“Thank you and God bless you, Arthur.” Gina blew him a kiss.
She needed somewhere to live. She would not stay more than a day or two at the apartment.
As she crossed Hanover Square, she was tempted to enter St Georges Church to pray, but she continued on, sure that her recent behavior had removed her from God’s favor.
Mary hurried over to her when Gina entered the apartment. She sniffed and looked down her nose at Gina’s gown. “You might have asked me to help you dress this morning, Madam.”
“It’s safer to negotiate the London streets dressed like this,” Gina said, suddenly feeling very tired.
“You could have taken a carriage, Madam. Mr. Dunleavy left word for a hansom to be at your disposal,” Mary said as she followed Gina up the stairs.
Gina entered her bedroom. She might make use of the carriage when she left. But after that, she refused to be beholden to Blair Dunleavy.
“Would you like me to take down your hair and brush it, Madam?”
“No thank you. I’d like to be alone, Mary.”
“As you wish, Madam.”
With a frustrated rustle of starched petticoats, Mary returned below stairs. Gina pulled off her boots. She rubbed her feet, sore from walking miles as tears escaped to run down her cheeks. She scolded herself for giving in to self-pity. But it didn’t help.
Gina threw herself down on the bed, and buried her head in the pillow, weeping bitterly for Milo, and the sad state she found herself in. She whispered Blair’s name. When he returned, he would find her gone.
***
Gina reached Leighton House by mid-morning the next day. She paused in front of the elegant, red-brick establishment, straightening her hat before knocking. A maid in a black dress, frilly white apron, and cap, opened the door. She shook her head. “The master don’t like to be disturbed when he’s working.”
“I only need a minute of his time.”
“I have my orders.” The maid began to shut the door.
“It’s important to him. It’s concerning his art.” Gina held her purse against a small stain on her skirt, aware her appearance didn’t encourage confidence. She refused to wear the clothes that Blair had bought her.
As the maid hesitated, a man’s voice came from within. “Who is it, Alice?”
“There’s a young lady here to see you, Lord Leighton.”
“Oh? Show her up to my studio.”
Gina stepped onto the glazed tiles in the hall. It was like entering another world. She took in the sunken fountain and raised her eyes to view the silvery cupola overhead. Paintings covered the walls and oriental screens and classical sculptures decorated every corner.
The maid led Gina upstairs past treasures from every part of the globe.
Gina caught her breath. The studio was an enormous light-filled space crammed with more art treasures. Tables were covered with drawings and sketches. A tall, rather handsome man with a full, graying beard stood at an easel. He turned to wipe his hands on a cloth and frowned. A nervous tic formed in his cheek.
“How do you like my Arab hall?”
“It’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything to equal it.”
“Nor likely to, I shouldn’t imagine.” He twirled the paint brush in his long fingers. “Alice is quite correct, young lady. I do not like to be interrupted in my work.”
“Milo didn’t either,” Gina said.
He raised gray shaggy eyebrows. “Who?”
“My step-father, Milo Russo.”
“Russo. Yes. I heard about his death. I’m very sorry for you, lass. He had a distinctive style. The art world will miss him.”
“Milo’s friend, Arthur Cowper told me that you were in need of a model.”
“I am as it happens. My model just got married.” His alert, brown eyes studied her.
She saw no sign of admiration or lasciviousness in his measured gaze. “You’re not English.”
Gina met his gaze unflinchingly. “I was born in Tuscany.”
He dropped the brush and came to place a finger beneath her chin. “I like that angle. Your almond-shaped eyes are most unusual. I lived in Florence for a time. Hai parenti in Italia?”
Gina shook her head. “Nessuno.”
An orphan, now eh? Then I’m doubly sorry for your loss.” He continued to study her. “You have the right appearance for my work.”
He returned to his painting. Beside him, a table held brushes and paints, canvasses, an unfinished sculpture, and a multitude of books. The floor to ceiling windows opened onto perfectly manicured gardens. In a corner, a small black and white terrier lay in his basket. His tail thumped.
“Meet my lazy friend, Raphael.”
Gina bent to pat the dog and he licked her hand. She rose and went to examine the painting on the easel, studying the composition with an expert eye developed over years of living with a painter.
“Persephone returning from the underworld,” Gina said softly, caught by the pearly, golden light. It was a powerful work. “Milo would say the brushwork is eccezionale!”
He looked pleased, and the tic on his cheek disappeared. “When can you start?”
Grateful, Gina smiled. “I must find a place to live first.”
“That’s right.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You are now homeless. Come and live here.”
“Oh. I couldn’t.”
“Of course, you can. See how comfortable it is.”
“You are very kind.” It seemed a peaceful home, and she’d be safe here while she decided what next to do. The house was like a painting itself, from the marble gazebo and cast-iron furniture in the garden, to the statues and potted orchids in bronze urns around the marble-tiled floor. Through the window, the sky looked bluer than she remembered. It seemed like a different sky to the one that hovered over Shoreditch.
“No trouble at all. Although I might be tempted to have you sit far too long.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Tomorrow?”
Gina smiled back and shook his big hand. “Tomorrow then.”
The next day, Gina gave Mary the sea-green gown that Blair had bought her. She left the rest where they hung in their splendor in the armoire and took only what she’d brought with her. She couldn’t resist the lavender parasol trimmed with point-lace, however.
She availed herself of the hansom, traveling to Leighton House in style. It was just payment for the damage Blair had done to her heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Dublin
Blair entered the cocktail party with Maeve on his arm. Jubilant to have him home, she vivaciously drew him with her as they greeted friends. She guided him to a young woman sitting with another lady.
“Blair, this is Lady Isabel, and her niece, Miss Davinna McGuiness. I’d like to introduce my son, Blair Dunleavy.”
Davinna smiled up at him, dimples peeping from porcelain cheeks. White-blonde ringlets framed her face, her wide blue eyes shyly smiling.
“Shall we leave you two young people together?” Maeve asked. She took the aunt’s arm. “Isabel and I have much to catch up on.”
Aware that he’d been manipulated, Blair smiled and sat down. Davinna listened intently to him, laughed at his playfulness, and called him droll. But when he came away, he realized he hadn’t learned anything about her. She was like a mirror reflecting him back on himself. She’d been brought up to please a man, as many of her class were. He found he didn’t want to be pleased, he wanted to be challenged. And above all, he wanted unfeigned honesty.
He took his leave of her, and restlessly prowled the room, hoping his mother would soon want to leave. He was anxious to be gone from here and from Ireland.
The night had turned cold as they entered the carriage. As they drove home, the heavy rain on the roof almost drowned out their words.
“Damned infernal climate,” Blair muttered, although he usually liked Irish weather.
“Did you enjoy the evening, Blair?” Maeve asked.
“A little dull I thought.”
>
“But Miss McGuiness is very charming, is she not?”
“Very. Mother, I’m returning to London.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
She pulled at her gloves, obviously annoyed with him. “You’ve been here little more than a week. And like a bear with a sore head the entire time.”
“I’ve been bad company. I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you next time.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll tell me what this is all about in your own good time,” Maeve said. She shivered and pulled the collar of her velvet evening cloak up around her neck.
“You’ve been doing too much, Mother. You shouldn’t even be out in weather like this.”
The next morning, Blair sent a note to his staff at Dunleavy House, before departing for London. He wanted the house to look especially fine on his return. He instructed the maids to fill the rooms with yellow roses. As he made his way to his mother’s bedroom to say his farewells, Maeve’s maid intercepted him. “Your mother has been taken ill again, Mr. Dunleavy. The doctor’s been called.”
* * *
For three weeks Maeve hovered on the brink of death. Her fighting spirit won through again, and when the doctor told Blair the danger had passed, he installed her in the country house before departing for London, assured by her doctor that it was safe to leave her.
When Blair arrived at Hanover Square, he found the butler and the maids eating luncheon below stairs, along with the kitchen hand, while the cook carved a large joint of beef. After they’d been called into his study and closely questioned, he learned that Gina had left some time ago, a matter of which they’d failed to advise him.
Mary, Gina’s maid, appeared to be dressed in one of Gina’s new gowns. Blood pounded through his temples. “Downstairs, all of you!” He bellowed. They scurried back to the servant’s quarters.
Blair strode into the bedchamber and pulled open cupboard doors and drawers. Gina had taken none of the pretty things he’d given her. The money he left for her expenses remained in the drawer. He strode around the room feeling as if the top of his head might blow off, then he spied a dainty, pink satin slipper and picked it up. He rubbed the soft feathers against his cheek. His anger drained away, leaving his restless heart pounding, as questions crowded his mind. She’d left only days after he did. How had she managed without the money?
He knew she had very little. The thought that she was at the mercy of wicked old London made him gasp. Was she safe? He had to find her.
Angrier with himself than anyone else, he stormed downstairs to find the staff huddled, whispering in the kitchen. “You will find yourselves out on the street without a recommendation if you don’t tell me where Miss Russo has gone.”
They all talked at once. Blair held his hand up. “One at a time please.”
“Madam didn’t say where she was going,” the maid said. “She took a hansom and hasn’t been back, sir.”
That might help him find her. “Why are you wearing her dress, Mary?”
Mary flushed. “Miss Russo gave it me, sir.” She turned to the others for moral support. “Didn’t she?”
“She did sir. I heard her,” one of the maids said.
Whether they lied or told the truth didn’t matter a damn. He just wanted to find Gina. “I want order restored to the apartment by the time I return. I shall dine here tonight. You can finish the cold beef, but if you indulge yourselves at my expense again, you’ll be sorry.”
The chef stepped forward straightening his apron. “A turkey poult or green goose, sir? And perhaps a nice red mullet, with a Cardinal sauce?”
“Either will be fine. Mary, pack Miss Russo’s belongings please.”
Blair put on his hat and coat and left the building. When he inquired at the hansom cab company, he was told the driver no longer worked there.
He returned to the apartment, feeling lower than he had in his life. The cook had outdone himself, but Blair couldn’t do the meal justice. He should write references and let them all go, but in his heart, he still hoped Gina might come back.
The next day he began to search the length and breadth of London for the driver.
A week later, he found the cabbie working for another company. He remembered Gina. “Not a lady you forget in a hurry, sir,” he’d said with a grin.
“Take me to Holland Park.”
Half an hour later, Blair knocked on Lord Leighton’s door.
“Miss Russo don’t live here now,” the maid told him. “But she poses for Lord Leighton, on Monday and Thursday afternoons.”
Blair’s hopes of finding Gina soared. “Do you know where she lives?”
“No sir.”
The artist appeared at the door. “You’d better come in, Mr. Dunleavy.”
Lord Leighton listened to Blair’s explanation for wanting to find Gina.
He raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Gina has come into some money,” he said, leaving Blair to wonder how. “She has new lodgings.” He glared at Blair. “And she may not want you to find her.”
Blair clamped down on his jaw. “Gina believes ill of me, but I want to make amends. My mother has been indisposed. It delayed my return to England.”
“I’m not Gina’s father, Mr. Dunleavy, but I’ve become very fond of her. I’ll inform her that you seek her. Does she know how to find you?”
Blair raked his fingers through his hair. “Unless I’m able to explain, I don’t think she’ll seek me out, milord.”
The artist scowled. “It appears you’ve been behaving like a rake, Mr. Dunleavy. I’m familiar with your sort.”
“Dammit, Lord Leighton. I want to marry her!” Blair shouted. There was nothing on this earth he wanted more. From the first moment, he saw her. He’d been too slow to realize what she meant to him. Now, every day that passed without her was torture.
A smile hovered around Lord Leighton’s mouth. “So I see, Mr. Dunleavy. So I see. But Gina may not want to marry you. That I’ll leave to her. Alice will show you out.”
Blair found himself out on the street none the wiser. He gritted his teeth as he climbed into the carriage and sat with his head in his hands.
“Where to guv?” the jarvie asked.
“Hanover Square.” He could do nothing but close the apartment. There would be no need for it now. Contrary to what he’d threatened, he would ensure the staff found suitable employment. Tonight, he might join Horace at the theater, meet a pretty woman and try to find some distraction. He shook his head, he no longer had a taste for it. There wasn’t a woman in London who could erase Gina from his mind and his heart.
It was Friday. He would be back in St. John’s Wood on Monday and would wait outside Lord Leighton’s house until Gina came.
Chapter Seventeen
Gina dressed carefully in the room she rented at Mrs. Sherringham’s boardinghouse. The narrow building was in a quiet part of Wimbledon. Her landlady assured Gina that all her lodgers were respectable people. Gina’s small bedroom was crammed with large furniture, but comfortable enough, and did for her until she had time to find something better.
Everything seemed to have happened at once. Arthur Cowper not only found a buyer for one of Milo’s paintings, it proved to be none other than Queen Victoria’s eldest son, Edward, the Prince of Wales. A keen patron of the arts, Prince Edward was to open an exhibition at the Crystal Palace on Penge Common at two o’clock. Milo’s paintings were to be hung among other notable artists, including Lord Leighton. Gina had been invited to attend the opening.
Her new tweed skirt and white blouse with the leg-o-mutton sleeves, suited her, she thought, as she cinched in her waist with a leather belt. She donned the matching jacket which had a Persian lamb collar. Not Russian sable, but it did quite as well. She studied her reflection in the mirror and angled the sensible straw hat over her brow. Not nearly as frivolous and wonderful as the blue velvet she’d reluctantly left behind at Hanover Square. But at least she had come by this honestly.
She pinne
d a watch to her blouse and took a clean handkerchief from her drawer. She would not think of Blair, she told herself sternly. Her nights were filled with him, his mouth on hers, his hard body pressed up against hers, and that was quite enough. Her days would be her own. If the paintings sold at this exhibition for the prices mentioned, she would be very comfortable indeed. She could afford to buy a little house of her own, tucked away in the English countryside. Her desire to return to Italy had faded with the knowledge of her mother’s sad time there after her father had died.
Gina left the train and stared up at the Crystal Palace, a huge, wood, glass, and iron building, gleaming atop Sydenham Hill. The massive glass structure sparkled like crystal in the spring sunshine. Grand fountains and cascades surrounded it, and as she approached, a gust of wind sprayed mist over her, dampening her face. She welcomed it for she thought she was dreaming.
Inside, people from all walks of life wandered through exhibits both strange and beautiful, beneath the soaring glass arch. Gina located the art exhibition just as the Prince of Wales strolled through, accompanied by his crowd of supporters. He was a large man with a thick girth, the bottom button of his coat left undone. He stopped for some time in front of Milo’s paintings, his hands behind his back in quiet contemplation.
“Is Miss Russo here?” The Prince asked.
An attendant rushed to take her arm. Gina came forward and curtsied with trembling knees before the prince.
He kissed her hand, and his beard, streaked with gray, not unlike Lord Leighton’s, brushed her skin. His warm eyes cast an appraising glance over her. He was known to appreciate women as much as art. “You are the perfect subject for an artist, Miss Russo.”
Gina curtsied again. “Thank you, your highness.”
“Mighty pretty woman,” the prince said to no one in particular as he lit a cigarette and moved on with his entourage pausing to study the works of the impressionists.
What a Gentleman Desires Page 9