The Rotunda had grown cold and dark around them. The only light remaining was that of the two lamps beside them and a distant one marking the stairway to the platform.
He pulled away. “It would be unwise for us to proceed.”
“Are you always so formal when you reject a woman’s desire to take you as a lover?”
“I have rejected nothing. If someone has a key to the Rotunda, we must be alert, rather than exposed and vulnerable.” He helped her up. “I wish merely to delay until we are somewhere comfortable, warm, and certain of safety.” He brushed her clothing smooth, retrieved her mob bonnet, and gently—very gently—put her hair back up.
“Where might such a place be? Certainly, not your brother’s house or your club. It is here . . . or nowhere.” She kissed his lips once more.
“Or a quiet hotel on our way to Derby.”
She shook her head decisively. “I cannot leave the Rotunda. I’ve told you. My future rides on the success of this exhibition.”
“You have told me, and I have heard you. But what if you have been thinking of it from the wrong angle? How well does your partner Calder know you?”
“As well as anyone in London.” She shrugged. “As well as anyone.”
“Then, he knows your commitment to the panorama and its importance for your future career in London, perhaps even in England.”
“Yes.” Her face grew solemn. “No one knows the stakes better.”
“What would you have done—in response to his note—if he’d left the money. Would you have run?”
“No.” She pulled back from kissing him.
“Calder knew that. If he left you any resources at all, you would finish the panorama, hold the opening, and largely ignore his warning.”
She said nothing and began to repair her clothes.
“Even now—after your accident, two dead bodies, and an almost-burial—you refuse to let the panorama go. You took Lady Wilmot’s commission merely for the funds to pay the crew. Even without the subscription money, you are doing exactly the opposite of what Calder instructed you to do.”
“He left me very little choice.”
“That’s my point. What if your partner took the money to give you only one choice—to run? He even knew you well enough that he left you a map, painted into the one thing he’s telling you you must leave behind.”
“I won’t do it.” She shook her head resolutely. “I can’t abandon it.”
“You don’t have to. Horatio left the note when you had no support but him. But you have Lady Wilmot and the Muses.”
Her eyes met his, afraid and hopeful.
“And me.” He traced the line of her jaw gently with his fingertips. “I can investigate this in Derby without you. But I think Derby holds answers to questions you haven’t yet asked. With the painting repaired, there’s nothing the Muses can’t oversee.”
She stood quietly, weighing everything he had said. “I was surprised that he left me without even money enough for another week’s lodging. He’d been so insistent that I remain at a respectable boardinghouse, and he always insisted I take out my rent before any other payments.” She paused again. “But it’s the kind of thing he would do, especially if he felt that waiting put me more at risk.”
“It’s a long ride to Derby. We could enjoy getting to know one another better,” he offered carefully, waiting to see her reaction to the suggestion of a tryst.
Her face grew more solemn, then lightened. “Does better include kisses?”
“Would you find that appealing?”
“How long do you think it will take?” She eluded the question.
“A day there, a day back, and however long it takes to decipher a crypt in between.”
She stared at the canvas, calculating. “Three days if we are lucky, longer if we aren’t.” She turned her gaze to him. “Promise me: if we haven’t found Horatio’s crypt in a week, we’ll return here to open the panorama.”
She watched his face, waiting for any sign of hesitation, and saw none.
“No more than a week, it is.”
Lena exhaled, surprised to find she had been holding her breath. “Then, I suppose we should hire a carriage. But first I’d like to consult with the Muses.”
* * *
“Of course, Miss Frost, we can oversee the work for the grand gala. I formed the salon to help those in need.” Lady Wilmot gently embraced Lena. Surprised and oddly touched, Lena allowed the embrace. “Tell us everything.”
Lena laid out two pages: Horatio’s plan for the gala and her list of tasks. While Sophia and Judith—as they insisted she call them—reviewed the documents and asked questions, Lena noticed that Clive had stepped aside to consult with the duke. Both Clive and his brother were handsome men, but the duke was reserved and austere, while Clive was kindness embodied. Even from across the room, she felt drawn to him. He looked up from the conversation and winked. A slow wink that warmed her cheeks and twisted her belly.
He was a contradiction. An aristocrat who devoted his life to curing the ills of his fellow man. A gentle man resolute enough to dissect the dead. Does he apologize to the corpse before he begins every examination? She had defenses against every sort of man. Charming men, manipulative men, deceitful men, she’d learned how to keep them all at bay. But a kind man, an honest man—that she hadn’t expected. He’d slipped into her heart before she’d realized her danger.
She had no hope of a future between them. A man of his rank married a suitable woman, and she was wholly unsuitable. And she would be no man’s mistress. Soon she would have to leave him before her heart couldn’t bear the loss. Perhaps, as he’d said, if they had met under different circumstances . . .
“Have you considered a pantomime to entertain the gala-goers?” Sophia’s question pulled Lena’s attention back to the plans. “Perhaps a bugler in uniform calling the soldiers to arms.”
“Or for a little more drama, an English and a French soldier could engage in a mock battle,” Judith suggested. “A little something to engage viewers right at the start.”
“Either would add a lively bit of showmanship,” Lena agreed.
“We’ll add them to your lists.” The two women jotted down notes.
The men returned to the group, and Clive’s smile warmed her chest.
“My brother, the duke,” Clive announced with a mock half bow, “has lent us his third-best carriage, the coach we brothers affectionately call Old Red.”
“Old Red?” Sophia raised a stern eyebrow at the duke. “The one you called a ‘shabby conveyance suitable only for a funeral cortege’?”
The duke lifted his palms in supplication. “Clive chose Old Red. I can’t make him take a finer carriage.”
“Old Red is quite comfortable, with features we might find useful on the road,” Clive intervened. “Without the duke’s crest, we’ll travel less conspicuously.”
“If I may point out,” Lena interjected carefully, “any private coach—however shabby—is hardly inconspicuous.” The whole group laughed good-naturedly, the duke heartiest among them, another surprise in her dealings with the duke and his family.
“Then we will leave conspicuously at dawn, to arrive in Derby by nightfall.” Clive acknowledged her objection with another belly-teasing wink. “I don’t wish to add highwaymen to our list of villains.”
“You will not be disappointed on your return, I promise.” Judith touched Lena’s upper arm reassuringly, then gathered up the plans neatly into a single pile.
“Miss Frost.” A small voice called to her, and the group parted for Lilly to join them.
“What will I do for my lessons?” the child asked plaintively, holding out a sketchbook. “I’ve finished all the work you gave me already.”
“If your mother agrees, we can have another lesson now.” Lena looked at Sophia, who nodded approval.
The child, delighted, spread out her drawings. Lena was impressed at her raw talent. Lilly was already prepared to undertake more difficult t
asks.
“Do you have a favorite painting?”
Lilly nodded enthusiastically. “Sophie painted our family before Papa died.”
“Then examine it very carefully. Look not at what she painted but how she painted it.”
The child had tilted her head, trying to understand.
“Have you seen any of William Turner’s paintings?”
“The duke has one of his landscapes. I like the colors.”
“To add a light accent, Turner scratches the paint with a long fingernail to reveal the white canvas underneath; and when he wants to create a sense of haze, he drags the paint around with his fingers. To paint like Turner, you have to use the same techniques.”
“That makes sense.” Lilly squinted as she thought.
“Copy your mother’s painting. Draw the shapes as exactly as you can, but after that, paint it, trying to make the paint itself look like your mother’s.”
“Yes.” The child smiled broadly. “I’m supposed to make you wonder if I painted it, or if Sophie did.”
“Yes and no. There’s no better way to discover how you wish to paint than by learning how others do. But when you copy another artist’s work, you must always make it very clear which one is yours. Your copy must be different in some way, larger, smaller, round when the original is square. Anyone seeing your copy should know it’s not the original, even if it’s perfect in every other way. Does that make sense as well?”
“Yes.” The child leaned into her mother’s leg. “May I ask Sophie how she did something if I can’t tell for myself?”
“Of course. Every great artist learns from the artists who have gone before.”
Lilly threw her arms around Lena’s waist. “I want to be a great artist, like you and Sophie.”
“Then you must practice, Lilly. Make it a game: when you look at an object, consider how you might make a particular color or effect.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Lena arrived in the coach yard just as dawn began to spread over the sky. She took shelter from the winter drizzle under the porte cochere. Her sleep had been disturbed by dreams. In them, Horatio and her crew, all dead, chased her through a cemetery and into an open grave. In the distance she could see the Rotunda, and she ran toward it, but the landscape was not London but the hills and valleys of Derbyshire. Her father had been in the dream as well, but when she’d begged him for help, he’d simply turned away. By the time she’d reached the Rotunda, it was engulfed in flames. She woke, gulping air in big swallows and trying to calm her heart. In the end, she’d simply given up, and read until she could reasonably go downstairs.
Old Red was being readied for their trip. In the half-light, the carriage seemed perfectly serviceable, even luxurious, though its once-brilliant red enamel was faded. Clive was already in the yard, examining the carriage with the stable master. He occasionally motioned for the postilion to hold up or lower the lamp. He moved deliberately, but with a natural grace, as he inspected the wheels, wheel hubs, spokes, and springs. Taller than every other man in the yard, Clive could have served as the model for any number of ancient Greek statues.
Lena enjoyed watching him. His long coat, perfectly tailored, hugged his shoulders and back until it fell straight down over narrow hips. How satisfying would it be to have an entire day with him, alone in the carriage? They would start with kisses, and—this time—before the day was out, they would enjoy other pleasures. She had learned in France not to be shy about passion, and there was no harm in discovering each other’s body. For a little while at least, she could wake up beside him. What would it be like to be Clive’s wife? To have the pleasure of waking up to him, day after day, year after year? She turned the thought away; she knew not to hope for impossible things.
For the first time in years, she longed to sculpt. No matter how talented she was as a painter, some subjects deserved—no, required—more than a single dimension. She imagined how she would shape the sinews of his muscles, the curve of his mouth, the kind set of his jaw. The challenge would be to give a sense of his character, to make a hard medium like stone show the generosity and tenderness of his personality. She knew his face would haunt her, when they eventually parted, but that day had not yet come. No, she would enjoy him while they were together, not thinking of how much she would miss him when they weren’t.
While she watched, the duke approached Clive from the carriage house, speaking privately into his brother’s ear. Clive’s expression changed to one of resignation. The two men looked her way, and Lena’s heart clenched. Had they found Horatio? She waited for their faces to grow solemn as they approached her with bad news. But they didn’t. The duke merely nodded. When Clive, noticing her, smiled widely, she felt relief to her very bones. No bad news. The duke and Clive, in deep consultation, walked into the carriage house, and once the men disappeared from sight, she felt strangely bereft.
In the yard, a groom strapped her luggage to Old Red. Mrs. Tracy had provided her with a small chest to carry with her, and she had packed conservatively. Planning for a day or two’s journey, she’d brought bedclothes, a riding habit, and a blue wool walking dress, serviceable and flattering, and a velvet dinner gown, on the remote chance that she might have need of it, all from Aunt Agatha’s collection. From the house, two postilions carried pans of hot coals to fill the carriage’s foot warmers. In a flash, Lena could once more feel Clive’s lips pressed to hers, his hand warm on the side of her breast. Her cheeks flared with heat.
Lena felt torn. She needed to work on the gala, but it wasn’t safe. She needed to find Horatio, but going to Derbyshire, even to a city she barely knew, reminded her of why she’d sworn never to return. She wanted to learn more about Clive and his kisses, but she knew there were some secrets she couldn’t afford to reveal, and the thought of deceiving him distressed her.
“If you wish, I can make the necessary inquiries alone.” Clive’s voice gave her a start. “The duke will provide you guards until I return.”
She turned to face him, grateful he had returned to her side. “You convince me to go; then, as I’m watching my bag being strapped to the coach, you offer to leave me behind,” she teased. Somehow when he was near, her tension lessened.
“Uncovering secrets can be a dangerous business. The duke has more men in London than we will have on the road. I wish for you to be safe. Whatever it is, I could discover it alone, then deliver it to you. . . .” His voice rose at the end, as if he were uncertain of how to complete the sentence.
“Gently? You could deliver it to me gently, or discreetly, or any other dozen words that suggest I need coddling.” She let her voice have a hint of steel, a reminder he should not discount her.
“Coddling?” He caught back a laugh. “Of all my acquaintances, you are least in need of coddling. If you were anyone else, I likely would have left before you woke, and asked Aunt Agatha to inform you. I decided to leave the decision to you, rather than take it on myself.”
“I do prefer to make my own decisions, but, having said that, I’m unused to having anyone give so much thought to my preference.” Lena watched his face, appreciating the kindness in his expression. “You are entirely too thoughtful.”
He laughed out loud. “I’m sure my brothers would disagree, and heartily.”
“Family doesn’t often see us truly. Save for your unfortunate tendency to say exactly what you mean at the least advantageous times, I begin to think you are a man of few faults. Is there at least a broken engagement or two in your past? Or perhaps a trail of mistresses?” His face clouded, and she felt oddly abandoned. “Ah, so there is a trail of mistresses.”
“Not mistresses per se.”
“A mistress who isn’t a mistress per se,” she repeated.
“Tell me about your experience, Lena.” He shifted the subject. “I know almost nothing about you.”
“Perhaps I like being unknown.” Lena wished she had stopped the words before they left her lips.
He put his
hand on her shoulder, an uncharacteristically solemn gesture. “No one should be entirely unknown.”
“Then I suppose eleven hours or so in a carriage will give us ample time for mutual discovery.” She kept her tone light, even provocative, to distract him from her unintended revelation. “But I must apologize in advance of our leaving. Knowing Horatio’s penchant for drama, we might well discover the goal of his map, and it will turn out to be instructions on how to visit his fourth cousin once removed to apologize for some prank he played as a boy.”
“Well, if we are to embark on apologies, I should offer mine now. When my great-aunt Agatha discovered that we would travel to Derbyshire, she arranged for an old friend of hers to accompany us.”
“Is your aunt afraid that a lowly painter might compromise your reputation?” Lena tamped down her disappointment.
“My aunt’s ways are like those of the gods, inscrutable to the mortal mind. I doubt she gave much thought to us at all. It’s the carriage traveling through the midlands that she wants. Apparently her friend needs to return to his estate, but his carriage is being reupholstered.”
“How will he return to London for the carriage?” She leaned toward him, both careful not to touch in the sight of the servants.
“I have no idea. But he’s promised us a pair of fresh horses to finish our journey. He will be meeting us here shortly.” Clive watched as another carriage pulled into the yard, then leaned down to speak into her ear. “So, any compromising of reputations will have to wait a few hours.”
“I take that as a promise.” Lena was surprised to find she meant the dare. Whatever was to be discovered in Derbyshire, she wished to enjoy his company until then.
A postilion, all efficiency, announced the arrival of their traveling companion, then, as Clive went to meet him, the boy guided her to the stairs and up into the coach. The postilion handed her a warmed blanket, and she settled herself comfortably, feet on the warmers, waiting for Clive and the squire to join her. Her thoughts for the first time since she’d found Horatio’s note had nothing to do with the Rotunda, or the murderers, or even her own future as a painter. Instead, she was imagining all the ways that she might seduce Clive, and every thought made her deliciously warm.
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