Millie relaxed and nearly forgot Lady Olivia’s off-hand remark that involved taking this woman’s pride down a peg. Given Lady Inglewood’s humility in regard to her own artwork, it was difficult to imagine her ever acting anything other than gracious.
“I cannot boast of such talent as you, my lady, but I do enjoy creating things of beauty. There is a thoughtfulness in painting that makes me take notice, but my own work does not seek to tell stories so much as it does to delight the person who sees it.”
“Oh? I believe you said you enjoyed quilling and ebony painting.” The countess gestured to a seat in the room, which Millie took gratefully.
“I do. And that is what has brought me here today, my lady.” Millie folded her hands in her lap. “I understand that Aldersy is several miles away, and that the apothecary there has supplies for painting, but I wondered whether you knew if he also had the things necessary for my preferred pursuit. I am in need of ink, and a box or two on which to work. Lady Olivia does not intend to venture into the village for several days, and her supplies lack what I need.”
The request was genuine enough. Millie had no wish to disturb the marchioness, or any other member of that family, to ask for the use of a carriage. She well knew her place among them was more tolerated than it was welcomed, even with Lady Olivia as the only person who knew of the true reason behind Millie’s invitation.
“And it would be a shame to make the trip into the village and find they did not have what you needed. Worse still, to send to Ipswich if everything you had need of could be had cheaply and more swiftly.” The countess nodded her understanding, her gaze moving to the window as her expression twisted thoughtfully. “I cannot recall at the moment what is available in Aldersy. I am afraid most of my supplies are ordered from London. I am quite particular, and my husband indulges me.”
“Oh.” Millie let her shoulders fall. Drawing would have to continue to entertain her, then.
“But I might have what you need here,” Lady Inglewood said with a brighter smile. “Come upstairs with me. We will raid my supplies.”
Millie could not help but return the countess’s ready smile. “Are you certain? I do not wish to impose—”
“One artist to another, I do not mind in the least. Come.” Lady Inglewood led the way from the room, talking all the while. “I spend hours in my studio.” They went up the staircase to the first floor, then down a long, wide hallway. While their home was not so grandiose as the marquess’s, it certainly was one of the finest Millie had ever entered. “There is a very large closet, and shelves and shelves of my supplies. Perhaps I have what you need.”
Then she opened a door, and Millie followed the countess into a room filled with sunlight. The windows took up most of the wall, nearly stretching to the ceiling from the floor, and most were open to allow a breeze to circulate sea-salted air into the room. Millie took a deep breath, as much to enjoy the sensation as in awe.
The room was bright and airy, full of light and life. A couch and two chairs were the only places to sit, and they were near the door; the rest of the floor was littered with easels and narrow tables filled with books and art supplies, while the walls were lined with shelves and canvases alike.
“I have never seen a room like this,” Millie whispered in awe. Most grand houses had a room dedicated to a woman’s artistic pursuits, but they were generally small, and served also as a sitting room, or sometimes a sewing room.
There was no doubt that this room served only one purpose for its mistress—it was her place to create.
Despite her years of planning, of hoping for an elevated station in society, Millie had never pictured such a room for herself. She had the vaguest idea of being mistress of a large house, of commanding legions of servants, setting the fashionable world on its ear with her choices of dress and decor, but she had never thought of what it would mean to have a single room so perfectly situated for her own particular use.
The countess bustled about, unaware of Millie’s state of mind. “It might seem a little strange, to convert a sitting room into a studio. Lord Inglewood has offered to build me a room on the ground floor, with a glass ceiling. If we ever decide upon the design, perhaps it would be better, but I confess the idea of giving up my sea view holds little appeal.”
Millie swallowed and nodded, though the countess hadn’t glanced back at her.
“Here we are.” The countess opened a cabinet, and Millie tore her eyes from the beautiful, practical room and went to stand near her hostess. “I did order a substantial amount of things from Ackermann’s this spring when The Repository featured some clever penwork designs. I am not certain what you would need. I am afraid once the materials arrived, I was quite busy with the birth of my son.” Her eyes glowed when she turned to Millie, a secretive sort of smile upon her lips that Millie could not understand.
“I will fetch a box for you to carry home your supplies.” The countess disappeared before Millie could protest, leaving her to stand before the little cupboard.
She took a deep breath and began sorting through the materials. Though her mother had allowed Millie to practice penwork, it had been with reluctance.
“Such a terrible, dirty pursuit. You will smudge every sleeve and dress with ink,” Mrs. Wedgewood had declared more than once. She frequently commanded her daughter to “get that dreadful mess out of my best room.” Every room had somehow become the best room when Millie settled in with ink and pens.
Yet she kept working at the art, whenever she had opportunity. It fascinated her, to fully transform a box, a fan, even a picture frame, into a work of art with nothing more than simple tools.
The countess had everything Millie could want. Sharp quill pens, thin brushes, and black Indian ink. The ink was the most important part, of course. If it was the wrong mixture, it would smear and smudge rather than stain. The brush would be useful for broader swaths of black. Using Lady Olivia’s watercolor brushes for such a task would ruin them, but these new brushes were quite perfect.
But did the countess have—yes, there it was. A jar of isinglass, to seal the wood before she began her work.
Millie placed her selection upon a table near the small cupboard, chewing her bottom lip as she thought over how much ink her design would require. Of course, she needed a box first.
The door opened and Millie turned to see the countess float inside, holding a baby instead of a box. But a maid came in behind her, wooden box in hand. A box the perfect size for a gentleman’s desk. “Set the box just over there, Mary,” the countess instructed. “Thank you.”
The maid put the box down, curtsied, and left.
Millie’s attention was arrested by the child in the countess’s arms. “I see you brought someone for me to meet,” she said, a little warmth creeping into her heart.
The only thing she ever wondered about her sister, the only thing she ever permitted herself to wonder, was if Emmeline had given birth to any children yet. If only her sister would write to Millie, she might know at once, but Emmeline had remained silent.
But to have a niece, or a nephew—
Millie closed her mind to that way of thinking and concentrated on the present moment.
“This is my son, the little Baron Marham, Isaac Riley.”
At that, Millie’s eyebrows rose, and she came forward to better see the baby waving his arms about. “Named after his uncle?”
“Of course. I am quite fortunate that my brother and husband are dear friends. It did not take much to convince either of them of my choice.” The countess lowered herself to the couch and gestured with a hand for Millie to sit on the other end. “I do hope you do not mind him joining our party.”
Millie grinned and held her gloved hand out to the baby, allowing him to take a finger in his grip. “Not at all. I suspect he is a fine gentleman in company.”
“The very best.” The countess seemed to relax, holding her infant so his back was supported by her chest, one arm wrapped loosely about his middle. �
��I quite adore him. I know I ought to leave him in the nursery more often, but he is a dear boy. He hardly ever makes a fuss. I am afraid that makes him the subject of quite a few paintings.” She tipped her head toward a corner of the room.
Turning that way, Millie could not hold back a laugh. Three canvases leaned against the wall upon the floor, and several drawings had been tacked to the wall, all featuring a tiny baby with large brown eyes. “I do not blame you at all. Who could resist capturing such innocent beauty?”
The countess kept her smile upon her face, but her expression softened into something more curious than polite. “If you do not mind my asking, Miss Wedgewood, how long will you be a guest of the marquess’s family?”
That was not the easiest question to answer. “As long as Lady Olivia wishes, I suppose,” Millie said, keeping as close to the truth as possible. She could not leave until Lady Olivia was satisfied with her work upon both Sir Isaac and Mr. Weston. The second gentleman would not even be in her orbit until the house party in ten days’ time.
“Does your family not expect you home at a certain date?” The countess’s smile had faded, her brows knit in concern.
“My mother is quite pleased with where I am, at present.” Millie kept her eyes upon the baby, gently wiggling her finger in his grip when he tried to put it and his fist into his mouth. “She likes the connection to the Marquess of Alderton. I think she believes it will help my cause next Season.” Again, all the truth, even if she kept the reasoning behind it concealed. Mother knew all about Millie’s bargain with Lady Olivia, and hoped, as Millie did, that upon the completion of her tasks, Millie would have her pick of a husband once more.
Mother insisted Millie find a man with a title. “Nothing less than a future baron,” she had said with a gleam of hope in her eyes. One sister jilting the grandson of a duke was enough to keep anyone that lofty from proposing to the other sister. But a common gentleman? Her mother would never have it.
The countess said nothing for a moment, though Millie felt her scrutiny. Finally, the woman took up the baby in her hands and offered him to Millie. “Would you like to hold him? I can put your supplies into the box.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Millie accepted the small, warm infant and held him close to her heart a moment. He put his fists against her chest and pushed himself slightly away, looking up at her with his large round eyes, his perfect lips parted. He frowned at her, as though puzzling out why a stranger held him instead of his mother.
Whatever was wrong with the relationship between Lady Olivia and the baronet, Millie could not imagine doing harm of any kind to Lady Inglewood. The countess’s warmth and kindness, her immediate generosity, made her the sort of person Millie had always wished to befriend.
Unfortunately, as a social climber, a woman with her mind set upon her path in Society, Millie could ill-afford to disappoint Lady Olivia. But nor did she wish to make an enemy of Lady Inglewood.
The baby cooed at Millie, coaxing a smile from her despite her troubling thoughts. Somehow, she would do what she must to ensure her place in Society, as her mother demanded.
* * *
The late-morning sunlight came into the study at an angle through the Earl of Inglewood’s window, yet hardly any dust motes could be found dancing in the air. Isaac wondered how his friend managed to have one of the cleanest studies he had ever seen. The poor maids of his household surely had to work harder than any servant he knew to keep the room so spotless.
“We have yet to settle upon the position of the new dam,” Silas said, shuffling a paper from one hand to another. “I truly think it would improve things for your farmers if you kept more water here.” He pointed to a sketched map of their two properties. “And since the stream flows out to sea, we would be hurting no one, only improving our own water collection.”
Isaac hummed his agreement. “You know better than I where it ought to go. The surveyor gave you his full report, did he not?”
“He did.” Silas opened a drawer in his desk and removed a large sheaf of papers, along with a folded map. “He had curious things to say about that ridge, here. He thought we should have an expert in geology out to look it over.”
“There is nothing in all of Suffolk to mine.” Isaac knew this better than anyone. His father had sought out experts in mining to look over the land years before. “That is not the route for me to make my lands wealthy again, Silas, though I appreciate the thought.”
Silas dropped the papers and leaned back in his chair. “You have good land, Isaac. There are ways to make it more than self-sustaining.”
“Of course there are. I simply have not happened upon them yet.” He grimaced and turned his attention back to the window, longing for a breath of fresh air rather than the closed-in warmth of the study. “Esther does not know?”
“I have kept my word and said nothing, to anyone, of the difficulties you face.” Silas sounded tired. It must wear on him to be unable to solve all of Isaac’s problems. But Silas needed to understand that a man must stand upon his own two feet.
With his own list of items to see to on his estate, Isaac rose from his chair, ready to bid his friend and brother-in-law good afternoon.
“You cannot leave without seeing Esther,” Silas said suddenly, before Isaac could do more than open his mouth. “You know she will wonder why you did not wish her a good day before disappearing. She likely even has our Isaac with her, and you must say hello to your namesake.” Silas was not fooling Isaac. Though he kept his tone jovial, the worried look in his eyes remained.
Silas, Esther, Jacob, and Grace all looked at him like that. As though they still waited for some sign that he had returned from war the same person as he had been when he left.
They waited in vain. The loss of Isaac’s arm was just the most obvious of the changes in him.
“I will make certain to greet to Esther. Where might she be at this time of day?”
“Where else? Painting.” Silas chuckled and walked Isaac to the door of the study. “Nothing gives her so much happiness as her artwork and our son.”
Esther had always loved to paint. It seemed to cure her of most of life’s ills, too. If she was melancholic, or anxious, a paintbrush in hand had usually been enough to soothe her troubled heart.
Perhaps Isaac ought to find something to take up his time, too. Something that would help him as his sister’s painting had helped her.
With weary steps, he went down the hall to his sister’s domain. Her room was not far from Silas’s study. His hand was upon the handle of the door when he heard an unfamiliar voice from within, along with baby laughter. Isaac hesitated.
“He is absolutely darling. Just look at his handsome little eyes,” a woman’s voice cooed. “And his charming smile.”
“It is always gratifying to hear someone outside the family say such things,” Esther said, sounding amused.
Outside the family? Who would Esther have allowed into her domain if it was not their friends, whom they all considered family? No one entered her art room on a whim.
Curious enough to push aside his discomfort, Isaac rapped his knuckles on the door before pushing it open. Esther stood on one side of the room, a plain wooden box in her hands, and upon the couch a head full of red swirling curls turned, a pair of brown eyes meeting his.
Miss Wedgewood held his nephew in her arms, and she stood when she saw Isaac. She adjusted the baby against her shoulder and dropped a curtsy in polite greeting.
Isaac mechanically returned the bow. “I beg your pardon. I was not aware—” But he had stood and listened at the door. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Esther. “I merely came to wish you a good day before going about my business.”
“Are you and Silas finished with your discussion already? I had hoped you would stay and take tea with us.” Esther brought her box and put it on the table near the couch. “Miss Wedgewood is staying—”
The other woman laughed, though the sound was without good humor. “Oh, no
. I could not possibly impose upon you any further, my lady. I thank you for supplying me with the necessary equipment for my project, but I had better be on my way.” She glanced briefly at Isaac, almost guiltily, before handing the baby to his mother.
She scooped up the box and held it tightly against her chest. “I will collect my maid. Thank you for your time. Good day, Lady Inglewood. Sir Isaac.” She dipped her final curtsy and left the room, not making eye contact with Isaac though she had to press herself against the door to avoid brushing his left shoulder.
Before she had even made it out of his sight, as he watched her retreat down the hall, Esther was berating him. “What did you do to that poor girl at dinner two evenings ago?” Esther asked. “We were having a perfectly charming time until you came in, and suddenly she could not escape fast enough.”
Isaac turned to take in his sister’s deep frown, and he offered a one-armed shrug. “I cannot say I did anything that would give cause for that sort of offense. She kept trying to flirt with me. And you know Lady Olivia well enough to guess at what sort of friends she would bring home with her.” He stepped further into the room and shut the door behind him. “What was she doing here? That is my greater concern.”
Esther turned her son in her arms so Isaac might see the baby’s cheerful face, charming smile and all. “Miss Wedgewood came to ask about art supplies. She wanted to find out if the Aldersy shops had what she needed or if she ought to send to London. She is a creative sort, and she requires something to keep herself busy.” Esther’s frown deepened, though it was no longer directed at Isaac. “I have to say, I do not think she is very happy to be Lady Olivia’s guest.”
“I cannot imagine what gave you that impression. Lady Olivia made it a point to note how dear a friend Miss Wedgewood is to her.” Isaac went to the window as he spoke, looking out over the gardens to the stretch of sea. The dark blue line was steady and still, no clouds above it that day.
Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance Page 5