A Lady of Talent (19 page)

And now, having proven that to herself, she must do her very best to forget it, or it would destroy her.

There was only one thing she could do: fling herself back into her art, bury herself so deeply in her painting that the rest of the world would cease to exist.

So determined was she to do this that when Cecilia reached Golden Square, she did not even bother to remove her, bonnet or her pelisse, but went straight to her sketchbook and opened it to the still-evolving drawing of Cupid and Psyche.

She stared fixedly at it for a few moments. It was an improvement over the first attempt, but it was still too stiff. There was not enough feeling in the picture, and no electricity between the two of them. Now she knew what it felt like to burn at another’s touch, to long to be joined to that other person for all time, to mingle his breath with her own, to feel his heart beat next to hers until it was a single beat between the two of them. That was it! That was what the picture was still missing, despite her work on it. Cecilia began sketching furiously.

She was so wrapped up in her sketching that she had no idea how long she had been drawing when she heard laughter and voices in the hallway, and it wasn’t until she tried to move her cramped limbs and pry open her fingers that she realized it must have been a very long time indeed.

There was another burst of laughter, and then the door to the studio flew open, revealing Neville and Barbara—a Barbara who looked even more radiant than usual in a most becoming bonnet with a straw-colored silk lining, green ribbons, and feathers dipped in green to match the ribbons.

Cecilia drew a harsh, painful breath. Had Barbara’s fiancé also seen the bonnet in the window on Bond Street, and purchased it for her knowing how ravishing she would look ink?

As a woman whose talent had provided her with the opportunity to make her own way in the world, Cecilia almost never envied other less talented women. Now, however, she suffered a rare pang of jealousy. Surely Barbara Wyatt, who had only to ask for a luxury to have it bestowed upon her, had no need of yet another bonnet, especially that particular one—a bonnet that would have been so very becoming on someone else who had also admired it in the shop window.

Cecilia barely had time to reproach herself for this unworthy thought when Barbara, who never noticed anything about anyone but herself, patted the bonnet with a self-satisfied smile. “I see that you are admiring my bonnet. Is it not the sweetest thing? I saw it in a window on Bond Street yesterday, and I just had to have it. Of course it was shockingly dear, and I am sure Papa will put me on bread and water for a week for being so extravagant when I have already spent my entire allowance for this quarter, but there was simply no living without it.”

“In fact, it would have been a crime indeed for such a bonnet not to grace a head as beautiful as yours.” Neville added gallantly.

Cecilia slowly let out the breath she was not even aware she had been holding. So Sebastian had
not
bought it for her! Suddenly she felt quite lighthearted, even joyous with the relief of it all.

“As always, you are too kind, my lord.” Completely ignoring Cecilia, Barbara directed a playful smile at Neville.

“Never. Why, I am the soul of honesty where you are concerned.”

“Then does that mean you make it a regular practice to lie to others?” she asked, a coquettish gleam in her eye.

“Would you have me be unkindly truthful instead? I am a peaceful fellow, you know, and I have an absolute horror for bluntness. There are so few true beauties in the world that one must either rely on half-truths and equivocation, or be cruelly honest. I prefer to live in harmony with my fellow creatures, which is why I prefer to spend my time in the company of someone like you, for example, whose beauty I can admire with all honesty and candor. I consider myself doubly fortunate today for having encountered such a vision of loveliness on my doorstep. Usually one has to search the world over to find such a treasure.”

“And what, may I ask, has brought this vision to our doorstep?” Even to her own ears, Cecilia’s voice sounded in acid contrast to her brother’s smooth-tongued phrases, but the flirtatious exchange between the two of them was making her extremely uncomfortable—more for Sebastian’s sake than her own. Unsophisticated though she might be, Cecilia somehow did not feel that it was right for a young woman so soon to be married to an exceedingly handsome and eligible man to be talking, laughing, and looking at another man in a manner that could only be described as intimate.

“What?” Interrupted in the middle of this mutually satisfactory exchange, the pair of them stared blankly at Cecilia.

Barbara was the first to recover. “Before I was so distracted by this too-charming gentleman here, you mean?” She darted a saucy glance at Neville. “I was on my way to inquire about my portrait, which must be nearly finished by now.”

“Finished? What a question!” Neville raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “A portrait of Miss Wyatt will never be finished. No artist, no matter how talented, can capture the loveliness, the liveliness—”

“No, sirrah, you must stop,” Barbara interrupted, laughing. “In spite of your claims to rigorous honesty where I am concerned, you are now clearly offering me Spanish coin.”

“Indeed, I am not.” Neville looked hurt. “How can you doubt me, when you only have to look in this glass.” Taking her elbow he steered her toward the looking glass over the mantel. “See how honest I am being?” He smiled at both their reflections. “Can you honestly look in this glass and tell me you have seen anything lovelier in quite some time?”

Then, still holding her arm, he led her to the portrait by the window and, whipping off the covering, he waved dramatically at the picture before her. “Even this, splendidly executed though it may be, is but a pale reflection of reality. Sadly, though, it is all I have to console me when I am not looking at the real thing. And soon I shall even be deprived of that small consolation for as you see, it is almost finished.” He paused and smiled deep into Barbara’s eyes.

“Ahem.” Cecilia joined the couple at the easel. “As my brother says, it is nearly finished—there is just the varnishing left to be done, unless your fiancé has any corrections or additions. I hope he will be pleased with the result.”

“Who? Oh, Charrington. Yes, I am sure he will be satisfied.” Barbara dismissed her fiancé with a wave of her hand. “As long as it is an accurate representation, I am sure he will be satisfied. Accuracy and facts and figures, that is all that matters to him. So very dull.”

Cecilia refrained from pointing out to Barbara that it was her fiancé’s appreciation of art, and especially of portraiture, that was responsible for her presence in the studio in the first place. If the Earl of Charrington’s fiancée did not have the temperament to appreciate his taste and aesthetic sensibilities, then it was not Cecilia’s role to point it out to her. Besides, the way the beauty was smiling at Neville, Cecilia very much doubted that anything she might say would make any impression at all on either one of them.

She was desperately casting about for some way to bring the two of them to their senses when there was a rap on the door, and Sedley appeared bearing a tray of biscuits and glasses of ratafia. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but his lordship asked that I bring refreshments to the studio.”

“And rightly so. Thank you, Sedley. Do sit down, Miss Wyatt, and tell me what you think of the picture.” Recovering her wits at last, Cecilia waved to a chair by the fireplace and took the other, leaving Neville to fend for himself as best he could on the sofa. “As I say, I am almost ready to apply the varnish, so if there is anything you wish changed, you must tell me now.”

Barbara glanced hastily at the portrait. “No, it all seems in order to me.”

In the face of Cecilia’s coolly professional tone, she had far less to say than when encouraged by her brother’s admiring glances. “I only stopped in for the briefest of moments, for I am due at home for a fitting. Madame Celeste is so much in demand that it would never do to be late. One is an absolute slave to these creatures, but if one is to keep up one’s reputation for elegance, there is simply nothing to be done about it. I am sure that your brother is in perfect agreement with me.”

She shot a conspiratorial glance at Neville as she set down her glass and rose to leave. “I do hope we will see you at the opera tomorrow evening. Charrington will simply have to agree to attend, for I am told that everyone who is anyone is likely to be there.”

Flashing another enchanting smile that was clearly all for Neville’s benefit, she was gone before either of them could see her to the door.

Chapter Twenty-two

Cecilia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she turned to look at her brother. “The opera tomorrow evening? I gather from the speaking look Miss Wyatt directed at you that you mentioned the Lieven’s invitation to us to share their box.”

“But of course, dear sister.  Just because you wish to hide yourself away in your hole of a studio is no reason for me to isolate myself from the rest of society, and if I wish to see as many acquaintances as possible when I attend the opera, why then, I shall. And such a delightful acquaintance as it is too.” Neville raised a provocative eyebrow.

“My studio is
not
a hole, and this flirtation with Miss Wyatt must be stopped.”

“But, Cecy, the poor girl is quite plainly perishing from boredom and neglect, thanks to that dullard of a fiancé of hers.”

“He is not a dullard, which she would discover if she were to interest herself in anything at all besides the latest fashion. At any rate, however, her amusement should not be furnished by you. It is not proper.”

“Why, sister, what a little prude you have become. Or is it only your own acquaintance with the Earl of Charrington that makes you rush to his defense in such a vehemently moralistic fashion? It is not the least attractive, you know. But then, town tabbies never are.”

“I am
not
a town tabby, and I do not set myself up as an arbiter of other people’s morals. You
know
I do not, Neville. But in this case, when it involves the happiness and welfare of a hardworking and honorable gentleman, then yes, I am concerned.”

“An
honorable gentleman,”
Neville mused. “Well that is certainly an interesting way of putting it.”

“The Earl of Charrington most certainly
is
an honorable gentleman. He has done his best to honor both his friendship and his debt of gratitude to Sir Richard Wyatt by marrying his only daughter, and he has honored my talent by giving me not only the chance to paint his fiancée’s portrait, but by offering me the opportunity to try my hand at more ambitious paintings in his ballroom, which will not only increase my reputation, but our fortunes as well.”

“Which we would not be needing if this
honorable gentleman
were not responsible for our ruin in the first place.”

“Ruin? What ever do you mean? Before he came to commission the portrait of Miss Wyatt, I barely knew his name, much less ever set eyes on him.”

“You may not have, but Papa did—and to his utter destruction, I might add.”

“What?
That is absurd! Papa lost all his money playing cards because he was bored and miserably unhappy having to live in a society that lacked culture, taste, an appreciation for art, and all those other things he was forced to leave behind when we left Naples.”

“And who, dear sister, do you suppose was responsible for relieving him of that boredom and our fortune as well? Who, but his constant playing companion, a man who knew that Papa was easily enough beaten by a clever opponent? Who but the exceedingly clever, mathematically inclined, but naturally
honorable
Earl of Charrington?”

“I do not believe it!” Cecilia’s hand crept to her throat in horror as she recalled her brother’s saying some time ago that the Earl of Charrington possessed a truly formidable reputation at cards. It was only natural that her father, who sought the best in every field would have been drawn to such a skilled gambler. But surely Sebastian had known her father was not a worthy opponent. And knowing that, surely he would have refused to take advantage of it? An
honorable gentleman
certainly would have refused to play with him.

“How can you be so sure? Papa spent his entire life in the gaming rooms at Brooks’s and White’s. He must have played against hundreds of opponents.”

“I can be sure because I saw the stacks of vowels made out to Charrington on his dressing table one day, and he admitted to me that he simply could not win against a man who was such a genius at cards. Since then I have heeded his advice and stayed away from Charrington.”

“And so you played against Melmouth instead! Oh, I don’t know why I even listen to you ... or anyone. I am sick to death of the lot of you.” Stifling a sob, Cecilia slammed out of the studio, leaving her brother to stare after her, a curiously arrested expression in his bright blue eyes.

“So that is the way the wind blows, is it?” He muttered quietly under his breath. Then whistling, softly he sauntered off to the more congenial atmosphere of Waitier’s where he did not run the risk of encountering either Melmouth, who patronized White’s, or Charrington, who was only to be found at Brooks’s.

In fact, he might have spared himself the trouble, for at that particular moment, neither gentleman was at either club. They were both enduring a singularly unpleasant moment in Lord Melmouth’s richly appointed library in Upper Brook Street.

At least, Lord Melmouth was enduring an uncomfortable moment under the implacable gaze of the Earl of Charrington, who himself was merely disgusted at having to breathe the same air as the despicable old roué.

“There is no discussion to be had, Melmouth. You will tear up that vowel, eliminating the Marquess of Shelburne’s debt and freeing Lady Cecilia from your barbarous intentions.”

“Come, come, now, Charrington, we are men of the world. We both know that when Lady Cecilia becomes the Countess of Melmouth, she will have an infinitely better life than she does now. As mistress of vast estates, she will have servants and carriages, and generous pin money at her instant command, whereas now she has a very limited existence eking out her living in inferior quarters in Golden Square. Why, not only will she be saving her brother’s precious reputation, she will be winning for herself a most advantageous position in the bargain. She has everything to gain and nothing to lose.”