Time to repair to the morning room before the ladies came looking for him.
He crossed the length of the hallway and caught sight of Daphne as soon as he entered the room. She glanced at him with eyes the color of blue ice. Perched on the edge of her seat, she showed off the exquisite violet lustering day gown to advantage. A charming Juliet cap sat atop her flaxen curls.
She was beautiful and would grace the family jewels. Her reputation as a hostess was acclaimed. What more could he want?
“Dearest Edward, you’ve kept us waiting.” Daphne’s voice held a pout. “Come sit by me. I’ve brought the brochure about that school for Lady Sarah…the one in France.”
He declined to sit. “I have no immediate plans for sending Sarah away to school. We lost both our parents and a brother a short while ago. We need each other.”
Daphne put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, how insensitive of me. Pray, forgive me. I’d forgotten you were still in mourning.”
“I asked Lady Ashford for the information, Edward,” Aunt Chloe put in. “Sarah has learned everything Miss Bates can teach her. She gets bored and wanders away from the house. I fear she’ll come to harm.”
Daphne sent him another look of appeal. “Lady Pugh told me about that incident yesterday when Lady Sarah slipped away. We’re quite concerned.”
“You promised to give her a stern lecture, Edward,” Aunt Chloe added.
“I shall. Where is she? In the garden?”
“No, she’s out front, waiting to catch a glimpse of that woman.” Aunt Chloe shifted her gaze to Daphne. “Sarah says Lady Wayte takes the air about this time every morning, and Sarah wants to see what she’s wearing.”
This obviously didn’t sit well with Daphne. She sprang to her feet and took a couple of steps toward Edward. “Surely the child’s fascination with a woman…of questionable repute isn’t…healthy.”
Sincerity showed in Daphne’s features, but the comment irritated Edward. “I find nothing unhealthy about a young girl’s interest in the latest fashion, but I shall speak to Sarah now.” A vision of Lady Wayte flashed through his mind. There was more than fashion that fascinated him. Something about the lady drew him.
Beautiful. Mysterious. Haunting.
Daphne stretched out her hand. “Of course I meant no offense. I beg of you not to punish the child too severely.”
“I have no intention of punishing her at all.” He nodded to each woman in turn. “I bid you ladies a good morning.” With a sharp turn, he hastened to the entrance doors.
Sarah sat at an easel, her back to the street. Lady Wayte must have already departed. He squatted beside his sister. “What are you painting?”
A dab of green paint smudged Sarah’s nose, and he wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. “Lady Wayte is painting the tree in her back garden.” Sarah pointed her brush to the stately elm at the corner of the yard. “I’ve been painting our tree. What do you think?”
Edward studied the painting. Crude, but not a bad effort. “You have real talent, Sarah. I’m pleased. It’s very good.”
Sarah dropped her brush and frowned. “It isn’t. It looks like a child’s painting.”
“You are a child.” Edward laughed. “Lady Wayte has been painting for years. You can’t expect yours to look like hers.”
Sarah bounded off the stool and Edward stood, gazing down at her up-turned face. “But I want to paint as well as she.” Sarah stepped back and tilted her head one way and then the other as if studying him. “I want to do a portrait of you, Edward.”
“I should imagine that would be difficult.”
“It is, but Lady Wayte can do portraits. I want to learn how she does it. After I finish your portrait, I want to paint one of Mama and Papa together. We have no portraits of them together.” She tugged his hand in hers. “It’s the desire of my heart, Edward.”
Of course she’d want a remembrance of their parents. He laid his free hand on her shoulder. “Is this why you’re so fascinated with Lady Wayte? You think she can teach you how to paint well enough to do a portrait of Mama and Papa?”
“I know she can. That’s why I had to speak to her personally, and she said she would tutor me if you ask it of her.”
Experience alerted him his little sister was up to her scheming. She ought to know Lady Wayte, a noblewoman and a complete stranger, wouldn’t offer to tutor her.
Unexpectedly, a pang of conscious hit him. Lady Wayte shouldn’t be a stranger. She was his neighbor, and her husband had been an esteemed colleague. He ought to have paid his respects before now. Instead, he’d let Daphne and Aunt Chloe convince him the lady should not be received. Had he prejudged her?
“Are you certain Lady Wayte offered to tutor you? Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s a painter. She considers it a worthy endeavor, not just something to dabble in as Miss Bates does.” Sarah kicked a stone with her leather slipper. “I told her you didn’t wish me to come to her house, so she said she’d be willing to come here for the lessons.”
“You told her that? Sarah, that was rude.” What the lady must think of him, especially after he’d accused her of harboring his sister.
Sarah glanced at him shyly. “She wasn’t offended at all. I could take lessons in the back parlor with the tall windows where the afternoon sun comes in. That way, you would be nearby to make sure I behave.”
“I certainly would do that.”
He braced as Sarah flung herself at him, squeezing him around the waist as hard as she could. “Oh Edward, you’ll ask her? Thank you. I love you so vastly much.”
With some effort, he pried her arms off. “I shall ask her, and if she’s willing, you may study for a few weeks, but we won’t impose on her kindness.”
“I won’t, I promise. I shall study hard so I might paint Mama and Papa. It’s the desire of my—”
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s the desire of your heart.” He laid a hand on the top of her head. “Don’t think I don’t realize you’ve tried to hoodwinked me, but truth be told, I’m glad to see the sparkle in your eyes again. You were so morose when we first came to London.”
“I’m still sad at times, but when I’m painting I remember the good times. Mama used to help me paint.”
Edward sighed. Of course Sarah missed their mother. She would soon be a young lady, and neither he nor Aunt Chloe understood a young lady’s sensibilities. She needed a mother. “You don’t like Lady Ashford, do you?” He knew the answer before he asked.
Sarah looked past him, avoiding his eyes. “No.”
“Why not?”
With a shrug, she turned her back to him, shifting her whole body from side to side as she was wont to do when avoiding an unpleasant subject. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”
Fisting his hands behind him, Edward circled the easel, reciting a nursery rhyme he used to taunt her with when she got contrary. “I do not like thee, Dr. Fell. The reason why I cannot tell.”
Sarah jumped in front of him and, walking backward, joined in. “But this I know and know full well. I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.” She lifted her head and cocked him a saucy glance. “You think me such a baby, don’t you, Edward?”
He cupped her chin. “Indeed I do not. I think you a cunning young lady who knows her mind. I just ask that you don’t look upon Lady Wayte as a substitute for your mother.”
Sarah giggled. “I don’t look upon her as a mother. She’s much too young for that. I look upon her as a sister.”
Chapter 3
Edward pulled in the reins of his perfectly matched chestnuts in front of Lady Wayte’s townhouse. He could easily have walked, but since he had an appointment at White’s after this call, decided to take his phaeton. Handing the ribbons to the livered footman who rushed forward, he stepped down to the cobblestone drive.
This was surely a fool’s errand. Lady Wayte wouldn’t agree to tutor a young girl, a servant’s job. True, Cassandra Wayte hadn’t been born into position and wealth. She was a farmer’s daught
er. Yet those who married up were often most jealous of their station in society.
Sarah must have misunderstood, or more likely, heard what she wanted to hear. The child was too clever by half and decidedly headstrong when she got a notion into her head.
His sister had been spoiled by her parents and servants alike since the day she was born…and yes, by him too. Their father had called her the child of his old age, though he hadn’t really been old. Not old enough to die.
At some point, Sarah would have to learn to accept no, but even now Edward found himself trying to think of some way to persuade Lady Wayte to give in to Sarah’s desires.
A grim faced butler greeted him at the door, and Edward gave him his card. “Tell Lady Wayte I desire a meeting if it doesn’t inconvenience her.”
“Certainly, your grace, this way, please.”
Edward followed the man into the entrance hall and was let into what must be the library. Pacing about the room, he took in the elaborate furnishings. Superbly made furniture covered with rich red and gold velvets and brocades echoed the colors found in the silk wall coverings. Leather-bound books lined one wall.
His attention traveled to a painting hanging on the opposite wall. The study of two young children sitting on a garden bench was arresting. A mass of flowering foliage made up the background.
Edward stood directly in front of the painting, studying it. The golden-haired little girl was looking down, a quiver set at her mouth as though she might weep, one small fist clutched in her lap and the other held the hand of a tow-headed boy. The boy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders, comforting her. The emotions evoked by the painting seemed to reach out and grab the soul.
Even without the C. Wayte signed in the corner, he knew Lady Wayte had painted the watercolor. He’d inspected her paintings at Waytefield and recognized her technique. Lady Wayte was more than a mere painter. She was an artist.
“Your grace.”
The feminine voice made him turn sharply.
A very beautiful artist.
As if he were seeing her for the first time, he watched the young dowager countess gracefully close the distance between them. He’d been so preoccupied with Sarah yesterday he’d not given Lady Wayte much thought. Besides, she’d worn that shapeless banyan. At this moment, dressed in a simple Grecian gown of mauve silk, she seemed transformed, her lovely form accentuated with each step she took.
The chandelier’s light cast a golden glow on honey blonde hair swept up in an arrangement of soft coils. Curled tendrils framed a face that held the timeless beauty of an English rose. She wore no ornament except a small cameo pinned to a ribbon that accented her shapely neck.
She glanced at him from under sweeping lashes with eyes as deeply blue as the cornflowers in Aunt Chloe’s garden with the morning dew on them.
“Shall we be seated?” She took a burgundy wingchair and offered him the one opposite.
“I was admiring your painting. Are the children relatives?”
“I have no relatives, unless you count George Wayte to be my son-in-law, which I do not.”
Edward could hardly blame her for that. George, the new earl of Waytefield had done all he could to discredit Cassandra. While Edward could understand George’s position, he was aware of why Lord Wayte had passed on most of his wealth to his young wife even before he’d died.
George, the heir, was a gambler and wastrel. That didn’t stop his wife from setting up a hue and cry that George had been cheated out of his inheritance.
There was none from the lowest scullery maid who hadn’t heard the story.
He shifted in his chair. “The emotion evoked by the painting is extraordinary. Was that your purpose?”
Cassandra glanced to the painting. “They were a brother and sister on their first visit to Hyde Park. The little girl’s nurse banished her to the bench for some infraction. The boy followed and sat with her, comforting her even though he might have continued in the game. It was his sacrifice in giving up his play time for his sister that made them an interesting study.”
“You’ve captured the boy’s devotion quite well. I can see why Sarah admires your work.” Now that Edward had the perfect opening to ask her to tutor his sister, he hesitated. Bringing Lady Wayte into the house would incense Aunt Chloe.
He didn’t want to think about Daphne’s reaction.
His desire to please Sarah overcame those fears. “I came for two reasons, Lady Wayte.” He paused a moment to clear his throat. “First, to ask your forgiveness for my insinuations yesterday morning and for my sister’s intrusion.”
Cassandra lifted a graceful hand. “Do not apologize for Lady Sarah’s visit. I enjoyed our chat. She’s a dear child.”
“She is that, but rather overbearing at times.” Edward smiled. “That brings me to the other reason for my call. She has the notion that you would agree to tutor her in your painting technique.”
Cassandra’s features remained emotionless, causing him to become more uneasy. He leaned on his knees and gazed at his clasped hands. “I know you can’t agree to that, but if you could look at her work and point out a few of her mistakes, and—”
“You need not elaborate, your grace. I believe I know what advice Sarah has need of, but it would take several weeks of tutoring to be of any real help.”
He straightened and met her blue gaze. “You’re quite serious? You’d have to…that is, she’d have to take lessons at our house.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask him to explain.
“Of course I’m serious, and I agree Sarah should be tutored in her own home.”
Suspicion made him ask, “Why? You don’t know if she’s talented enough.”
“I don’t know if she has any talent at all, but she has passion.”
“You think passion is enough?”
Her smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s a start.”
If she’d been any other woman of his acquaintance, he’d have thought her words a double entendre for his benefit. But the little smile hovering on her lips and the innocence in her eyes gave him the impression of the farm girl she’d been. Despite her years in the Ton, she retained a bit of the ingénue about her.
“Sarah is anxious to get started.” Lady Wayte must understand this wasn’t some vague promise. He wouldn’t let Sarah get her hopes dashed.
“I could come this afternoon, if it pleases your grace.”
He was dumbstruck. When he’d promised Sarah to ask for Lady Wayte’s help, he’d not imagined she’d agree, at least not right away. A woman of her social standing simply wouldn’t drop everything at a moment’s notice. “I’d have thought you would be too occupied to indulge a child’s fancy.”
“A child’s fancy is full of creativity, your grace. I can think of nothing more enjoyable to occupy myself than to help a fellow artist develop her creativity while it’s in the bud.”
He didn’t know if she were as gracious as she seemed or gone queer in the attic. “You’re quite serious?”
“Quite.” Cassandra didn’t blink an eyelash. “I’m free from two until four almost every day.”
She’d defined the terms. He was boxed into a corner with no way out. “Then I’m…most grateful. Of course, if at any time you have more pressing engagements—”
“I shan’t have.” She rose gracefully, signaling an end to the matter. “I shall see Sarah at two of the clock. We’ll let her need for my help dictate how often I come and how long the lessons should be.”
Edward got to his feet. He couldn’t shake the notion he’d just been hoodwinked by both Sarah and Lady Wayte, but he was committed to the arrangement now. Aunt Chloe would protest, no doubt, but he’d keep to his word and devil the consequences.
“Thank you for making Sarah so happy, and please join us for tea after the lessons.” Perhaps he was being bold, but he couldn’t allow Lord Wayte’s widow to come and go as a common servant.
He hoped Daphne wouldn’t make an appearance at tea. Since she’d called this m
orning, surely Aunt Chloe wouldn’t invite her back this afternoon.
Indecision flittered across Cassandra’s features for a second, then she tilted her head back and a genuine smile brightened her features. “I should be delighted, and before you leave, please accept my condolences to you and Lady Sarah on the great loss of your parents. I didn’t know them, but Lord Wayte spoke highly of them.”
“Thank you. I’m aware you’ve passed a period of mourning yourself. Please accept my condolences for the loss of your husband.”
“Did you know my husband?”
“Not as well as my father did, but I was privileged to hear some of Lord Wayte’s speeches. His passing was a great loss to Parliament and to the country.”
“Thank you. That means a great deal to me.” She held out her hand. He took it, noting it was ungloved, and bowed low. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and it trembled. When he looked up, her eyes swam with tears. Something passed between them—an understanding of pain, a sharing of grief.
Her sorrow touched him, and he longed to take her into his arms and comfort her. Something he couldn’t do, so he groped for some words to add, but there were none. They stood staring into each other’s eyes, neither venturing to break the silence.
Edward suddenly realized he was still holding her hand and released it. She, too, came out of her trance with a little shudder. “I shall look forward to Sarah’s lesson and tea,” she said, a little too fast and flustered. “His grace will show you out, Carlson.” She addressed the waiting butler and rushed from the room, totally unaware of her faux paus.
Whatever might be said of Lady Wayte, she didn’t marry for money. Those rumors that she’d murdered Lord Wayte for his fortune were false. When she’d acknowledged Edward’s condolences, he had the uncanny feeling she’d been in love with her husband.
***
With pounding heart, Cassandra reached the stair landing that led to Gama’s chambers. The duke must think her dim-witted, but she couldn’t help it. How hard it was to hold her composure after he’d taken her hand. The countenance she usually presented to members of the nobility was that of impassivity and aloofness meant to give the impression of supreme confidence.
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 3
