Color of Deception (Sullyard Sisters Book 1)

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Miss Sullyard’s eyes opened wide. She pulled her hand away and placed it in her lap. “Pardon me for—”

  “Nothing to pardon. Nothing in the least.” Nathaniel captured her gloved hand in his.

  I cannot believe I’m doing this.

  “Oh.” A smile touched her lips and he had a very strong urge to see if her skin there was a soft as it appeared. Would it be—

  “Well, now. What have we here?”

  Nathaniel jumped, just as Miss Sullyard gasped and leaned away. Stratford stood a few feet from them, arms crossed over his chest. His glare was aimed directly at Nathaniel.

  “Just admiring Miss Sullyard’s panorama.” Nathaniel stood and forced a pleasant expression. If only his pesky cousin could have stayed away a little longer.

  With a grin directed at Miss Sullyard, Stratford gave a bow. “You’ll be pleased to know that my father would be delighted to commission you to paint some of your extraordinary panoramas as enticement to potential subscribers.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “How wonderful.” An expression of relief passed over her features. Was it so important to her to have gotten this position? Nathaniel eyed her dress again. Perhaps, yes. The other women that Stratford paraded around were dressed to the nines. Miss Sullyard’s apparel, however, appeared to have been worn a tad too many years.

  Nathaniel’s gaze snapped to his cousin. Why are you sniffing after her, Stratford? She’s not your usual type. At least not the type he would avoid taking about town among their peers. No, those women were ones he met at night. Ones who lived in a different part of town. Was there some other reason his cousin was interested in someone like her?

  Miss Sullyard accepted Stratford’s proffered hand to help her stand. She took a deep breath, which showed her décolletage to its finest advantage, and gave a sigh.

  Perhaps it wasn’t such a mystery after all.

  Chapter Five

  “What have you been up to?” asked Lydia.

  Kitty eyed her younger sister, who always assumed everyone else was doing something they shouldn’t. She should have been a nun. “I’ve been doing what Robert said. To try to sell some panoramas.”

  “Where is Patience?”

  Guilt traveled up Kitty’s spine and she hunched her shoulders. While she had spoken with Mr. Bexley as they’d ridden in his carriage, she’d nearly forgotten her youngest sister’s existence. “She’s outside playing with one of the cats.”

  Lydia scowled and brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. “You’ve been gone for hours. I had to make the meal all on my own. Have you at least some money to show for your tardiness?”

  Kitty averted her gaze to her boots.

  “How many?” asked Lydia, her tone strident.

  “Hmm?” Just go away Lydia…

  “How many did you sell today? Robert has been acting like a black storm cloud for the last two hours.”

  Kitty glanced from side to side, leaned closer and whispered the word, “None,” hoping it might make the hearing of it somehow easier.

  “What?” Lydia’s voice screeched like the crow that spied on them from her nest in the tallest tree.

  Kitty grabbed her sister’s arm. “Lydia, lower your voice.”

  “I’ll not. Robert is—”

  “He will be glad when he hears what I’ve done.” Kitty released her sister’s arm but kept her own hand close and at the ready, in case she needed to grab her again.

  “And just what have you—” Lydia squinted her eyes half-closed and studied Kitty from top to bottom “—done?”

  Was she checking to see if Kitty’s clothes were disheveled? Her hair mussed? Kitty was two years older, but Lydia often treated her like a child. “It’s not anything untoward. But I—” Two handsome faces crossed her mind. Similar in coloring yet each had his own distinct attractions.

  “Kitty, why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not.” Even as she denied it, she pressed her fingers to her face.

  “Your cheeks resemble Mrs. Smith’s persimmon tart.”

  Kitty bit her lip, trying to hold in the words wanting to escape. Words about handsome men. Wealthy surroundings. How her knees had felt weak when—

  Lydia’s fingers dug into Kitty’s arm.

  “Ouch.”

  “I know that look. Kitty, you’ve been… flirting again, haven’t you?” Lydia’s voice lowered on the word flirting, as if uttering it out loud would cause mayhem to descend on the household.

  “I wasn’t.”

  Lydia removed her hand but simply stared at her. They’d both have visible finger marks on their arms at that rate.

  “Fine.” Kitty let out a breath. “I was… but just a small bit.”

  “Who was it this time? The baker?”

  She nearly gagged. The baker was so broad across the back he surely must consume nearly all he baked. “I think not.”

  “Then who? Oh… Was it that Worsley from the colorman’s shop?”

  Kitty shuddered, trying desperately not to think of hideous frogs. “No it was someone else. Someone… actually two someones.”

  “You didn’t. Two?”

  “It’s not what you think. They were cousins. The Mr. Bexleys were—”

  “Two of them? What am I to do with you?” She shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her face. “You need to go to church more often.”

  “You don’t need to do anything with me. I’m quite capable of caring for myself, thank you.”

  “Obviously not, when you find yourself in a position with not one but two men who—”

  Kitty grabbed Lydia’s arm and gave a yank. “Stop saying the word two like that. I haven’t done anything wrong. Patience was with me, after all.” Of a fashion… all the way across the room.

  “Then just what did you do?”

  “I’d like to know that myself.”

  Both sisters jumped at their cousin’s deep voice. When had he snuck up on them? He’d not even been in the room when Kitty had come home.

  “Robert…” Kitty swallowed hard. “I, that is—”

  “Well, speak up.”

  “You see, I met a man today—”

  “Two men,” piped in Lydia.

  “And one of them, a Mr. Bexley—”

  “Which Mr. Bexley?” interjected Lydia.

  “Mr. Bexley has invited me to paint some panoramas for his father’s magazine business, as an incentive for his customers to buy more subscriptions.”

  Her cousin’s thick eyebrows rose. “You don’t say? And there are two of these men?”

  Kitty let out a slow breath. Would her news please Robert? “Yes, I met Mr. Bexley, the son of a man high up at Sporting Magazine and also his cousin. With the way things…. are here, I assumed it prudent to accept the son’s kind offer.”

  “And flirt.” Lydia whispered and smiled sweetly.

  Kitty narrowed her eyes at her sister.

  Robert rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Good work, Katherine.”

  Relief flooded through her. “Thank you.”

  His pleasant expression fell, like Kitty’s hair on a humid day.

  Oh no.

  He took a step closer. “And just how are you to get to this office of a morning? I’ll not be paying for a hackney, and I can’t assure you our carriage will always be available.”

  “Not to worry. Mr. Bexley—”

  “Which one?” Lydia asked.

  “—is going to send a carriage for me.”

  “I see. Wealthy is he?” Robert’s eyes widened as his interest seemed suddenly piqued.

  “He certainly appeared to be.” Expensive coach, shiny Hessian boots, clothing of such exquisite fabric she’d fancied it had been spun by talented butterflies.

  Her cousin’s eyes gleamed. “Good. Very good.” He chuckled as he walked away. Was he already counting the coins Kitty would bring home to him?

  Lydia grabbed her arm.

  “I wish you’d quit doing that.” Kitty peeled her sister’s fing
ers off and pushed away her hand.

  “Kitty, one of these days you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know… trouble.” She formed her hands in a circle around an imaginary large belly.

  “Lydia. What must you think of me?” Did Patience think the same way about her? Had Kitty’s flirting been obvious with the Mr. Bexleys?

  Lydia’s cheeks colored. She averted her gaze. “It’s only that you… you’re always… well…”

  “I’ve never done that.” Not that she hadn’t imagined it, but—

  “That’s good to hear, at least.”

  Kitty crossed her arms and huffed out a breath. “You make me out to be some sort of light-skirt.”

  Lydia raised one dark eyebrow.

  “I’m not.” Kitty stomped her boot on the carpet, the sound an unsatisfying thud. “I just happen to enjoy being in the company of men. And Mr. Bexley—”

  “Which Mr. Bexley?”

  “Stop doing that.”

  “Listen,” Lydia grabbed Kitty’s hand and led her to sit down on their settee. “I’m just concerned that something might happen to you.”

  “Nothing will happen. Nothing bad, at any rate.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Kitty reached up and brushed a few strands of hair from Lydia’s cheek. “You worry too much.”

  Lydia tapped her finger on the palm of her other hand exactly ten times, a sure sign she was agitated. “It’s my job.”

  Kitty giggled but stopped when Lydia didn’t join in. “No, your job is to be my smart, pretty younger sister. And that’s it.”

  “I’m pretty?” She touched her fingers to her cheek.

  “Of course you are.” Kitty tilted her head to one side and blinked. “Who says you’re not?”

  “That Worsley person.”

  “You’re listening to him? Oh Lydia. The man is a toad.”

  Giggles bubbled up from Lydia and surrounded them with mirth. “Well he certainly acts fond of you.”

  “Quite. Aren’t I the fortunate one?”

  Lydia sputtered another laugh. “He’d marry you, you know. If you’d have him.”

  A shiver ran through Kitty. “I’d rather die alone.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t be that bad?”

  “Lydia, have you gotten a good view of the man?” Kitty tried very hard not to look at him directly unless she had to.

  “Appearances aren’t everything. Sometimes we need to see past the surface.”

  “True, but I rather think a wife shouldn’t feel the urge to lose her dinner at the sight of her husband.”

  “You may have a point. So the Mr. Bexleys are handsome?”

  “Oh my goodness, yes.”

  “Is one… more to your liking than the other?”

  That stopped Kitty short. She’d not considered it until then. They were both enchanting and had paid her much attention. She’d spent a little more time with Mr. Bexley the son, though his cousin had also made her heart race. If she had to choose between them, could she do it?

  Would there ever be a need? Kitty, you’re being a dolt. They might never see you as more than a worker for the magazine.

  Chapter Six

  Nathaniel climbed down from the carriage and waved away help from the coachman. With determined steps while trying his best not to limp, he made his way to the front of the small house where Miss Sullyard resided.

  He raised his hand to knock, jumping back when the door opened before his hand connected with the wooden frame.

  A girl of about eighteen or so, pretty with dark hair and eyes, stood just inside. “Are you… him?”

  Nathaniel chuckled. “If you mean am I Mr. Bexley, I am.” He gave a slight bow. “At your service, miss.”

  She gasped, then covered her hand over her mouth, eyes widening as if she’d done something terribly wrong. With a high-pitched squeak, she closed the door. Nathaniel heard footsteps rapidly moving away from the door.

  Hmmm. Now what was a fellow to do? Knock again? Go sit in the carriage and hope Miss Sullyard finally appeared? He retrieved his timepiece from his pocket. They would need to leave soon if they were to catch the beginning of the race.

  Ready to return to the carriage and wait, Nathaniel glanced up to the door when it opened once more.

  “Oh. It’s you.” Miss Sullyard, the one he had intended to see that time, stood in the doorway.

  Was she disappointed that he wasn’t Stratford? “Why does everyone in your household act surprised that I’m here? Were you not expecting to be escorted to the agreed upon venue?”

  Miss Sullyard peeked over her shoulder, back again, and held up one finger. “If you’ll excuse me for just one moment?”

  “Uh… certainly.”

  The door closed. Again. With him on the outside. Again. What in blazes was going on in there? He should have realized that someone who was dressed as she had been the day prior most likely did not reside where there might be a footman. Surely they had the common sense to invite a man in instead of making him—

  For the third time, the door opened. “A million pardons, Mr. Bexley.” Miss Sullyard, now wearing a pelisse and in possession of a reticule and a much larger cloth bag that appeared to be half-filled with small items that moved about when she turned, gave him a dimpled smile that nearly brought him to his knees.

  She stepped aside as an older woman, short and stout, peered up at him behind small spectacles. She resembled a sleepy owl. Must be the chaperone.

  He offered his arm to the older woman but she waved him away and started toward the carriage. Nathaniel held out his arm to the object of his desire and she placed her free hand on his sleeve. “Miss Sullyard, may I carry that bag for you? It appears cumbersome.”

  She blinked and tilted her head to the side. “How sweet. But I’m quite used to it, I assure you.”

  Nathaniel eyed the distance from the front door to the waiting carriage. Not far. With a light shrug, he accompanied her as slowly as he could to the conveyance, hoping she wouldn’t notice his slight limp. He waved away any assistance from the coachman and helped her into the carriage himself.

  She sat down along one bench seat next to her chaperone and placed her bag on the seat beside her. With widened eyes, she glanced around the interior. Uncle Gilbert spared no expense on his carriages or anything else. Even if the man swore he was nearly destitute.

  Miss Sullyard tilted her head toward her companion. “Mr. Bexley, may I introduce Mrs. Caruthers, my great-aunt.”

  Nathaniel murmured, “Good day.” The woman gave a nod but said nothing. Then she angled toward the window, produced a small book from her reticule and commenced reading as if no one else was about.

  How odd.

  Settling against the back of his seat opposite hers, Nathaniel tried to suppress a grin as he prepared to have sport with Miss Sullyard. He leaned forward slightly. “Is it the habit in your home to leave poor unsuspecting gentlemen to stand alone out in the elements?”

  Her mouth dropped open, exposing the edges of her teeth, the top row straight and the lowers a tad out of line. But somehow on her, when surrounded by plump pink lips, the effect was memorizing. “I…” Her face reddened. “You see—”

  He held up his hand, palm out. “Please forgive me. I was only teasing you.”

  She snapped her lips closed, her throat moving as she swallowed. She glanced out the side window, blinking rapidly. Was she going to cry?

  After checking to make sure the chaperone wasn’t paying attention, he scooted forward on the edge of his seat. “I never meant to—”

  “No. It’s… Since we might be seeing each other from time to time, that is, unless today was the only time you will be escorting me…”

  Not if I have my say. He shook his head slowly.

  “Then you may as well know how things… stand.”

  Stand… Was there trouble afoot at the Sullyard’s home?

  “It’s my…” Sh
e glanced out the window again as if afraid someone might be peering in, spying on her.

  “If something is troubling you, don’t feel you must tell me. That is, unless you want to. Of course, I don’t mind listening.” Remembering to keep up his ruse of being a rake, he winked. “Someone as pretty as you should never have to beg for attention.” He darted a glance to Mrs. Caruthers again but she seemed not at all interested in their conversation. Was she hard-of-hearing?

  “Oh… Thank you.” Miss Sullyard let out a sigh.

  “My pleasure.” He leaned back again, trying to appear relaxed as if he took carriage rides with lovely, sensuous women every day.

  No. That would be Stratford.

  She coughed delicately into her gloved hand. Was she unsure of how to say whatever it was that troubled her?

  He forced himself to remain silent, when everything in him wanted to take her in his arms and say something reassuring to her so that her lovely smile would return. As if I had so much experience holding women. A few stolen kisses from time to time, yes, but beyond that… Time to put myself into Stratford’s mindset, much as I loathe it.

  Nathaniel couldn’t erase the memory of Miss Sullyard’s reaction to Stratford, as if his cousin was the sun and she a wilted flower, longing, hoping for him to notice her and give her some warmth.

  Finally, her eyes met his. She let out a slow breath and then spoke. “My parents died when I was quite little. I live with my two sisters, my great-aunt and… Cousin Robert.” Had she just shivered? The movement was slight, but he didn’t think he’d imagined it. What was amiss with her cousin?

  A snort erupted from Miss Caruthers. Nathaniel looked in her direction. Good heavens the woman was asleep. And snoring. Miss Sullyard appeared not to notice. Perhaps it was a common occurrence and she was accustomed to it.

  “Go on.” Nathaniel motioned with his hand.

  “Well, Lydia, Patience and I all paint the panoramas. I believe I’d told you that yesterday?”

  He’d dwelled on little else but her and all that she’d said to him since then, but simply gave a nod, trying to appear unaffected.

  “Robert is… he’s… I think when his wife left, it did something to him. Broke him somehow.”