by Lee Rowan
“You cannot be serious, sir.”
“I can, and I am. If you were serious, of course, you would need to take lessons, perhaps serve an apprenticeship. But why not? It is not so respected a profession as architecture, but you would have the same chance to create something of lasting worth and beauty.”
Brendan opened his book, studying the first sketch. “It is rather like them, isn’t it?”
“Very much so. And to answer your question—yes, of course. I would be delighted to have you draw Queenie and her foal, or any of my horses that might take your fancy. They might not sit as still for you as a human subject would, but neither will they ask you to make them thinner or handsomer.”
Smiling, Brendan put the book away and changed the subject, asking how Carlisle had come to meet his brother James. That led to a series of reminiscences about the Peninsular War, the long series of campaigns across Europe and the great naval battles.
“I thought to run away to sea when the war first started,” Brendan confessed. “I was just old enough—ten or eleven. But my brother Andrew was already a midshipman, and he advised me to reconsider.”
“For what reason?”
“A very good one, I assure you. I have never been able to set foot in anything bigger than a rowboat without becoming pitifully seasick.”
Carlisle grimaced in sympathy. “Not a useful tendency in a mariner.”
“No. Andrew wrote me back and assured me that I would never do. By the time I learned that Nelson himself had the same problem, my father had already decided that Eton was more important than my patriotic duty.”
“With your two brothers at war, I imagine your father thought it wise to keep you close at home.”
“Perhaps. But I am very glad my brothers both survived.” Brendan glanced out the window, his face troubled. “Major, speaking of family, there is something I need to tell you… about this other matter. When I was at the Arbor, I recognized one of the others present, a man who seemed very interested in Tony’s … performance.”
“A relative of yours?” Carlisle guessed.
Brendan nodded, one short, tight jerk of his head. “An uncle. My godfather, in fact.” He glanced up, meeting Carlisle’s eyes for just an instant. “I am fairly sure he did not see me, but if we were to return there at an hour when the club was open, and he was present, I do not see how that could be avoided.”
“It’s good you thought to tell me,” Carlisle said. “We shall have to consider a diversionary action when we plan our campaign. When you are back with your family, you must see if you are able to ascertain whether he is in town. I will learn what I can about the club’s owner. But even if we cannot keep your godfather away, did you not say everyone is masked?”
“Yes, half-masks, that covered the hair and face down to the upper lip. But I recognized him regardless—and it wasn’t just from his watch-fob, though that was how I knew for certain. His figure, his voice… they were unmistakable.”
“To your artist’s eye, perhaps. When did he last see you?”
“Oh, a couple of years, at the very least.” The look of worry lightened. “Do you think he might not recognize me?”
“In a mask, with nothing but your chin showing, and, I’ll wager, more height and muscle than the last time he saw you? I think it a good chance. He may not be present, in any event, and I mean for us to be in and out as quickly as possible. You must be careful to keep silent if he should be present, but I cannot imagine any of that club’s patrons are there every night.”
The relief on the younger man’s face was so strong that Carlisle felt a twinge of unease. Had he really been at that club merely because he was too green to detach himself from an unsuitable companion? There was no reason to doubt that, but young Townsend’s concern for this Hillyard seemed … excessive, for want of a better word. Loyalty to a friend was one thing, but what else might lie between them?
Well, whatever it might be, or might have been, letting it lie was the prudent course of action. Carlisle reminded himself that Brendan Townsend’s personal faults were no business of his. After all, Brendan has a father, and older brothers...
Whose help he had avoided.… Why did this charming, good-natured young man avoid revealing this secret to the people who knew him best? Why was he more willing to confide in a stranger?
Carlisle smiled with a confidence he did not quite feel, and began to tell Brendan about a Mameluk-trained Arabian he had bought from a captured Frenchman, then sold to a general whose mount had been shot from under him. Brendan’s thoughts were apparently easy to redirect; unfortunately, Carlisle’s were not.
CHAPTER 9
“Brendan! Where have you been?”
His sister’s accusing tones halted Brendan on the mid-point landing of the stairway. He knew his guilty face did not convey the half of his culpability. “Only out in Kent. But I am home, Ellie! And by the time you need me as an escort, I shall be ready, with bells on.”
“I have been driven nearly to distraction these past two days,” she said, following him up the stairs. “How could you just vanish that way?”
“I apologize most humbly,” he said, continuing up to the gallery so they might talk on a level. “That is no excuse whatever, of course, but I do apologize, and I can only say that I would have been the shabbiest sort of friend if I had not behaved like the shabbiest sort of brother.”
“Indeed, you have been!”
“Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Edrington was unwilling to walk with you in the park without me in attendance?” he asked.
Despite her effort to look stern, a smile broke through. “No, not at all… but it was still most unhandsome of you.”
“Ellie, I had intended to return at least a day earlier, but the opportunity to do a good deed arose quite unexpectedly.” He set his portmanteau down—he had not bothered to wait for a footman to carry it upstairs—and gave his sister a hug. “You are looking very well!”
“Thank you, but I am in a turmoil. Brendan, Harry has asked Papa’s permission to speak to me!”
“A bit late, don’t you think?” he teased. “I have seen him speak to you any number of times these past few weeks, and you seemed to enjoy his conversation.”
She gave him an admonishing tap on the arm. “Beast! You know what I mean. He wishes to speak to me.”
His sister was so earnestly serious that he could not resist twitting her a bit more. “Ellie, I do remember your mentioning that he had asked you for permission to ask our father for permission to address you. After such an impressive quantity of permission, you surely cannot expect me to be surprised that he has screwed up his courage to make an offer.”
The look she leveled at him was almost the equal to his mother’s most basilisk gaze. “Brendan, when he asks—and I believe it will be very soon—I would like very much to be able to give him an immediate answer. Have you forgotten your promise?”
He searched his conscience for anything he might have promised, and neglected to do, that could have put her into such a taking. It burst upon him suddenly, and he slapped his forehead. “Yes! That is, no, I did not forget, but I only just remembered, because I have already performed my duty on your behalf. Yes, my dear. I asked Norwood to make discreet inquiries of the Honourable Harry’s valet, and if you will only let me live to see another sunrise, I will discover whether he has gathered any useful intelligence. I should have done so before I left, but there was simply no time, and I truly am sorry.”
She answered with a sigh of relief.
“But where’s the girl who was in no hurry to receive an offer?” he asked. “When you first asked me about this, you said you were enjoying your light flirtations.”
“I was. But—” She clasped her hands together almost as if in prayer, and brought them to her lips. “Brendan, the most amazing thing has happened. Harry has been so attentive and so thoughtful, and when he looks at me, it seems as though the very sight of me makes him happy… and I confess I have begun to feel the sam
e way when I see him in a crowd. I believe I have fallen in love, Brendan, and now it seems silly to continue flirting with other gentlemen when I only want to be with Harry.”
He hugged her to give himself a moment to get his face and his emotions under control. “My word,” he said lightly. “You have made the leap from the schoolroom to a woman of serious purpose at an astonishing pace!”
“I know,” she said soberly. “Mama says I should not be hasty, and I am trying not to be—and if you find out something dreadful, I will be sensible—but I hope you do not, so please ask Norwood as soon as you possibly can, my very dear brother!”
“I am wise to your wiles, young lady, but I will seek him out as soon as I’ve had a moment to change.”
Her smile was answer enough, and after bestowing a kiss on his cheek she darted back downstairs.
Well, that was one minor crisis averted. If only his own problems could be resolved so easily—and if only he did not feel about Philip Carlisle the way his sister felt about Edrington! Not that the sentiment was returned, no chance of that, but—No, best not to even think along those lines. He had better not allow himself to look as moonstruck as Elspeth did, or his mother would begin to ask unanswerable questions.
As soon as he had the chance, Brendan took himself down to the butler’s pantry, where he found Norwood busily making a list. He waited until the pencil was set aside to say, “Am I interrupting?”
Norwood leapt to his feet. “Mr. Brendan! No, sir, not at all. I was merely making notes on some matters relating to your mother’s house-party.”
“House-party? In honor of my sister?”
“Indeed, sir.” Norwood’s well-disciplined features softened into what was almost a conspiratorial grin. “Regarding that matter you confided in me, sir.”
“Ah. A house-party, with perhaps an Important Announcement.”
“Just so, sir.”
“When is it to be?”
“In a week’s time, sir. I believe your mother sent out the cards of invitation some time ago.”
“Rather foresighted of her, wasn’t it?”
“I believe the party has been in train for some time, sir, and the announcement is not, as yet, a matter of certainty.”
“Well, out with it, then!” Brendan said. “You hold the key in your incomparably competent hands. You do not have the air of the skeleton at the feast. Is it good news, then?”
Norwood inclined his head, refusing to abandon his dignity. “Very much so, sir. It could hardly be better. The Honourable Mr. Edrington is a man of moderate habits. He is an inveterate whist player, but does not indulge in deep play. He is not by any means an abstainer, but his household has never seen him disgrace himself, and he keeps his hands to himself when it comes to females in service in his father’s home.”
“What, no petticoat-adventures?”
“There was a brief affair with a member of the muslin company last year, most discreet, and expected in a gentleman of his age and station. It did not last long, sir; his valet says the parting was amicable and the gentleman generous. This Season, it appears Mr Edrington has determined that the time has come for him to settle into the matrimonial state, and his father’s establishment is also in high anticipation of an Announcement.”
“Fair wind and plenty of it, as my brother would say.” Brendan was more relieved than he had expected to be. “Excellent work, Norwood.” He passed an appropriate reward to his henchman. “Thank you.”
“There is only one thing, sir,” Norwood said. “I cannot believe your sister would quibble at this, but apparently Mr. Edrington has a pet to which he is much devoted.”
“So long as he doesn’t bring it on their honeymoon, I doubt she would mind.”
Norwood’s brows drew together. “I do not think he would do that, sir, but apparently he is quite fond of the beast…”
Brendan decided he could not waste a moment in reporting the mainly good news to his sister, but when he looked into the sitting room in search of her, he found only his mother. “Good afternoon,” he said, bestowing a kiss upon the parental cheek. “That’s a very diverting headdress.”
As her dark hair had begun to fade at the temples, The Viscountess had adopted the current fashion for turbans. This one, a violet wrap shot through with silver threads and topped by an ostrich plume of moderate height, went quite nicely with her dress, which was pale grey with a stripe of a similar color.
“Thank you, my dear. I find the turban so much more soothing to my feelings than caps, which always make me feel quite elderly. Though of course I could never have grandchildren if my own children were too young to give them to me. Immie and Jamie are such darlings, I cannot regret growing old.”
“Old?” he said. “Nonsense. You are quite the youngest grandmama I know. I shall dance with you at Ellie’s wedding. Which, I gather, is becoming more of a certainty with each passing day.”
“Yes, young Harry,” she said. “I confess I had hoped for a title, but really, this Season…” She shook her head. “He is a fine young man, he can take good care of her, she likes him very well, and what is most important, he enjoys her sprightliness. That Friday-faced Fenwick boy…I could not be happy with the thought of him married to my most cheerful child. When he takes Holy Orders they should encourage him to conduct funerals. He is such a dismal creature. But very earnest in his vocation, I am sure,” she added, as though trying to be fair.
“James and Anne mentioned him,” Brendan said. “I believe Ellie has a friend that she thinks may suit him better.”
“Yes, she had Millicent Peabody over to dinner last week, and we invited Mr. Fenwick, as well. I think they would do very well together. He has taken it into his head to do missionary work, and, Brendan, she was in positive raptures at the notion of him carrying the Gospel to the benighted. I think that Mr. Fenwick has quite won her heart.”
He laughed. “I had no idea Ellie was such a dab hand at matchmaking. Did he seem susceptible?”
His mother’s eyes twinkled. “My dear, if a presentable young lady looked at you as if you was Nelson and she was Emma Hamilton, what would you do?”
Brendan grimaced. “If you must know, I’d run as though pursued by seven devils. Lady Hamilton is not at all my style.”
He was rewarded with peals of laughter. “I must be glad of that, I think!” she said when her mirth subsided. “But Brendan, have you met any young ladies who interest you?”
Brendan suppressed a sigh. He could hardly say, No, Mama, but I am madly in love with James’ commanding officer. “Not as yet, Mama, and truly, I think that is just as well, don’t you? If I were to marry, I could never support a wife in any sort of style. Indeed, I begin to think I am not the marrying kind.” That, I think, should become my motto. One hears it often enough. And it struck him, suddenly: who could say? Perhaps some of the gentlemen on the town who made that claim did so for the very same reason he did himself.
“You are young, yet,” she said. “And it is very sensible to avoid matrimony if you have not fixed on a career. Or have you?”
He could ask for no better chance to test the waters. “Mama, what would you say if I were to tell you that I was thinking of studying art?” When she frowned, he added, “A friend saw some of my sketches, and thinks I might have a real talent for painting portraits.”
“You do draw beautifully,” she said thoughtfully. “And of course, so long as you were respectable, not taking mistresses and other men’s wives like Lord Byron...”
“I shouldn’t think of it,” he said honestly.
“Then certainly, why not try your hand at it? If you really wish to be a portraitist and can learn to draw a good likeness, perhaps you might begin with our Family. I have never been really satisfied with the portrait your father commissioned… and now there are the grandchildren. I should love to have a picture as they are now, so sweet and happy!”
“I could sketch them, I think, but if you truly want a portrait it would be best to commission it so
on. They might be full-grown before I have the skill.” He smiled, wondering what his mother might say if she knew he would most likely start with the family horses. “Thank you. I was afraid you’d think it a mad scheme.”
“It is not so steady as the Church would be,” she admitted, “but that is not really what you wanted, is it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Mama, have you seen Ellie about? I wished to ask her something, but perhaps you can tell me—am I required for any socializing this evening?”
His mother nodded. “If you would care to escort us, we are to meet the Rownhams for a theatre party this evening, to see Keane in—oh, I forget the name of the play; I believe it is Shakespeare, and he does that so beautifully.”
“Certainly, Mama. Will it be just the three of us?”
“Yes. Oh, Brendan, I nearly forgot—I should have mentioned this to you before, but are you aware of my house-party, the week after next?”
“I believe I have heard something about it, yes.”
“I just received a letter from Grandmama, and it is most provoking. After taking rooms at Bath and not budging for nearly a decade, she has decided she will honour our house with her presence; she plans to arrive tomorrow, and she expects to have her old rooms. That is to say, your rooms!”
“Then have them she will, I suppose,” he said. “You can scarcely turn her away. She must be nearly ninety!”
“Yes—far too old to go jauntering around the country. I own I had not expected her to accept, but, you know, I had to invite her. And with her companion, and her abigail, and her dresser, and who knows what else—I am afraid I don’t have any notion of where else to put you!”