by Regina Scott
“I want to be painted,” he told them for want of anything better to say.
Miss Alexander blinked.
Her ladyship’s frown deepened. “You cannot be serious. And if you are, we will have Lawrence or Fuseli visit this summer.” Her very tone dismissed the subject. David had no idea who she had cited, but he imagined they must be famous painters in England. He had no intention of sitting for hours in front of another stiff-necked Brit.
“Why wait?” he countered. “I’m in the mood now. What do you say, Miss Alexander?”
She opened her mouth, and her ladyship started speaking before the poor thing could say a word.
“No, now that I think on it, my lord, you are quite right. We must keep her. I will need her. La, what was I thinking that I will have time to be with four vivacious girls when I must help you with the estate? Please forgive me, Miss Alexander. It has been a long time since I entertained. Not since my dear Charles died.” A handkerchief appeared in her ladyship’s hand, and she daubed at her eyes while sniffing. David wondered whether she had ever considered going on the stage.
“Perhaps we should let Miss Alexander make the decision,” Asheram said. Her ladyship’s hand froze in mid-daub. David found himself holding his breath.
She glanced about at them all, then held David’s gaze. “Lord Brentfield,” she said in her quiet voice, “I’m sure her ladyship can find you a suitable painter. I would like to return to the school as soon as possible; however, I promised Miss Martingale, the head mistress, that I would ensure her students are well cared for and well educated. If Lady Brentfield needs me, I will remain.”
It was the second time she had looked directly into his eyes, and he found himself captivated. “You don’t have to convince me, Miss Alexander. I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”
His honesty set her ladyship to sputtering and Miss Alexander to blushing.
“With that settled,” Asheram said, “I believe we have a room ready for Miss Alexander. If you’ll follow me.”
“I hope,” her ladyship managed with acid tones, “that you will not dawdle in the servant’s quarters. I’ll need you shortly with the girls.”
She had obviously meant it as a parting shot calculated to remind the woman of her place, but David’s temper flared. He had never liked bullies, especially those who kicked someone when they were down.
“Asheram,” he barked, “can’t we do better than that?”
Asheram glanced from her ladyship’s determined pout to David, whose mouth was probably just as set. “My lord,” he started.
David met his gaze, and Asheram stood taller. Turning to the art teacher beside him, he bowed. “There are a number of rooms in the west wing, Miss Alexander, that should allow you to be closer to your charges.”
“All of them occupied,” her ladyship announced, daring anyone to disagree with her.
“Try the east wing then,” David smiled. “I’m the only one in it, and it gets downright lonely at times.”
Her ladyship gasped, and Miss Alexander stared at him.
“You wouldn’t!” her ladyship cried. “You couldn’t! My lord, even you have to see the impropriety.”
“All I see is that I’m a poor host if I put my guests up in the rafters,” David replied doggedly.
Her ladyship stamped her foot. “I will not stand for such goings on! There are impressionable girls in this house! Miss Alexander, you claim to want to be their chaperone. Can you possibly condone sleeping alone, near a man who isn’t related to you?”
Hannah raised her head and looked the woman in the eye for the first time. “I’m sure his lordship could be counted on to be a gentleman.”
“I’m always a gentleman,” David replied, eyeing Lady Brentfield, “as her ladyship has good cause to know.”
Now it was the countess’s turn to blush.
David bowed to Hannah. “Miss Alexander, you will be safe in this house, wherever you choose to sleep.”
Asheram cleared his throat, a clear indication that David had overstepped his bounds once again. That was the problem with this earl business--in some areas he could do anything he wanted; in others he had to walk a dangerously narrow path. So far, he simply hadn’t gotten the hang of it.
“Miss Alexander,” his man intoned, “if you’ll follow me. I think we may have one more room in the west wing.”
David could not help grinning in triumph. “I look forward to dinner,” he called after them.
Her ladyship flounced out of the room in high dudgeon.
All in all, David thought, it hadn’t been a bad beginning.
Chapter Three
A short time later, Hannah could only stare at the lavish room to which Mr. Asheram had led her. The mahogany-framed box bed reached to the low gilt-edged ceiling. The hangings flowed with rose, ivory, and jade. The matching carpet under her feet was thicker than the comforter on her bed at the school and easily ten times as big. With the bed, the twin wardrobes, the dressing table, the set of dressers, several occasional tables, a writing table and chair, a chaise lounge, and a quartet of chairs near the white marble fireplace, the room held nearly as many furnishings as in her mother’s entire home in Banbury. It was a room fit for a countess, not a portrait painter and certainly not the mistress of art from the Barnsley School for Young Ladies. She could not shake the feeling that she had somehow connived her way into such wealth.
It was quite clear to Hannah that the astute Lady Brentfield had immediately seen how useless Hannah would be as a chaperone. There was no other explanation for the woman’s instant antipathy. And she had good cause to be annoyed. Hannah hadn’t even managed to lead the girls into the house! She had conversed with a peer of the realm as if he were a shepherd! Small wonder her ladyship had decided that Hannah should be sent packing.
She should have been relieved at the dismissal. She could have returned to the school, painted the Pentercasts as she had originally planned. But it rankled that she had not been able to manage the girls. And Miss Martingale would have been furious that Hannah had proven so inept. The head mistress would see it as a reflection on the school, Hannah was sure. She might dismiss Hannah out of hand. That would surely reflect on Hannah’s ability to gain commissions.
So, given the most nebulous of second chances, Hannah had stayed. The countess had confessed she might actually find a need for Hannah’s services. Lord Brentfield had mentioned she might be useful in some project of his, although she did not believe that he truly desired her to paint his portrait. He had only been trying to find a way out of a difficult situation. Like it or not, she was back to where she had started on this adventure and felt even less happy about it.
A little blonde-haired maid in a dress as black and stiff as Hannah’s was busy lighting a fire. “Shall I help you change, miss?” she asked, rising.
“Change?” Hannah murmured, glancing about the room again. The only way she would ever feel comfortable in this room was if she were miraculously changed. She did not think that was going to happen any time soon.
“Change for dinner,” the maid explained. “All the young ladies be changing.”
“Oh, yes, the young ladies.” Hannah managed to bring her wayward mind back to her duty. That was why she had agreed to stay, wasn’t it? Her reaction had nothing to do with a need to prove herself after Lady Brentfield’s criticism of her work. It certainly had nothing to do with a sudden desire to impress the earl. “I should see about the girls,” she murmured. She turned to leave and bumped into Mr. Asheram.
“Miss Tate, the Misses Courdebas, and Lady Emily are fine,” he assured her. “They’re all in their respective rooms deciding what they will wear to dinner. I imagine it will take them some time to reach so momentous a decision.”
Despite her concerns, Hannah couldn’t help but smile. “Knowing them, it will indeed.”
“If you won’t be needing Clare, I’ll send her on.”
Hannah shook her head, and he waved the maid away. He started to follow, then s
topped, eyeing her.
“Is the room to your liking, Miss Alexander?” he asked.
Hannah glanced about again at the immense room, guilt washing over her anew. “It’s beautiful.”
“But not what you were expecting,” he guessed. “Be assured you are welcome to it. I hope nothing her ladyship said disturbed you.”
Everything Lady Brentfield had said disturbed her. Hannah knew she must behave perfectly as a chaperone from that moment on. And she had to forget she was a painter, for a time. She could not let her pride in her work cause her to insult her ladyship. “I was not as respectful as I should have been,” she admitted with a sigh.
“Neither was her ladyship,” Asheram replied. “However, it seemed to me that some of his lordship’s comments troubled you the most.”
Hannah felt herself blushing. His lordship had been inordinately kind to her. She told herself not to be encouraged by that. He would certainly focus the rest of his energies on his guests. She probably wouldn’t get to say another word to him. Still, she hated Mr. Asheram to think that she was annoyed with the earl. “I realized the minute he mentioned the east wing that he couldn’t have meant it the way it sounded,” she told the man. “He didn’t mean to imply he was installing me near his chambers.”
“He seldom means anything the way it sounds,” Asheram assured her with a sigh of his own. “Lord Brentfield is in the enviable position of not taking life seriously. It is both his most admirable quality and his besetting sin. Some things and people should be taken very seriously indeed. But then, that’s my specialty.”
“And I think you must do your job very well,” Hannah told him, noting the wise eyes, the noble brow. Ancient Sage, her artist mind suggested. “Mr. Asheram, is it?”
He beamed at her, the first truly happy smile she had seen on him. “Yes, Miss Alexander. It is Mr. Asheram. I’m very pleased you noticed. Now, I’ll leave you to dress for dinner, though somehow I don’t think that’s such a difficult choice for you.”
He had meant it as a compliment to her intelligence, but as she shut the door behind him, Hannah reflected that it was a painful truth. The uniform of the school was the ugly black bombazine she wore. Besides her spare uniform and the old lilac kerseymere she used when painting, she owned only one other dress, the navy poplin she wore when going to consult with her painting subjects. That she must surely save until a more formal occasion. In the end, she could do no more than to remove her bonnet, smooth her long, straight hair back into her coronet braid, and hope she was presentable.
She felt even more out of place when she joined her charges in the corridor to walk to dinner. Daphne and Ariadne were dressed in light yellow silk gowns that made their hair glow with golden lights. Lady Emily wore a darker brown that unfortunately brought out the yellow in her skin. The gown was of such a rich material, however, that it gave off a luster of its own. Priscilla had attempted to look demure in a white gown with tiny pink roses embroidered around the neckline, but as the neckline was rather low and the waist cunningly tucked to accentuate her curves, she only succeeded in looking sensuous. Vestal Virgin Led to the Altar, Hannah thought, then shook her head to clear the vision.
They all asked her opinion, and she managed some phrase that set Daphne and Ariadne blushing with delight. Lady Emily looked skeptical. Hannah turned to find Priscilla considering her with narrowed eyes. When she met Hannah’s gaze, she gave a hard smile that somehow reminded Hannah of Lady Brentfield.
“Miss Alexander,” she proclaimed, “you look like a proper teacher. I’m sure we can find you a place at the bottom of the table where no one will notice you haven’t any other gown.”
Hannah gritted her teeth but kept her lips turned up in a smile as a bewigged footman in the silver and black livery of the Brentfields led them down the long main corridor that spanned the west wing.
Her annoyance with Priscilla’s unkind remark quickly disappeared as she glanced around the great house. They passed dozens of doors on either side, some open. Through them she glimpsed other bedchambers, sitting rooms, a music room, and a sun room. What caught her interest most, however, were the many works of art that decorated each room. There were portraits, landscapes, battle scenes, and still lifes. There were fine ceramics, bronze busts, and rich tapestries. She spotted at least two full-size marble statues.
“What an impressive collection,” she marveled aloud to Priscilla, who walked beside her. “Perhaps his lordship might be persuaded to give us a tour.”
Priscilla eyed her again, and Hannah had the distinct feeling the girl thought she had said more than she intended. “It is better than a museum, is it not?” she finally agreed. “When I am mistress of Brentfield, I’ll allow the poor free visits, on every other Wednesday.”
“Someone should catalog it,” Lady Emily muttered. “Otherwise, who knows what the visitors will run off with.”
“I don’t think anyone would have the strength to carry even one piece,” Ariadne argued. “I’ve read the most interesting treatise recently about the ratio of muscle to will.”
“Well, I think it’s glorious, just as you said, Miss Alexander,” Daphne enthused. “If you want me to, I’ll ask his lordship for a tour.”
Priscilla sniffed. “If there is any asking to be done, I’ll do it. Though why I should consent to share my time with David with all of you is beyond me. My nature is entirely too generous.”
Lady Emily snorted, but Hannah eyed her charge thoughtfully. Priscilla might claim an attachment to the Earl of Brentfield, but Hannah had seen no sign of affection from his lordship when the girl had been introduced. Indeed, Lord Brentfield had not treated her any differently than he had the other girls. If anyone had received undo attention, it was Hannah herself, although that had only been because of his interest in her art. Perhaps Lady Brentfield had requested that the earl keep a proper distance until Priscilla was presented at court and the betrothal formally announced. Or perhaps Priscilla was making it all up to appear important in her friends’ eyes. Hannah felt a little wicked for hoping the latter was true. After only one meeting, she liked the new earl enough to wish him a more thoughtful bride than Priscilla Tate.
In either case, she promised herself, as they descended a graceful curved stair, she would keep an eye on the matter. Lady Brentfield would surely not approve of her niece taking great liberties with her freedom before the engagement was announced. Hannah had declared her intentions of being a good chaperone, and she would follow through.
The footman led them to another immense room, easily three times the size of the cavernous dining room at the Barnsley School. “The Blue Salon,” he said as he held the door open for them.
Hannah could see why the room had been given the name. The satin draping the walls was patterned in fleur de lis of azure on periwinkle. The expansive sky blue Oriental carpet was edged in a navy scroll pattern. The dozen or so armchairs and sofas that dotted the room varied among beryl, mulberry, and lapis. Most of the paintings on the wall were of cool oceanscapes, although the one still life of a young girl was done in russet. The towering vases on either side of the wood-framed hearth were patterned in cerulean. The intense colors made the black piano at the far end of the room glow with cobalt highlights.
Lady Brentfield rose as they entered. The woman was dressed in black as dark as Hannah’s, but the cut of the dress and the material was altogether so much finer that Hannah’s spirits plummeted anew.
“My dears, how delightful to see you again. You all look lovely. Don’t they look lovely, my lord?”
The earl was standing beside the huge window overlooking the grounds, which were even now purpling with dusk, the color clashing with the peacock blue side curtains. He turned at the sound of Lady Brentfield’s voice and moved closer, smiling at them all. Hannah’s heart started beating faster when she realized his smile warmed as it reached her. Perhaps she would get to talk to him after all. Lady Brentfield quickly stepped to his side, and the girls crowded forward, forcing his at
tentions to them. Hannah managed a chaperone’s smile and dutifully faded into the background.
“I’m sure there are still a few minutes to dinner, my lord,” Lady Brentfield assured him. “Would you like Priscilla to play for you?” She waved at the polished black piano.
“Maybe later,” he replied pleasantly. “I thought I should get to know these young ladies. Do any of you paint, like Miss Alexander?”
Hannah caught herself blushing as his gaze sought her out again. Ariadne and Daphne exchanged glances as if they too had noticed the look. Lady Emily narrowed her eyes at him.
“Priscilla is quite gifted in that area as well,” Lady Brentfield proclaimed. “Didn’t you show me the most darling miniature, Miss Alexander, the last time I was at the school?”
“Yes,” Hannah replied, trying to think of a tactful way of reminding Lady Brentfield that the miniature had been painted of Priscilla by Lady Emily, in an uncharacteristically sunny mood. But before she could offer anything more, Lady Brentfield continued.
“That is the way with young ladies these days, so very talented. It’s their schooling, I am certain of it. What we would do without dedicated teachers like Miss Alexander, I surely do not know.”
“Neither do I,” Priscilla announced, batting her lashes at the earl. Hannah looked closer, realizing that the color of the girl’s lashes had darkened, and what Hannah had taken for a healthy glow earlier was actually well placed paint. She wondered whether Lady Brentfield would see this as a sign of forwardness and whether Hannah should broach the subject. Surely this was one of her duties as a chaperone. Glancing at her ladyship, she was not entirely surprised to notice the same features on the countess’s face. She tightened her lips and said nothing.
“My lord,” Mr. Asheram announced in the doorway, sparing her from further ruminations, “ladies, dinner is served.”
The earl smiled at them all again and moved closer to Hannah, eyes lighting as they met hers. Hannah froze as she realized he meant to offer to escort her in. Her--the chaperone! Lady Brentfield evidently recognized the look as well, for she pushed Priscilla against him.
