by Jayne Davis
The painting depicted craggy mountains and foaming water. “That looks so wild and… majestic.” She was examining it with care, unlike many of the people around them, who appeared to be conversing with each other and ignoring the art. “Where is it?”
“In the north of England,” he said, consulting the list.
“Really?”
He laughed. “I have seen paintings like this of my own country. The real scenery is magnificent, yes, but not quite as dramatic as the artist depicts.”
“I would like to see those places for myself,” Lady Isabella said. “The countryside in Hertfordshire is pretty enough, but I’ve never been far from my father’s estate.
“I’m sure you will one day, Lady Isabella.” He patted her hand where it lay on his arm—he would have to leave her soon and talk to others here, but he could enjoy a few more minutes of her admiring glances.
There were more people at the exhibition than Nick had anticipated, given that the paintings had been on display for some weeks. Talking to Lady Isabella might be difficult amongst this many people, but he should try. He pretended to examine the pictures while he walked around the hall, hoping to avoid unwanted conversations.
He spied Lady Cerney first, talking with a group of women of similar age, none of them appearing to pay any attention to the art on the walls. He wandered on until he recognised the orange gown that Lady Isabella had been wearing the day before. She stood with her back to him, gazing upwards with one hand on the arm of a gentleman in a burgundy coat. As Nick made his way towards them she said something to her companion, her face displaying the same lively animation he’d caught a glimpse of yesterday.
“Good afternoon, Lady Isabella.”
Her eyes widened, and she gave a polite smile. “Mr Carterton, good afternoon. May I introduce Senhor da Gama.” She turned to her companion, her cheeks dimpling as her smile widened. “I’m sorry, but I have forgotten most of what came in the middle.”
The senhor made his bow. “Senhor Luis da Gama, at your service, sir. I am but recently arrived in your country.”
Nick returned the compliment. “I hope you are enjoying your visit to England,” he added.
“Very much.” Da Gama’s eyes slid towards Lady Isabella. “Especially with such charming company.”
To Nick, the words felt… oily. That was the only word for it. Lady Isabella clearly did not think the same, for she dropped her eyes and a delicate blush spread over her cheeks.
“But I have monopolised you for long enough, my lady,” da Gama went on. “I hope to meet you again.”
“I’m sure you shall, sir.”
Da Gama bent over Lady Isabella’s hand before making a bow to Nick and walking away. Lady Isabella watched him go, quickly schooling her expression from wistful to careful politeness as she turned to him. “Are you, too, enjoying the paintings, Mr Carterton?”
He glanced around—there were too many people within earshot. “I have only just arrived, Lady Isabella. May I accompany you for a while?”
She inclined her head and rested one hand on his arm. “I am tasked by my aunt to find something to say about ten items,” she said, “so that I can make conversation next time I am in company.” She met his gaze, a twinkle vanishing as her lips formed a pout. “I probably should not have said that.”
“Such honesty is refreshing,” he said, meaning it, and torn between amusement and sympathy. “Have you chosen your ten paintings?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, let us proceed.” He tried to recall the reviews he had read. “You will want to talk about the interesting new artist who did this,” he said, leading her over to a painting of a young child holding out a begging bowl. “He is said to be self-taught, but has an astounding mastery of texture in his painting.”
Lady Isabella moved closer, inspecting the canvas closely. “Opie,” she said, as if committing the name to memory. “Texture.” The enjoyment he’d seen in her face when she talked with da Gama had vanished. “The child looks very clean and plump for a beggar. I suppose the artist fed the boy properly before using him as a model.”
Nick chuckled. “It is more likely that the lad is a relative, rather than a real beggar. It might be best to admire the brush-work. Polite society does not like being confronted with discussions about the poor.”
Her brows drew together for a moment before she moved on to the next canvas. “And what should I say about this one? How well the painter has captured her expression, perhaps?”
“That would be unexceptionable.”
She nodded, repeating the painter’s name under her breath. Nick found himself unaccountably irritated at her air of concentration, which was quite different from the animation he had seen when she was talking to the Portuguese. Had da Gama’s conversation been particularly amusing, or was the man just a practised flatterer?
“What is this one?” Lady Isabella asked, moving on to another portrait.
“Ah, there you are, Isabella.” Lady Cerney appeared next to her niece before Nick could reply. “And Mr Carterton. Lady Tregarth mentioned you as an old friend of the family yesterday.”
“Lady Cerney, I would like to invite Lady Isabella for a drive in the park tomorrow. Would four o’clock be suitable?”
“Why yes, thank you, we would be delighted.”
We?
“But you should accompany us, Mr Carterton,” Lady Cerney continued. “Marstone’s calèche is most comfortable. Shall we collect you?”
“I… No need, my lady. I will attend you at Marstone House.”
“Until tomorrow, then, at four.” Lady Cerney inclined her head. “Isabella, come with me. You must have something to say about the painting over there; everyone is talking about it.”
Nick frowned as Lady Cerney almost dragged her charge away, Lady Isabella casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder. How had he allowed himself to be dragooned into escorting both of them, and in Lady Cerney’s carriage, too? That would put her in charge of the expedition, and probably remove any chance to have a private word with Lady Isabella.
Well, there was no help for it now.
Late that afternoon, Bella watched in her bedroom mirror as Fletcher pinned the hem of her new pastel blue walking dress. The skirts were much narrower than the ones on the orange gown; dark blue ruffles along the edges of the overskirt set off the paler colour of the fabric.
She had enjoyed looking at the pictures with Senhor da Gama—he’d been entertaining and seemed to enjoy her company. It was a pity that Mr Carterton had interrupted them. He had been easy to talk to, as well, but not nearly as amusing as Senhor da Gama. Or as good looking, but not many were when compared to Senhor da Gama’s broad shoulders and lovely eyes. She suppressed a giggle as she remembered the expression on Mr Carterton’s face when Aunt Aurelia had changed the arrangements for their drive.
“There, my lady,” Fletcher said, standing back to inspect her handiwork. “It won’t take me long to finish this.”
“That looks lovely,” Molly said.
Fletcher nodded. “My last mistress said that being dressed well was like wearing armour. It helped her to ignore spiteful comments.”
Bella wanted to ask who Fletcher had worked for, but she didn’t think the seamstress would tell her.
“I can sew the last bit, Miss Fletcher, if you like,” Molly offered. “There’s the ivory ball gown to be done, too.”
Fletcher looked to Bella. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I can’t finish that one as well this evening, even if I start now.”
“Don’t worry, Fletcher, I’m not expecting you to.” Bella wasn’t sure her aunt would approve of what she was about to say, but she’d made up her mind to ask. “You said you were a lady’s maid once—does that mean you know about hair styles?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“If Madame is not expecting you to go back to her salon this evening, I would like you to show Molly how to arrange my hair in a way that suits me.”
“She is
not expecting me, my lady, but I have—”
“I will pay you for your time,” Bella assured her.
Fletcher sighed. “It’s not that, my lady. I have to… that is, Billy…”
A husband? Would he not be glad of the extra money? “I can have someone take a message, if you wish?” Bella offered.
The seamstress hesitated a moment longer. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to write—?” Bella broke off as Fletcher shook her head. Perhaps she could not read. “Shall I send a footman? Fletcher, do not worry if you cannot stay. I will not hold it against you.”
“I’ll fetch Langton, my lady,” Molly said. “He can be trusted not to talk, Miss Fletcher.”
“Thank you, Molly. Now, while we wait, Fletcher, will you go through these hats with me?” She was determined to look, and feel, her best the next time she was in company.
Would she meet Senhor da Gama again? She might see if there was a book in the library about Portugal.
Chapter 7
The next afternoon Mr Carterton handed Bella and Aunt Aurelia into the calèche and politely took his place on the rear-facing seat. He showed no sign of impatience, even though her aunt’s last-minute change of mind about her hat had kept him waiting for a quarter of an hour. Aunt Aurelia kept up a gentle flow of remarks as they drove the short distance to Hyde Park, requiring little in the way of response from her or Mr Carterton. Once through the gate, the buildings gave way to a grassy sward dotted with trees. Used to walking in the grounds of Marstone Park, Bella found it crowded; the gravelled drive was a press of vehicles and riders, and people on foot spread across the grass and walked along narrower paths. It was nice to see greenery and trees, though, and breathe fresher air.
“Oh, there is Lord Barnton,” Aunt Aurelia exclaimed, but the carriage she indicated was moving in the opposite direction and Lord Barnton merely inclined his head as they passed. Bella wasn’t sorry—in spite of her aunt’s approval of his eligibility, she hadn’t found his conversation very interesting.
“What a pity,” her aunt said. “Still, it is always too busy to stop this close to the gates, and the point is to be seen, after all.”
Bella had thought the point was to meet people. A fleeting grimace on Mr Carterton’s face made her wonder if he thought the same.
“I understand Marstone tried to arrange a match between you and one of the twins,” Aunt Aurelia said to their escort. “There can be no objection, then, if you wish to take a turn about the grass with Lady Isabella.”
Bella bit her lip and looked away. That sounded more like a command than a granting of permission, as if her aunt was promoting a match between them. It could be worse, she supposed—he was certainly more interesting to talk to than Lord Barnton.
“Thank you, my lady,” Mr Carterton said. “Lady Isabella, would you care to take a stroll?”
“I would be pleased to.” What else could she say? The carriage came to a halt, and Mr Carterton helped her down.
“I will meet you near the gate in half an hour,” Aunt Aurelia said. “Drive on, Jones.”
“I… My aunt…” Bella felt she should apologise, but couldn’t think of the right words.
“I am happy to obey,” Mr Carterton said, smiling. He held out one arm, and she rested a hand on it as they set off. “I was hoping to have a word with you in private anyway. Did you receive Wingrave’s note?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. Where has he gone?”
“A matter of business, I understand.”
He knew more, she was sure, but she didn’t feel she could press him further. “What did he mean by acting in his place?” She could ask him that, at least.
“Only to ensure that neither your father nor your aunt forces you into a marriage you do not want.”
Will had helped the twins meet eligible men, but his wife had been with him then. What could Mr Carterton do on his own?
“Think of me as a brother if it helps, Lady Isabella.”
Lady Isabella looked up at him with a smile and a shake of her head. She barely came to his shoulder, but he must not make the mistake of thinking of her as a child. She was a woman grown, even if not grown very tall. The dark blue redingote set off her figure well—a vast improvement on her previous gown. Her dark hair was arranged in a mass of unpowdered curls that framed her face and set off her clear complexion, topped by a broad-brimmed hat with ribbons and plumes that verged on the ostentatious.
“Thank you.”
How did one talk to a younger sister? His sisters were both several years older than him, so that was outside his experience. As a friend, he supposed, but one that needed protecting. “How is your aunt treating you?”
“Well, thank you. That might be partly because my father is not yet in Town, but we rub along together well enough considering she is only here for Papa’s money.”
“They told you that?”
“Oh, not Papa. He rarely speaks to me. No, Aunt Aurelia admitted it, but I already—” Her mouth clamped shut.
“You already knew? Servants’ gossip, I suppose.”
She hesitated, then merely nodded. His lips twitched as he wondered if she’d been listening at doors.
“Oh, there is Mrs Roper,” she exclaimed, pointing to a group of women ahead. “I enjoyed talking to Jemima. May we stop and talk to them?”
“By all means.” They changed direction to intercept the group. Nick recalled Mrs Roper and her daughter from the calls he’d made with Lady Tregarth, and he also recognised the two young women with them. He felt a sudden grip on his arm; Lady Isabella’s eyes were on the same two young women.
“Do you know them?”
“They were rude about me,” she said, her voice low. Her chest rose and she stood straighter. “But I am much better gowned today.”
“That’s the spirit.”
She chuckled at that, and put her chin up as she made her curtsey to Mrs Roper. Jemima smiled a greeting.
“You are looking… better today, Lady Isabella,” Miss Quinn said, although her expression did not match her words.
Lady Isabella did not reply immediately, and Nick wondered if she was going to ignore the comment. Then she turned her head a little, tilting it back so she appeared to be looking down her nose.
“I’m so pleased you approve, Miss… er…”
Jemima took Lady Isabella’s arm. “Miss Quinn.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I was going to ask you, Jemima, if you wish to…”
Her words faded as the two young women drew ahead. He managed not to smile at the chagrin in Miss Quinn’s face as she and her friend walked off in the opposite direction—that had been a masterly putdown.
“I have not seen you in company much this season, Mr Carterton,” Mrs Roper said, a twinkle in her eye.
“I have been busy, to my regret.” The truth and a lie in one sentence.
“I am holding a rout next week,” Mrs Roper went on. “Not a large affair. May I hope you will attend if I send a card?”
About to politely decline, Nick reconsidered. Jemima Roper seemed a pleasant young woman, and it might be worth getting to know her better. “Thank you. I will come if I am free.” Perhaps he would also call before then.
“I will send Lady Cerney an invitation too.”
Nick bowed as Mrs Roper attracted the attention of her daughter, and the party went on its way. “Miss Roper is a friendly young lady,” he said as Lady Isabella rejoined him.
“Yes. We are to go shopping together one day, and she may come to my dancing—” She broke off and put a hand to her mouth.
“Dancing lessons?” Marstone hadn’t had her taught to dance?
“I had no-one to learn with,” she said.
“Lady Cerney could invite some young people to join you, perhaps?” He wasn’t going to volunteer himself—he was far too busy.
“Such as Miss Quinn and Miss Yelland?” The quirk of her lips as she looked up at him was both a challenge and rather endearing.
“A good point,” he admitted.
“We are to go to the theatre tomorrow evening,” she went on. “Lady Tregarth has invited us.”
“She invited me as well.”
“Oh, good, I will see you there, then.” She smiled, but then her expression changed, some of the fun vanishing. Following her gaze, he thought she must be looking at an open carriage nearby. A finely dressed lady was talking to a man standing beside it; the lady reached a hand down and the man bent over it, then watched as the carriage drew away.
Senhor da Gama, the Portuguese who had been with Lady Isabella at the exhibition.
“Shall we rejoin Lady Cerney?” he suggested.
She smiled as her attention returned to him.
He should find out about da Gama’s background—the man had seemed very friendly with Lady Isabella at the exhibition. If he was to take his task seriously, he should find out what he could about her potential suitors. Limiting his attention to only those men suggested by Marstone would not be in the spirit of his arrangement with Wingrave.
Would he have any time to follow his own interests?
Aunt Aurelia had arranged for more fittings at Marstone House later that afternoon. While she was waiting for Fletcher to arrive, Bella looked through the travel guide to the Iberian Peninsula she had found in the library. The cities of Portugal and Spain sounded fascinating places—would she ever have the chance to go to any of them?
“This is Nokes, my lady.” Molly ushered a strange woman into the room.
“Why have you come instead of Fletcher?” Bella asked, as Nokes and Molly helped her to don a half-sewn evening gown in lemon and cream stripes.
“Fletcher doesn’t work for Madame Donnard any more, my lady,” Nokes said, letting out a sound of protest as Bella twisted round to face her.
“She said nothing about leaving when she was here yesterday,” Bella said. “What has happened?”
“If you please, my lady, would you stand still while I finish pinning these seams?”
Bella sighed, but did as she was asked. It wasn’t fair to make the seamstress’ working day even longer.
