Passion Wears Pearls

by Renee Bernard

He nodded cheerfully, shyly placing his hands together as if holding the reins of a horse, and then accepted her gift. The blush that lit his cheeks rivaled any of hers, and she sympathized with him for it.

  “Thank you, Tally!” Eleanor quickly adjusted her wrap and swept past him to head down the stairs. Within seconds, she was cheerfully ensconced in the carriage and on her way to Josiah’s studio, waving farewell to Tally as the horses pulled away.

  The ride was brief and uneventful, but it was time enough to try to refresh an internal lecture on decorum and the dangers of allowing her imagination to run riot and get the better of her.

  She was too impatient to wait for the driver to help her down. She alighted on her own and walked briskly past the outer rusty gate into the building.

  “Who’s walking?” a man’s voice growled, and she froze with her foot on the first riser. “I say, who’s walking there?”

  She turned to behold a brutal thug of a man in a rough woolen coat rising from his chair in the center of the room. “I … am Eleanor Beckett.”

  He nodded tersely. “I remember your name. I’m to let you pass with all courtesies, but you’ll mind I don’t know any. Good morning, then.” He sat back down with a grunt and proceeded to ignore her, stoking a small fire at his feet.

  “G-good morning.” She took two steps up the stairs and then hesitated. “May I have your name as well? For courtesy’s sake?”

  He looked as startled as she’d been just moments before. “Creed. Roger Creed.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Creed. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She smiled in satisfaction as the gruff man bobbed back up only to sit unsteadily back down on his stool. Lady M’s sixth principle of etiquette: Good manners are the best defense and can disarm any opponent.

  She climbed the rest of the stairs, pausing only once to catch her breath and leave her coat and bonnet on the coat rack on the house-floor landing, and then finally reached the door to the studio. Eleanor took one moment to straighten her skirts before breezing in, only to have another surprise awaiting her.

  A cot with bedding was pushed against the garret wall beneath the windows, and it took seconds for her to surmise that Josiah had spent an entire night at his creative labors. There were a dozen small jars and dishes with paints and powdered pigments on one end of the table, and every candle on the table was spent to less than an inch of its life.

  And, of course, there was Josiah himself, wearing the same clothes he’d changed into yesterday, albeit with new splashes of paint and red-colored smears on his shirtfront. Where another man might look deflated or rumpled, when he turned to face her, her heart skipped a beat at the keen energy that radiated from his frame. He looked refreshed and ready to take on titans, and she marveled at him as she had that very first day.

  “I see you’ve taken your friend’s advice and put a man downstairs.”

  He managed to look a little embarrassed. “Ah, I meant to send a note about that! I hope he didn’t startle you.”

  “Mr. Creed is rather … intimidating, isn’t he?”

  Josiah smiled. “Mr. Creed? I see he introduced himself.”

  “He was most cordial,” she lied sweetly, remembering the sight of the poor man nearly falling off his stool. “But why now? You were so insistent before about not needing anyone.”

  “There is a lady in the house. Perhaps not in residence, but at least, often enough to warrant it. I’m not going to risk your safety.”

  “But you would risk yours?” she asked.

  “You’re taking things out of context and redirecting the conversation, Miss Beckett. As I told you, I’ve been meaning to make improvements on the security of the house for some time. Your arrival simply prompted me to move a bit more quickly.”

  Eleanor wasn’t sure why she wasn’t willing to drop the matter. But there was something in the way he wasn’t quite meeting her eyes that made her wonder what else was happening in his world. “So you’re just following Mr. Rutherford’s advice?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Why is Mr. Rutherford so focused on security? And on your behalf, as well as mine? It’s not as if you expect Mr. Perring to leap out of an alley and offer to let you break his nose again, or track me down to Mrs. Clay’s and attempt to kidnap me, is it?”

  He crossed his arms and gave her the look of a man amused by the debate. “Rutherford’s nature is as mysterious and unknown to me as the Amazon, and as to the rest, I’m sure I haven’t given Mr. Perring a single thought. Of course, now that you mention the idea of kidnappers and bandits, I feel like a fool for not putting a battalion of men downstairs.”

  “You’re teasing me, Mr. Hastings.” She crossed her arms to mirror his gesture, playing along. “Shall I change and see if we cannot allow you to make some progress before there is a dragon at the gates?”

  He shook his head and her heart sank. “No, the light is impossible today.”

  “But the carriage …” She dropped her arms. “You sent for me.”

  “My optimism was misplaced, but perhaps we can still salvage something of the morning. I am in need of a change of scenery, Miss Beckett. Let’s get out for a walk, shall we? The skies are gray but not immediately threatening, and a brisk stroll might stir the blood and help me focus.” He gallantly gestured toward the door, but Eleanor kept her place.

  “A walk?” she asked.

  “There’s a small private green nearby. We can see a bit of the streets and then stop in the park for some roasted chestnuts. What say you, Miss Beckett?”

  The proposition flustered her for a moment. “You’re asking me to walk out with you?”

  He straightened his shoulders and then sighed. “Not like a suitor, Miss Beckett. I’m asking you as an artist, simply needing to clear his head and get a breath of fresh air. And naturally, we won’t be alone.”

  “We won’t?” Eleanor hated the disappointment that seeped into her voice at the revelation. It was only proper that they be chaperoned, but now? After days of sitting with him alone in his studio, it was jarring to realize just how much of the rules she’d begun to cheerfully forget while enjoying the pleasure of his company.

  “Escher will tag along, at a respectable distance, of course.”

  “Mr. Escher?” She blurted it out before she could stop the incredulous words from escaping her lips. The man was a less likely chaperone than even poor Tally. “Well, as you’ve gone to all this trouble to preserve my reputation …”

  Josiah smiled. “Delightful.”

  Eleanor had a fleeting urge to kick him in the shins. It was déjà vu, for the man was always getting her to agree and concede to things, as if the idea had been hers in the first place. Worse, so far, every defeat had been impossibly wonderful each and every time.

  I’m going for a walk with him.

  So much for my professional demeanor.

  The path was muddy through the small private green, and even with his failing eyesight, Josiah could tell that there wasn’t much green to speak of. But it was good to stretch his legs after a long night of mixing paints and working, and the warm imprint of Eleanor’s gloved hand in the crook of his arm was enough to let him ignore the blasted gray fog creeping up from his feet. If he looked straight ahead, it was like peering over a wall. All morning before she’d arrived, he’d been fighting the surreal terror of not being able to see his own boots.

  Yesterday’s session had ignited his creative sensibilities, and he’d gone through a box of candles throughout the night in his pursuit of his muse.

  It’s going quickly. Which is good, if my eyes are going to fail just as fast.

  But the fear was diminished with Eleanor at his side, and Josiah was determined to escape for a few minutes while he still could. At the very least, he’d have allowed himself time to see if his horizon would steady long enough to let him even attempt to paint today.

  Escher’s curses against the numbness of his toes and the aches in his bones were muffled but distinct behind them, guaranteeing an
odd humor to the excursion as they both did their best to ignore him.

  “May I ask, were you in India during the Troubles?”

  “You may ask, Miss Beckett, and I was. But I’m not sure it’s a topic I’m comfortable with. I was there in Bengal, but not in any famous sieges or battles. India was a dream until the moment it became a nightmare, and I don’t like to relive it.”

  She nodded, silent for a moment. “Then I’ll ask what an artist was doing in India in the first place.”

  He smiled. “Painting, Miss Beckett. I’d gotten the fantastic notion that a new and exotic locale would make me a superior artist. I wanted to see new things and be inspired by a strange and glorious ancient culture.”

  “And were you? Inspired?”

  “I was. It was a spectrum I never knew existed. Although, it hurts now to think of those colors—lost forever to me.” He spoke from the heart, unchecked, and immediately regretted it. “But who needs rainbows when I can enjoy the beauty of London!”

  “Beauty, indeed, Mr. Hastings!” Eleanor laughed as he made a sweeping gesture that took in the fairly colorless and industrial landscape that ringed the park. Black bare branches scraping a narrow slice of steel gray sky offered almost no aesthetic respite from the wintry streets of London proper. “No wonder you think me a model!”

  He stopped and studied her in earnest, his mood sobering. “Do you still doubt my taste, Miss Beckett? My aesthetic sensibilities? Or do you truly need me to argue once more how lovely I find you?”

  “I wasn’t … pressing you for compliments, Mr. Hastings. It was a foolish comment.”

  “You are one of the least foolish women I have ever known, Miss Beckett, but by far, the most modest,” he said.

  The smell of roasting chestnuts led him down the path, and Josiah steered her gently toward the diversion. He bought a small bag of the steaming treats, though not as gracefully as he’d planned. Even without gloves on, the cold made it harder to distinguish the coins in his purse, so he just shoved a few at the vendor and prayed it was enough.

  “You’re so generous!” she exclaimed softly when they’d stepped past the man’s hearing.

  His chest tightened, but at least the error was in a positive direction. “When you say it like that, it makes me want to empty my pockets altogether, Miss Beckett. But I imagine you’ve money enough now to enjoy your own philanthropy.”

  “Not yet, Mr. Hastings. The portrait isn’t finished, remember?”

  “Ah, well … if you’d just let me advance you some—”

  “No, I will not take a shilling until I have fulfilled my end of the contract. It wouldn’t be proper!” Eleanor chided him gently, but ruined the stern admonition with a smile. “Besides, I live the life of a duchess thanks to Mrs. Clay’s care. She has spoiled me completely.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, genuinely happy to know that his impulsive decision to take her to the Grove had been a good one. “Michael adores her, too, even if she does keep trying to put flowers in his room.”

  “Mr. Rutherford is very lucky to have you as a friend. Mrs. Clay shared that it was you who pointed him to the Grove and made sure he had a home there.”

  Josiah shrugged his shoulders. “It was the least I could do, and luck is something none of my friends believe in. We were an unlucky lot, but blessed to have met in India when we did. I wouldn’t be here if not for Michael and the others, and helping him to find a place under Mrs. Clay’s ample wings was a small thing.”

  “So, it’s you who tries to look out for him, then … and not always the other way around?”

  “Hardly! Rutherford’s a bear! Trying to do a favor for that man can be dangerous, but I knew I’d be safe enough with Mrs. Clay’s talent for finding a man’s soft underbelly and taming him with pastries.”

  They walked on, and the stroll became like a pleasant dream to him. Her measured steps next to him and the warmth of her presence dismissed the cold, and Josiah would have sworn the sun was fighting to come out.

  God, it feels so good. I’m the king of my own little world, with a prim beauty on my arm, and who’s to say that all things aren’t possible? And now I’m a kindhearted philanthropist in her eyes, and who cares? Nothing matters but—

  His boot caught the edge of an uneven flagstone, and without warning, he lost his balance. He had to let go of her to prevent himself from dragging her down with him as he landed on his hands and knees, furious at the unseen ripple in the path and the horror of falling like a toddler onto his hands. The stinging pain of his skinned knees and palms was the least of it. Josiah closed his eyes at the humiliation and rage that washed over him.

  “Mr. Hastings! Are you all right?” She was there at his elbow, kneeling in the mud and snow. “My goodness!”

  “I’m fine.” He bit off the words, leaning back to start to brush off his pants and try to recover what dignity he could before—

  “Mr. Hastings! There’s a tumble! My God, you’re a sight, sir! Here, let me help you up, then.” Escher was a force of nature that wasn’t about to be dissuaded by Josiah’s usual growls and protests.

  “I’m fine!” Josiah wrenched his elbow out of Escher’s grasp, and stood unaided. “Damn it, Escher! Stop hovering over me like I’m in swaddling clothes!”

  “Hmm,” Escher grunted, clearly unfazed by his employer’s outburst. “I will if you stop bellowing like you are. Why not let me get you a carriage? No need to limp back all the way, and I’m sure Miss Beckett wouldn’t mind a nice ride, would you, miss?”

  “Goddamn it, I’m not an invalid, Escher! The factory’s just there and we’re steps from home, so enough! I’m embarrassed as it is!”

  Escher sniffed in hurt disapproval. “Well, I’ll just walk ahead then and get Rita to warm up some cider.” He turned and stomped off, leaving the pair in awkward silence.

  “Well …” Josiah sighed, facing a now solemn Eleanor. “So much for impressing you with my calm, even temper.”

  “Or retaining a chaperone for appearance sake,” she added, a small smile giving him hope that all wasn’t lost.

  “I’m … clumsy these days. It makes for miserable outbursts, so I apologize. Not that I should be trying to impress you in the first place.”

  Her smile widened, a mischievous light coming into her eyes. “Thank goodness. It would be extremely improper of you, Mr. Hastings, as my employer.”

  But nothing of propriety applied, and when he looked at her, the last of his distress and anxiety for looking foolish in front of her began to dissipate. What if I kissed her, here and now? Such a public place but who would know us? Who would pay any attention?

  He gathered her small hands into his, marveling at how diminutive they appeared. She trembled a little but didn’t withdraw from his attentions, and suddenly, the craving to touch her was more than he could manage. He slid two of his fingers inside one of her gloves to caress the palm of her hand, cradling it like a bird. It was intimate and deliberate, and he loved the way she swayed against him as the power of this simple caress worked its magic.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  She said the words with great reluctance, and Josiah was amazed to realize that she couldn’t locate the willpower to pull her hand from his.

  Mine. Damn it. Tell me that you don’t care, Eleanor, who is watching.

  He looked into her eyes, and the last tendrils of the world relinquished their grip. There was only Eleanor in his field of vision as he held her in place with the heat of his gaze and the warmth radiating from his frame. All his fears vanished and Josiah reveled in the sensations she evoked inside of him.

  “I love your hands. They are so small and soft.”

  “Not as soft as a lady’s hands should be, Mr. Hastings.”

  “You must learn to accept compliments without argument, Miss Beckett.”

  “Are ladies used to compliments?”

  He nodded. “They expect and demand them, in my experience.”

  She shook her head, then whispered, “I p
ray your experience is unique. What woman would require such a reckoning? When all she needs is to look into someone’s eyes and know—”

  “Miss Beckett? Is that you?” A woman’s voice echoed across the bleak clearing and Josiah almost groaned aloud with disappointment at the declaration he’d lost.

  “I say, Miss Beckett! Is that you?” the woman repeated, and Eleanor stepped back, involuntarily surrendering the fiery-sweet contact of his flesh to hers.

  “M-Mrs. Dunleigh!” Eleanor was astonished to speechlessness. On such a day and in bleak weather, on a private green far beyond the neighborhood she’d once called home, the sight of Mrs. Mabel Dunleigh was as unexpected as seeing a ghost. “Mrs. Dunleigh, what a surprise!”

  “Yes, indeed. My friend Mrs. Stroud and I do charity work at a home for women seeking relief from an immoral life on the streets. It is nearby. I was just coming out with the new pamphlets to hand out to any lost souls in the vicinity. This green is often frequented by … prostitutes and questionable characters.” She eyed Mr. Hastings as if she wasn’t entirely sure of him. “And what brings you to this”—Mrs. Dunleigh struggled for a polite phrase before continuing—“industrious part of Town?”

  “I …” Eleanor was sure that she’d have chosen a beating over the current conversation. It had all been innocent fun, to walk with Josiah and escape the confines of the studio for a while. She’d lowered her guard and flirted with him shamelessly, craving his touch and attention. But Mabel’s beady eyes gleamed with malicious judgment and Eleanor’s stomach churned in terror. “I was also visiting a friend.”

  Oh, God. What to say? I’m just out walking with the man who is paying me to sit on a couch in a red velvet dress?

  Josiah bowed slightly, touching the rim of his hat. “Josiah Hastings, at your service. I own a factory building and home here, and Miss Beckett is a family friend.”

  “A family friend. I see,” Mrs. Dunleigh said crisply. “I don’t remember hearing your name mentioned by the Becketts.”

  “Nor I yours,” he countered. “But what a small world London can be.”

  “You are a painter, are you not?” Mrs. Dunleigh sniffed.