Lord Sidley's Last Season (15 page)

“It does not matter,” she said. He could tell her mind
was already engaged with the problem presented. “I
remember.”

“Perhaps you do not need me at all, then”

“I remember the light, my lord, not your nose.”

“How chastening.”

“Unless you wish to be painted so, you must not grin.”

He corrected his expression. “My aunt threatens to
visit us this morning,” he said. “I hope you do not mind?”

“Far from it. I enjoy her company. She told us last
night at dinner of some of her travels on the Continent
when she was younger. She was able to tour for the
greater part of a year. How thrilling to see the Alps,
Vesuvius, and the Bay of Naples-Rome, Venice, and
Athens! I should love it above all things.”

“Above all things?” he quizzed. “Assuredly only if
Lieutenant Reeves were to accompany you?”

She did not respond, but worked in silence.

“It was a different age, Miss Ware,” he commented.
“But now, perhaps, likely to return, in some form, with
Bonaparte’s absence. Europe will once again be open
to the pursuit of something other than war. An artist
such as yourself should not be deprived of the Grand
Tour.”

“I am most unlikely to take the Grand Tour, but a
tour might be possible-someday.” Again she worked
in silence.

“You have an advantage over the rest of us, an advantage of which I suspect you are scarcely aware. You
might make your own tour whenever you wish-paint
summer in winter, winter in summer. I think you do not
recognize your own power.”

“Anyone of imagination has such power.”

“Most of us do not summon it with facility, Miss
Ware. And I confess to having met with a notable lack
of imagination in many fields. Thus we must enliven
our walls with the result of your imagination, when we
have none of our own.”

“You do not strike me as unimaginative, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

“And as for portraiture, I believe it is perhaps better
that I not apply my imagination, lest I fail to produce
something recognizable.”

He laughed. “I see we return to the same topic.” He
was amazed that she was managing to paint anything at
all, recognizable or not. He was exquisitely conscious
of her gaze. He found it strangely mesmerizing, as a contented cat must experience a caress. Yet he sensed that
her appraisal was elusively impersonal. She was not as
affected as he.

“I did not ask-if you have studied portraiture?” He
thought his own voice sounded hoarse.

“‘Tis a bit late to ask me that! You did press me into
service.” When he smiled, she added, “I have studied and
practiced portraits, my lord. Enough to know ‘tis quite accepted to include something of particular meaning to
the sitter, some item of personal significance, in such a
study. Should you like your cane, perhaps, or a book or
object you admire?”

He shook his head. “‘Tis significant enough that I sit
in Aldersham’s library. But if you wish, you must devise
something, Miss Ware, so that a century hence viewers
might say `There it is! Ware’s little joke on Sidley.”’
Her smile pleased him so much that he added generously, “As long as you are not cruel, I leave you to it.”

“It is a bit late now, my lord. I am locked into this composition. But I shall see” Again she painted silently for
some minutes. “Your aunt is a very handsome woman.”

“She will be flattered to hear it.”

“She must have heard it before”

“One can never hear it enough, Miss Ware. Though it
is curious-one rarely terms a woman `handsome’ in
her hearing. Women prefer to be called pretty, charming, elegant, attractive, or a host of other adjectives.”

“Yet handsome is strong and lasting. Enduring. Lady
Adeline will still draw attention twenty years from now.”

“She certainly commands attention,” he admitted
wryly. “But handsome does not charm.”

“I would debate you, my lord. Its charm is simply
more mature. Yes, handsome does command. It implies
a certain … power. Physical, mental, even spiritual.”
She was at ease, speaking as she painted. He could
not take his gaze from the sweeps of her brush behind the canvas. “I’ve never heard young children described
as handsome,” she mused aloud, “though a family might
be. As a grouping, a family holds strength.”

“I confess”-he cleared his throat-“I’ve never reflected on the term so completely, Miss Ware. But you have
persuaded me. I concede that my aunt is handsome.”

Again they were silent.

“Miss TinckneyDwight is certainly very handsome,” she said.

“She is. I presume you have considered each member of our little party as potential subject matter.”

“I am not so coldly assessing, my lord,” she objected, refusing to look at him.

“Then why should you single out Miss Delia for your
consideration?”

“I do not `single her out.’ I merely believe her to be
an excellent example of handsome.”

“More so than your own cousin?”

“Katie is widely acknowledged to be beautiful, my
lord. But I have never heard her described as handsome.”

“It is a function of age.”

“I have just explained why I think it is not.”

“And why does the difference concern you at all, Miss
Ware, as-by your own admission-you are only ever
interested in your art?”

“I have never made such an assertion!” She glared at
him from the side of the canvas. “And I have many other
interests.”

“But you do not pursue them.”

“Perhaps not routinely. Perhaps not as thoroughly-”

“What interests you, then, Miss Ware, that you do
not pursue-thoroughly?”

When she stared at him, with much anger and something else equally unsettling in her expression, he recalled his promise to himself and instantly attempted
an apology. “Please do excuse me, Miss Ware,” he said,
rising from his seat. “I had no thought to needle you so.
I-”

“My lord, please sit down. I should very much like to
finish with you here this morning.”

At which he sat and tried not to look as he felt, which
was suddenly, blazingly, angry-whether at her or himself, he could not have said.

“This is why gentlemen do not sit in the presence of
ladies, Miss Ware,” he attempted. “‘Tis not so much a
courtesy as denial of an advantage” When she met the
observation with continued silence, he determined to
match her for taciturnity. He sat wordless for innumerable minutes.

“Are you wearing powder, my lord?”

The question so startled him that he was slow to respond. She had already abandoned her palette and moved
out from behind the canvas to approach him. As she
leaned closer to examine his face, he felt her perusal almost as a touch.

“I would ask you not to wear any powder tomorrow
morning,” she said. “I must see your complexion. Whatever your-whatever scars you may wish to hide-”

“I am not hiding scars, Miss Ware.”

“All the more reason, then, not to-”

“Do not stand so close”

She pulled back abruptly. He read her bewilderment
in her gaze. But she was continuing to hold and assess
his own, which would not do. He was conscious as he
had never been before of the presence of the servants.

“And my eyes are blue,” he snapped. “As you’ve had
occasion to remark. They have not changed”

With her beautiful lips set grimly, she returned to her
post behind the easel, and Sidley at last drew breath.

“You two certainly keep farmers’ hours,” his aunt remarked from the doorway. “I confess I did not expect
such predawn application, even from you, Sidley. Can
you paint him in the dark, Miss Ware?”

Marian smiled as his aunt came closer, to stand examining the canvas.

“This is astonishing, my dear,” she said. “You have
done so much in only two mornings?”

“I work quickly when I have had time to consider the
subject, my lady.”

“You have thought about me, then, Miss Ware?” Sidley asked.

“I have had time to think about painting you, Lord
Sidley,” she corrected him.

Lady Adeline laughed. “You are not accustomed to
such set-downs, Nephew.” Her gaze again sought the painting. “You have caught that look, Miss Ware. I had
wondered if you would.”

“‘Tis difficult to miss, my lady.”

“What look?” Sidley asked.

“You shouldn’t need it described to you, Sidley,”
Lady Adeline told him. “All the rest of us are far too familiar with it.” She ignored his frown and turned to Marian’s paints. “You do not mix much here, Miss Ware, and
seem to use a most limited palette”

Marian smiled. “It is my habit, ma’am. As paints are
expensive, and the tinting takes time each evening, I
extend from few colors.”

“It appears to work well, my dear.”

“Is my face blue, then, Miss Ware?”

“‘Twill be red, Sidley, once you see what a fine job
she has done” Lady Adeline smiled as she looked at
Marian. “I confess, I had no idea you were quite so accomplished, having studied in town only a month.
What other training had you?”

“Since my childhood, ma’am, I have belonged to a
sketching club in Northampton, and my father used to
take me painting with him in his last years, after hisafter he returned from the Army. As an artillery officer
he was well versed in illustration. Then at school, with
Lady Katherine, we had drawing and painting. And I have
worked at copying for a local printer and engraver.”

“Still, it is remarkable, at your age. I hope you needn’t
abandon it.”

“Abandon it, ma’am?”

“Once you are wed.”

“Oh, but I have no intention-”

“Little ones are likely to alter your intention.”

Marian’s cheeks warmed. “I shall always paint,
ma’am.”

“Ha!” Sidley remarked.

“Do be quiet, Sidley. Should Miss Ware take a disgust of you at this point, where would you be?”

“Without a nose?” he suggested.

“She has, most generously, already graced you with
a fine one” She frowned at him. “Why you should initiate this project, Nephew, with the intention of sabotaging it, distracting Miss Ware in such a manner-”

“If anything distracts, ma’am, it is your own charming presence. We made progress enough before you decided to quiz Miss Ware”

Lady Adeline’s chin rose. “I must leave you in any
event,” she said. “Edith and I shall accompany you on
your picnic today, Sidley. I would speak with you before
we depart.”

“Certainly, Aunt. In fact”-he rose from his chair”do forgive me, Miss Ware, but I find I grow a bit stiff,
settled here so long.”

“I am sorry, my lord. I should have thought-”

“He is most capable of looking after himself, Miss
Ware,” Lady Adeline observed. “You must not apologize.”

Sidley smiled. “No indeed,” he said. “Far be it from me to oppose any lady’s efforts on my behalf. My
wishes must always parallel her own”

At which his aunt pursed her lips and made for the
door.

“Miss Ware, please excuse me,” Sidley said. “You
have enough to get on here this morning?”

Marian nodded and watched him follow his aunt. As
the two departed, she heard Sidley say, “Tomorrow. I
promise,” before the doors clicked shut behind them.

Later that afternoon, Marian sat sketching by Aldersham’s picturesquely placed lake. Her thoughts returned
repeatedly to the assurance she had overheard Sidley
give his aunt; she puzzled unhappily over his reference
to “tomorrow” and feared he meant to select a bride at
any moment. In the hour’s repose after their picnic, Marian had watched him escort the party’s eligible damsels
in strolls about the serene water-first Becca Harvey,
then Katie, and now Delia TinckneyDwight. Marian believed the purpose of the exercise only too obvious.

She sketched studiously, trying to force her attention
to Aldersham’s lovely expanses or to the idle conversation about her. The remaining picnickers had settled
lazily under the trees, in various states of awareness.
Miss Poole and her brother had stayed close to Marian and now commented intermittently on aspects of the
landscape or the neighborhood. Lady Adeline and Edith
sat together some few feet away. Though at times they
spoke quietly, their gazes pointedly followed Sidley and
his companion on each of his rounds. After her own outing, Katie sat beside her mother and sipped lemonade as
she also quietly assessed Sidley’s activity.

Lord Vaughn had accompanied Becca Harvey on a
ride with Edgar and Lord Benjamin, no doubt intending
to keep the peace among the trio. And while her husband dozed peacefully near the emptied picnic hampers, Mrs. Harvey breathlessly fed on dits from town to
an obligingly receptive Sir Philip.

As Marian’s gaze again drifted to the couple circling
the lake, she likened Sidley’s effort to a ritual. She turned
a page in her sketchbook with some vigor, only to have
Dicky Poole note the action.

“Before you begin another, Miss Ware, might I convince you to take a walk about the lake? I, at least, must
work up an appetite for the next meal.”

Marian smiled but shook her head and retained her
sketchbook. She wished to finish her private depiction
of Sidley, as they had only the next day before returning to town.