A Lady of Talent (10 page)

Again, it was a simple statement of fact, and Sebastian could not help being inspired by her quiet confidence and her determination. “Then I shall try to do my best to see that you do.”

“You?”

He had answered her without thinking, without realizing how patronizing or how ridiculous it might sound for a man of business with very little, if any, true understanding of art, to offer to advance her career. He had only known that he wanted her to have her heart’s desire, and he had only been thinking of what he could do to help.

“Yes. If you will let me. I believe I have a project that might be of some interest to you. If you have the time, I mean.”

Cecilia stared at him. It was hard to believe that a man like the Earl of Charrington—a man so accustomed to making his own way in the world—should sound so tentative, so hesitant. If she did not know better, she would almost have said that he was unsure of her approval, but such a thought was ridiculous. Still, she could think of no other explanation, and she liked him the better for it.

But for the moment, it was more than she could take. She was already dangerously close to sharing more of herself with this man than she had ever shared with anyone, even her father, and it made her decidedly uneasy. All her life she had struggled to become independent. She had learned from her father’s example that nothing and no one could be depended on, and she was not about to begin to do so now, especially with a man who had a far more demanding and attractive female who required his complete and constant attention.

Smiling, Cecilia rose and held out her hand. “Thank you. It is most kind of you to take an interest in my career, but it is really not necessary.”

In the face of such a clear dismissal, Sebastian could do nothing but rise as well and take his leave. But he did not want to. He wanted to remain comfortably ensconced in her cozily cluttered studio talking about her hopes and dreams. He had never felt so close to, so completely comfortable with, another person in his entire life—so at ease, so utterly at home—and he hated to have it come to an end, even for a moment.

Chapter Eleven

It was not until Sebastian was seated in the gaming room at Brooks’s later that evening that he realized he had never given Cecilia the paper on pigments that had been his ostensible reason for calling on her in the first place. He had been so distracted first by the presence of Signer Canova and then by the discussion of her life and her dreams for its future that he had completely forgotten about it until now.

It was not like him to be so stupid. Sebastian scolded himself for his lapse. He rarely forgot even the smallest of details.  In part, it was his ability to keep track of a multiplicity of details while still remaining focused on whatever issue was at hand that was responsible for a good deal of his success in the City—that coupled with his phenomenal memory and his talent for figures.

But all those skills seemed to be fading away now that Lady Cecilia had entered his life. Or, to put it more accurately, now that he had blundered into hers. For compared to her rich and varied past, his seemed like the merest of existences bounded by his travels from Curzon Street to Change Alley, and enlivened only by the occasional lecture at the Royal Society or an evening at the theater. And how very dull she must think him after having been raised in the company of artists like Kauffmann, Canova, and amateur archaeologist Sir William Hamilton.

Sebastian envied the sculptor and his casual references to Cecilia’s Sunday conversazione which sounded as though it was one of those gatherings of interesting people bent on seeking out intelligent conversation that had been such an integral part of her childhood and her education. It was not the intellectual stimulation Sebastian envied, for he could certainly find that at the Royal Society, as much as it was the informal camaraderie. What would it be like to be surrounded by a circle of friends with whom one shared such similar interests that one looked forward to getting together with them on a regular basis?

“Ahem, are you still with us, Charrington?” His partner’s voice broke in on Sebastian’s reverie.

“Thinking, Trevelyan, just thinking.” Sebastian frowned at the cards in front of him and hoped desperately that the rest of the players attributed his lapse in attention to strategy rather than woolgathering. He took the trick with a trump and forced himself to concentrate on the hand in front of him.

But somehow the game failed to offer the challenge and diversion he sought. Giving up in disgust, Sebastian left early, hoping to clear his head with me stroll home.

The crisp night air did nothing for him either, and he soon found himself sitting in his chair by the fire, meditatively sipping a glass of brandy and staring at Cecilia’s portrait.

She could not have been very old when she had painted it, yet there was a gravity in her expression even then that showed her to be a young woman of great determination as well as talent. Talent was all very well and good, but without the will to succeed and an ever-present goal in front of her, she would never have achieved a place for herself in the Royal Academy’s exhibits, or what appeared to be a steady stream of commissions for portraits.

Sebastian admired that will tremendously, which was why he had mentioned the possibility of a project to her—a project that just might further her in her chosen career of becoming a history painter. Tonight, however, as he looked at her portrait, he found himself wishing that he could give her some enjoyment in life, as well as success.

And what did she enjoy? Not the usual round of routs and balls that were the stuff of most young ladies’ dreams. Both Cecilia and her brother had made that infinitely clear. Intelligent conversations with like-minded individuals appeared to be something she sought out, but she already had her conversazione.

Sebastian’s eye fell on a copy of
The Times
he had tossed onto a table earlier that day.. Of course! The theater. He had been so busy lately that his box at Covent Garden had sat empty more often than not. He riffled through the pages until he found the theater announcements. A
School for Scandal
might not appeal to a woman whose bookshelves included Tasso and Ovid as much as Shakespeare would, but surely it could not fail to divert her for an evening. Having seen Cecilia and her brother’s adequate but modest lodgings in Golden Square, Sebastian felt it safe to hazard a guess that their finances were limited, as least as far as Cecilia was concerned. The exquisite fit of the Marquess of Shelburne’s coat, the immaculate whiteness of his cravat, and the boots that could have only been made by Hoby made it clear that her brother felt himself under no similar economic constraints. As a man of business, however, Sebastian was well aware that it was far easier to ignore dunning letters from tradesmen than from a landlord, and thus, their lodgings were a far more accurate indicator of their financial status than Neville’s accoutrements—a financial status that probably did not allow for much indulgence in the theater.

The more he thought about it, the more Sebastian decided that he might as well confer enjoyment upon himself at the same time he was offering it to Cecilia and her brother. It had been an age since he had seen Sheridan’s play. Furthermore, it was a play whose plot was such that even his frivolous fiancée was likely to find herself tolerably amused.

But when he broached the subject to Barbara during a drive in Hyde Park at the height of the fashionable hour, she was not in the least bit interested. In fact, if the tragic droop to the lips that more than one besotted swain had compared favorably to a rosebud were any indication at all, his fiancée was not only disinterested, she was highly displeased. “Really, Charrington, how could you?”

“But I thought you would be pleased that I am not
wasting
my time on business or in the card room at Brooks’s as you so often accuse me of doing.”

The beauty softened, but only a little. “I am. But it is a Wednesday evening.”

His blank look only exasperated her further. “Really, Charrington, even
you
should know better than that. We will be at Almack’s.”

“Oh.” Sebastian did his best not to shudder at the daunting vision of Wednesday evenings for the rest of his life filled with meager refreshments and even more meager conversation. “But, my dear, now that you are suitably affianced—at least, I hope you consider yourself to be suitably affianced—surely there is no need to subject yourself to the rigors of the Marriage Mart.”

His fiancée cast him a pitying look. “And Papa considers you to be one of the cleverest men of his acquaintance. Honestly, for a clever man you are remarkably buffle-headed. Now that you have made your fortune, have you stopped going to Garroway’s and the Exchange and left it all to chance? There!” She smiled triumphantly. “You see? Maintaining one’s position in society is no different than maintaining one’s position anywhere else.”

Sebastian sighed. His wife-to-be was not clever in the standard sort of way. Her interests tended toward the shallow and frivolous, but where her own well-being was at stake, she often demonstrated an undeniable quick-wittedness that never failed to catch him off guard. “Very well. I fully acknowledge the error of my ways, and shall endeavor to escort you to the best of my poor abilities.”

Barbara tapped him playfully with the ivory handle of her parasol. “I shall make certain it is included in our marriage vows, and then you are assured of remembering. Besides, I shall not require you to dance more than one or two dances with me, as I promised to save one at least for the Marquess of Shelburne.”

“The Marquess of Shelburne will be there?” Sebastian hardly dared hope that the modish Neville would be able to prevail upon his reclusive sister to accompany him to the mecca of the fashionable world, but even the possibility that he might gave Sebastian hope that there might be at least one person who could offer him companionship among the marriage-mad misses, their equally marriage-minded mamas, the gossiping town tabbies, and all the other assorted social arbiters who attended that most exclusive and dull of gatherings.

“He would not miss Almack’s for the world, or the opportunity to dance with someone he swears is destined to become all the rage,” Barbara confided happily.

So it was, that, dutifully leading his fiancée to the floor on the evening in question, Sebastian kept a weather eye out for the Marquess of Shelburne’s lanky but elegant figure, and was quickly rewarded by the sight of his blond head towering above Lord Alvanley, with whom he was deep in conversation.

Doing his best to maneuver them closer to the pair, Sebastian was astounded to see the Marquess of Shelburne’s sister standing at his elbow.

In spite of the others who crowded around Alvanley in the hopes of overhearing one of the celebrated wit’s bon mots, Cecilia appeared to remain emotionally aloof from the crowd. And as they approached, Sebastian noticed from his partner’s self-satisfied smile that even though Cecilia’s gown of pink satin trimmed with blond lace was exceedingly becoming, it must not be in the latest style.

Barbara, who could always be counted on to be in the highest kick of fashion, was wearing a white satin slip over a white lace dress whose décolletage made Cecilia’s look positively modest, while her headdress of pearls was in decided contrast to Cecilia’s simple knot of hair with only the golden curls clustering on her forehead to call attention to her expressive eyes.

Still and all, though there was no doubt, as always, that Barbara was stunning in her beauty, there was a vulnerable yet sensual quality about Cecilia that made Sebastian long to hold her in his arms, feel the softness of her hair against his cheek and the warmth of her skin under his hands. Perhaps it was the very lack of ornamentation that made him so supremely aware of the woman underneath—the smoothness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, the delicacy of her long, tapering fingers as she brushed aside a stray curl and surveyed the crowd with the distant gaze of someone who clearly felt herself to be an observer rather than a participant in the fashionable charade taking place around her.

Sebastian grinned in spite of himself as a wave of relief washed over him. He had found a friend, someone who was as ill at ease, as bored, and as frustrated with the entire scene as he was. And quite suddenly the air did not feel so claustrophobically stuffy or the laughter and the chatter so irritatingly intrusive as it had only moments ago.

“You did say that you had promised a dance to Shelburne, did you not,” he asked hopefully as their set ended.

Barbara nodded.

“And here he is. I feel certain that I can convince his sister to sit the set out with me while the two of you take to the floor.” And with all the aplomb of a man who knew how to go about getting whatever he set his sights on, the Earl of Charrington guided his fiancée easily through the crush of people, who were so intent on hearing the conversations of their neighbors or casting critical eyes on the costumes of those around them, that they parted easily in front of him without even being aware that they did so.

Chapter Twelve

“Miss Wyatt, your éclat this evening casts all others into the deepest shadow.” Neville greeted Barbara and her fiancé with the most elegant of bows. “Truly, Charrington, you are the envy of every man here. I predict that in no time at all your wife-to-be will become one of the high priestesses of fashion, and you will find yourself looking longingly back on the days when you were able to lead her to the floor without being crowded aside by scores of eager aspirants.”

“La, my lord, you are far too gallant.” Barbara’s gratified smile betrayed her to be in complete agreement with Neville’s gracefully articulated sentiments.

“Then I must take advantage of this opportunity to lead you to the floor, for once I have done so and the
ton
has seen you with a partner who does you justice, I shall never be able to do so again without having to fight for the privilege.” He held out his arm to her and she took it happily.