“It’s not for sale, Mr. Wall.”
“I know, you wicked man, which is making the price absolutely scandalous as my guests fight to convince you otherwise! Very clever, Hastings, very clever—but who is this? Is it possible you have brought the delectable and original Lady in Red to my home?”
“I have. Miss Eleanor Beckett, may I introduce our host, Mr. Augustine Wall.” Josiah watched with pride as Gus fell into spasms of excitement at the thrill of meeting the portrait’s subject.
“Miss Beckett, you are a dream to behold! You are my guest of honor!”
Eleanor shyly tried to demur. “It is Mr. Hastings who has that place, sir. I couldn’t possibly think to—”
“Nonsense! Never argue with a man who is eternally correct and wise! Now, come, escape Mr. Hastings’s selfish hold on your arm and come meet my wife and allow her the pleasure of showing you off to our jealous friends and dangerous acquaintances!” He tucked Eleanor’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her away.
“But Mr. Hastings—” she began to protest weakly.
“He will have to survive without you for a time. After all, once everyone has seen the Lady in Red, the bidding will become even more frenetic, and Hastings will thank you for it.” Mr. Wall was like a general commanding an army, and Eleanor had no choice but to brace herself for the social games ahead without Josiah at her side.
Mrs. Wall was equally eccentric and lively, making the pair both delightful and frightening from Eleanor’s perspective. She was as thin and tall as her husband was stout and portly, but Mrs. Wall was just as loud and talkative. Every social rule she’d ever memorized was apparently ill applied when it came to the Walls and their salon. It was all Eleanor could do to keep from laughing and simply hang on as she was whisked from introduction to introduction.
Elegantly appointed with marble floors, it was a large room clearly designed as a private performance hall. Tonight it was transformed with clusters of sofas and chairs throughout into a vast conversation area, with servants offering refreshments and a small trio of musicians playing from a far corner they’d been banished into. For the dais where they would normally perform held a gilt easel with Josiah’s painting displayed for all to see.
It was distracting to see herself there in oil paints, brazen and proud, while strangers stood around and openly admired her. The terror that had paralyzed her in the carriage threatened to return, but Mrs. Wall at her side was an unstoppable force, and she caught sight of Josiah across the room, and the calm quiet of his gaze soothed her nerves.
“Have you met the Lady in Red?” Mrs. Wall was asking yet another guest. Eleanor was desperate to ask her to stop using such a scandalous name, but she wasn’t sure how to politely suggest that she had a proper name like every other woman in the room and would prefer that Mrs. Wall use it.
“Ah! Dear lady! My husband has fallen in love with you and was just threatening to throw me off if you truly existed!” The lady laughed, as if losing husbands were cause for celebration.
“Mrs. Buchard!” Mrs. Wall clapped her hands, adding to the jest. “Bertram will faint at the sight of her beauty and that’s an end to it!”
“Poor man, you are undoubtedly right.” Mrs. Buchard sighed. “But how thrilling to meet the model! Aren’t you a pretty bird?”
Eleanor did her best to tamp down her ire at being addressed like an ignorant object. “I am no classic beauty, Mrs. Buchard, but I am pleased that you find Mr. Hastings’s interpretation enjoyable. He labored tirelessly on the piece and I was merely honored to contribute what I could.”
Mrs. Buchard gasped. “Oh my! Why you’re no street bird! What a lovely little speech and so refined!” She smiled, patting Eleanor on the hand like a child. “I apologize. You must tell me your name!”
“Eleanor Beckett,” she supplied, relieved to finally be on familiar footing with her manners intact.
“Miss Beckett, I vow you’ll be the toast of London next Season!” Mrs. Buchard proclaimed.
“And I will have the singular right to boast that I was the first to have you on a guest list,” Mrs. Wall crowed.
“I wouldn’t wish to rob you of your triumph, Mrs. Wall, but I have no intention of … participating in the social season. It would be completely inappropriate!” Eleanor began to explain, convinced that if they knew of her lack of family they would retreat from the subject.
“Nonsense. There is nothing the peerage love more than being inappropriate,” Mrs. Buchard said firmly. “Bertram is an authority on being inappropriate, and our social calendar is exhausting. Exhausting, Miss Beckett! But his cousin is one of Her Majesty’s favorite ladies in waiting, and I will impress upon her the significance of our discovery so that the lady can make mention of it in court.”
“Your discovery?” Eleanor asked, lost at the turn in the conversation and unsure of where it was heading.
“The Prince Consort is an avid supporter of the arts, and once we have Mr. Hastings’s latest work pushed under his nose—well, who’s to say that I didn’t discover him?”
“Mr. Wall may beat you to it, Mrs. Buchard!” Mrs. Wall protested. “You wicked thing!”
A man in an evening coat and dark gray clothes cleared his throat behind the women, and Mrs. Wall recalled her hostess’s duties.
“May I introduce you to Mr. Thomas Keller? He is the most serious and humorless young man in London, but terribly clever! His family’s fortunes are recently made in the business of apothecaries, of all outlandish things! This lovely woman is Miss Eleanor Beckett, and I am just newly acquainted with her as a guest of Hastings, but I could not be remiss in sharing her!” Mrs. Wall said merrily. “Now, won’t you exchange small talk while I excuse myself and Mrs. Buchard to chase down some more wine?”
“Of course,” Mr. Keller replied before Eleanor could think of an appropriate excuse to prevent Mrs. Wall from leaving them alone.
Keller. He is so much younger than I imagined him, but for all my brave talk, now that I’m faced with the villain who ruined my father, all I want to do is escape before I empty my stomach on the man’s shoes.
“M-Mr. Keller, I … am not one for small talk. I apologize—” she began.
“You. Miss Beckett, is it in fact you? Eleanor Beckett?”
It was an unexpected question that caught her off guard. “I suppose I am.”
“I overheard you give your name and I couldn’t believe the hand of Fate would allow it. Our fathers did business together, I believe, and I can tell by your expression that there is nothing of the worrying matter you are not already familiar with.” His voice was low, but gentle, and his face reflected true concern at her distress. “My father died two months ago and I only just learned of his—misdeeds. I made inquiries on Orchard Street, but you had effectively disappeared.”
“You made inquiries? Whatever for?” she asked.
“To apologize and to see if there was any chance for amends.”
Her mouth fell open slightly in shock. “Truly?”
“I know it seems unlikely, but I had prayed that we would meet. My father spent a lifetime in ruthless pursuit of profit, in neglect of his character. I was in pursuit of a degree in religious studies when I was called to London to his bedside.”
“He confessed to you what he did?”
Thomas’s eyes reflected a terrible sadness. “No, Miss Beckett. He was proud to the end of his financial legacy. But in his final delirium, he did say something odd about your father, about how the most brilliant are the easiest to trick, and I had my first clue. After he’d passed, I had the accountants begin to dig and the legal documents spoke for themselves.”
The most brilliant are the easiest to trick. Father was the cleverest man I ever knew.
“I am sorry for your loss. I should have said it before, but …” Eleanor reached out to touch his sleeve, a small gesture of comfort. “We are orphans together, then, Mr. Keller.”
“I swear to you, Miss Beckett, I had nothing to do with my father’s bus
iness.”
She smiled. “It seems not. And I’m glad for your peace of mind that you didn’t. What little I’ve gleaned about their partnership has been unsettling, sir, and frankly, once the lawyers had their way, I was almost glad to be done with it all.”
His eyes lit with pleasure at her words. “You’re too generous!”
Eleanor laughed. “I’m a practical creature, Mr. Keller. I decided long ago that a temper tantrum about matters beyond my control was likely to gain me nothing. Not to say that I wasn’t seconds away from kicking you in the shins when Mrs. Wall introduced us.”
“My shins and I are grateful for your mercy, Miss Beckett.”
“I am relieved not to have to brawl and embarrass my hosts.”
He finally smiled, and she could see that he was not accustomed to it. Thomas looked around the room. “I was miserable to be out this evening, but had promised a family friend that I would make an effort to be social after I unexpectedly received the invitation. I have no interest in art, but … it is a lovely painting, Miss Beckett.”
“You should tell the artist your opinions, Mr. Keller. I’m sure he would love to hear that even a man with no love of paintings managed a compliment.”
There was an awkward silence before Thomas changed the subject. “May I get you a glass of warm cider, Miss Beckett? Or another refreshment if you prefer?”
“Thank you. I would love something, if only to have something to hold so that I won’t worry about where my hands are.” She smoothed out her skirts. “It is my imagination, of course, but I swear everyone is staring.”
Josiah appeared between them, masterfully towering over Thomas and stepping up to enter the conversation without any preamble. “They are staring because you’re far more beautiful than your portrait betrays, and if they’re not staring, it’s because they’re too busy speculating on who you are. Don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Keller.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” It was more of a statement than a request for an introduction, and Eleanor had to bite the inside of her cheek at the frosty looks the men were exchanging.
“Josiah Hastings, artist.” Josiah held out his hand. “And you are?”
“Thomas Keller.”
“As in, Keller’s Gentle Smelling Salts?” The question dripped acid, and Eleanor instinctively put a hand on Josiah’s arm to keep him in check.
“The very same,” Thomas replied coldly. “Miss Beckett generously passed on the opportunity to set my coat on fire, but if you’d like to strike me, sir, we could—”
“No one is striking anyone!” Eleanor squeaked out, all too aware at the misunderstanding about to take place. “Thomas’s father did business with mine, and—gentlemen, you are drawing far too much attention! I beg you, mind your manners!”
Josiah’s fingers covered hers, a possessive gesture that made him marvel at how quickly his simple plans could go awry. He’d meant to allow her to bask in a bit of social glow, and if things went well, hear praise of her beauty and feel some assurances that the artistic exercise between them had been worth the effort. He’d wanted to take pride in the painting and sweeten the experience by having Eleanor at his side.
Instead, she’d been whisked off by their hosts and Josiah had realized that no amount of praise from party-goers was going to improve his mood. Every complimentary word was tempered with insinuations about Eleanor and wicked questions about his “new muse.” Their interest in the Lady in Red made him wonder if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake and underestimated the worst in people’s natures.
Fifteen thousand pounds wasn’t enough. Hell, I don’t know what amount would be enough to buy back her honor. … I’m such a fool!
Worst of all, his vision had started playing tricks and he’d stumbled into no less than three other guests and two tables in less than fifteen minutes of their arrival. Without the subtle guidance of Eleanor by his side, he was a man adrift in a crowd of blurred faces. Humiliation and fury were a terrible mix in the merry atmosphere of the Walls’ party, and Josiah had to accept that they would all assume he’d been drinking heavily.
Not that my reputation was stellar to begin with, but I swear, I should have known better than to come out like this.
He’d been working his way through the crowd to retrieve her so that they could leave when he’d spotted her in conversation with a handsome block of a man. Even fighting the poor contrast his vision provided in candlelight, it had appeared like a cozy exchange, and Josiah was sure Eleanor needed a rescue. And then realized it was Keller.
In a crowded salon, he’d effectively made them the center of attention in a strange triangle—and if he punched Keller now, he’d cast himself in the role of jealous lover for all time.
Damn it! In for a penny, in for a pound. …
“I’ll mind mine,” Josiah offered, striving to keep his voice low. “Artistic temperaments being so volatile, I can’t make any promises though.”
Eleanor gasped at the veiled threat, but Josiah was past caring.
“I was about to escort Miss Beckett home.” He kept his hold on her hand to underline his intentions. “A pleasure meeting you, Keller.”
“We only just arrived!” Eleanor started to protest but was far too sensitive of the social dangers to put up a fuss. “A-although, I am sure Mr. Hastings is far more experienced in … these social matters.”
“You’ll not stay for the toast to your success, Mr. Hastings?” Keller asked.
“Miss Beckett does not partake, and I find I have a headache. Why don’t you make our excuses to the Walls?” Josiah stepped away without even a nod in Keller’s direction, forcing Eleanor to mind her skirts and forgo a polite farewell to her newest friend.
The dim room worked against his determination to make a smooth departure, and Josiah had to swallow curses as he awkwardly navigated the furniture and guests in the grand salon. Conversations hushed around them as they moved, and he was wary of the ripples and eddies in their gossip. Still, the damage was done, and he was consumed by the desire to reach the sanctuary of the carriage and home.
In his hurry, he did his best not to pull her arm or make it seem as if he were dragging her out of the house, but it was nothing short of catastrophic when he rushed into one of the servants with a tray of champagne glasses. The sound of shattering crystal echoed off the marble floors, and Josiah groaned at the futility of it.
“Mr. Hastings! You cannot be going!” Gus came forward, signaling for more champagne and ordering the musicians to earn their keep to distract the other guests from the fray. “Only kings will be able to afford this painting if you go now!”
“Gus, please.” Josiah took their coats from the footman.
“It’s too mysterious! Clever of you, but come, Hastings! Show mercy! By the time you close that door, there’ll be a feeding frenzy of delicious gossip, and you know how Mrs. Wall loathes gossip.” Mr. Wall managed the lie with a straight face, and Josiah knew he spoke from affection.
“I’m too clumsy tonight, Gus, and not myself. If I stay, I shall only end up setting the drapery on fire. Besides, why deny them their pleasure? Let them talk, Gus. Hell, you can even tell them I mumbled something about being inspired and needing to rush back to my studio to work, very well?”
“That does sound promising!” Gus conceded, shaking Josiah’s hand. “And you must come back without your tyrant of a chaperone, Miss Beckett! You must grace my home with your beauty since the foul beast won’t sell your likeness!”
“You are too kind, Mr. Wall.” Eleanor’s voice was far too quiet, and Josiah knew a storm was coming. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Once he’d helped her back up into the same carriage he had less than an hour before had to coax her to abandon, Josiah sat on the seat next to her and tried to take one last deep breath to steady his nerves. “I am sorry, Eleanor, for spoiling the outing.”
“And yet you did. Why?” she asked.
Josiah closed his eyes. “I … would rather not say.”
Eleanor reached across the carriage and tugged at his coat sleeve. “Josiah! You were the one that insisted I go, that I wear this dress, that there was nothing to fear. I did all to please you, and yet we just left as if the house were on fire!”
“Were you enjoying yourself?”
“Were you?” she countered.
“No!” he snapped, wishing there were a way to explain everything without revealing the worst. “I should think you’d be grateful to escape after running into Keller.”
“What just happened? We were just talking and you—nearly punched him?”
“I have an inkling of his villainy from what you’ve shared. He’s the son of the vulture that stole your family’s fortunes, and by the looks of him, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“By the looks of him?” she asked in astonishment. “Are you mad? I was in the midst of a perfectly civil conversation, when you rattled over like a complete barbarian. Do you know Mr. Keller personally, then? Have you some previous dispute with him besides your prejudice on my behalf?”
“Apparently, I’m the only one to dispute the man! I’ve never seen a woman act so magnanimously in my life! Was he so charming, then, that upon your first meeting you’ve forgiven him for growing fat while you starved and for cheerfully spending money that isn’t rightfully his?”
“He is not fat! You are positively pouting over there, Josiah Hastings! Pouting! Are you aware of it? Of how ridiculous this conversation is?”
“I am a grown man and I am most certainly not pouting!” He was furious because, of course, the woman was right. Hell, there was nothing about his actions that he could safely defend, and he knew it. “Can’t a man express a bit of righteous indignation if he wishes?”
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” The quiet concern in her voice froze him in place. “Everyone loved the painting, so it cannot be that.”
He squeezed her hand, aching to heal the rift between them. “No. It was … well received.”
“Did I do something to embarrass you?” There was a catch in her throat, and he knew, even with his muddled vision in a dark carriage, that she was on the verge of tears. “Did your friends find me ill-mannered or too coarse for their company?”
Passion Wears Pearls Page 25