The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  “What?” Henry exclaimed. It was not at all the perfect solution. Henry knew this, because it was the exact idea offered up by Amelia. Once again, Henry marveled at how Langham and Amelia thought so much alike.

  Cara’s whole body stiffened. “No. I will not be a governess.”

  The vehement way she spoke surprised Henry. Her reaction seemed odd, given the warm interest she had shown for Amelia. She had been in service before, though. Had she been mistreated by her former employers? Perhaps that was why she was so adamant.

  “We wouldn’t think of lowering you to that role,” Langham insisted. “You will be our guest. I suppose it is likely, however, that in the natural course of things, you would spend time with Amelia. For some reason that I cannot fathom, you seem to enjoy being with her.”

  That was certainly an odd way to frame an invitation. The way Cara’s forehead wrinkled indicated she was thinking the same thing.

  “Langham, she doesn’t want to go,” Henry said. “Don’t press her.”

  But his brother was not to be deterred. “It will be just like yesterday, when we all went to the Crystal Palace and had such a lovely time. Wasn’t it a wonderful time?” He looked back and forth between Henry and Cara.

  “Life isn’t only about having fun, Langham. I have work to do. You have work to do—if you are serious about getting your painting in front of the public.”

  In no way did Henry consider painting true “work,” but he thought the mention of Langham’s commitment to the art gallery would prod him to recognize the unsuitability of this plan.

  “That’s correct!” Langham said, seizing on Henry’s words. “There is work to do. Cara is looking for work, too. She came to London to pursue a career in painting. But London is in a lull, and in any case, she needs training to hone her skills. Don’t you want to help her out—especially after she has so generously assisted us with Amelia?”

  There was no acceptable way to answer that question. Henry could only seethe in frustration that Langham had put him on the spot. It didn’t seem any easier on Cara. She looked uncomfortable, and yet the rigid stance she’d assumed moments ago was softening. There was perhaps even a hint of hopefulness in her eyes. After all, Langham was promising her Utopia. But it wasn’t as simple as he made it out to be.

  “You haven’t thought this through, Langham. How will she get training if she is living in the country?”

  Langham waved a hand. “That part is easily accomplished. Mr. Perrine, the drawing master who used to give us lessons, lives in the village. He’s retired now, but I’m sure he can be tempted to come out a few days a week. Especially if we include a nice luncheon. Cara, what do you say to that?”

  “It does sound appealing.” She threw a glance at Henry. “But I will not intrude anyplace where I am not welcome.”

  Now Henry felt like a complete heel. To say no at this stage would look like a rejection of her. There was also the question of finances. Mr. Perrine would expect more for payment than luncheon.

  Surprisingly, Cara herself provided the objection. “What about Amelia? She is the reason we are even discussing this. As I said, I cannot be responsible for her.”

  “I had in mind that Amelia should attend the lessons, too, of course,” Langham broke in. “Every cultured young lady should learn to draw and paint. Don’t you agree, Henry?”

  “Well, I—”

  “We’ll bring Jeanne to be the nursery maid, to keep her dressed and fed and all of those mundane details. Then, during the day, Amelia can come to the dower house with us, which we will turn into an art studio.”

  “Do you really think you will get your work done if there is a seven-year-old in the room?” Henry asked.

  This point actually gave Langham pause. “Well, I doubt she’ll be there all day. She’s bound to spend a great deal of time running and playing outside and that sort of thing.”

  “And riding my pony.” This was spoken by a voice near the door.

  Henry turned to see Amelia in her white nightdress, her hair braided in two pigtails and her feet bare. She was holding a piece of paper.

  “Amelia, you should not be downstairs,” he admonished.

  Cara was already crossing the room. “Good evening, Amelia. How are you?”

  Amelia extended the paper she was holding. Cara crouched down to take it in her hands. “This is very good. Did you draw this from memory?”

  Amelia nodded.

  Langham walked over to look at the picture. “It’s not bad,” he said with the air of one giving grudging praise. “But there is room for improvement.”

  “The same is true for all of us,” Cara pointed out with a smile. She stood up and returned the picture to Amelia.

  “Did I hear something about a pony?” Langham asked.

  Henry groaned inwardly. Nothing got past him.

  “Cousin Henry says I may have a pony when we return to Essex. If I am a good girl,” Amelia explained.

  “Not that bribery ever works on a child,” Langham said to Henry, his mouth turning up in a sly grin.

  “A pony!” Cara exclaimed. “How exciting.”

  Amelia approached Henry. “May I have an art teacher?” She handed him the picture. “It’s not bad, but there is room for improvement.”

  She repeated Langham’s words without a trace of irony. Henry looked at the paper. It was a picture of the creature she had called a hipposaurus. Its legs were more spindly than the statue’s, and the head looked a little misshapen. But what caught his attention was the figure of a man in the background. It was no mere stick figure, either. It was Henry, accurately portrayed, even to the forward peak of his hairline over his forehead. In the picture, he had a slight frown. It was clear he was far away because Amelia had captured the perspective of size relative to distance with fair accuracy. It struck some unnamable chord deep in his heart.

  “Can Miss Bernay come with us?” Amelia’s eyes were turned up to him beseechingly. “Please?”

  Had someone shared with this child that a person could catch more flies with honey? Or had she simply figured it out for herself? Henry saw Cara place a hand to her heart and blink as though holding back tears. Maybe the picture had touched her as well. He wondered whether it was for the same reason. Was it so obvious that he kept Amelia at a distance?

  Cara gave him a wavering smile. It struck him how beautiful she was. Not merely pretty in outward appearance. An inner beauty manifested at unexpected times like a sudden spark of light. Whatever might have happened to her in the past, it had not diminished the kindness that defined her nature.

  He realized now what Cara had been waiting for. There was something she wanted to hear before she would consent to Langham’s suggestion that she go to Essex. And so, with a desire that finally outweighed his trepidation, Henry gave it to her. He extended the invitation himself with true sincerity.

  “Miss Bernay, would you like to visit us in our home in Essex for a few weeks?”

  She inhaled deeply, as though breathing in his words. Whatever her reservations, his invitation must have overcome them. Her smile broadened. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. Or maybe that was just a trick of the lamplight.

  “Thank you. I should like that very much.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  TO BE TRAVELING to one of the finest country houses in England—and as a guest, not a servant—was a pleasure Cara had dreamed of for ages. As they rode in Henry’s carriage toward Morestowe, Cara imagined with delight all that was to come.

  She sensed a similar excitement in the little girl sitting beside her, even though in Amelia’s case the reasons were quite different. She must have taken this trip many times before. She’d dozed on the train from London to Chelmsford, the town nearest the Morestowe estate, but now she was wide-eyed and alert, gazing out the window as they traveled the last few miles along the country road. The coachman had brought a closed carriage due to the threat of rain. So far the rain had held off, and patches of blue kept reappearing be
tween the clusters of gray clouds, sending down bright rays of sunlight.

  Across from them, Langham leaned back in his seat, his head turned to the window. He’d been unusually quiet since they had boarded the carriage. He was either deep in thought or half sleeping; it was hard to tell.

  Henry had a newspaper open in his lap, but his gaze kept returning to Cara and Amelia. “Are you glad to be going home?” he asked the girl.

  “Yes.” Amelia did not elaborate, but the smile on her young face spoke volumes.

  Cara had brought a sketch pad with her, but for now she was content to take in the view and store it in her mind’s eye for later. She took a deep breath, enjoying air that was fragrant with greenery and an occasional scent of blooms. What kinds of flowers flourished in this part of England in late summer? She was eager to find out. “Everything seems so clean here, after London, doesn’t it?”

  Henry smiled as he glanced toward the open countryside. “Yes, it does.”

  He had grown more at ease as they got farther from the city, although there was still a brooding in his eyes that indicated he still had a few serious issues on his mind. Was it family matters concerning Amelia and Langham, or was there more? Cara wanted to know, but not from mere curiosity or nosiness. She truly cared for each person in this carriage. It had always been easy for her to become attached to people she liked, but this felt altogether different. She prayed that these weeks together would bring about better understanding among all of them, and perhaps lessen the discord among these family members.

  Like Henry, Cara had a touch of sadness that had not left her, even today. She wanted so much to share with her sisters the good things that had been happening in recent weeks. How astonished they would be! Since coming to London, she had embarked on a new and very different kind of life.

  Being cut off from her sisters pained her, even if they had wronged her terribly. The thought of Julia on a boat in the vast ocean terrified her. Why had she done something so outlandish as to go all the way to South America? Until Cara found out, she was not prepared to forgive Julia, even if she did miss her.

  The same was true of Rosalyn. How could she have treated their precious heirloom from their mother so carelessly? Cara could think of no good reason for it. Before leaving the Needenhams’ residence, Cara had received letters from Rosalyn every week. Rosalyn would have learned by now that Cara was no longer employed there. Since she hadn’t received any in her trunk, Rosalyn’s letters must have been returned. Someone at the Needenhams’ house, such as the housekeeper, might even have enclosed a note explaining the reason for it. If so, Rosalyn would doubtless be worried. Her sisters thought Cara was unable to fend for herself, despite the fact that she had managed just fine over the past four years since leaving the orphanage. Even after the disaster at the Needenhams’, she had landed on her feet in a most interesting and wonderful way.

  Cara had once or twice considered sending a short note to Rosalyn but had yet to do it. Thinking it over now, she decided to wait until she was settled in at Morestowe and had a clearer vision of her future. Then her sisters would be in awe at everything she’d accomplished.

  Catching Henry watching her again, she gave him a big smile.

  Henry was glad he’d purchased a newspaper at the railway station, because in the close quarters of his carriage, it gave him an acceptable place to focus his attention. It was hard not to stare at the two females seated opposite him. Their faces were turned toward the window as they chatted over what they were seeing, and Henry still marveled over the change in Amelia.

  Cara seemed to have a calming influence on the girl. Miss Leahy’s approach had been largely successful, but Henry suspected the governess hadn’t addressed the child’s emotional needs the way Cara had.

  Amelia had spent much of today’s train ride nestled against Cara, while Cara had placed a protective arm around her. One might even call it a motherly gesture. This was not something he’d ever seen Miss Leahy do. Henry worried over whether this growing bond would make things worse later, when Miss Leahy returned and once again took charge of the girl. This concern, like so many others, would have to be set aside for now—and probably added to a long list of things that might one day require payment with steep interest.

  In the meantime, the trip was going smoothly, even though Amelia was a barely contained bundle of energy. She kept standing up to get a better view out the carriage window, only to fall back onto the seat with a giggle when a bump in the road caused her to lose her balance. Every now and then she’d touch Cara’s arm to draw her attention to something outside. “That’s an old coaching inn,” she had explained to Cara when they’d driven past an abandoned set of buildings. “People don’t use coaching inns so much anymore. Everyone takes the train now instead.”

  “I see,” Cara said, taking in this information as though she’d never heard it before. She kept encouraging these tidbits from the child, sounding interested as Amelia pointed out other landmarks she was familiar with, from stone bridges to old thatched cottages.

  Henry was surprised at how much knowledge Amelia had picked up about the area. She was a clever and observant little girl, and she was clearly happy to return to the place she considered her home.

  Langham grunted as Amelia fell back in her seat again, her foot accidentally striking his leg. Until now, he’d been largely silent. He seemed too quiet. This was usually a sign his brother was depressed or out of sorts. Would this return to Morestowe bring back painful memories of what had happened before the fire?

  Henry said quietly to Langham, “Are you feeling well?”

  His brother shifted in his seat. “Well enough, I suppose. You did say Mother is still in Cornwall, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said under his breath, closing his eyes again.

  Langham had touched upon the same thing Henry was concerned about: their mother. When Henry had agreed to bring Cara to Essex, he had not had time to consider all the ramifications. At the time, it had not been too difficult a decision. It solved the problem of how to look after Amelia. Henry was counting on Cara to act as the de facto governess. He was sure she would naturally fill that role through her personal interest in the child, despite her insistence that she was coming as a guest and nothing more. However they chose to describe her presence was to Henry a mere formality. There would be plenty of benefits for Cara in return, including the expert painting lessons, so he considered it a win for all concerned.

  How their mother would react when presented with this plan was another matter. If he’d merely hired a temporary governess, that would have been well and good. But the countess was not going to like the idea of a single young lady staying at the house, dining with them at meals, and participating in other activities generally reserved for family and “proper” guests. There was no denying that the situation was, as he was sure his mother would point out, “irregular.”

  He supposed he ought to send her a note so she would not be taken by surprise when she arrived. He could emphasize Cara’s role in helping with Amelia, and surely that would appease her. However, he’d also have to make it clear that Cara was not to be treated as a servant. Coming up with the exact wording would require some thought.

  Still, as Cara beamed at him and laughed with Amelia, he was glad she was here, despite whatever problems lie ahead.

  When Morestowe Manor came into view, the first sight of it took Cara’s breath away. Three stories high, it had an H shape, with the main house flanked by two long wings. Large windows looked upon the drive, and a wide flight of steps rose to the massive front door. There were a dozen chimneys, maybe more. The drive approached the house from the west, and Cara glimpsed a wide lawn that sloped gently away behind the house, unfurling like a boundless green carpet.

  The only thing out of place in this perfect scene was the east wing of the house, which looked more like a new building site than an extension of a centuries-old mansion. Scaffolding lined one portion of it, a
nd a crew of workmen were scrambling over the roof. Cara could hear hammering, even from this distance. Langham had told her that a fire had nearly destroyed this part of the house.

  As they drew closer, Langham and Henry talked over what had been damaged and what repairs had been done. The fire had primarily destroyed the upper floor of the east wing, although smoke damage had spread to the main house. Some flames had also reached the rafters beyond the east wing. Henry had decided to replace the roof of the entire house. With a grimace, he pointed out that this was needed anyway, since no one could even remember when it had last been done. As they talked, it was the most alert Langham had looked all day. Cara could see how much both brothers loved this place.

  The house was nearly two hundred years old and had been in the Burke family for five generations. What must it be like to have roots so deep in one place? Cara could not name any of her ancestors. Any relatives beyond her immediate family were presumably dead. If her father were alive, Cara could ask him . . .

  No, Cara corrected herself. If Father were here, I could ask him. She was never going to give up on that point.

  Refocusing her attention outside the carriage, she noticed a second house a short distance away. It was not nearly so large as the manor house, but it looked pleasant. Tall windows and trellises of roses gave it a welcoming aspect.

  “That’s the dower house, where we’ll set up the studio,” Langham told her.

  A wagon had been following their carriage, transporting the nursery maid and a few other servants. It pulled to a stop at a side door. Another wagon, which was filled with their baggage, did the same.

  The carriage continued to the front entrance. Twenty maids and footmen, all in crisp uniforms, were lined up outside by the steps to greet the newcomers. To arrive in fine style at such a grand place made Cara feel like a princess.