The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  “Do you think that would be fun, to have lots and lots of other children around? Perhaps so you could have someone to play with?”

  Amelia nodded vigorously.

  “It’s true they had some nice playtimes together. But life at that big house wasn’t as much fun as it might sound. You see, the children always had to obey the grown-ups—no arguing was ever allowed. They had no say about what they wanted to do. Most of the time they had to do things that weren’t any fun at all, such as making their own beds and carrying big piles of laundry to the washing house. When they were allowed to play, they had to share among themselves what few toys they had. The food was adequate but oh, so boring. Sometimes it was butter beans three times a week. And I don’t think they were ever once given cherry ices.”

  Amelia’s face fell. “Oh.”

  “What’s more, all of the little girls’ frocks looked just alike. Their bonnets were made of plain straw and had few ribbons or bows. The boys fared no better. They were all dressed in brown or blue trousers and simple shirts. The children walked a lot, but they didn’t go very far. Mostly to the schoolhouse or to church. They never went on holiday or got to go sea bathing.”

  “I’ll bet the little girl didn’t like living there,” Amelia observed.

  “She found it very hard,” Cara agreed with a solemn nod. “However, there was one special day that this little girl looked forward to with great anticipation. It was a day in the summertime when the children went on a grand picnic. They walked for ages until at last they reached a big sunny field dotted with trees. They carried their own food with them in baskets. They ran and played tag and pushed each other high into the air on the swings tied to the biggest trees. That was always the best day of the year for this little girl. And do you know why it was so special?”

  “Because of the swings?” Amelia ventured.

  “No. It was because this day was a treat that only came ’round once a year.”

  “Oh.” Amelia scrunched her face in displeasure.

  Clever girl, Cara thought. She saw that this story would have a moral before Cara even got to it. But Cara pressed on anyway. “The little girl wished she could go on a picnic every day. She wished she could live in a house of her own and not have to share it with so many people. She wished she could have her own dolls and eat sweets every day. There were other things she wished for, too. She was sure that if she could just have all those things, she would be truly happy at last. But when she got older and met children who did have those things, she discovered they weren’t always happy, either.”

  Amelia was frowning, not at all pleased with this ending. “Is this true, or just a fairy story?”

  “It’s all true. That little girl was me.”

  There was a pause. Amelia scrutinized her. Maybe she was trying to envision Cara as a little girl. Or maybe she was simply trying to digest the information Cara had just shared.

  “I’ll bet you can guess why I am telling you this story,” Cara said gently.

  Amelia answered reluctantly, “Miss Leahy and the countess tell me all the time that I ought to be thankful for what I have.”

  “Do you see now why that is? Life can feel hard and unfair sometimes—no matter who you are. But whenever we decide to be thankful for the things we do have, somehow the rest doesn’t seem nearly so bad.”

  Amelia fidgeted with the counterpane. “Miss Bernay, did your mother and father live with you in that big house?”

  Cara drew in a breath. In her desire not to bring too much sorrow to the story, she hadn’t specifically mentioned that to have a mother and father was the thing she had wished for most of all. But Amelia had gleaned this anyway. With a sad smile, Cara answered, “No, they did not.”

  She didn’t have to elaborate. Amelia understood.

  “Are you happy, now that you are grown up?” Her eyes watched Cara’s face, perhaps looking for hope that one day things might be better.

  It was a difficult question to answer, and Cara was determined to be as honest as possible. She softly pushed a bit of hair from Amelia’s face. “I won’t deny that many things in my life have made me sad. Bad things happen to all of us. At those times, I reach deep down inside and find my happiness by being thankful for every blessing I have and every opportunity God has given me.”

  Amelia closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh. Perhaps it was only in response to Cara’s gentle touch. But Cara hoped the lesson she’d been trying to convey was something the girl would take to heart.

  CHAPTER

  17

  HENRY STOOD outside the nursery door, riveted as he listened to Cara tell her story to Amelia. He’d been standing there when Jeanne had come out, and had quietly motioned for her to leave the door slightly ajar. He didn’t feel guilty for eavesdropping. He was too impressed by Cara’s tale, grateful he’d had an opportunity to hear it. She was telling it simply and honestly, unaware that anyone besides Amelia was listening. It gave him a vivid picture of what her life must have been like growing up, but it also illustrated her true character, confirming the positive things Henry had seen in her already.

  Perhaps they were words he needed to hear, too. “Bad things happen to all of us . . . I reach down inside . . . thankful for every blessing . . .”

  Cara came out from the nursery, stopping short with an exclamation of surprise when she saw him.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, speaking softly lest they disturb Amelia. “I came up to ensure everything was all right.”

  She looked so young, and yet to Henry, with her deep understanding of children, she seemed more mature and wiser than her years. Closing the door gently, she answered, “All is well. Amelia is asleep.” The gaslight sconces in the hallway were set low, but he thought there was a tinge of embarrassment on her cheeks when she added, “Have you been here long?”

  “Not too long.” He wasn’t sure if he should reveal how much, if anything, he had overheard.

  They walked together down the hallway. They both knew it was time for her to leave, although Henry found he was in no hurry to see this day end. “I must thank you yet again for your help with Amelia.”

  “I was glad to do it. But I’m concerned about the possibility of Amelia becoming too attached to me. Perhaps it’s just as well that I’m unable to come back tomorrow.” She pulled up short. “Not that you’ve invited me. I would never assume . . .”

  “I hope you will come back.” Henry’s answer was honest and immediate. “Although I understand what you’re saying about Amelia. I must figure out the best way for the two of us to get along. The servants, too, will need to learn how to handle her while Miss Leahy is away.” It was a daunting challenge. “I hope you gave Jeanne some advice.”

  “If you approve, she might take Amelia for a walk every day. It will give her an outlet for her energy. She is tired out now from today’s activities, but tomorrow she’ll be ready to go again, as children always are.”

  “That’s certainly true,” Henry agreed, grimacing a little.

  “I’m praying that Amelia will be a little less headstrong after today.”

  Henry’s first inclination was disbelief, but he tried to change his mind to a more positive outlook. Perhaps he shouldn’t discount the possible good effects of the time Cara had spent with the child.

  “When will Miss Leahy return?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It could be weeks. But we’ll be back in our country house in Essex long before then. I think things will improve once we go there. Amelia will have more room to play, for one thing.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “If all goes well, we leave next week.”

  “Oh! That soon?”

  Her dismay was evident. Was she going to miss the child? Or Langham, perhaps?

  “Langham will go, too,” Henry pointed out, to test his theory. “I believe he’ll be better off there.” He wanted to keep his brother away from the distractions of the city that could lead him back to dangerous habits
.

  Cara nodded, although she looked a bit wistful. “Langham says it’s lovely there. He told me he plans to set up a proper art studio. I hope he’ll find time to give a few lessons to Amelia.”

  Henry was not excited about that idea, but he did not state this aloud, since he couldn’t reveal his reasons. Besides, maybe he shouldn’t hinder the child if she had natural aptitude and desire. His mother wouldn’t like the idea, either, but Henry would deal with that when the time came.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, where the footman was waiting for any further instructions.

  “Is the coach still outside?” Henry asked him.

  “Yes, your lordship.”

  “Where is Mr. Burke? Still in the study?”

  “No, sir. I believe Mr. Burke has gone to bed. He said he was suffering from ‘a terrible pounding headache.’”

  Henry didn’t believe Langham was suffering from anything other than his own selfishness. However, his irritation at his brother’s behavior was suddenly replaced by a different, contradictory feeling. He was content that this duty should fall to him.

  He turned to Cara. “It appears I’ll be escorting you home.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” she protested. “Surely I’ll be fine, if your coachman drives me there?”

  Henry didn’t doubt the sincerity of her words. But a picture flashed into his mind of a little girl, lost among a crowd of children, who had once longed for fancy things and a chance to stand out. After all the good she had done for him and Amelia today, Henry wasn’t about to send her off like a servant.

  He offered his arm. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  It was a natural gesture, one he’d performed countless times in many social situations. He couldn’t say why the feel of Cara’s arm wrapped around his felt distinctly different. Maybe it was the expression on her face when she looked up at him with dreamy, pleased gratitude.

  It wasn’t late by London standards, and the warm night made it agreeable to be out. Once they were in the carriage, Cara leaned back and gave a contented sigh, her fingers lightly caressing the smooth leather seat. He thought again about the story she’d related to Amelia. If she dreamed of fine things, how was she happy to be living the bohemian lifestyle of a painter? Perhaps it was still a step up from the plain and structured life she’d led before. It might be true what Langham had told him, that many artists were gaining wealth and even a measure of respectability, but Henry knew they regularly disregarded customs that society counted as simple good manners. He found himself concerned about what would happen to Cara. He didn’t want her to fall into bad ways. He sensed that she had a strong moral compass, and he hoped that would keep her on the right path.

  “You mentioned you were not free to see Amelia tomorrow,” he said.

  He shouldn’t even be asking for details of her plans. It was not his business, nor was it polite.

  Cara didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she responded happily. “Tomorrow we are going to a party, and I am going to meet Mr. Arthur Hughes. I might get another modeling job. Mr. Hughes paints a lot of pastoral scenes, and Adrian says I would be perfect for those. It would be wonderful if Mr. Hughes does hire me, because the money will help me buy art supplies of my own, in addition to paying for food. There will be other painters there, too. Langham and Adrian know so many people.”

  She spoke with breathless enthusiasm. Her thoughts were already returning to her prospects in the art world. Why shouldn’t they? That was why she had come to London, after all. Not to be a caretaker for a child.

  When they reached their destination, Henry helped her from the carriage and walked with her to the door. Not having a key, she rang the bell.

  As they waited for someone to answer, he began to feel awkward, having no idea what to say. Cara seemed as much at a loss as he was. Her lips turned up in a little smile, acknowledging their mutual embarrassment. Even in the dim light, she was luminous. She’d make a perfect model, no matter what subject the artist was painting. Who wouldn’t want to gaze on such a fresh and lovely face?

  Henry’s mouth went dry. He’d been admiring her all day, grateful for her beneficial interactions with Amelia. And, because he had eyes in his head, he was intensely aware of how lovely she was. All these things now piled up in his mind and left him powerfully drawn to her. He took a step back, needing to place more physical distance between them.

  To his relief, the maid finally opened the door. “I thought it might be you, miss,” she said to Cara. Seeing Henry, she gave him a curtsy.

  Henry pulled himself together. He turned to Cara and tipped his hat. “Well, then. I’ll just be saying good night.” His words were crisp and perfunctory. He didn’t think he had breath for anything else.

  She reached out to take his hand. “Thank you for this lovely day.”

  It was simple, beautiful, and heartfelt. Her hand was warm in his. Everything he’d been feeling moments before threatened to overwhelm him.

  Henry made some polite response and walked away before he could betray himself.

  He thought about a lot of things during the carriage ride home. His powerful attraction to Cara troubled him. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the last time he’d been with Olivia. But no one could take her place. How could he even think so?

  He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to make sense of it all. Thanks to his brother’s irresponsible actions, from leaving the sanitarium to everything that had followed, Henry was now driving alone through a hot summer’s evening with his mind in turmoil. This astounding woman had been brought into his life. But it could not be for long, for she could not comfortably fit into any place in it. The milieu she inhabited was so different from his own. Langham might want to live in that world, but Henry never could. The two brothers might as well be living in separate countries.

  Today’s interlude had been just that—an interlude. A bit of pleasure that could not last.

  It was good that they would leave for Essex soon. Until then, Henry had more than enough tasks to fill his days and problems to occupy his mind. As for Amelia, they would find some way to muddle through until Miss Leahy was back and life returned to normal. The child might be unhappy in the meantime, but it wouldn’t last forever. And in any case, life didn’t always present the most appealing options. That was a lesson Henry knew all too well.

  CHAPTER

  18

  THE NEXT MORNING, Cara stood at her canvas, but she was doing more thinking than painting. Georgiana and Adrian were already absorbed in their projects. They’d gotten an early start so they could accomplish a day’s work before they all left for the garden party.

  A brief rain shower had come with the dawn, leaving a breath of coolness behind. Now a light breeze brought in the scents of the grass and flowers to blend with the happy smell of oil paints. These were ideal circumstances for painting, yet Cara couldn’t concentrate. She kept turning over in her mind all that had happened yesterday.

  On the whole, everything had gone well. Amelia’s episodes didn’t mar the day in Cara’s opinion. Not when the rest of the outing had been so lovely. Amelia had plainly begged for more such days in the future, but Cara could not allow Amelia to think of her as a replacement nanny.

  She worried that Henry would think of her that way, too. He had said she was welcome to return to their house, but there had been no context to that invitation outside of visiting with Amelia again. And he had asked whether she’d ever worked as a nanny. And yet, there were times when his gaze had lingered on her, curious and warm, in a way that made Cara think he was interested in her, not simply her knowledge of childcare. Was she only imagining it? Perhaps his kindness to her yesterday, including the carriage ride home, stemmed only from gratitude that she had kept his ward happy and reasonably well-behaved for a day. The way he’d said good night confirmed that view. He had returned her warm thanks with a few stiff words before leaving as quickly as possible.

  Langham, on the other hand, had spen
t the day speaking to her as a friend and fellow artist, but then he had disappeared, leaving Henry to take her home. She didn’t think it was right to compare the two brothers, though. She already knew Langham had an inconstant nature that swung between extreme friendliness and casual disregard for others. Besides, maybe he really had taken ill. That seemed to happen to him a lot. Despite his unpredictable actions, he was a lot easier to understand than his brother.

  “Your paint will dry on your palette if all you do is stare at your work,” Georgiana said, noticing Cara’s lack of movement. “Are you having a technical problem?”

  “I am,” Cara admitted, bringing her attention back to an issue that had baffled her before her thoughts began to wander. “It’s difficult to properly capture light, isn’t it?”

  Georgiana walked over to look at Cara’s painting. “An excellent technique for this is called Neo-Impressionism. It involves using tiny adjacent dabs of primary color to create the effect of light. I can demonstrate, if you like.”

  She began to show Cara the process, and for a time Cara forgot her other concerns. It was so satisfying to see the way the colors worked together to spark the effect of light.

  They had been working together for several minutes when the doorbell rang. Since the maid was out on errands, Georgiana went off to answer it.

  Cara began to clean her paintbrush. They would leave soon for Mr. Hughes’s garden party, and she needed time to prepare.

  “Cara!” Georgiana called from the hallway. “Come and see.”

  Cara hurried to the front hall just in time to see two men bringing in a large trunk on which were stacked two smaller boxes. Several days ago she had asked Adrian if she might have her things sent here from the Needenhams’ estate, and he had no objections. “They arrived just in time!” she exclaimed. She had a parasol in there, and a nice summer frock. They would be perfect for today.

  The deliverymen were young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old. They looked expectantly at Cara.