by Jane Ashford
Katharine, furious, strove to control her temper. She knew that Lady Jersey was on the watch for any reaction, however tiny or unexpected. And she would twist it to fit her own quite mistaken idea. She met the other woman’s eyes. “Perhaps you should take up painting, then, Lady Jersey,” she replied. “Now, we really must go. Please excuse us.” And she turned away without another word.
Twelve
But Katharine found it difficult to forget her conversation with Lady Jersey, part of it an echo of what Tony had said. In fact, she had trouble falling asleep that night, pondering its implications. The more she considered the matter, the odder it seemed that Lord Stonenden should ask her to paint him. Her own astonishment from the night of the play, submerged until then in the excitement of actually painting, flooded back. She had never known Stonenden to exert himself for any other human being. Why, then, had he offered to help her confound Winstead without so much as thinking it over?
Katharine rejected the answer to this question that Tony and Lady Jersey had seemed to espouse. She had seen where Lord Stonenden’s romantic interest lay. But why, then, had he done it? Katharine tossed and turned in her bed for an endless time without discovering any satisfactory answer, and only when she had resolved to ask the man at the first opportunity did she finally fall asleep.
This came the following morning. Stonenden arrived at eight, and Mary Daltry had gone downstairs to speak to the cook when he was brought in. Thus Katharine had a few minutes alone with him in the drawing room. She wasted no time, but as soon as they had exchanged good mornings, said, “Lord Stonenden, I have been wondering why you asked me to paint your portrait.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I thought that was obvious.”
Katharine shook her head, determined to give him no help.
“But we are proving, are we not, that you are a painter?”
“Why should you care about that?”
The man studied her a moment, his eyes unreadable. “I am interested in painting. And the things you showed Lawrence were good. Do you rate your ability so low that such an explanation is insufficient?”
This stopped Katharine briefly; then she said, “No. No, I rate my skill as it deserves, I hope. But you…” She hesitated again, then, summoning her courage, continued, “Frankly, Lord Stonenden, I know you are not a philanthropic man. I find it difficult to believe that you exposed yourself to the gossip of the ton merely because you are ‘interested’ in art. I know you hate gossip; you have said so.”
“Indeed.” He looked a bit amused. “Why do you think I did it, then?” His dark blue eyes rested on her face expectantly.
Katharine was immediately very annoyed with herself for giving him this opening. The thing she had above all not wished to do was be forced to guess his motives. “I haven’t the slightest notion,” she snapped.
“Oh, come. You must have some idea.”
She eyed him with loathing. Stonenden was always so sure of himself. “All right. I have two. Either you were amused by my pretensions and hoped to puncture them, or you thought to get a passable portrait for free. If it was the latter, I can assure you you made a mistake. I intend to charge a reasonable fee.”
Stonenden’s brows came together, and he looked startled and angry at once. “Is this what you truly think, then?” he asked. “This is how you see me still?”
Though Katharine was a little daunted by his reaction, she met his eyes squarely. “What should I think?”
He held her gaze, his own eyes hard, until Katharine felt she could hardly breathe; then, abruptly, he laughed. “I shall certainly pay you for the portrait. I am not clutch-fisted, at any rate. But let us say I began this thing through misjudgment. I see my mistake now.”
Katharine found that she was for some reason very shaken. “You…you are withdrawing?”
“No indeed. I always perform what I promise. And I do want a portrait. Unless you wish to cry off? I take it this scene was due to the gossip about the portrait. Are you turning cow-hearted?”
“Of course not!”
“Good. We are agreed, then. It is a simple business transaction.”
Katharine agreed somewhat halfheartedly, and at that moment Mary came into the room, putting an end to the conversation.
The painting did not go particularly well that morning. Lord Stonenden was unusually silent, it seemed to Katharine, and instead of allowing her to concentrate more closely upon her work, this seemed to distract her. She twice painted over the beginnings of his face, and finally abandoned this difficult area and turned to the coat. At ten, she laid aside her brushes, saying, “I think that is all today.”
“I am quite able to go on,” replied Stonenden.
“Thank you. I am not.”
He shrugged, inquired whether he would be wanted tomorrow, and upon hearing that he would, nodded and took his leave. As the door closed behind him, Katharine dragged off her apron and threw it into the corner of the room, exclaiming, “Damn!”
“Katharine!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mary. But nothing is going right this morning.”
The other watched her for a moment. “Did you quarrel with Lord Stonenden?”
“Quarrel? What should we have to quarrel about? We haven’t anything in common but this stupid portrait.” Her tone was so savage that Mary blinked. “I shouldn’t dream of quarreling with a man I positively despise!” She began to put her painting tools away with hasty, violent movements.
Mary started to speak, then changed her mind. She began to gather up her sewing things. When she was ready to leave the room, she said, “You are always unhappy when your painting goes badly. Why not go for a walk in the park? You need to get out.”
“I mean to walk, though perhaps not in the park.”
“If you are going into the streets, you will take someone with you, Katharine?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll take James. He keeps quiet.”
She nodded and turned to go out.
“Mary?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I know, dear.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Mary nodded again and went out.
***
Katharine took a long walk, so long that James, the footman, nearly protested. She went nowhere near the park, keeping to quiet residential streets and lanes, and when she finally looked around about one o’clock, she found herself near Westminster Abbey. She could just see the clock tower above a row of houses on her right. Smiling a little, she turned in that direction, and in a moment was standing before the great church, looking toward the Thames.
“Hadn’t we better be getting home, miss?” asked James.
“In a little while. I am going into the abbey.”
“Yes, miss.” The footman’s lack of enthusiasm was patent.
“You may wait out here. I shan’t be long.”
“Yes, miss.”
She walked into the church through the great doors at the end and strolled slowly down its length. It was empty and quiet, and the sun threw bars of color from the stained glass across the flagged floor. Motes of dust danced in the beams. Katharine looked at the tombs of the kings and queens, which she remembered seeing many years ago when her mother brought her here. They still lay in neat effigy, hands clasped, crowns straight. She felt calmer after her walk, and she considered her situation dispassionately. This morning, she had nearly decided to give up the portrait and, in fact, go back to the way she had been living when she first came home. She had done all she could think of for Elinor, so that problem need no longer take her away from home. She could easily retreat into solitude and forget the excitements of the previous weeks.
But as she walked, Katharine had changed her mind. The portrait was a great challenge, and she would probably never get such a chance again. She couldn’t throw it away. And as she considered further, she realized that she had enjoyed going out once or twice this season. Many times it wa
s wearying, but not always. She would not give it up entirely again.
A sound from the doorway heralded another visitor, and Katharine slipped out of the abbey to return home. She had missed luncheon, but she felt much better, and she greeted Mary with a cheerfulness that made the older woman’s expression lighten visibly.
The Daltrys spent a quiet afternoon. Katharine went up to work on the background of her painting, and Mary wrote letters in the drawing room. They had no engagement that evening and were looking forward to reading some new volumes from Hookham’s after dinner. When the maid brought in the tea tray, Katharine came down, and the two sat together in perfect harmony across the low tea table.
“I was just writing Elinor’s mother,” said Mary.
“Yes? What can you find to say to her? Is she very uneasy?”
“Well, she is not happy, of course. She wanted very much to come to town herself, though I believe Elinor asked her not to. But the younger boy is still ill, and she could not leave him.”
“That is George, is it not? He is very sickly.”
“Yes. Poor little thing.”
“Well, I think it may be best that she could not come. Indeed, I am glad now that I did not write Tom’s father. He and Elinor must have this out themselves. Their parents cannot solve the problem for them.”
Mary looked over at her, smiling slightly.
Katharine laughed. “And no more can I. I don’t think so, I promise you. I have done my utmost; now it is up to them.”
“I think it is, you know.”
“Absolutely.”
“I think…I hope it will all turn out well.”
Katharine nodded.
At this moment, the maid came in to announce a caller. But he had followed close on her heels and burst into the room even as the girl was saying, “Mr. Thomas Marchington has called, miss.”
“What the hell do you mean setting my wife against me?” bellowed Tom. The maid gaped at him as the two Daltrys stood.
“That will do, Phyllis,” said Katharine, and the maid scurried from the room. “Hello, Tom.”
“You won’t put me off with your town airs, so you needn’t try,” replied their visitor. “I’m sick of ’em, you understand.”
“Really, Thomas!” said Mary.
“I don’t understand you at all,” answered Katharine. “But I am ready to do so if you will sit down and speak in a reasonable tone.” She sat herself and motioned for Mary to join her.
Tom clenched his fists and frowned; then a tremor went through him, and he sank down in an armchair across from them and put his head on his hands. He looked the picture of despair.
Katharine suppressed a smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No!”
“Very well. Now, what is wrong? You know quite well that I did not set Elinor against you. If anyone has done that, it is you yourself. We have talked about this before.”
Recovering some of his belligerence, Tom said, “I suppose this Tillston fellow isn’t a friend of yours, then?”
“Indeed he is.” Katharine exulted a little to herself. So Tom had noticed Tony. Things were moving as she had hoped they would.
“Well, why is he hanging about Elinor? I can’t turn around lately but he’s underfoot.”
“Hanging about?” Katharine looked at Mary with bland surprise. Her cousin frowned at her.
“That’s what I said. You needn’t pretend to be so astonished.”
“All right, then. I am not astonished. Elinor is left alone much of the time. I daresay she is bored. What could be more natural than that she should find friends to occupy her time?”
“Friends!” Tom’s round face was flushed, and he clenched his hands once more. “She shouldn’t be friends with a man like that. These town beaus are all the same—can’t be trusted. They’re too smooth by half. They inch themselves in where they’re not wanted, and before you can blink, they’ve taken over. And when you try to speak to them about it, they won’t face you and have it out like men. They talk and talk until you don’t know where you are, and everyone is laughing at you, and then they shrug and turn away as if you didn’t matter a rap. They should all be soundly thrashed.”
He sounded so absurdly young as he said this that Katharine felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for him, but she suppressed it. “Are you talking of Tony Tillston?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound as if you are. He is not at all like that.”
Tom Marchington’s flush deepened. “They’re all alike, I tell you. And Elinor should not be seeing the fellow.”
“Well, I don’t agree. But what has it to do with me, Tom?”
“You introduced them.”
“She met Tony in my house, yes.”
“Well, then, you’re responsible. You must warn him off.”
“I shall do no such thing. And I suggest that if you do not like the way Elinor is spending her time, you fill it yourself. I am sure she would be happy to go about with you.”
“I can’t!” He seemed genuinely upset.
Katharine shrugged.
“You…you don’t understand.”
“Indeed?”
“No! You cannot know what it is like.”
She looked at her nails. There was a silence; Tom fidgeted in his chair. After a while he said, “You know all the nobs. Are you acquainted with this Stonenden?”
A little surprised, Katharine nodded.
“I suppose he’s rich?”
“I…I believe so.”
“How old a man would you say he is?”
“Oh…about thirty. Perhaps a bit more.”
“Huh. He’s almighty pleased with himself, isn’t he?”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
“How can you not? The man is insufferable.”
“Do you find him so? Perhaps you misunderstood something he said.”
“No fear of that. He makes himself plain enough. But if he thinks I’m going to slink off like a whipped hound simply because he comes on the scene, well, he’s mistaken, that’s all.”
For some reason, this allusion to Stonenden infuriated Katharine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom, but if you have nothing more pertinent to say, you may as well go.”
“What? Oh.” He rose. “So you won’t speak to Elinor?”
“You and Elinor can deal with your own problems.”
“Ha. It’s high time someone thought that. Very well. Good day.” And he strode out of the room before they could ring the bell.
When he was gone, Katharine rose and began to pace about the room.
“Poor Tom,” said Mary.
“Tom is a fool!”
“Well, yes, he is being foolish. But he does not seem to be enjoying himself.”
“Good! Perhaps he will come to his senses, then. How I should have liked to shake him. Young men like that should not be set loose on the town.”
“No, I think his father should have brought him when he was a little younger and introduced him to gentlemanly pursuits.”
“No doubt. But he did not. It would appear he is as great a fool as his son. I have no patience with any of the Marchingtons.”
Mary eyed her. “Well, I daresay it will be all right. Tom seems to be worried about Elinor.”
Katharine made a derisive noise. “Pure dog-in-the-manger. He is at least as worried about Sto…himself.”
Mary continued to watch her. “I suppose he is.”
“Why are men such fools?”
“I fear my experience is limited on that head. But Father always said that foolishness led to wisdom if one allowed it to.”
“Allowed?” Katharine laughed shortly. Then, before her cousin could speak again, added, “I am going upstairs. I shall be down to dinner.”
Thirteen
Several days passed without incident. Each morning, Katharine worked on the portrait of Lord Stonenden while he posed impassively and Mary sewed silently in the corner. The painting began to go better the day after her walk, and in
the following sessions she almost forgot she was not alone in the studio. When she had the brush in her hand, Stonenden seemed nothing but a subject, more challenging than a bowl of poppies perhaps, but no more distracting. When she wondered at this in free hours, she put it down to the fact that her canvas had now gone far enough to absorb all her attention. It was good; she knew it. And that fact was so stimulating that she could think of nothing else as she worked.
The Daltrys did not go out much during this time. They attended one concert with Elinor, but the latter had by now made a number of friends, and she did not require their company. She remained grateful to Katharine, however, and had no doubt at all that her plan would succeed. “I went driving with Tony again yesterday,” she said as they rode home in Katharine’s town coach. “I am positive Tom has noticed. Indeed, he said something yesterday that makes me think he is becoming jealous.” She gave a great happy sigh. “I know he will give up that woman before long.”
Katharine and Mary exchanged a glance. They had not told Elinor about Tom’s call, since he had said nothing to the purpose, but now Katharine felt that she should say something to temper her younger cousin’s ecstasies. “Tom still dances attendance on the countess,” she ventured.
“Yes. But he is not so fierce about it. Indeed, I think it is a lucky thing that Lord Stonenden has lost interest in Countess Standen, for Tom is much better off without a rival. He always fights much harder when he thinks someone else wants a thing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Katharine.
“Oh, he has always been so. Since we were children. If he is hunting or shooting he is much more determined if he has a friend to match against. It is silly.”
“No, I mean…” Katharine coughed slightly. “You were worried at one time that he might challenge Lord Stonenden, I know.”
“Oh, yes, but that is all over now. Kitty Drew says it is a great pity, but I don’t think so.”
“What is a pity?”
“Oh, that Stonenden has stopped flirting with the countess. He was, you know, outrageously. But now he isn’t. Last night, at the Harridons’ ball, he didn’t even stand up with her. Kitty says that is too bad, because he might have cut Tom out, but I think Tom will be more likely to lose interest if he has no competition.”
