“Spicy,” Charles clarified. “They have a Mexican flatbread called a tortilla that they place onions and peppers and meat inside and then you eat it with your hands like a pastry. The first time I ate it the spice was so hot that my mouth was on fire and my forehead started to sweat.”
Mariah laughed. “That sounds more painful than delicious.”
“I got used to the heat, and then I liked it. And they have fruits that are so sweet they taste like a pudding.”
“What great adventures you must have had,” Mariah said enviously.
“Mostly I worked for my grandfather’s business,” Charles said, adding in a resentful tone, “and then I got sick and had to come home. But I mean to go back and prove myself.”
“I’m sure you shall.”
“We’re here,” Charles announced.
He alighted from the hansom cab and held out his hand to assist Mariah. She blushed as she stepped down and immediately released his hand.
The National Gallery was Romanesque with several columns and a large dome in the center; Mariah was stunned by its size and beauty. Charles offered his arm and escorted her up the stairs to the entrance. She was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of artwork inside; every wall was covered with pictures from floor to ceiling.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “There are paintings everywhere but the ceilings!”
“In Rome, even the ceilings are painted.”
“Why yes, Mrs. Spooner told me about the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.”
“Is Mrs. Spooner an acquaintance from Lyme Regis?” Charles asked.
Mariah smiled. “She lives next door to you. She’s Sir Thomas Watergate’s housekeeper and he’s a famous artist.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never met either of them.”
“Mrs. Spooner is the kindest woman alive. She’s even convinced Sir Thomas to teach me some of his painting techniques. Maybe someday one of my paintings will hang on these walls.”
She watched him closely to see how he would respond. He looked at her thoughtfully before asking, “Is that what you wish for?”
“Yes,” Mariah said. “I’ve thought quite a bit about it since we first talked of me finding a husband, and I now believe that I would like to pursue painting as a profession. I know that it would be singular to be a lady painter, but I have talent and passion and, luckily, friends who will assist me in this path.”
“No more husband hunting because you’ve already found one, or because of your newfound professional calling?” Charles asked. His voice was light, but his eyes watched her intently.
“If you’re thinking of your cousin,” Mariah said carefully, “I know for a fact that his intentions are toward another lady.”
“It didn’t appear so to me.”
“Appearances aren’t always accurate,” Mariah said with the hint of a smirk.
As they stood smiling at each other in the middle of the gallery, it felt like they were the only people in the room. In the world, even. Mariah was not sure how long they stood there before an attendant approached and asked if they needed any assistance.
“No, thank you,” Charles said.
Mariah felt hot and turned away before attempting light conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in art.”
“I’m not,” he admitted.
She looked back at him in surprise.
“I thought you would like to see the National Gallery,” he explained quietly.
Mariah blushed and managed a shy, “I did. I do. I … thank you.”
They began to walk through the other rooms, stopping occasionally to inspect a painting more thoroughly. One painting captured Mariah’s attention particularly because it reminded her of Lyme Regis: Joseph M. W. Turner’s Sun Rising through Vapour. She stood transfixed before it. The lighting was spectacular. The sun shone behind the clouds, its light reflecting on the waves. She drank in the perspective of the ships out to sea and boats near the shore. The delicate brushstrokes of the people on the beach who were cleaning the caught fish. Mariah felt a tear run down her cheek, followed by another.
“This painting has clearly struck your fancy,” he said.
Mariah turned toward Charles, and he offered her his handkerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to cry,” she said with a sniff. “My sister is always saying that I cry at everything. This painting just feels so nostalgic to me.”
“Does it remind you of your home?”
“I don’t have a home,” Mariah said slowly, “but the ocean has always been my friend.”
“An unpredictable friend, perhaps?”
“Yes, the ocean is always changing,” Mariah agreed, “but then the tide always brings her back. Captain Trenton used to take my sister and me out sailing on a small boat. We thought it was the greatest possible adventure.”
“Would you like to go on an adventure?”
“Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone long for an adventure? Something new, something different, to delve into the unknown?”
“You’re the only young lady I’ve ever met who seemed to wish for one.”
“You clearly need to meet more young ladies,” Mariah said pertly.
Charles laughed. It was a lovely, deep sound. Several heads turned toward them.
“I’ll endeavor to meet more adventurous young ladies in the future … However, I’m afraid that I have met my art quota for the day. But I’m not yet ready to go home, and I thought I might take you on an adventure.”
“Where are you going to take me?”
Mariah tried to hand his handkerchief back, but he shook his head slightly. Then he placed her hand on his arm and began to guide her out of the large gallery.
“I won’t say where we’re going, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
A footman opened the large double doors for them, and Charles led them out into the bright light of the afternoon. They slowly walked down the stairs, and Charles disengaged his arm and walked toward one of the open hansom cabs. He spoke quietly into the ear of the driver so that Mariah couldn’t hear what he was saying. The driver tipped his dirty old hat and smiled with yellow teeth. Charles nodded and took her hand to assist her inside the vehicle, and then climbed in next to her.
“Is looking cheating?” Mariah asked.
“Look as much as you like,” Charles said. “I don’t think you know London well enough to even guess where we are going.”
“True,” she conceded.
The cab stopped and Charles got out, offering his hand to Mariah. She looked up and saw a large park, where there were trees as tall as buildings. A loud growl caused her to jump and grab Charles’s arm.
“Where are we?”
“Regent’s Zoo. It opened a few years ago. I thought you might like to see a real monkey,” Charles explained.
Mariah laughed, sliding her hand to the crook of his arm. “And maybe an elephant.”
Charles covered her hand with his. “Definitely an elephant.”
THIRTEEN
“IT’S NOT EVERY DAY YOU meet a young lady who is not interested in romance,” Ethan whispered as they sat next to each other in the dark theater box. “May I be so bold as to ask why?”
“I suppose I haven’t been impressed by what I’ve seen of courtships,” Sophie said slowly.
“Not one happy couple?”
She shook her head.
“That’s unfortunate. I wish I’d known you when my father was still alive. My parents’ marriage is the type that I hope for.”
“Tell me about it?” Sophie asked.
“My grandfather wished for both of his children to make ‘good matches,’” Ethan replied quietly. “Marriages to families of rank and title. I’m sure you know the type: a fortune in trade for an exchange of old titles. My aunt made that kind of marriage, but my father would not. He married the daughter of one of his clerks, and he always told us that the first time he met our mother, he knew that one day she would
be his wife.”
Sophie smiled. “How?”
“He just knew,” Ethan said, shrugging. “And he always said she brought sunshine into his life.”
“They must have passed on the sunshine to you,” Sophie said. She was quiet for a minute before adding, “I would like to think my parents were happy for what little time they had together.”
“Lady Bentley mentioned it was an unequal marriage.”
“Oh, it was very scandalous,” Sophie said, raising her eyebrows in feigned shock. “My mother met a sailor in the navy and they eloped. He was considered to be beneath her socially, so her family cast her off. They were married for only three months before he went back to sea. He died on that voyage and later that year, my sister and I were born.”
“You’re identical twins?”
“Yes, but not at all the same.”
“I’m sorry you never knew your parents.”
“I am, too,” she said. “The lady who took us in after we were born said that we greatly resembled our mother, but there are no portraits of her. All her belongings were sold to pay off her debts. We have nothing of hers.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Sophie said with a slight smile, subconsciously touching her bare neck. Every woman around her wore jewels. “I have my sister, and she is worth more to me than any foolish trinket.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Sophie noticed several other members of the audience leaving their seats. “Where are they going?”
“People like to walk around the lobby during the intermissions and say hello to their acquaintances,” he explained. “Shall we?”
“Please.”
Ethan offered his arm to Sophie and they left their box. They were wading through the crowd of fashionable people when someone touched Sophie’s arm. She turned to see a familiar face—it was Mrs. Trenton, the woman she had called mother as a child.
How very small she seems!
The last time Sophie had seen her, Mrs. Trenton had towered over her. Sophie was now several inches taller. Mrs. Trenton’s dark hair was now more gray than black, and the lines around her mouth and brown eyes were deeper. Her mouth hung agape, and she seemed to be suffering from a great shock.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” Ethan asked.
Mrs. Trenton managed to recover a measure of her composure. “I’m sorry, for a moment I thought I saw a ghost. How fanciful. You’re not your mother. You must be Mariah or Sophronia Carter.”
“Miss Sophie Carter, Mrs. Trenton.” Sophie would never call that woman “Mama” again.
Mrs. Trenton jerked her head back a little at those words, as if she had been slapped. Sophie and Mrs. Trenton stood across from each other like cats, staring but not speaking a word. Both seeing the other with new eyes.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Ethan said in an obvious attempt to ease the tension. “I am Mr. Miller, a friend of Miss Carter’s. I’m afraid we’d best get back to our box before the acting resumes.”
“One moment,” Mrs. Trenton said, placing her hand on Sophie’s arm. Sophie flinched away from her touch. “Captain Trenton is not well. We came to London to consult some physicians. I know he would be delighted if you were to call on him. He’s not well enough to go out himself these days.”
“Of course,” Sophie said numbly.
“We’ve let a house in Kensington. Seven forty-three Jordan Street.”
“I’ll escort her there myself,” Ethan said, giving Mrs. Trenton a nod before steering Sophie away from her.
Sophie clutched his arm for support and allowed him to lead her through the clusters of people congregating in the lobby.
“Forgive me,” she said as he helped her to the chair in their box. “I’m not sure which one of us is more overturned, myself or Mrs. Trenton.”
“You were both very pale.”
“She’s right,” Sophie said slowly. “It’s like seeing a ghost from the past, and everything comes flooding back like an emotional storm.”
“I can take you home now, if you wish.”
“No, no,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “I want to see the end of the play … Mrs. Trenton is the woman who took my sister and me in after our parents died. Then she sent us away when her own son was born. I’ve wasted eight years being made unhappy by that woman. I shall not give her another moment of my time.”
“I’m sorry I was hasty,” Ethan said. “I shouldn’t have promised to take you to see her husband. Perhaps you could write a letter instead?”
Sophie tried to smile and felt a little of her blood returning to her face.
“I should very much like to see Captain Trenton,” she said. “I was his favorite, and he was mine. Mrs. Trenton preferred my sister. She was always much better behaved and infinitely more obedient.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It shouldn’t,” Sophie said with a small, humorless laugh. “If there was a tree to climb, I climbed it. If there was a puddle of mud, I found it. If there was something I was forbidden to touch, I touched it.”
“And a clock to fix, you fixed it,” Ethan continued.
“No, that was later when we lived with the Ellises,” Sophie said. “When I lived with the Trentons, my ambition was to be a captain in the navy.”
“Naturally.”
Sophie heard footsteps and the rustle of skirts behind her. She turned around in her seat.
“I spied you from my box!” Adaline said, holding a pair of golden opera glasses. “I’ve been looking for you. Why Sophie, you look a little pale.”
“It’s nothing,” Sophie said. “I saw an old acquaintance, is all. I daresay you saw at least a dozen old acquaintances. You seem to be on terms with everyone.”
Adaline smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “I do so like to be the center of attention. Do you hate me for it?”
“Of course not.”
“Good,” Adaline said. “Oh dear, I think the play is about to be resumed. May I call on you so we may have a proper chat?”
“Yes, please.”
“Mr. Miller, you may have Sophie back,” Adaline said merrily, and Sophie heard her hail yet another friend as she left the theater box.
The other two couples returned to their seats in the box and they exchanged polite pleasantries. But Sophie’s mind was not in the conversation. The thought of seeing Captain Trenton filled her with conflict. She had never hated him as she had his wife.
But she had not forgiven him either.
* * *
“I can’t believe such a small woman scared me as a child,” Sophie told Mariah as they lay in bed the next morning. “She was practically a giantess in all my memories.”
“Oh, Sophie,” Mariah sighed, leaning her head on her hand. “She wasn’t always harsh. She was often loving and kind. You should try to think about the happy times, too. Remember the Christmas when she bought us the matching dolls with pink ribbons in their hair?”
“Of course I do,” Sophie grumbled. “I wanted a telescope, not a doll.”
Mariah laughed. “And we all knew it. I think she was trying to change your nature—and failing miserably.”
“I was sorry to hear about Captain Trenton being unwell.”
“It’s hard to imagine,” Mariah said. “He was such a hale and hearty man … He could carry both of us around on his shoulders.”
Sophie slipped out of bed, taking her pocket watch out of the drawer and showing it to Mariah. “The last time I saw Captain Trenton, he gave me his pocket watch so that I could count the seconds until he returned,” Sophie said. “Mrs. Trenton sent us away not a fortnight later. She made me give her the pocket watch, but I stole it back when I went inside the house for the doll. I thought if I had it, he would come back for us and the pocket watch. But he never did.”
“I thought we were just visiting Mr. and Mrs. Ellis,” Mariah admitted. “I had no idea we were being sent away for good until Mrs. Ellis admonished us to be grateful for her charity
in taking us in.”
“Charity rarely makes one feel grateful,” Sophie said. “Miserable, more like.”
“Let’s vow not to take charity ever again,” Mariah said, holding her hand up for an oath. “I, Mariah Carter, will work very hard and share all my earnings with my sister, Sophie.”
“I, Sophie Carter, will work very hard and share all my earnings with my sister, Mariah. Even if I have to wear a suit of armor to obtain them.”
“I forgot about the painting with all this talk of the Trentons!” Mariah said. “We ought to be over with Sir Thomas already.”
Sophie slipped into a dress and messily buttoned up the front of it; she would only be taking it back off when they arrived anyway. Then she stuffed the rest of her muffin into her mouth and followed Mariah out of the room. Mrs. Spooner and Sir Thomas were waiting when they arrived next door.
“About bloody time,” Sir Thomas growled.
“Yes, now off you go for a few minutes so we can get Joan of Arc ready for the war,” Mrs. Spooner said, shooing him away with her hands.
Sir Thomas put down his paintbrush and stomped out of the room. Sophie stepped out of her dress, and Mrs. Spooner and Mariah assisted her into the armor. Mrs. Spooner then called for Sir Thomas to return.
“The armor is getting lighter,” Sophie remarked, swinging her arms back and forth. “I can almost imagine fighting in it now.”
“Quiet, don’t move!” Sir Thomas barked.
Sophie returned to her position and held as still as she could. She watched with amusement as Mariah hovered over Sir Thomas, watching his every movement with the paintbrush.
“Make this lass move!” Sir Thomas complained to Mrs. Spooner. “She’s hanging about me like a vulture, waiting to pluck out my eyes.”
“Now, now, Sir Thomas, we did agree to let Mariah observe your painting technique,” Mrs. Spooner said soothingly. “Mariah, I do believe that you have done enough preliminary sketching on paper and you ought to start on the canvas now. Come.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Mariah said as Mrs. Spooner set her up with an easel, canvas, and tray of paints on the other side of the studio.
“Oh, don’t thank me,” Mrs. Spooner replied with a wink. “I’ve made it my life’s work to assist struggling artists. That’s why I married Sir Thomas.”
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