The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  “We are taking the Underground to the Embankment,” Langham informed Henry, presenting this as a fact rather than asking permission.

  Henry frowned. “Why? Our carriage is just outside. Besides, the day is already warm. And inside those tunnels—”

  “Yes, yes, we know it will be hot,” Amelia interrupted impatiently. “But can’t we go, just this once?”

  Henry looked taken aback as he realized this idea must have been Amelia’s, not Langham’s.

  Amelia’s countenance had already darkened. She was steeling herself for his refusal. Cara fully expected it as well, for surely an earl would not ride on the Underground! Especially when he had his own carriage at hand.

  Henry sighed, wiping his forehead as though he were overheated already. “All right. The Underground it is.”

  Cara looked at him with surprise and a touch of admiration.

  Henry added with wry supplication, “May we take the carriage to the station?”

  Amelia grinned and nodded.

  As predicted, the Underground was oppressively hot and smoky. It was also crowded. The train platforms were jammed with people, which provided Cara with plenty of interesting faces to study while they waited for their train to arrive.

  Despite the other drawbacks of this mode of travel, when they settled into the first-class carriage, they found the seating comfortable enough. Cara clutched the seat as the train hurtled through the pitch-black tunnel. But they arrived at the next stop without incident, and then the next one, too. Gradually she got used to the motion of the train and the way her body was thrown forward or backward whenever the train gathered speed or came to a halt. She did her best not to show her fear, but she had a feeling Henry knew anyway. More than once she saw him looking at her with slightly raised brows, but she couldn’t tell whether he was concerned or amused.

  In contrast, he seemed remarkably at ease. Perhaps he rode the Underground sometimes after all. At the station, he had paid for first-class tickets for all of them and then moved through the crowds with an assurance bred from a lifetime of privilege. Now he leaned back in his seat, looking unruffled despite the heat.

  Langham, on the other hand, kept fanning himself with a newspaper he’d bought near the station entrance.

  Before long another gentleman got on the carriage, leading a brown-and-white springer spaniel with him. It was the kind of dog Robbie had often asked to have. Amelia was thrilled when the man allowed her to pet it. As Cara watched the girl’s joyful interaction with the gentle creature, she thought what a shame it was that Robbie’s father refused him this simple pleasure. She also wondered, not for the first time, how the boy was getting along. Did he have a new nanny yet? Did he like her? Did she know how to handle such an energetic child? Just like Amelia, Robbie could be difficult at times, but he was a good boy at heart. And she hadn’t even been allowed to say good-bye to him.

  “Is everything all right?” Henry asked, perhaps noticing that her eyes had grown misty.

  “Oh yes,” Cara assured him. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I think some smoke got in my eyes, that’s all.”

  At last they reached Charing Cross station, where they got off.

  Cara felt positively wilted, but Amelia looked only slightly worse for wear. Her frock had dog hair on it, and a strand of hair was loose where she had wiped the sweat from her forehead. But she beamed as Cara straightened her straw hat. “You see, I told you it would be fun!”

  When they reached the Embankment, they turned left, keeping the Thames on their right. Boats of all sizes filled the river with noise and movement. The water glinted in the bright sunlight.

  “That’s a ferry,” Amelia informed Cara, pointing, and then proceeded to name several others. “That’s a fishing boat. And that’s a yacht.”

  Despite the heat, many people were out enjoying the day. As they passed a family of five standing near the wall and looking out at the view, Cara could hear their comments and was certain they came from Devonshire. She was familiar with the accent because of the time she’d spent living near Exeter. Amelia’s glance lingered on them, too, but Cara didn’t think she was listening to their accents. She was looking at a little girl whose hand was being held by her father. Did Amelia wish for someone with whom she could do the same? She slowed down a little so that she was walking next to Henry. But she did not reach out to him.

  Henry glanced down at her. “I suppose you’ll want to stop at Cleopatra’s Needle?”

  “Yes,” Amelia replied, beaming.

  Looking at them together, Cara could almost believe Henry was Amelia’s father. The girl was truly warming to him, especially after he’d allowed the ride on the Underground and did not object to her petting the dog. Perhaps she’d never seen a softer side of Henry before. Was he warming to her as well? If he was her father, would he one day have the decency and courage to admit it?

  Cara was going to do her best today to show Henry the benefits and the enjoyment of spending time with one’s child. And if he truly was only Amelia’s cousin, it would still do Amelia good to have a man take on some of the role of a father.

  After a while they reached Cleopatra’s Needle, an obelisk covered with odd-looking symbols.

  “Those are hieroglyphs,” Amelia told her, looking pleased with herself for knowing such a large word. “It came from Egypt.”

  “It’s impressive,” Cara said, admiring the obelisk that stood higher than the nearby trees.

  “I saw the workmen setting this up a few years ago,” Henry said. “They built an enormous structure around it and lifted it with heavy chains and pulleys. It was fascinating to watch.”

  “I wish I could have seen that,” Amelia said.

  Langham gave Cara a look as if to say, You see how alike they are.

  When they reached Waterloo Bridge, Henry said, “That’s as far as we’ll walk today. I gave my driver instructions to meet us on the next street. We’ll take the carriage to the railway station by the Tower Bridge. The Crystal Palace is some distance from London, and the train is the fastest way to get there.”

  This news was immediately cheered by Amelia, who was as enamored of trains as she was of boats.

  The trip went smoothly, and Cara was especially happy that this train ride was above ground.

  “So much of what is inside the Crystal Palace is dreadful,” Langham said as they neared their destination. “But the High Level railway station is a fine bit of architecture.”

  It soon became apparent what he meant. They got off the train and followed the stairs up to a corridor that led to the Crystal Palace. It was really more of a tunnel, curved in an S shape and brightly lit with gaslights. Rows of columns ran the length of it. They were covered in red brick, fluted at the top in a red-and-white mosaic, as lovely as any ancient tile.

  They came out of the tunnel at the main entrance to the Crystal Palace. It was a magnificent structure, made of plate glass and cast iron. It was several stories high, with the roof rounded like a barrel in the center. Cara thought it resembled an overgrown greenhouse.

  “The inside is like a museum of sorts, isn’t it? Filled with the wonders of the world?”

  Langham rolled his eyes. “Rather more like the bric-a-brac of civilization.”

  Amelia tugged Cara away from the door. “I bet the dinosaur park is way more interesting.”

  Cara caught Henry’s eye. He was smiling, and her heart did a surprising dance. He was a good man. He had to be. If he had stumbled somewhere along the line—surely that could be rectified?

  She turned back to the little girl whose eyes were alight with excitement. “Lead on,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  15

  AS THEY CROSSED the wide green lawn on their way down to the park, they paused to admire two large fountains. Henry pointed out the tall towers on either side of the Crystal Palace, explaining that they were water towers that fed the fountains. Amelia enjoyed these, but it was clear when she was ready to move on.
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  They strolled farther down the hill until they reached the area of water and woods where the dinosaur statues were located. They were not hard to find. Some were very large, others perhaps five or six feet in length. Cara thought many of the smaller ones resembled oversized lizards, but the larger ones looked like nothing she’d ever seen.

  “Well, what do you think?” Henry asked as Cara took in the scene.

  “Are these creatures that actually existed?”

  “That’s what they say,” he responded with a shrug. “Many bones have been unearthed right here in England.”

  Amelia ran in and out among the statues, laughing. A few times she skirted the water’s edge to view the ones that were partially submerged, as if they were just coming out from a good swim. There were small bridges over the marshy parts, and Amelia’s happy step thudded on these as she went from spot to spot, seeking the creatures located between shrubs and tall reeds.

  Amelia paused, pointing to the largest dinosaur. “That’s called a stalactosaurus!” she called back to them.

  “Surely that is not a real word,” Cara said.

  “It is!” Amelia insisted with a grin. She pointed toward another one—a giant lumbering thing on four legs with a neck as long as a giraffe’s. “And that’s a hipposaurus!”

  “Well, she has the right idea, anyway,” Henry remarked with amusement. “That’s got to count for something.”

  “Why bother to put words on them at all?” Langham said. He sat on a nearby bench and pulled a sketch pad from the satchel he had brought with him. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

  He began to sketch, his head bobbing up and down as his gaze moved between the paper and the view in front of him. Cara admired the ease with which he worked, and how quickly he could capture the essence of the scene with only minimal strokes.

  “I would like to be able to draw like that someday,” Cara said.

  “It just takes practice.” He pulled another pad from his satchel and a second charcoal pencil and extended them to Cara. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

  Accepting the proffered materials, she took a seat next to him on the bench. She looked at what Langham was doing and began to imitate his line strokes as he quickly drew an outline of a leafy tree. She liked the effect. She could probably learn a lot from watching Langham work.

  After a minute, she glanced up, suddenly worried that she ought to be watching Amelia. Then she remembered she was not here as a nanny but as a friend. In any case, Henry’s gaze was on the child. He had removed his hat, perhaps to cool down, for the late-afternoon sun was still very warm. He absently toyed with the brim as he looked thoughtfully at the girl playing among the unusual statues. Langham was viewing the scene with a painter’s eye, but Cara wondered if for Henry it was more personal.

  “She does like being outside,” Henry murmured.

  “I believe it is a good way to control tantrums,” Cara told him. “Children have so much energy. It’s good to give them free rein once in a while.”

  He nodded. “I see.”

  “Clear communication can be helpful, too,” Cara added. “From what I’ve seen, Amelia becomes frustrated if things aren’t made plain to her, and she doesn’t know how to handle those feelings.”

  “You seem to have a lot of experience working with children,” Henry said, turning to look at her. “You have not, by chance, ever been employed as a nanny or a governess?”

  Cara’s breath caught. She didn’t want to lie, but neither could she bring herself to directly answer his question. She dropped her eyes to her sketch and made a great show of carefully cleaning a smudged line with her finger. “Much of my experience comes from the orphanage. As we got older, we were called upon to help out with the younger ones.”

  “You’re an orphan?”

  Cara looked up again to see his eyes wide with surprise. Langham must not have shared this information. Even though it had helped her avoid Henry’s direct question, Cara was almost sorry she’d brought it up. It was bound to make him think of her differently. Think less of her, maybe. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “But Langham told me you have family in London.”

  “I have two sisters, but they are not in London at present. One is on her honeymoon overseas, and when she returns, she plans to attend the London School of Medicine for Women and become a licensed physician. My other sister is touring in the chorus of an opera production.”

  Cara listed these accomplishments to underscore that, although she and her sisters had been orphans, they had never been street beggars. She spoke in a straightforward manner, but her heart ached as she spoke of her sisters. She had been trying not to dwell on them, because that only made her miss them more.

  “Your sisters have chosen interesting occupations.” There was a slight lift to his brow that made Cara unsure what meaning lay behind his use of the word interesting.

  “My sister Rosalyn is very respectable, even if she is on the stage,” Cara assured him. “She’s married, too. Her husband is the stage manager. I think people get the wrong opinion about singers. Some people don’t think ladies can be competent doctors, either, but my sister Julia is going to be a leader in her field one day.”

  “You all seem to have come a long way, despite such a terrible start. In the orphanage, I mean.”

  Cara shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as many of those places are. We were treated kindly, even if everything was regimented and plain. But it could never be as nice as living with one’s own family. It was good of you to take in Amelia. I suppose if you hadn’t, she’d be in an orphanage today, wouldn’t she?”

  Henry flinched, signaling that Cara had struck a nerve. “Amelia is our relative. We would never abandon her.”

  “Goodness, no,” Langham put in. “We couldn’t have a Burke, however distant, being subjected to unspeakable horrors like an Oliver Twist. Although I suppose in this case she’d be an Olivia Twist.”

  He smiled at his joke, but Henry’s hands tightened on his hat, and he gave Langham an angry look. “Don’t say that,” he growled.

  Langham’s rapid sketching paused. “My apologies,” he said quietly.

  Henry gave a sharp nod of acceptance. “I’d better make sure Amelia doesn’t fall into the water.”

  He strode off toward the girl, who was in fact very close to the water’s edge. But it was evident the comment had only been an excuse to leave them.

  “Why did that make him so angry?” Cara asked. “It seemed a harmless joke.”

  Langham watched as Henry led Amelia back to the statues located on dry land. “It was my error. The woman he was in love with—her name was Olivia.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Henry’s reaction to her name seemed to indicate that his pain over losing her was great. And if she was Amelia’s mother, wouldn’t that add even more to his sense of loss?

  Langham added the figure of Henry to his drawing, placing Henry’s hand on the little girl’s shoulder. Cara found it both poignant and sad. She sighed and returned to her own efforts.

  Henry and Amelia trudged back up the hill.

  “I’m tired,” Amelia announced. “I’m thirsty, too.” She came around the back of the bench to look over Cara and Langham’s shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re drawing, of course,” Langham answered. He held up his sketch. “What do you think?”

  She scrutinized it. “You made the hipposaurus’s head too small.”

  “You’re a regular John Ruskin,” Langham replied with a grimace. It was a reference to England’s most famous art critic, but it naturally went right over Amelia’s head.

  She pointed toward Langham’s pencil. “I want to try.” She scooted around the bench and plopped down next to Langham.

  He placed the charcoal in her hand and flipped the sketchbook to a clean sheet. “Let’s see how much better you can do it,” he challenged.

  Amelia’s hand paused just above the paper. “How do I start?”

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bsp; Langham looked at her askance. “Haven’t you been taught to draw?”

  “No,” she said simply.

  “Why, that’s scandalous! Henry, what kind of governess is not even teaching a young lady how to draw?”

  “Actually, Mother is worried Amelia will make a mess.”

  “Of course she’ll make a mess. That’s how you learn. Is Mother truly concerned about the furniture? Or does she fear Amelia will catch the dreaded disease I have?”

  Cara was surprised and saddened to learn that Amelia had been kept from drawing. It reminded her of her own childhood, although in her case, it was because writing implements and paper were strictly rationed. Sometimes Cara’s fingers had fairly itched to draw something, and she had to scrounge for paper scraps to fill the need. She could not imagine why this joy should be kept from a child living in such affluence.

  Henry didn’t answer Langham’s barb—not that Langham was waiting for it. Instead, he turned his attention back to Amelia. “First, look over the scene carefully and get a clear picture in your mind of what you want to draw. You’ll need to decide what you want in the picture and what you don’t want in the picture.”

  He paused, waiting as Amelia studied the closest group of dinosaur statues. She then gave a crisp nod, which Cara thought was not unlike the gesture Henry had given earlier. “Right. I want to draw the stalactosaurus.”

  For the next several minutes, they worked together as Langham gave her more instructions. He guided her hand a few times, but mostly he just allowed the child to attempt to draw what she had seen. The result was fairly good for a child’s first try.

  Amelia, however, was not impressed. “No, no, no,” she blurted, suddenly scratching an angry dark X over the drawing. “It’s all wrong.”

  “Amelia!” Cara cried in admonishment.

  “I’m tired. And hot. And thirsty.” Amelia thrust the sketchbook and pencil back into Langham’s lap.

  “Ah, the sign of a true artist,” he said. “Our work is never as good as it appears in our mind’s eye. That is why we keep trying.”