“Truth matters to you?”
“Why, of course,” she said simply, and startled an expression on his face that was uncharacteristically serious.
“The reference,” he continued, “was to keeping my affairs in order. For I find that with the passage of time my affairs have multiplied alarmingly. And among them is the need to maintain my family and its standing.” He paused. “I must take a wife.”
She could not meet his gaze. “I have meant to tell you, my lord, how grateful I am to be included in this party. I know that it is-that I am not that Katie-”
“It is my pleasure, and my aunt’s, to have your com pany, Miss Ware,” he said smoothly. “Your presence would enhance any parry”
She raised her chin to stifle the impulse to cry. For the words were at once everything proper, yet distancing all the same. Despite her effort, her lips trembled.
“I fear I must take a break for some minutes here, Miss Ware,” he told her as he moved away from the windows, “for I see my steward crossing the lawn, and I must have a word with him. Your pardon”
Marian breathed in relief once he had left the room. His presence made a mockery of her self-control, emphasizing just how alive to him she was. Placing her sketchbook aside, she reached for her painting smock and slid it over her gown. The young maid jumped up to help her tie it in back, before opening one of the windows to admit the morning air. For some minutes Marian debated which of several poses she should paint and settled on having him seated, more for his own comfort with his injured leg than for any preference of her own. This task, which should have been easy, was, in fact, proving arduous.
When a footman arrived with a pot of hot chocolate and two cups upon a tray, Marian had him pour out for her. She savored sips of the heavenly potion as she blocked out the canvas. By the time Sidley returned, she had recovered some level of equanimity.
“I apologize,” he told her, taking a seat when she gestured to it. “Just a small matter, but important nonetheless”
Until that moment she had not focused on how many “small matters” must be comprehended in the smooth running of an estate such as Aldersham. Perhaps Lord Sidley was not as inattentive as she had heard, that the place should be so magnificent.
“I see you’ve sampled the chocolate,” he said, having a footman bring him a cup.
“It is delicious,” she said. “Most extravagant”
He looked pleased. “‘Tis the French method. I have converted my aunt to it, despite her protests.”
“Why should she protest?”
“Lady Adeline believes it intemperate to find too much pleasure in any one thing.” His gaze watched her over the rim of his cup. “Do you sympathize with her, Miss Ware?”
“Not at all. I suppose I indulge myself in painting. I should rather paint than anything else. I might spend hours and scarce be conscious of the time.”
“It sounds a complete trance”
She thought his tone somewhat dismissive. “I see no call to disparage concentration, my lord.”
“I do not ‘disparage.” Tis envy you hear, Miss Ware”
.‘Envy?” ?
“I have only ever found one subject as transfixing.”
At his subsequent silence, she peered around the canvas at him. His gaze, his grin, made her blush.
“We speak of different passions, my lord,” she said stonily. “My interest is most selective.”
“I assure you, Miss Ware, so is mine.”
For some time she did not speak to him, except to ask him to lift his chin or shift his shoulders. She hid behind the wall of canvas and let herself believe she disliked him.
“Tell me, what does your Lieutenant Reeves look like?”
The question, coming after a prolonged silence, startled her so much that for a moment she could not even recall William’s face.
“He is not as tall as you are, my lord.”
“Dwarfish?”
“Certainly not. He is of medium height.”
“You think me not `medium’?”
“You are tall, my lord. You know that you are tall.”
“And Lieutenant Reeves’ complexion?”
“He is fair. Not as fair as Lord Benjamin-”
“Swarthy?”
“Quite the opposite. He can blush-”
“Good heavens, Miss Ware. What do you say to him to make him blush?”
“I meant only that he is fair-complected.”
“And is he hefty?”
“‘Hefty’? I would never describe him so” She found it difficult to picture William while attempting to capture every nuance of Sidley’s face. “He is not broad-”
“Thin, then.”
“-nor is he thin. You are thinner than he, my lord.”
“You mean that he is stout”
“He is not stout! You have been ill. Naturally you appear somewhat thin-”
“I wish you would not continually dwell on my illness, Miss Ware. ‘Tis most disheartening.”
After the set-down, she chose to be silent.
“And his interests?” Sidley persisted. “I presume he is fond of art”
“He has admired my sketches, yes.”
“No doubt he calls them your `little sketches,’” he said with something of a sneer in his voice.
And Marian, angry because William did indeed refer to her work in that manner, countered, “He has not seen me in more than two years, my lord. He must be forgiven for not … for not understanding-”
“You?”
Marian glared at him. “The degree of my commitment,” she supplied.
“Yet he asks for your commitment to him.”
She drew a deep breath and for a moment concentrated very hard on Lord Sidley’s supercilious nose. “I know this is your home, Lord Sidley. And that at the moment I am not quite a guest. I am in your employ-”
“I am your patron, Miss Ware. It is not the same.”
“But all the same,” she continued, “you overstep. Lieutenant Reeves is none of your affair.”
He did not look at her; he managed to look toward her yet through her and to maintain that slight smile upon his lips.
With his stoic silence she painted then at a furious pace, feeling equally furious with herself for believing that in speaking so, she might have overstepped. And when her aunt joined them, Marian took the opportunity to release him from his pose until the morrow, though she did not anticipate that Lord Sidley should ever wish to renew the process.
“This is very good of you, Marian,” Edith said, moving to her side to review the painting’s beginning.
“‘Tis not `very good of’ me, Aunt, when the project was unavoidable. I could not very well deny our host”
“And so it is very good of you, my dear,” Edith repeated equably. “What has overset you so? You are usually happiest to be painting anything. And this has started very well indeed.”
“I intend to finish it as though demons pursued me, Edith. For he is the most most insufferable sitter! Presumptuous and suggestive and-Oh! I vow I am tempted to do something dreadful to his likeness, would it not reflect poorly on you and Katie and Edgar.”
Edith smiled. “But I know you will do a most superior portrait, no matter the provocation, Marian, because that is your nature. You must not let him trouble you; I am convinced he merely teases. We’ve only a few days, after all. And I doubt he shall concern himself in the slightest, even if you should choose never to finish the painting.”
Marian stopped to stare at her. “Do you truly think so? However eccentric he may sound on occasion, I believe Lord Sidley is quite serious about a number of matters. His portrait, for one-whether I complete something he approves or not. And for another, he is most serious about marriage.”
Edith drew a breath. “Oh, Marian-did he mention Katie?”
“He did not, Aunt,” she said, instantly regretting that temper had loosened her tongue. “He said only that he must wed.”
Edith’s brow furrowed.
“Adeline has been telling me she expects him to decide rather soon. I fear-I fear, Marian, that he may be more taken with Miss TinckneyDwight than our Katie.”
“Katie might be better out of it,” Marian countered grimly, brushing paint unsparingly onto the canvas. “Do you truly think she would be happy with a man like Lord Sidley?”
“There are few like Lord Sidley, Marian,” Edith said with a smile. “But Katie is still an impressionable girl. She admires the man; in time she might learn true affection. He is not inattentive or cruel. Where is the want of happiness in that?”
When Edith left, Marian silently continued her work, so dedicated was she to accomplishing as much of the piece as possible in the shortest time. But her aunt’s question reminded her too acutely of her own qualms with regard to William. And when she broke to join the rest of the party at a late breakfast, she knew she was far from satisfied with what had comprised nearly four hours of effort.
Lord Sidley, still in his dark coat but sporting high spirits, entertained all of them during the meal, then organized an outing to the local fair. Since Katie had sug gested the visit, Edith considered Sidley’s ready compliance a sign of his regard for her daughter. But Marian, observing her host as he escorted Katie and Delia to one of several carriages, was convinced otherwise.
Their caravan joined a stream of other vehicles toward the grounds of the annual fair at Turling, where booths and tents displayed a variety of goods and entertainments. Given the town’s proximity to London and other market centers, the merchandise tended more to the fresh or the amusing, since people had access to many of the necessities at any other time. Nonetheless, livestock dealers vied for attention with traders in a wide range of goods, while balladeers and musicians serenaded all attending. Marian enjoyed watching a puppet show with her cousins, visiting a conjurer with the Pooles, nibbling tasty gingerbread and buying a few locally crafted gifts for friends and family.
She had been walking with the Pooles, when Dicky left them briefly to speak to a neighbor with regard to purchasing a horse.
Clara turned to her with a smile. “Your cousin, Lady Katherine, is a most spirited young lady. She must be very popular in town.”
“I believe she is, Miss Poole. She has always enjoyed company and maintains a large circle of acquaintance.”
“Does she share your artistic interests, Miss Ware?”
Marian laughed and shook her head. “She appreciates fine things, Miss Poole. And Katie has an excellent eye for detail. Her memory for dress and decor is truly remarkable. I find we complement each others’ deficits in observation.”
“You are very fond of your cousin.”
“Yes. Yes, I am”
“Then I think, Miss Ware-I think you’d best prepare her. Lord Sidley is unlikely to let affection dictate his choice.”
Affection! For Katie? As Marian watched Sidley tilt his dark head toward Katie’s beribboned bonnet, her first thought was that his indulgence should never be interpreted as affection or even a particular regard. But she soon realized that Clara Poole was telling her something else entirely, and in as kind a manner as possible.
“You have Lord Sidley’s confidence?” she asked.
“My brother and I have been close to the family for many years, Miss Ware. I know I risk-I risk sounding presumptuous. But I mean only to help. I should hate to think your cousin’s expectations were to be frustrated. I do not know her heart”
“Whom has he-whom has he chosen?” Marian asked, with a sick dread weighing upon her chest.
“I cannot know for certain. But Dicky and I believe he will determine, logically and perhaps unfortunately, that Miss TinckneyDwight suits his interests.”
Marian stayed with Clara Poole as they visited the stalls of cloth merchants, furriers, candle and soap makers, and at last a hawker of wonderfully carved and painted wooden toys. Marian’s attention fixed on a charming, standing cat, holding a tiny brush, that would, upon pressing a button, turn repeatedly between a small palette and an easel holding a painting of three kittens. But though Clara Poole urged her to purchase the toy, Marian was no longer in any mood to be entertained. They joined the rest of the party outside a fortuneteller’s tent.
“I would have all my guests submit,” Lord Sidley bid them, gesturing the ladies inside, “as I have one task yet to accomplish. At supper this evening I expect to hear the prediction for each of you.”
“But what of you, Sidley?” Lord Benjamin asked with a laugh, “Are we to create yours?’
“I know my fortune, Benny. Repeating it scarcely improves it. You must put in a good word for me.” And he departed, with the claim that he needed to engage two new boys for Aldersham’s stables.
Marian watched him go with a sense of resignation. He had not looked her way once all afternoon. Though that was for the best, she found she could not like it. Her misery increased when Delia TinckneyDwight smiled at her.
“Do come sit with me, Miss Ware,” she said politely. “I am convinced that some of your bright prospects must in close quarters benefit my own”
And as they entered the dim sanctuary of the fortuneteller’s tent, Marian wished she did not find Delia half so nice.
They were late back from the fair, but a festive dinner awaited them, and Lady Adeline and Lady Formsby, who had not accompanied them on the expedition, wished to hear all about the afternoon’s outing.
Marian noted that the seating arrangements had been carefully altered, such that Katie still sat next to Sidley, but on his left, and Becca Harvey had moved to his right. Delia TinckneyDwight now found her place at the center of the table, and Marian and Clara were shifted that much farther from their host, to the end over which Lady Adeline presided.
Marian liked Lady Adeline. Thus she could not quite understand her discomfort around her hostess, who was such a close friend of her cousin Edith. But there was something a bit too assessing in the older woman’s gaze, something Marian deemed too closely observant and not altogether warm. She suspected that Lady Adeline guessed at her attraction to Lord Sidley.
“So, Miss Ware,” she said now rather abruptly, and speaking across Sir Philip, who sat between them, “would you ever find an event such as the humble Turling fair worthy of a painting?”
“Indeed I would, my lady. Had I thought to take my sketchbook, I suspect I’d have spent less time on purchases”
“Do you never draw from memory?”
“On occasion, certainly, ma’am. But there is something less … immediate, I suppose, about the result. I must make an effort to remember what I’ve seen, and I fear the labor shows”
Lady Adeline’s gaze appeared to soften. “My family has always admired the arts. I myself was very fond of drawing when I was younger.”
“I should like to see some of your drawings.”
But her hostess waved the suggestion aside. “Mere scribbles, I assure you, Miss Ware. Suitable only for prompting those few memories I retain.”
“I will not grant you any deficiency in memory, Lady Adeline,” Sir Philip said gallantly.
“You have no notion, sir, of how many years I am ahead of you! But your flattery is welcome nonetheless.”
As the two bantered, Marian turned to her right, to Mr. Harvey. She had found him to be a very good, forthright sort of man; he reminded her of the earnest shopkeepers and gentlemen farmers at her home in Brinford. Except, of course, that they could not claim to have earned even a fraction of Mr. Harvey’s fortune.
He had been talking about his Becca, of her precocious ability with horses as a youngster and the splash she had created in town that season. His ambition for his daughter was quite as plain as his affection. Now he glanced to the other end of the table.
“You have an artist’s eye, Miss Ware-do you not think they look well together?” he asked.
And Marian was compelled to look toward Sidley, whose dark head was at that moment inclined to catch something Becca Harvey said.
“Yes,” she agreed softly, tho
ugh in truth she thought any of the young ladies under consideration would look well with Lord Sidley.
Her gaze lingered too long. When Sidley broke his conversation with a smile and glanced down the table, his own gaze fastened on hers. Despite the smile, there was such intensity in his look that Marian quickly withdrew her own. She mumbled some further meaningless assent to Mr. Harvey, then played with her silver as he described his visits to several counties in search of a suitable property to acquire.
As the course was removed, Sidley asked broadly of the table, “When shall I have my report? Am I to believe in the old woman’s divinations after all?”
Several people responded at once.
But Katie, seated next to him, claimed his ear. “Well, my lord,” she said boldly, “I was promised a handsome husband.”
Given Katie’s accompanying arch look, Marian feared she might choke. Indeed, she heard Edith’s sharply indrawn breath.
But Lord Sidley looked unfazed. “We might well believe that prophecy, Lady Katherine,” he said blandly. “Your suitor is to be congratulated”
While Katie looked happily undaunted, he turned to Becca Harvey. “Is Lady Katherine unique, Miss Harvey, or did our canny Cassandra promise you the same?”
Becca shook her chestnut head. “My fortune was quite different, Lord Sidley. She told me she saw `fast horses and a long journey.”’
“Certainly you must welcome the prospect of fast horses,” Sidley said. “Given your equestrian talents.”
“Oh, always, my lord”
“No one rides as well as Miss Harvey,” Edgar enthused, drawing a black look from Lord Benjamin.
“But the rest makes little sense, my lord,” her father pointed out, “as we’re only a day from town, as are all the estates I’m reviewing.”
“Perhaps what seems `long’ to such an elderly woman is only a day’s journey for your fast horses, Mr. Harvey,” Sidley said.
“There is that, my lord! If you are determined to make sense of what isn’t.”
Sidley smiled. “My skepticism prompts this review, sir,” he said, “yet you find me too gullible?”
Lord Sidley's Last Season Page 9