by Gordon, Rose
She could almost guess what it was, but had no desire to acknowledge it.
“Nonetheless,” he continued. “I’d like to apologize and ask if you’d reconsider—or consider for the first time—allowing me to take you to see part of London tomorrow.”
Just over Simon’s left shoulder, she caught sight of Giles. He was looking at her. Or at least he had been, until she’d looked at him and caught his eye. Then he immediately turned his attention back to the final crate he was unloading. She forced her gaze back to Mr. Appleton and she considered teasing him that it wouldn’t be proper for the two of them to go anywhere without a chaperone and thought better of it. He didn’t seem the sort to have a sense of humor. Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, Mr. Appleton, I’d be honored to accompany you tomorrow.”
“Splendid,” he said, grinning. He reached for her hand, lifted it halfway to his mouth, and then gave it a slight squeeze. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at ten o’clock?”
“We’ll be ready,” she said.
Simon grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Giles couldn’t help but wonder what he’d said wrong. But something hadn’t been right for whatever it was had caused every inch of him from the top of his throat all the way to his waist to feel as if it was being crushed in an invisible vise.
This horrid sensation had begun just after telling Lucy that she had his favor to make a match with Simon and had left him unable to eat or sleep ever since. To be truthful, he didn’t care what faults she might think followed her. Nor did he care about whatever might have happened between her and the two brothers from before.
His heart squeezed yet again. He shouldn’t—no, couldn’t—tell her so, but it would seem she had an unnatural ability to snare the attention of brothers. She’d done the same with him and Simon. Only she’d made it seem that both of the ones from before had not been genuine and he knew without question his feelings—and Simon’s—were genuine.
Groaning, he grabbed the nearby pillow and pulled it over his face. The sun was shining in through the open curtains of his room, telling him it was past time he should be getting up.
With a snarl, he thrust the pillow aside and threw back the red velvet coverlet. He had to get up and start his day. If he were fortunate, Mr. Appleton would have finished reading through that blasted document and could help him solve the mystery that seemed to be his life.
He rolled to a sitting position and combed his fingers through his hair, yawning. He was tired; there was no doubting that he wanted to sleep. He just couldn’t. Standing, he whipped off his long, white nightshirt and pulled on the clothes Franks had laid out for him. He could just ring for the man, of course, but why bother? He was capable.
An hour later, he’d breakfasted (one bite of a biscuit), read the newspaper (what he deemed important anyway) and paced the floor for a solid forty-five minutes.
With a sigh, he left the room and went across the hall to the room he preferred to keep locked. He’d never been allowed to have many things until recently. As a boy living in the orphanage, he’d shared a room with eleven other boys and each was only allowed to keep only what could fit under his bed. When he’d traveled the continent with Sebastian, they hadn’t had a lot of money nor room to keep things. Now, he had adequate room and a little more money than before. He tried to be temperate though and didn’t decorate his house beyond what was necessary. He also preferred a clean, somewhat empty room rather than one that was crammed full of furniture and cluttered.
But this room, this room was the only such room he’d filled and he kept it locked so everything would stay contained.
The sweet smell of drying paint filled his nostrils when he opened the door. He did a slow sweep of the room, taking in all the canvases he had propped up against the walls, drying. Almost a month ago, he’d agreed to have his mother host a party in his home so Sebastian could carry out some nonsense that involved helping his estranged wife make a match. When his mother had come to see about the decorations, she’d declared this room needed to be cleared and used for entertaining that night. A card room, she’d called it. He had worked diligently since that dinner party to put everything back exactly how he wanted it.
Giles shrugged off his red coat and blue waistcoat, discarded his cravat and turned up his cuffs. He loved to paint. Or draw with pencils. Or even charcoal. He slid open the top drawer in the scratched bureau where he kept his art supplies and scoured over the bottles of paint hoping an idea of something to paint would come to him so he could get lost in his art and forget about the romance budding between Simon and Lucy.
A sudden, incessant knock on his front door put that hope to an abrupt end.
Grumbling, Giles slammed the drawer shut and stalked to the door. He waved the butler off and wrenched open the door.
“Seth?”
Seth grinned, which did nothing to put Giles’ pounding heart at ease. “Can I come in?”
Giles stepped to the side to let the boy in. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“My mama and Simon went to some museum together and I had nothing to do.”
Giles shoved his hands into his pockets and fisted them tightly to take his mind off the jealousy that was bubbling up inside of him. “I see. They told you to come here so that I could entertain you?”
Seth shook his head vigorously. “No, my lord. It was my idea to come. I thought we should spend some time together.”
Giles raised his eyebrows. “You did?”
“Of course.”
There was no ‘of course’ to it. Something was afoot. “And why is that?”
“Well, don’t all uncles spend time with their favorite nephews?”
Giles choked. “Pardon me?”
“My mama hasn’t married Simon yet, but when she does you’ll be my uncle!” A wide grin split his face. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“Very.”
Seth laughed at his dry tone. “So what is it you planned to do all day?”
“Paint.”
“You paint?” Seth exclaimed, darting around Giles and going into his painting room.
Giles clenched his jaw. He’d never allowed anyone into that room. Not even his mother when she’d insisted on seeing it. He’d just said he’d have it cleared out for her. He stomped into the room, bent on scolding the boy and froze.
“You painted all of these?” he asked, standing in the middle of the room and slowly turning his head to take it all in. “I wish I could paint like that.”
“You should try.” Giles closed his mouth with an audible snap. What the devil was he doing encouraging the boy? “At home,” he added.
Seth frowned. “And where would that be, on top of my bed or Mama’s?”
“Yours.”
Seth pressed his lips together as if he were trying to suppress a chuckle. “That’s not funny.”
“I thought it was.”
“My mama sure won’t,” Seth said with a laugh that softened Giles’ resolve. “Now, will you teach me?
“Teach you what?”
“How to paint?”
“No.”
Seth blinked. “Why not? You said you were going to paint all day anyway. Will it matter so much if I’m here, too?”
“Yes. I don’t teach.”
Shrugging, Seth walked over to the bureau and picked up one of the brushes that were soaking in a cup of water. “All right, you don’t have to teach me anything, but can I stay?”
Giles knit his brows. “And do what?”
“Paint.”
“But you don’t know how,” Giles pointed out.
“That’s because you won’t teach me,” Seth argued, the corner of his mouth tipping up into the smile he usually wore. “But that’s all right. I’m sure I can paint something without any instruction.”
“How about without making it neces
sary to revarnish the wood?”
“I don’t know.” Seth frowned and lifted his shoulders. “Without anyone telling me what I’m doing right or wrong, I might make a big mess.”
The last of Giles’ resolve and unease about having Seth in the room evaporated. “Well, just see that you do it over there where the carpet runner is.”
***
“You look fetching today,” Simon commented as they entered a crumbling white building that had the word “Museum” sloppily etched onto the side.
Lucy flushed at his compliment. He was just trying to be kind. She’d been alternating between the two same gowns ever since she’d come to London. They were both in desperate need of a scrubbing or at least a beating. “Thank you.”
Simon guided her to the right. “I hope you like statues.”
“Of course,” Lucy lied. Statues? She’d seen a few when she’d lived in Bath and Shrewsbury, but hadn’t really given them a lot of thought. Especially not going to a museum to see a large number of them. Perhaps Seth got the better end of this bargain—even if he did have to spend the day cooped up at the library with a very sudden stomach affliction.
“Good. A friend of mine owns this museum. It’s more of his private collection, actually.”
“He has a private collection of statues?” Lucy asked around the sudden giggle that had formed in her throat. How unusual.
“Yes, he’s collected more than five hundred of them.”
“Just to display?”
“No. He used to have a large townhouse in London where he had them in the gardens or the conservatory.”
“Did he not think enough people were coming to see them so he decided they needed to be put into a museum?” When Simon didn’t laugh at her attempt at a jest, she sobered. “Sorry,” she murmured.
He started. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what it was you said, but I doubt it was anything to be sorry about.”
Lucy slowly cast a glance over her left shoulder to see what it was that seemed to have caught Simon’s attention, but she was too late and all she’d been able to see was the bottom of a flaring, crimson skirt just before it slipped around the corner.
Simon cleared his throat and offered her a smile. “Shall we?”
Lucy walked where he directed and stopped in front of the first statue. It was about four feet tall of a woman standing with a bowed head and her hands pressed together in front of her as if she was praying. Lucy squinted. “Is her nose chipped off?”
“Yes,” Simon said quietly. “She was one of the Virgin Mary statues that were ordered destroyed when King Henry VIII overthrew the Catholic Church and ordered Catholicism banned and the churches along with their contents destroyed.”
“Someone saved her?”
“Yes. Perhaps someone who thought they could fix her. While in some places all of the statues and other decorations of the church were completely destroyed, in other places, they were merely ruthlessly taken down and damaged. To some that’d have been enough to make them worthless, but likely someone thought he had the skill to repair her.” He shrugged. “Or just didn’t care that she was incomplete.”
Lucy nodded and murmured her understanding. She didn’t intend to be cold toward something he obviously cared a great deal about, but all she saw was a statue of a noseless woman praying. She walked down to the next statue. It was another Mary. Though she appeared as if at one time she’d been identical, or very close, she had not fared nearly as well as the first Mary. This one was missing not only her nose, but her ears, too.
The next Mary was without most of her hair.
The next four Marys were missing different pieces, each one being less complete than the previous one. Lucy had to admit she was a bit unsettled that this man had collected so many broken Mary statues, but behind her, Simon took in each one as if it were the first time he’d seen it and it was some lost treasure he thought he’d never find.
Therefore, Lucy kept her lips pressed firmly together as they walked to the end of the first hall, which was made up entirely of statues of Mary. Twenty-three Marys if one wanted to be precise.
At the end of the hall they turned to the right and Lucy was slightly disappointed that she hadn’t been able to catch another glimpse of the lady who’d caught Simon’s attention earlier.
“These statues you might not find quite so interesting—”
Lucy wanted to groan. If he thought these were less interesting than the ones before, they must be terrible indeed.
“—I’m not sure where he found them, but I can certainly form a theory or two of why someone would be anxious to part with them.”
Lucy walked up to the first one and laughed. “Is that a unicorn?”
Simon scowled. “Yes. Isn’t it hideous?”
Compared to all of the praying Marys they’d seen, she didn’t think it was so bad. “I don’t know if I’d say it’s hideous. I’m sure it could be worse.”
“Ah, then you might enjoy the gargoyle.”
“The what?”
“Gargoyle.” He put his hand on the small of her back and just as quickly pulled it back. Clearing his throat, he pointed further down the hall. “It’s over there.”
Lucy walked to where he pointed, noting the serpents and dragons as she strolled by, then stopped when she reached this image of a half-man, half-beast standing on one hairy foot-claw with the other three raised and poised to attack with splayed fingers tipped with long, pointed nails. His mouth was open and his two dozen sharp teeth bared. His head was slightly cocked to the side with one eye opened wide and the other slightly squinting. He looked fierce. For something carved of stone, that is.
“Yes, I agree, this one is quite hideous.”
“Then I shan’t force you to gaze upon something so ugly for a moment longer. The next hall has more mythical creatures, but they’re nymphs.”
Lucy rounded the corner and cut her eyes just slightly to take in Simon’s reaction to seeing the beautiful young lady in front of them swathed in red. He gave her but a glance then turned back to the statues on their right.
“See, far more fetching than the gargoyle,” he said.
“Depends on who you ask.” She fingered the worn lace on her sleeve. “As a lady, I think I’d much prefer to see fierce men—or beasts—with their muscles bulging than naked young ladies lounging around as if they have nothing more to do than to sun themselves and let men lust after them.”
Simon developed a slight coughing fit. “I’d never thought of it that way.” He ran an open hand over his chin and momentarily flickered his gaze past her shoulder. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a fancy for ices, would you?”
“I’ve never had one,” Lucy confessed.
“Never?” Simon asked, his eyes flaring wide. He reached for her hand. “Then we must go find a vendor right now.”
Lucy did her best to keep up as Simon practically dragged her from the museum. She had the strangest feeling it had less to do with wanting to give her an experience she hadn’t had before and was more of his way of escaping past the lady who’d been there. There was something unusual about that, but Lucy couldn’t say what. Nor did she think it was her place to ask him.
Outside, Simon slowed down—but only a fraction and only because if he didn’t they might have been trampled by a horse.
Simon helped her up onto his phaeton before climbing up next to her where he took but a moment to get situated then snapped the reins. “There used to be a vendor two streets over, but I think he was shut down so we’ll have to go to Covent Gardens.”
Covent Gardens? They’d already traveled over an hour together to go to the museum. How much further would it be to go to the Gardens? “We don’t have to—”
“Nonsense.” He flashed her a grin. “I love ices. Besides, we’re only about half a mile away so be thinking of what flavor you might like.”
“What are my choices?”
“Usually lemon or pineapple.”
“Lemon,” Lucy said
automatically.
“Lemon, it is.” Simon steered the horses down the street to where the ice vendor was standing with his little cart on the side of the road. “There he is.” Simon quickly found somewhere to park his phaeton and secured the horses before helping her down.
Just as her feet touched the ground, Simon released her and she frantically reached her hand out to grip onto the side of the phaeton to steady herself.
“Sorry,” he murmured, gripping her just above the elbows and trying to steady her. “I got distracted. I thought I saw—” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Was it the same lady from the museum?” she asked, allowing him to lead her toward the vendor.
“Miss Hughes?” There was a note of surprise in his voice. He gave his head a shake. “No. She only caught me unawares because I didn’t expect to see her there. Or anywhere to be quite blunt.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “She’s rather an odd one. I thought I’d seen Isabelle just now, but I didn’t.”
“Is Isabelle a lady you should be taking for an ice today instead of me?”
He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “No. I think that might be met with some undesirable consequences.” He twisted his lips into an exaggerated frown. “The most likely being her husband’s fist against my jaw.”
“Her husband?”
Simon nodded and ordered two lemon ices from the vendor. The man took Simon’s coins and handed him their ices. “Is the bench all right or would you prefer to go back to the phaeton?”
“The bench.”
Simon walked beside her to the bench and once she was seated handed her one of the ices then took a seat beside her, but he didn’t start eating his own ice right away.
“At the start of the Season, I met Isabelle and after some convincing, she accepted my plea to court her.” He let out another bitter bark of laughter. “She never told me she was still married.”
“Still?”
Simon ate a spoonful of his ice. “She’d been involved in some sort of scandal a few years ago. Something about her trapping Lord Belgrave into a Gretna Green marriage.” His light tone would suggest that he really didn’t care about the scandal. Her heart warmed. Perhaps he really didn’t care about her past, either. “Rumor had it that as soon as they returned, the marriage was annulled.” His right shoulder went up in a stiff shrug. “I guess that fact was purely a rumor.”
