Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) (4 page)

“Perhaps compared to London or Edinburgh,” Keswick replied in obvious irritation. “But the Lake District is hardly dull.”

Her laughing gaze met mine again and she rolled her eyes as if I were in on some private joke. “Only to you,” she protested. She set aside her periodical and rose to her feet.

“Lady Darby,” Laura rushed to say before her husband could voice the displeasure tightening his lips. “Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Miss Elise Remmington.”

I could see the resemblance now—the pale blonde hair, the slim physique, the caramel-brown eyes.

She offered me her hand. “My pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

“Miss Remmington recently had her first season in London,” Michael supplied, possibly explaining her earlier expressed opinions.

“I take it you enjoyed it,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Although . . .” Her expression was all innocence, but I did not miss the spark of devilry in her eyes. “From what I’ve been told, it seems it would have been much more exciting had you joined us in town.”

I stiffened. “Indeed.”

Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped forward to slip his arm through mine. “Kiera, allow me to show you the tapestries you were so admiring.”

I allowed him to escort me away from Miss Remmington, whose face creased momentarily into a cheeky grin, flashing a pair of dimples, telling me she’d meant no real malice. Her brother did not witness this exchange, however, and I doubted it would have done much to ameliorate his temper in any case, for his face was red with fury at her impertinence. I suspected theirs was a very interesting sibling dynamic, and wondered whether I should pity Laura for getting caught in the middle of it.

Gage, for his part, seemed quite amused by the girl’s cheek, if the laugh lines crinkling at the sides of his eyes were any indication. I arched my brow at his merriment before turning back to Michael.

“I must apologize for Miss Remmington,” he was saying. “I’m sure she meant no insult.”

“No worries,” I assured him, laying my hand over his where it pressed against my arm. “I have met Miss Remmington’s like before.”

He sighed. “She is such a lively, pretty girl, but she can be a bit . . .” He struggled to find the right word.

“She is a hoyden.”

Michael smiled tightly in acknowledgment. “I fear Keswick despairs of reining her in. And this gathering is proving a bit trying for him. The stiffer the personage, the more shocking Miss Remmington seems determined to be.”

“And Lady Hollingsworth is certainly not . . . flexible.”

“Nor her son.”

“Lord Damien?” I asked in some surprise. I had never thought of Lady Hollingsworth’s younger son as being particularly stuffy, but perhaps Miss Remmington’s extreme impishness had proved too much for him.

“She particularly delights in tweaking his nose.”

We paused before one of the tapestries. The rich palette of browns, gold, forest green, and burgundy wove together to form a depiction of children at play. I allowed my eyes to slide over the pleasing lines and hues, but kept my mind firmly fixed on our conversation.

Speaking of Damien and his mother had made me all too aware of their continued absence, as well as that of Michael’s fiancée and Philip and Alana. Michael would have to be a fool not to notice the significance. That I was the only one here in Philip’s family’s stead made me more than a little uncomfortable, and uncertain whether I should tread lightly.

“You are well?” I asked, pretending to study the tapestry.

He turned to face the tapestry as well, with his back to the room. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances,” he surprised me by admitting.

We fell silent, listening to the rumble of the others’ voices across the room as I contemplated my next question and whether to pry at all.

His gaze flicked toward me. “How much do you know?”

“Almost nothing,” I admitted, allowing him to take the reins of the conversation.

It took him so long to respond I began to worry he would not tell me. I could press him with questions, but it would be so much easier if he willingly confided in me. The tension I had witnessed earlier was still in him; I could feel the muscles in his forearm tighten beneath my hand.

“Do you remember Will?” he finally asked, his voice heavy with repressed emotions.

I glanced up at him. “Of course.”

His gaze met mine, seeming to scour my face for information, as if my expression could tell him something he wanted to know. “There was such a large age gap between you, and then he was off fighting on the continent. I wasn’t sure.”

“Fifteen years,” I confirmed. “But he stayed at Swinton Lodge even after the rest of your family decamped for Dalmay House and London.” I looked away, suddenly unwilling to let him read my face as I relived my memories. “I daresay I saw more of him during that last year than anyone. He acted as my drawing master while Father struggled to find a replacement when Signor Riotta resigned.”

Michael appeared genuinely surprised. “Really?”

I nodded. “For almost six months.” I stared unseeing at the Goya tapestry, my mind conjuring the soft gray eyes of William Dalmay shadowed with the pain that had seemed ever present in his gaze. Even when he laughed it had been there in the tight lines at the corners of his eyes. “Your brother might have been the best drawing master I ever had,” I added in a soft voice.

“I never knew that,” he murmured. “Father said he’d been painting again that last summer. But I never thought . . . I guess I just always assumed he was alone.”

I felt his curious gaze on me, and I knew why. In my mind’s eye, I could see one of Will’s last paintings, the grotesque images, the distorted bodies. Even within context, they were bizarre and disturbing. As a fifteen-year-old girl they had given me nightmares, though I never mentioned them to Will. I couldn’t add to his already heavy burdens.

“Did you . . .” Michael struggled to voice the worry tightening his features. “Did he ever show you his artwork?”

I turned to him, able to answer honestly. “No.” He had never
shown
me. I had seen them by accident.

He exhaled in relief and turned back toward the tapestry. I studied his profile, wondering why, if at all, Will’s paintings mattered to Michael’s current troubles. Had he kept them? Was that what troubled Lady Hollingsworth? Had she or Caroline seen them, and worried what they meant—what ghastly secrets the Dalmay family hid?

“Michael, what is going on?” I asked, tired of dancing around the issues at hand. “Why did Lady Hollingsworth send for Philip? And why did that servant’s presence at the top of the stairs earlier trouble you so?”

“Ah, you saw that, did you?” He spoke lightly, but I could tell he felt anything but amused.

“Yes. And if Philip had not been so concerned for my sister’s health, I suspect they would have seen the oddity in it as well.
What
is going on?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, as if gathering the strength to speak, when the soft tread of feet pulled our attention toward the door.

I believe he would have answered—that the truth would have come out right then and there—had my brother-in-law and sister and Lady Hollingsworth and her two children not chosen that moment to enter the drawing room. I had been flustered by their continued absence, and now I was irritated by their sudden appearance. Had I been a four-year-old I would have stamped my feet. Only the looks on Philip’s and Alana’s faces kept my frustration in check. Something was definitely wrong. My sister’s gaze sought me out, and the grooves between her eyes seemed only to deepen.

Crossing the room toward her, I glanced around at the others to see what their reactions were to the newcomers’ presence. The strained smiles and cordial greetings were all to be expected, as was Lady Hollingsworth’s pinched expression. However, the manner in which Gage’s eyes remained steadily trained on me, as if he was interested in my response to Michael’s troubles, stretched my already taut nerves.

I wrapped my fingers around Alana’s arm. “How are you feeling?”

Her bright blue gaze flickered, searching mine. “Better,” she replied before offering me a weak smile that did not reach all the way to her eyes. “I think it helps that the room is not swaying.”

“Yes.” I wanted to pull her aside, to demand she tell me what she knew, what had upset her so. But I knew I could not. Not with an entire roomful of people watching, waiting on us to go into dinner.

The conversation around us was stilted, the mood uncertain, as if no one knew exactly how to proceed. And so good manners, the fallback of the genteel, took over. If all else fails, proceed with unbending civility.

Laura smiled tightly. “Let’s go into dinner, shall we?”

The others eagerly complied, naturally falling into pairs according to precedence. I could see the strain on Michael’s face as he was forced to offer his arm to Lady Hollingsworth, but I knew his worry over her acceptance was needless. The marchioness would rather suffer the touch of a leper than break protocol.

“Lady Darby.” Laura laid a hand against my arm. Distress tightened her features. “I’m afraid I must apologize. Our numbers are uneven this evening. We had hoped our party would balance out, but . . .” she offered me a sad smile “. . . things do not always go as planned.”

“A blessing, under the circumstances,” Lady Hollingsworth sniped as Michael led her through the door.

I frowned at the marchioness’s back before turning to place a hand over Laura’s where it rested on my arm. “There is no need to apologize,” I assured her. As the lowest-ranked lady in precedence, I had expected to walk in alone. “After all, you were not anticipating three more guests to join you. How could you be expected to make up the numbers on such short notice?”

Her expression was unreadable. “Yes. Well. Thank you for being so understanding.”

My brow furrowed in puzzlement. Once again I felt I did not understand something that should have been clear. But before I could decide whether to press her about it, Gage deftly linked my arm through his left one.

“No worries,” he declared, flashing Laura and me one of his most charming smiles. “I’m quite happy to claim a lady on each arm.”

“An excellent solution,” Laura proclaimed in relief before I could protest. “Thank you, Mr. Gage.”

“No need for thanks,” Gage said. “Not when I’m clearly the one who benefits from such a predicament.” He grinned first at Miss Remmington on his right and then at me.

My face felt tight from the effort it took for me not to frown at his good humor.

“Well, since that’s settled.” Laura touched my arm again before turning away toward her own escort.

Seeing the reassurance Gage’s offer had given my hostess, I bit my tongue against the urge to argue. It would be ungracious to reject his escort now, even if his close proximity did less than comfortable things to my insides.

“Shall we?” He leaned closer to ask as the last couple before us exited the drawing room.

“Of course,” I replied, relieved to hear that my voice did not betray the emotions tumbling about inside me.

Gage’s lips curled up at the corners, as if he was imparting a forbidden secret, and then he straightened to escort us from the room.

Instantly I began to wonder why Gage seemed to be exerting his charm upon me. He had rarely done so before, and then only when he wanted something from me. I scolded myself for being taken in, even if only for a second, by his charisma. I, more than anyone, knew I had to keep my wits about me when I was dealing with Gage. My attraction to him aside, he was a very clever and enigmatic man. And I was not about to become another member of his slavering horde of female followers. If Gage was suddenly determined to befuddle me, I was resolved to find out why.

CHAPTER FIVE

D
inner was an awkward affair of stilted attempts at conversation and Lady Hollingsworth’s determined efforts to steer all discussions back to topics concerning her family. Matters were not improved by the fact that I was seated between Lord Keswick and his sister, whose sole purpose seemed to be to further antagonize her sibling, as well as Lord Damien.

I had taken an immediate liking to Lady Hollingsworth’s second son upon meeting him at Gairloch two months prior. Quick to laugh and chivalrous to a fault, Damien had been more than one lady’s champion at different occasions during the house party, including mine. However, listening to him scold and rebuke Miss Remmington, I doubted the cheeky girl would ever be able to count him among her defenders.

I couldn’t fault the meal or the setting, even if the attitude of some of our dinner companions left something to be desired. The room absolutely sparkled with candlelight; the china, crystal, and silverware glistened on a tablecloth of pristine white under the glow of a chandelier and candelabras, which spanned the length of the buffet, the sideboard, and the fireplace mantel. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, holding back the chill of the autumn evening and lending the spice of cedarwood to the heady scent of the wine and the rich aroma of the food.

I was relieved to see Alana hungrily consume dainty spoonfuls of her split pea soup. However, observing my sister as I was, I also couldn’t help but notice Gage, who was seated to her left, and the way he seemed to be noting my every movement. It was not overtly done. Gage would never have been so gauche as to stare openly at a person across the dinner table. All the same, I knew where his focus lay, and it was disconcerting.

The fact that Michael periodically sent anxious looks in my direction only made matters worse. Did he regret our not being able to finish our conversation in the drawing room? And just what exactly had he been about to confide?

I could not stop my mind from going over the clues that had been dropped in my hearing. As far as I could tell, everything still pointed to Philip’s supposition that his aunt’s displeasure with Michael and Caroline’s engagement had to do with Michael’s refusal to petition the Court of Chancery for the title. But, then, why the sadness in Michael’s eyes? William had been missing for almost a decade. Was Michael only now beginning to accept that his brother would never return, that he was, in fact, dead?

And why was Lady Hollingsworth so intent on antagonizing the Dalmays? Surely such a display of disdain was not the way to win them over to her way of thinking.

After three courses, I was no closer to uncovering what was going on than I was before, and infinitely more aggravated.

“Lady Darby does not seem to be enjoying herself. Perhaps we should pursue a different topic of conversation,” I was jolted from my introspection to hear Lord Damien say.

“Why ever shouldn’t she be?” Miss Remmington insisted. “We’re merely discussing the merits of city life compared to country life. I daresay she’s experienced both.”

“Yes, but the last few weeks she spent in London were not the happiest.”

I stiffened at his oblique reference to Sir Anthony’s death and the subsequent charges brought against me for unnatural behavior.

Miss Remmington forked a bite of delicate, flaky cod and swirled it in its mustard cream sauce. “Well, I’m not the one who brought up such an insensitive subject. You are.”

“Yes, but
you
are the one who caused it by mentioning London at all.” Damien’s brow was lowered in a ferocious frown. “She was bound to think of it.”

“Please,” I interrupted before their argument could become even louder and more embarrassing, for me, if no one else. “Lord Damien, it’s quite all right.” I shifted my gaze to Miss Remmington, who was watching me curiously. “I do miss London sometimes,” I admitted. “Especially the museums,” I added with a tiny smile. “But, by and large, I find I prefer the country. The air and light are so much better, you see.” I did not add the fact that there was also less society, and people’s sharp tongues and penetrating stares, to contend with, though from the sharpening of Miss Remmington’s eyes I was certain she was aware of this.

However, she did not question me on it. “I had forgotten that Laura said you were an artist.”

“And quite a good one,” Damien declared, determined not to be left out of the conversation. “Mother says her portraits will soon be all the rage. Everyone will want to be painted by the notorious Lady Darby.” Damien’s eyes widened and a blush reddened his cheeks as he belatedly realized what he had said. “Well, that is . . .”

“Really? The
notorious
Lady Darby?” Miss Remmington pressed, a smirk stretching her face.

I felt a tightness in my chest at his words, but held no rancor toward the young man, for I knew he was only repeating something his mother had said. And in an attempt to show up the vexing Miss Remmington he had uttered the epithet without thinking.

Miss Remmington, on the other hand, was taking advantage of the opportunity to cause trouble by plaguing Damien for his faux pas. I knew her type, unfortunately. She thrived on conflict. The bigger the reaction she got out of you, the more it pleased her. And the more likely she was to continue goading you. The swiftest way to beat her at her own game was to refuse to engage, be it with anger or discomfiture.

“I’m sure he meant no harm,” Laura murmured, trying to smooth over the awkwardness that had once again descended.

“Of course not,” I replied, not wanting everyone to make more of it than it was. I refused to become a target for Miss Remmington. “And, in any case, there’s no harm in speaking the truth. After all, I suppose I
am
rather notorious,” I added, forcing the jest past my lips. Almost everyone seated at the table smiled.

“I’m truly sorry,” Damien began earnestly, leaning forward to see past Miss Remmington, but I cut him off before he could continue.

“Damien, it’s quite all right,” I assured him with a tight smile, feeling my own cheeks begin to heat in embarrassment. If the boy didn’t cease protesting, he would expose the anxiety beneath my veneer of careful indifference.

“Yes, if I were Lady Darby, I would actually begin to capitalize on that sobriquet,” Gage said. He flashed me an encouraging smile before nodding to the table. “I have had more than one acquaintance inquire as to whether she would be accepting portrait commissions again. They seemed quite eager to hear that she would.”

I couldn’t withhold my surprise, at both the fact that people had actually been asking after me and the fact that they had asked Gage, of all people.

“I, too, received more than one inquiry,” Lady Hollingsworth reluctantly admitted.

“Well, then, that is excellent news.” Philip smiled warmly at me over his wineglass. “For I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you that she plans to take on new commissions once we settle in Edinburgh.”

I fought against the urge to squirm as the others expressed their delight at the news. I was excited to begin painting the likenesses of real persons again, instead of the imagined subjects I had been portraying since I had tired of depicting my sister and her family months ago, but I was not accustomed to so much praise or attention. The works I had created since the scandal and my self-imposed banishment from London had been sold anonymously, and though they fetched higher-than-expected profits, I rarely encountered the buyers, and then usually with my secret identity still intact.

“Oh, then you must take me on as your first commission,” Lady Caroline declared. Her face flushed a fetching shade of pink as everyone turned to look at her. “That is, I remember that you painted Lady Cromarty’s wedding portrait. Your sister was kind enough to show it to me while we were at Gairloch Castle.”

I nodded. The portrait hung in the master bedchamber.

“Well, it was ever so lovely. And . . .” Her cheeks reddened deeper, nearly matching her skin tone to the cherry-red ribbon laced through the neckline of her gown, as she glanced down the table toward her fiancé. “I wondered if . . . you might be willing to paint mine.”

Complete silence fell over the table as Caroline innocently broached the topic of which everyone was thinking, but no one dared speak. Eyes darted around the table, as if uncertain how the others would react and whether anyone would actually pursue the matter. As much as I wanted to demand that they explain what exactly had everyone so on edge, I knew that now was not the time. A confrontation at the dinner table could only end in heartache, at Michael’s and Caroline’s expense. I simply couldn’t open them up to public ridicule like that.

So, instead, I adopted a bright smile and addressed Caroline. “I would be honored.”

Her gaze flew back to mine from where it had been pinned on her mother. “Truly?”

“Of course.”

Her joy and excitement were so evident in her shining eyes and dazzling smile that I couldn’t help but respond in kind.

“If there is a wedding,” Lady Hollingsworth muttered crisply.

The happiness faded from Caroline’s face like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, and it was clear to me, if nothing else was, how very much Philip’s cousin wanted to marry Michael.

I wanted to reach down the table and pinch the marchioness. Two months ago, Lady Hollingsworth had tried to match her daughter with a horse-mad brute who had ended up compromising one of the other young ladies at my sister’s house party. I had been as unconvinced then that the marchioness had her daughter’s best interests at heart as I was now.

After Lady Hollingsworth’s rude comment, the conversation could easily have dissolved into bickering and infighting. I was almost more shocked when no one snapped back at the marchioness than that she had behaved so impolitely in the first place, priggish as she was. She was plainly beyond overset if she was willing to break the very rules she clung so tightly to.

Everyone seemed inordinately determined to remain civil, and though I supposed this could have stemmed solely from the same desire I felt to spare Michael’s and Caroline’s feelings, I sensed there was something else holding everyone back, even Miss Remmington. What it could be, I didn’t know, but it cast a different light on the glances that Gage and Michael, and even my sister, continued to send my way. I couldn’t tell whether they were merely uneasy about my continued state of ignorance or if they were afraid of my reaction once the truth was known. But why should my response matter?

I frowned down at my plate and pushed my food around with my fork, having lost all appetite. I could only hope someone would take it upon themselves to remedy the situation following dinner and tell me just what exactly was going on.

After Lady Hollingsworth’s rude outburst, no one seemed eager to talk, except for the lady herself, who, whether out of nerves or anger, proceeded to yammer on about her family and her connections, boring us with her stories. By the time the dessert course was served, I had ceased to really listen, let alone take part in the discussion. Everyone appeared resigned to silence except Michael and Laura, who as hosts seemed to feel responsible for the steady decline of the evening.

“Lady Darby,” Michael proclaimed, pulling me from my solemn reverie. I glanced up to find him smiling at me determinedly while Lady Hollingsworth scowled at the interruption. “I understand your husband, Sir Anthony, served as a surgeon for the army during the war with France,” he said in what I thought was a particularly adept attempt to redirect the conversation from what I believed had last been a rather mind-numbing description from Lady Hollingsworth of her sister’s encounter with an incompetent medical man who was supposed to treat her goiter.

“Why, yes. Early in the war,” I replied, unwilling to expound, even to prevent Lady Hollingsworth from speaking. Sir Anthony’s disparagement of His Majesty’s troops was not worthy of being repeated, no matter the urgency of our current predicament. Especially to a family who, for all intents and purposes, had lost their eldest brother to the war. In any case, my late husband would not have wished to discuss any part of his medical career prior to the surgery he performed to remove a cyst from the then prince regent’s scalp, for which he had received his baronetcy. And I had no wish to discuss it at all.

Prior to receiving his baronetcy, Sir Anthony had not been a lofty enough personage even to walk through the front door of a nobleman’s residence, as everyone knew surgeons entered through the back door like a servant. Only physicians, who were often gentlemen themselves, were allotted that privilege. As a surgeon, even an anatomist, Sir Anthony had not ranked high enough to merit that respect, let alone to marry the granddaughter of a baron, even if he had been friends with Father. His baronetcy had changed all that, and my life, forever. I was not inclined to feel grateful to King George IV for the honor he paid to my late husband.

I could feel Gage’s sharp gaze on me, as if he could read my thoughts. For the first time, I found myself wishing I hadn’t shared so much of my past with him during our investigative partnership two months prior. At the time it had been a necessary evil and brought me surprising comfort when he did not reject me after I allowed him to know so much about me. No one outside my family had been privy to such details. But now it made me feel vulnerable, as if he could probe inside my mind for the truth. Particularly since he would not return the compliment, and instead insisted on remaining as tight-lipped as ever about his past.