say it, Miss Beckett.”

  “I need to know why. Is this some scheme to ensnare me? Have you an ulterior motive for your generosity?”

  “I’ve kept nothing from you. I’ve never lied about my interests.” Josiah sighed. “I only want to paint you, that desire is unchanged. But honestly, after getting to know you and seeing how determined you are to protect your reputation—I’m not sure if I’ve done you a disservice already. A thousand chaperones wouldn’t protect you from the wicked imaginations and cruel tongues of people who will hear only that you modeled for me.”

  Eleanor couldn’t hide her shock at his confession. “You’re withdrawing your offer?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m letting you know that I’m aware of the price you’ll pay for agreeing. I’m letting you know that I’m not oblivious to the dilemma I’ve presented. But if anything, I’m renewing that offer, Miss Beckett. I am more determined than ever not to lose this chance. And as for the cost of your room and board …”

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “If you agree to sit for me, then if you wish, like your previous employer, I can deduct the cost of a room from your wages.”

  “And if I don’t agree to sit for you?”

  “I’ll stubbornly insist on helping you. You can attribute it to a guilty conscience, since I’m the villain who lured you into a carriage and potentially compromised your reputation.”

  “You are hardly a villain! But I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt.”

  “Then don’t be. You can simply repay me whenever it’s possible. If you want, you can find something you like better and live wherever you wish. …”

  There was a long pause as she nervously reached up to try to smooth down a cold, wet curl that had strayed onto her cheek. “I like it here.”

  “Then you should have your tea while it’s still hot, and we can see about a satisfying dinner for us both.”

  “Dinner? I have never eaten dinner alone with a man, Mr. Hastings. I’m not su
re if it’s …”

  “Proper?” he completed her sentence. “You have to eat, Miss Beckett. After all, we have a chaperone, so we’re hardly alone. If you’d like, we can add to the party and see if Rutherford is home. Michael hates surprises, but I’m sure he won’t mind this one.”

  “I fail to see how eating with two men I am unrelated to would improve things, Mr. Hastings.” She shook her head slowly but started to smile at his obvious efforts to accommodate her sensibilities. “No, that was foolish of me. You’ve already saved my life and I can’t keep insisting that it isn’t proper to trust you.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.” He rang the bell for the serving man, who answered the summons almost immediately. Josiah ordered for them both as if to give her time to gird herself for the next debate. Once they were alone, he leaned back in his chair. “May I ask you a personal question, Miss Beckett?”

  “I suppose.” She was wary, taking new measure of her handsome petitioner. His honesty was disarming, and she was struggling to come up with firm objections to a man who offered the solution to all her present difficulties.

  “How did you come to work for Madame Claremont?”

  “It’s a long story and a bit complicated.” Eleanor looked away embarrassed but then lifted her chin. “My father was quite successful in his business until things took a turn for the worst two years ago. He was a chemist and an inventor and came up with an array of new smelling salts that might be vaguely pleasing to the customer.”

  “Sounds like a clever idea. Not that I’ve ever been in the market for them, but I can see the appeal.”

  She gave him a skeptical look but continued calmly. “He’d invested everything in them, but his partner stole the formulas and patented them as his own to sell to a drug company all too happy with the potential profits. Keller’s Gentle Smelling Salts have a display in almost every apothecary shop in England.”

  “Your father must have had some legal recourse.”

  She nodded. “He did, and the lawyers were also all too happy to take the last of my father’s money in the pursuit of his case. He kept most of his troubles from us until near the end, borrowing money from disreputable creditors to shield us from any hardships. But then my mother died of influenza. It was too much for him. His heart failed and he followed her within the week.”

  “My God,” he exclaimed softly. “When did all of this take place?”

  “Last summer.” She picked up her teacup, the illusion of her cool composure spoiled by her trembling hands. “The solicitors took everything to settle his debts, legal and domestic, and I was literally turned out. I have no relatives to speak of, and I refused to impose myself on family friends who had made their indifference clear by their silence when it was discovered that my father’s fortunes had changed.”

  “You have no one?”

  “I am very resourceful, Mr. Hastings. I’ve had a good education, possess some skills with a needle, and am not the sort of woman to sit helplessly on the floor and lament my fate. I’m not afraid of honest work.”

  “You continually amaze, Miss Beckett.”

  “Why? Because I sought work in a dress shop and discovered I’m as trusting as my father when it comes to other people and their true intentions?”

  “Anyone with a good nature expects to find the same in others. You’re no fool, Miss Beckett, and don’t think for a moment that I’d mistake you for one.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

  “But it does make things more challenging if you don’t trust your own instincts. I very much want you to sit for me, Miss Beckett. I can’t hide my intentions, nor do I want to, but you will have to trust me.”

  “You really want to paint me?” she asked, lowering her voice at the scandalous subject. “You’re sure?”

  “Is it really so surprising a notion?”

  “I am no great beauty, sir, and there is something—awkward—about presuming that I am worthy of … such attention.” Her skin warmed at the thought of such a man openly staring and studying her for hours on end. It didn’t seem possible to hold anyone’s interest for that period of time, but even so, the way he looked at her now, hungry and wary, eager and cautious—as if he feared she would bolt from the room and spoil his plans—made her want nothing more than to let him look his fill. She wanted to do whatever she could to ease the ache in his expression and please him.

  And that alone was reason enough to refuse him.

  I’m not myself when he looks at me like that. I become another woman who would sit on a dais and preen and hide nothing from him.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.” His command was soft, but compelling.

  “I’m wishing I were a stronger person. I’m wishing your offer didn’t appeal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think saying yes would reveal some great flaw in my character. It will make me less in other people’s eyes.”

  “To hell with what other people think, Miss Beckett.” He leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. “Say yes and become more. Become your own woman, independent again and unconcerned with the gossip of small minds. You’ll have the money you need to create any life you desire. If you never broke another rule again for the rest of your life, so be it. But don’t deny me, Eleanor. Help me to achieve this work, and I’ll spend an eternity in your debt.”

  Independent again. Any life I desire. It sounds too easy.

  She took one deep breath, so aware of the sodden weight of her wet wool skirts, the tight, icy feel of her leather boots, and even the confines of her corset and clothing. She felt constricted and cold. To turn him down was to embrace a future without promise, as bleak as an English moor. To accept him was to let go of fear and pride and gamble her very soul for the hope of a life with security and comfort again.

  “Fifteen thousand pounds,” she whispered. “I am not for sale, Mr. Hastings.”

  “I’m not offering to purchase you, Miss Beckett. I would simply pay for the right to look at you, for as long as I wish—for the sole purpose of capturing your likeness.”

  And there it was.

  The right to look at you, for as long as I wish.

  “I’m not taking off my …” She swallowed hard, unsure of how a person delicately addressed the subject of nudity with such a man. “I won’t pose without …”

  “I’ll not ask you to remove a thing against your will.” His brown eyes blazed hotter than the embers of a fire. “And if that was your last objection, I take it that your answer is …”

  “Yes.”

  God help me. Yes.

  Josiah felt like crowing the instant she’d agreed.

  Thank God.

  It had been a long, miserable day, pacing and worrying about how best to present his case and secure her agreement before she thought better of it or simply disappeared. The shadows had been unstable and troubling, and he had gotten a headache trying to be patient and distract himself with a walk and errands. Finally, he’d just given up and decided to come to the inn, prowling in the sitting room and keeping Mrs. Clay and her staff on edge.

  All worth it!

  “You won’t regret it, Miss Beckett. If I can make one more promise, I hope you’ll allow me to make that one.”

  Her chin lifted, and she took another sip of her tea. “It’s not necessary. I shall stand by my own choices, and if there is a consequence, then I’m not going to shirk it or blame you.”

  Proud. You’re so marvelously proud, Miss Beckett. I think I’ll personally want vengeance on anyone who tries to break that spirit of yours. Now if I can only trust my eyes to allow me to paint it. …

  Josiah decided to waste no more time. “I took the liberty of visiting my lawyer today to try to assure you that you wouldn’t have to trust my word alone if it came to it. As to payment”—he took out a contract from his coat pocket—“everything is arranged for your protection.”

  She took the folded paper fr
om him, her eyes taking on a sheen of unshed tears. “You move quickly, sir.”

  “I had no wish to leave anything to chance, Miss Beckett.” He waited, deliberately holding his place to avoid looking overeager. “The offer is honorable, and I thought if you saw it in writing, it would be reassuring to you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

  The man returned with their dinners, and Josiah was grateful for the interruption. Eleanor tucked the contract into her skirt pocket and had a few moments to compose herself. When they were alone again, except for the young boy, who was now dozing by the fireplace, he poured her a glass of wine.

  “I do not drink, Mr. Hastings.”

  “Oh.” He stopped the flow of the ruby liquid immediately. “Of course you don’t. I’ll take this glass, then, and we can ring for more—”

  “The tea is fine. I don’t want to trouble Mrs. Clay’s man more than need be.”

  “What trouble? I’ll just move this over and—damn it!” Josiah tried to catch the goblet before it tipped, but he’d misjudged the distance and instead of retrieving the glass, he’d knocked it over, splashing everything on the table, including his coat and shirt. He stood quickly, but his thighs struck the table’s edge, and for a moment, he envisioned the entire dinner ending up on the floor. “I’m … so sorry. That was …”

  “No harm done,” she said, also standing to stem the tide with her napkin and come to his aid. Her young chaperone bolted up to hand her a towel, and between the three of them, things regained a semblance of order. “You are human enough, Mr. Hastings. I confess, I’m a little comforted to see it.”

  “Are you?”

  “You’ve been bounding around corners and saving my life ever since I met you. It’s a bit … overwhelming, don’t you agree? Whereas this—makes me think you are just as subject to mortal woes as the rest of us!” She smiled at him, and suddenly he was lost in the column of clear lines and stunning color that was Miss Eleanor Beckett. “There, that’s the worst of it.”