The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  At one point this afternoon, they had also spent a few minutes discussing Cara. Henry had told Jacob what he knew of her background. Knowing Cara was likely to ask Jacob a lot of questions about him and his family, Henry had requested that his friend be circumspect if the subject of Olivia should arise.

  “She was my sister, so of course I will answer questions about her if asked,” Jacob had pointed out. “However, I will keep confidential the more personal bent of your feelings for her.”

  Happily, so far this evening it had not been an issue. Jacob had chatted with Cara in that friendly and diffident way he had that put people at ease and got them freely talking about themselves. At one point, he professed himself intrigued by her background and the unusual career choices her sisters had made.

  “Cara has had a few interesting adventures herself,” Langham said. “Cara, tell him about the time you hid from the police in a big washing kettle.”

  The footman was at that moment setting a dish on the sideboard, and it landed with a bit of a clatter. The servants were trained not to listen—or at least, to act as though they were not listening—but they were not always successful.

  Cara looked embarrassed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that story. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of me.”

  “Nonsense, they’re dying to hear it,” Langham insisted.

  “I certainly am,” Jacob said with an easy smile.

  He wasn’t the only one. A glance at his footman showed Henry that the man was “not listening” very carefully.

  Cara looked around the table, and Henry held his breath in anticipation. He couldn’t imagine what this story was about, but there was no doubt his curiosity was piqued.

  When at last she overcame her qualms and spoke, her words spilled out in a rush. “I visited London last spring. It was my first visit to the city, and I spent the day walking around with my sister Julia. But then we had to go to Bethnal Green, because she needed to help a woman deliver a baby. We ended up staying late, and it was very dark, and we walked past a gin shop just when some trouble was happening. One of the ladies who was with us ran in to help her friend, and then the police arrived.” She paused. Her forehead crinkled a little. “The bobbies were after the bad people, not us,” she added.

  “Thank you for the clarification,” Jacob said, still smiling.

  The narrative was so unexpected and told so breathlessly that Henry had trouble taking it all in. “And then what happened?”

  “There was a terrible brawl, and people were running everywhere, but I was able to slip away. I saw the kettle—a great big one for washing sheets and things—and I hid in there until everyone was gone. It was a good thing I did, because they took my sister Julia to jail. If I hadn’t escaped and gone to find the barrister Michael Stephenson, she might never have gotten out! That is one thing she will always have to thank me for, because now she and Mr. Stephenson are married.”

  Henry stared at her. He was pretty sure there were some big gaps in that story. “They took your sister to jail?”

  “That was just a misunderstanding. She did nothing wrong. As I mentioned before, she is going to be a doctor.”

  “Yes, that explains everything,” Langham quipped. He clearly enjoyed this tale immensely. No wonder he’d prompted Cara to share it.

  Jacob looked both charmed and impressed. “It must have been difficult to keep up your courage in such a situation. How did you manage it?”

  “I was scared at first,” Cara admitted. “Especially when I got out of the kettle and was all alone, not knowing what to do next. But then I reminded myself that God would help me, so I prayed. We were taught in the orphanage that God would supply our every need if we pray to Him and keep believing until the answer comes.”

  “That’s true,” Jacob replied. “Did you say you were taught this in the orphanage?”

  Henry could understand Jacob’s surprise. Last year, when he’d been collecting information for a Parliamentary report on the conditions of the working class, Henry had visited several London workhouses. He’d seen the treatment of the destitute people there, including young orphans. They were repeatedly admonished by their overseers to be thankful for the meager rations and grim housing that barely sustained them. But thinking back to the night he’d overheard Cara describing her childhood to Amelia, Henry knew she’d been raised in a very different kind of place.

  “The orphanage was founded by Mr. George Müller,” Cara explained. “He never seeks out donors or gifts; he only prays his needs to God. It has worked all this time, and of course he teaches us to do this as well.”

  She told them a few stories about times when food or other supplies had been sent to the orphanage, arriving just as they were needed. Henry reflected that if a person truly believed God was doing those things, it would enable them to live with a great degree of fearlessness. This was a quality he had definitely seen in Cara.

  It was clear Jacob was impressed as well. That would be no surprise, given her stated faith in God and her pluckiness. Things his friend would admire in anyone.

  “I can tell you’ll go far, Miss Bernay,” Jacob said. “You mentioned earlier having been in service in Devonshire. What made you decide to leave that position and move to London? One would think, given your first introduction to it, that you might not be so keen on returning.”

  Cara had been too open, perhaps, about her past. It had been so easy to talk with Mr. Reese. To suddenly withdraw from answering his question would make her look guilty about something—which, of course, she was.

  “It seemed like the right time.” Her cheeks warmed at edging so close to a lie.

  “Cara wants to be an artist,” Langham chimed in. “What better place than London? I hope you’ll come ’round to the studio tomorrow and see some of her work.”

  “That may not be possible,” Henry said. “We’re driving to Roxwell Abbey tomorrow, and we’ll need to start right after breakfast.”

  Langham looked perplexed. “Roxwell Abbey?”

  “We’re going to see Lord Nigel Hayward,” Jacob clarified.

  Cara was just taking a sip from her glass. Upon hearing Lord Nigel’s name, she gasped so sharply that she inhaled some of the water. She hastily set down the glass and covered her mouth with her napkin to stifle a cough and clear her throat. Having startled the others, she gestured to assure them she was fine.

  “I’d heard the marquess gave Hayward that property after his decrepit uncle died,” Langham said. “Are you making a social call to welcome him to the area? Or is this something to do with the mining scheme?”

  “Both, I hope,” Henry replied.

  “It certainly will make our country dances more lively to have Hayward at Roxwell Abbey. And Hayward’s bride, too, of course, once they are married. I saw their announcement in The Times last week, but her name has slipped my mind. She’s the daughter of a baronet, I believe.”

  Cara was fortunate that Langham had everyone’s attention, because she needed time to compose herself. They were speaking of Lord Nigel Hayward! The man who was courting—

  “Miss Sarah Needenham is her name,” Henry supplied.

  The Needenhams had successfully gotten their daughter engaged to the man after all. Cara didn’t know whether to be happy for her, or mortified that they might be so close. She said tentatively, “How far away is Roxwell Abbey?”

  “About ten miles.”

  “Why don’t we all go?” Langham suggested. “Make a party out of it. Amelia would love the drive, and Cara might like to see some of the surrounding countryside.”

  No! Cara wanted to scream, but she could say nothing. She sat mute, desperately hoping that her terror at this idea didn’t show on her face. She didn’t think Lord Nigel would remember her. He’d never even had occasion to speak to her, for she was only the nursery maid for Miss Sarah’s young brother. But what if Sarah and her parents were there?

  “That’s not possible,” Henry answered. “As I said, Jac
ob and I may get into business matters with him. Besides, Mr. Perrine comes tomorrow. You’ll need to be here.”

  Cara felt a rush of relief.

  “Make sure you invite him to visit us,” Langham said.

  Henry nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  Somehow Cara made it through the rest of the evening, but she had to use all her wits just to remain coherent. She kept turning this startling new information over in her mind and thinking through the possible ramifications. Was this God’s way of telling her to be honest about her past and why she’d come to London? Perhaps she should tell Henry everything. But would he then worry that she might accidentally put Amelia in danger? Worst of all, his opinion of her would surely plummet. She could tell he thought well of her, and she didn’t want to lose that.

  On the other hand, she was only going to be here a few weeks. Lord Nigel might not pay a call during that time. Perhaps it was better just to leave things as they were. The chance that her name would come up tomorrow, or that Lord Nigel would connect it with the Needenhams’ nursery maid even if it did, was surely negligible.

  Wasn’t it?

  Tomorrow might be a very long day.

  CHAPTER

  23

  HENRY AND JACOB sat in the library of Roxwell Abbey, waiting for Hayward to finish reading the prospectus. This was apparently the room where Hayward’s great-uncle had spent most of his time during his declining years. It had a comfortable and well-worn aspect, and the books looked as though they had actually been read. A refreshing breeze came through the open French doors.

  Hayward had received them cordially. They’d spent an hour or so catching up, for their paths had not often crossed in the years since they were at Oxford. He was as genial and easygoing as Henry remembered.

  After luncheon, Henry had finally been able to turn the talk to business. Hayward was receptive to the topic and agreed to read the prospectus. He was taking his time with it, which Henry regarded as a positive sign.

  At last, Hayward set the documents on a nearby table and stood up. “This is very interesting. How about we go for a walk while we discuss it?”

  They went out the French doors to a small terrace and down to the gardens. “Please excuse the state of the place,” Hayward told them. “It’s in desperate need of sprucing up. My great-uncle didn’t concern himself with landscaping toward the last.”

  As they strolled through the gardens, Hayward described some of the projects he planned to initiate, both on the grounds and in the house. He seemed in no hurry to speak his thoughts on the proposal. Henry perceived that Hayward was in the polite and roundabout process of declining. Henry looked at Jacob. His friend met his gaze with a conciliatory half-smile that showed he was thinking the same thing.

  Leaving the gardens, they walked along a field bordering the stables. Four horses and a pony grazed in the afternoon sun. “I plan to enlarge the stables so I can do some breeding,” Hayward said. “It’s a passion of mine. I’ve just bought a horse I want to run in the Derby next year. At present he’s at my father’s stable, which has a proper exercise track.”

  As he spoke, the horses wandered over to them, either looking for treats or just out of curiosity. The pony, a chestnut with splashes of white on its muzzle and forelegs, gave Jacob a nudge with her nose.

  “I don’t suppose this one is for racing,” Jacob said with a smile.

  Hayward grinned. “That’s Maisie. I believe my cousin’s daughter rode her whenever they came to visit my great-uncle. He rather doted on that girl. She’s outgrown the pony now, though.”

  Henry reached out to pat one of the horses but was too on edge to fully participate in the casual conversation. He kept waiting for the ax to fall. He decided it was better just to get it over with. “So, about that prospectus . . .”

  “Yes, forgive my rambling.” Hayward answered as though he were at fault, even though Henry had rudely changed the subject. “It’s clear your mining venture has solid potential. I’ve no doubt it will be a great success when you find the right investors.”

  “I understand,” Henry said. He was disappointed but not really surprised.

  “Much of my funds, such as they are, will be needed to fix up the house and grounds. As you can see, I have some work to do to make this a pleasant place to bring my bride next spring. What money that is left over is tied up in an export company in Liverpool.”

  “I don’t suppose his lordship might be interested?” Jacob ventured, referring to Hayward’s father, the Marquess of Dartford.

  Hayward looked away for a moment, studying the landscape. “I don’t wish to be untactful, but my father is a close friend of the Duke of Crandall, and . . .”

  “You don’t need to say anything more,” Henry interjected. There was probably some truth to the reasons Hayward was giving for declining, but even if there weren’t, Henry couldn’t fault him for not wanting to place himself in a position that might antagonize his father.

  “I hope this won’t cast a pall on our relationship,” Hayward added. “Being neighbors, I’d like us to be on friendly terms.”

  He proffered a handshake, which Henry accepted. “Certainly. I hope you will pay us a visit soon.”

  “I should like that. My fiancée and her family are coming here in a few weeks. In the meantime, I’ll be working hard to get the place presentable.” He added with a smile, “I don’t want Sir John to backtrack on his permission to marry her!”

  The subject of business being effectively closed, they walked back toward the house.

  After a few steps, Hayward paused. “I’ve just thought of something. You were telling me about your little ward, Amelia. Would she be interested in Maisie?”

  Mr. Perrine arrived promptly at ten o’clock. Although he was nearing seventy years old, he still had a spry step. He came in a small one-horse carriage, which he even drove himself.

  Henry and Jacob left soon after breakfast, but Cara had started worrying long before that. She’d spent the night and early morning vacillating between revealing everything to Henry and keeping things just as they were.

  She had hoped to speak with Langham, curious what Henry and Jacob were trying to accomplish during their visit to Lord Nigel’s home, but Langham had sent word that he’d been up late and would join them at luncheon. This left Cara alone with her questions and concerns. They never completely left her mind, even during the lesson. It was fortunate that the drawing master’s attention was primarily centered on Amelia.

  Once the lesson got underway, it was apparent that Mr. Perrine had a wellspring of patience and experience when it came to working with strong-minded children. Amelia naturally wanted to rush headlong into painting with a full palette, as the studio was filled with tempting supplies. Mr. Perrine had to carefully explain why she must first master drawing with a pencil in order to understand the basics of proportion and perspective. After an hour and a half of rigorous instruction, he ended the lesson by encouraging her to draw whatever she wanted. Her choice had been no surprise, and Cara thought there was already marked improvement in the way Amelia drew the figures.

  Mr. Perrine clearly enjoyed working with children. “That’s what keeps me young,” he quipped as they enjoyed a cold luncheon under the trees after the lesson. “I take great satisfaction in helping them develop their raw talent. And, of course, you never know what they’ll come up with.” He chuckled. “Dinosaurs, for example.”

  When Langham arrived, he greeted Mr. Perrine jovially, like an old friend. He also complimented Amelia’s drawing, which she had brought to luncheon.

  “I am drawing in pencil for now, until I master proportion and perspective,” Amelia told him, echoing Mr. Perrine word for word. She turned to the drawing master. “When do we begin painting with colors?”

  “As soon as you are ready—and the more you apply yourself, the faster you will reach that point,” Mr. Perrine promised. “Perhaps one day you will rival your cousin Langham. But you will have to work very hard.” He turned to C
ara. “Langham was one of my best students. I always knew he had the potential to be a great artist. I tried to persuade his parents to send him to the Royal Academy.”

  “Unfortunately, my father was having none of that,” Langham put in sourly. “All of the Burkes have gone to Eton and Oxford, and I was to be no different.”

  “You’ve made superior progress, even so,” Mr. Perrine said. “I saw a few of your paintings in the studio, and they exceeded my high expectations. I wonder if you and I might review them together for a few minutes before I leave.”

  “Shall I run and call for your carriage, sir?” Amelia said, always glad for a reason to go to the stables.

  “Are you that excited to see me leave?” he replied with a chuckle. But it was clear he took no offense.

  “We’ll go together,” Cara told her.

  Mr. Perrine and Langham crossed the lawn to the dower house, deeply immersed in conversation. The drawing master might enjoy working with beginners, but he clearly loved discussing advanced techniques with skilled painters. Spending time with someone who was knowledgeable and passionate about art would surely be a balm to Langham’s soul, as he seemed to be facing so many objections from his family. Cara could not understand why they had been so adamantly against art studies for him.

  Amelia tugged at her hand. “Let’s go!”

  Before setting off, Cara spoke to the two maids and the footman who were clearing away the luncheon dishes. “Thank you so much. The meal was delicious, and this setting under the trees was perfect.”

  They paused, surprised to be addressed like this. Cara didn’t know if she was breaking protocol to do so. She only knew that she’d been in their position once, invisible to the people they worked for and expected to do their jobs seamlessly. They had succeeded, for neither Langham, Amelia, nor Mr. Perrine seemed to give a second thought to the fact that they were being waited on so fastidiously. Cara wanted the servants to know that she, at least, had noticed.