The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  “I know nothing of the sort,” the pub owner returned. “You’ll give me one pound, three shillings and sixpence, or I’ll send a man to fetch the constable from the corner.”

  Cara gasped. Had they really spent that much? That was nearly two weeks’ wages at her previous position. Adrian was correct that they’d lost count of how many rounds they’d ordered. Not to mention the cost of the glass that Langham had destroyed. Cara looked at her own glass, which was still half-full. After they had spent that kind of money, she felt almost guilty for not finishing her drink. As though finishing it might help justify the size of the bill.

  Langham reached into his pocket and produced a gilt-edged card. “No need for the constable. Send your man ’round to this address tomorrow, and we’ll get it settled.”

  The pub owner pocketed the card but didn’t budge. “Do you think this is some fancy place that caters to swells? You think the likes of me can afford to run a place with no cash, hoping to get paid months from now?” He jerked his head around to call out to a worker clearing another table. “Bob! Fetch the constable. Now!”

  Bob set down the dishes and made for the door.

  “Wait!” Georgiana said. “I’ve got the money.”

  Bob paused, and the pub owner looked at her expectantly. “Well? Where is it?”

  “It’s in a pocket inside my skirt.” Georgiana lowered her voice. “I will have to go to the ladies’ privy to get it out.”

  The owner’s eyes narrowed. “What new trick is this?”

  Georgiana said coolly, “Send a barmaid with me if you don’t trust me.”

  “All right.” He pointed at Adrian and Langham. “But these two stay here.”

  He didn’t seem to care one way or the other about Cara. She stood still, pressing her back against a nearby post, trying not to garner any attention.

  Langham swayed, his face paling. Perhaps he was finally feeling the effects of so much alcohol. “I shall wait here, if you don’t mind.” He sent a defiant glance toward the pub owner as he sank onto a chair. “All this fuss is entirely unnecessary. In fact—”

  He interrupted himself as his attention turned toward the door of the pub, where a man was just entering.

  The new arrival was clearly not the sort of person who normally came to pubs like this. He wore a fine black coat and waistcoat. An impeccably tied cravat stood out against the white linen shirt beneath. He and Langham caught sight of one another at the same moment. Two things were immediately obvious: these men knew each other, and neither was happy to see the other.

  “Naturally,” Langham said with disgust. “Just when we’re starting to have some fun, in comes his lordship and ruins everything.”

  The man made a beeline for their table. “How long were you planning on slumming, Langham?”

  Langham leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and sent him an insolent smile. “Don’t look so glum, Harry. Have a drink.”

  “I suppose I should be happy to have a brother who wastes my time by sending me on a wild goose chase across southwest England.”

  Cara drew in a breath. This was Langham’s brother—the earl! She ought to have known immediately, if only from his aristocratic bearing and fine clothes. He was tall and handsome, although there was a hardness to his expression that she didn’t care for. Perhaps he was the type of man who never smiled. Or never found a reason to.

  “If you’re not glad to see me, why bother seeking me out?” Langham sounded as disapproving as his brother. “Why can’t you leave me be?”

  The earl glanced around the pub, evidently aware he and Langham had become the center of attention. He spoke in a low growl. “We’re not going to discuss this any further here.”

  He went round to the back of Langham’s chair, clearly intending to hoist him to his feet.

  “If I might have a word with you, sir,” the pub owner interjected, dropping his belligerent tone for one more respectful. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out this was a man of superior rank—one who likely had plenty of money. “I’m afraid I cannot allow this gentleman to leave the premises until he has settled his bill of two pounds. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping him out, seeing as how you are a particular friend of his?”

  Cara sucked in a breath, unable to believe he had bumped up the total so steeply.

  “He’s not my friend. He’s my brother.” His look of distaste made it clear there was no way Langham could possibly fill both roles. “And don’t try to inflate the bill. Not even my brother could have drunk that much in one night.”

  “They were with him,” the pub owner replied, indicating Cara and the others. “They’ve had supper as well as drinks, and bought rounds for their friends.”

  Langham raised his arm with a dramatic flourish and proclaimed, “‘I like this place, and willingly could waste my time in it.’”

  The earl sized up Adrian and Cara. His gaze lingered on Cara for an uncomfortably long moment. “You’ve hit up the wrong man. He has no money. You’d do better to aim your attentions elsewhere.”

  Cara stepped forward. “That’s a terrible thing to say! Langham is our friend!”

  In the context of this cramped and noisy pub, they might all look like ne’er-do-wells. But Cara wasn’t going to allow anyone to belittle her. She boldly met the earl’s gaze and was surprised to find herself thinking he had very nice eyes—dark and alert, showing confidence and intelligence but no friendliness. How much handsomer he’d be if he were not so formidable.

  His brow furrowed. “You allow your friends to get so drunk they can’t see straight?”

  Cara was stung by this reproach. She’d wanted to curb Langham’s drinking. But honestly, what could she have done?

  “We have our own money, sir,” Adrian said, speaking in a tone that was polite but not apologetic. “We were just getting ready to settle the bill and take him home when you arrived.”

  “You won’t be taking him home,” the earl answered. “I will.” He turned to the pub owner. “I’ll give you the two pounds—and an extra half crown if you help me get him to the carriage outside.”

  “Gladly, sir.” The owner motioned to Bob, who immediately stepped forward, ready to lend his aid.

  “But you can’t just leave with him!” Cara protested.

  Those aristocratic eyes once more turned to her. “Why not?”

  “Well . . . because he’s staying with us!” she sputtered.

  His eyebrows lifted, and his mouth turned up just a little. She amused him, and this riled her more. She looked at Adrian, expecting him to offer some protest.

  He merely said, “I think it’s best if Langham goes with his lordship for now.”

  His response surprised her. Why was he so willing to send Langham home with his overbearing brother? This man could not possibly have Langham’s best interests at heart.

  The earl and Bob hoisted Langham from the chair. They half carried him as he stumbled forward, although the movement seemed to rouse him.

  “‘A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!’” he shouted.

  This drew plenty of guffaws from the other patrons.

  The pub owner went ahead to open the door, and Cara and the others followed in their wake. Cara was worried. Langham had been helping her so much. What would she do if he didn’t return?

  The men got Langham into the carriage. Once the earl was seated next to him, he stretched out a hand and promptly dropped money into the pub owner’s waiting palm.

  “‘Cry—God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’” Langham shouted, lurching forward as though trying to escape from the carriage. The earl stopped him, but his hand was still on the doorframe when the footman slammed it shut. He howled in pain. The footman offered profuse apologies.

  “Just drive!” the earl barked.

  The footman jumped into his place on the back of the carriage as the driver set the horses in motion.

  Cara could only watch, flabbergasted, as the carriage rolled away.

  CHAPTER<
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  9

  MUST YOU MAKE so much noise?” Langham groaned.

  In fact, the china had made only a tiny clink as the footman carefully set the coffee tray next to the bed.

  Henry glared at his brother. “Must you drink so much that it leaves your head as tender as chopped steak?”

  He ensured the door made a good solid thunk as he closed it after the footman left the room. He did not normally wish ill on people, but he did take satisfaction in seeing his brother wince again.

  Langham dragged himself to a seated position and placed a palm against his forehead. “I admit I feel rather crapulous this morning.”

  Henry blew out a breath. After years of study at Oxford and Lincoln’s Inn, Langham retained little more than an archaic word for feeling ill after too much drinking. He poured coffee into a cup and thrust it unceremoniously into his brother’s hands. “What are you doing in London? You weren’t to leave the sanitarium without the doctor’s permission.”

  “You know what that sanitarium is,” Langham returned sourly. “It’s no health spa. It’s for mad people.” He took a swig of his coffee. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfectly sane. What’s more, I have important business to attend to.”

  “I suppose your main office is located inside a dingy public house?”

  “Mock me if you want; I don’t care. Last week I met with Sir Coutts Lindsay, who owns the Grosvenor Gallery. I showed him my work, and he was highly impressed. He wants to display two of my paintings in the October show.”

  “And just what is he planning? A vanity show for wealthy dilettantes?”

  Langham raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad we are still managing to convince people we’re rich.”

  Henry was sorely tempted to snatch the cup from Langham’s hands and hit him over the head with it. He might have done so, except his hand hurt like the devil from being slammed in the carriage door. “We’d be in a lot better position if you didn’t keep wasting money. Or if you actually earned some. You need to find a real occupation, Langham. Maybe you don’t mind playing a starving artist, but I’m the one who must ultimately pay those bills you’re piling up.”

  “You needn’t act so desperate. We all know you’ll have the family fortunes repaired in no time. That LLC in Cumbria is set to make piles of money.”

  “Unfortunately, I was pushed out of the deal after the Duke of Crandall came on board.”

  Langham looked at him in surprise, then gave a nod of understanding. “Still harboring that grudge over your speeches against annexing the South African Republic? You’d think he’d reconsider, seeing all the trouble it has caused since.”

  “He also worries about my unstable brother.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Langham looked truly affronted, which would have made Henry laugh were the situation not so serious.

  “People talk. They know why you were in that sanitarium.”

  “Baseless rumors. I told you those fireplaces were bad.”

  “Be that as it may, that is where we stand. I need you to do your part to help this family. I’ve received tentative approval from the Council at Lincoln’s Inn for you to return there in October—if you can behave yourself.”

  Heaving a sigh, Langham set his coffee cup aside. “Let me explain this again.” He spoke with exasperating condescension. “I am never going back to Lincoln’s Inn. Painting is my occupation. I intend to make money from my art.”

  “I can see how getting falling-down drunk in a pub is a good way to accomplish that.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about it.” Langham pushed back the covers. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bathe and get dressed, return to my lodgings, and get back to work.”

  “No, Langham. Your lodgings are right here. I can’t have you off living somewhere like a bohemian.” Henry wanted his brother where he could watch over him.

  Langham frowned. “My clothes and supplies are at Holland Park Road.”

  “The address on the tailor’s bill.”

  “So that’s how you found me. I hoped it would be several more weeks before you saw it.”

  “When I went to the house, the maid told me the name of the pub where you’d all gone.”

  Langham must have caught the censure in Henry’s voice. “Staying with Adrian is an excellent opportunity. I can learn a lot. He’s a respected painter and making a fair living at it. You would know that if you’d bothered to look into it.”

  “I have looked into it, as it happens,” Henry replied. “I know that most of Adrian D’Adamo’s work involves scene painting and other commercial projects. I also know that he is living with a woman he calls his cousin, while his wife lives in India. Is that really what you call respectable?”

  “I said he is a respected painter. Respectable is some adjective the blue-blood set and the middle class wring their hands over. Adrian’s work is in demand. So is Georgiana’s. They are seasoned artists, in addition to being decent people. That business about them being paramours is gossip, nothing more. Besides, do you really want me to set up a studio here? The only good light in this house is in the best parlor. I feel sure Mother would object to the room smelling of turpentine while she receives visitors during her at-home days.”

  Henry clenched his fists in frustration. He could not deny that adding Langham to this house would only increase tensions all around. But he could see no way around it, and it helped that the others were away for now. “It’s only temporary. We’re returning to Morestowe in a few weeks, and in the meantime, Mother has gone to Brighton with Amelia.”

  “Has she?” Langham lifted an eyebrow. “I thought she could not abide the girl. She seems to have it in for the governess, too, as I recall.”

  “Nevertheless, they have all gone together.”

  “Well, that sounds cozy.” With this dismissal, Langham dropped his feet over the side of the bed. “I must get in some work while the light is good. I will sleep here, if you insist. But I have committed myself to producing two paintings for the Grosvenor, and I must paint in a proper studio if I’m to create work fit for it. Even you must be aware that the Grosvenor Gallery has an excellent reputation. The Prince of Wales himself attended the opening gala! It’s difficult to get more haute than that. You might not think much of artists, but you have to admit that my being invited to show there cannot actually harm the family reputation in any way.”

  “I’m not prepared to admit anything of the sort. I haven’t even seen your work, as you won’t show it to your family. Suppose the critics agree that it is no good?”

  His brother gave him a dark look. “Then you will be happy to see your brother fail at the wrong thing instead of the right one.”

  Langham’s style of debating would have been effective in Parliament; he was a master at using his adversary’s words to drive him into a corner.

  Langham leaned over and pressed the call bell. “One benefit of being forced to live here is that there are servants to draw the bath.” He pressed his hand to his head. “It will need to be a hot one to clear my brain. The sooner I get to the studio, the better. I need to see how Cara is getting along. She seems like a stray kitten at times, and she’s bound to be unsettled by the scene you made at the pub last night.”

  A stray kitten? Casting his mind back, Henry could think of no one in that pub who fit such a description. Every woman there looked hardened from frequent visits to the gin trough. Except for the one with the fresh face and large blue eyes. “Do you mean the blonde standing near D’Adamo? She lit up like some kind of firebrand when I started to take you from the pub.”

  “That’s the one. Miss Cara Bernay.” Langham smiled. “She has more spirit in her than I thought.”

  “That wasn’t Georgiana Marshall?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. Georgiana is older and not nearly as pretty.”

  Miss Bernay’s actions made more sense now. If she was somehow dependent on Langham, she’d be distressed to see him go. However, this information only aroused
a new fear in Henry. Langham had been led astray by a woman before. Henry couldn’t allow him to get entangled with another. “Exactly who is this Cara Bernay?”

  “She’s new to London. She wants to be a painter, and she’s doing some modeling, too. She’s a stunner, is she not?”

  Henry wasn’t fond of that slang word, but he couldn’t deny she was beautiful. Based on what Langham had just said, she planned to capitalize on that trait to make her living. It brought to mind another expression making the rounds these days: professional beauty. These were often models or actresses and not generally known to have the highest morals. Henry found this a depressing thought. Despite the energetic way she’d tried to stand up to him last night, Miss Bernay had looked young and innocent. Perhaps she was, if she was new to London. Unfortunately, a career as a professional beauty would leave her jaded before long. Henry didn’t know why it bothered him so deeply, but it did.

  All the more reason he needed to keep a close eye on his brother. “We’re moving back to the estate in a few weeks’ time. There have been delays completing the east wing, but the rest of the house will be habitable soon. We can set up a studio for you there. In the meantime, you may continue to paint at D’Adamo’s place. But I want to see what you are working on.”

  Langham replied to this pronouncement with a deferential droop of his head. “I thank you humbly for your kind permission, my lord.”

  Henry wasn’t fooled. Langham was the one who called the tunes. Henry just played along as best he could and tried to find a way to pay the band.

  “You look stunning!” Georgiana enthused. “Simply beautiful.”

  Cara stood still as Georgiana fussed with the folds of the garment. To call what she was wearing a “gown” would not have been accurate, for this was loose and flowing, just like the picture of a woman from ancient Greece that she’d once seen in a book.

  With the garment in place to her satisfaction, Georgiana began to weave flowers and a blue ribbon into Cara’s hair. Cara watched her transformation in the mirror with fascination. Soon she would not only resemble a book drawing, but she herself would be forever captured in a real painting.