Lord Sidley's Last Season (12 page)

“‘Tis van de Cappelle,” Sidley said behind her. As
she turned to him, he smiled. “My father had a taste for
the Dutch. My grandfather-Well, I saw that you admired the Claude in the dining room last night.” When Marian nodded, he added, “Great-grandfather favored
the Italian masters: Caracci, Giotto, Correggio, Titian….
You must examine them here at your leisure.”

Marian watched as two footmen, bearing between
them an easel and several canvases of differing dimension, followed him into the room. A young maid curtsied to Marian before slipping quietly into a seat at the
already blazing hearth.

“I would not have you here without a chaperone, Miss
Ware,” Sidley said as Marian eyed the girl. “‘Tis best
to observe the proprieties,” he continued, strolling on into
the room. “We are like to have spectators enough-I hope
you do not mind-though the library is, in the usual
course of such a weekend, unfrequented. Literary pursuits seem to coincide with rain.” He smiled. “I took the
liberty of having some canvas stretched and sized. Mostly
half-length . . ” He indicated the supplies that had accompanied him. “But should you prefer your own .. “

Marian shook her head. “This is more than enough,
my lord.”

“I knew you would not be traveling with such. And
suspected as well that you might have forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“That you had agreed to paint me”

She thought he was laughing at her. His gaze held
something of amusement. He certainly knew that she had
never agreed to anything of the sort.

“You have not indicated your own preference in art,
my lord.”

“Oh, but I have. ‘Tis English, and distinctly contemporary.”

She looked away from him then, and from his smile,
convinced that this exercise in portraiture was part of
some elaborate game. “You might have anyone paint
you,” she said shortly.

“Perhaps. But I am just traditional enough to choose a
woman as portraitist when one is available. You must
have noticed that Angelica Kauffman painted my grandfather, and Madame Vigee Le Brun, my father” When
she nodded, he said pleasantly, “Shall we begin?”

Marian moved toward the windows, sparing only the
briefest glance at the view of the park in front with its
extensive beds of flowers. When she reached to position a chair to one side of the windows, a footman was
there before her to fulfill the task.

“You wish me to sit, then?” Sidley asked.

“To start, my lord. Unless you have something particular in mind?”

“What would you have me tell you, Miss Ware? That
I must be posed astride a thundering steed, or strutting
with sword aloft?” He laughed at her impatient expression. “I have no preference”

“Then I shall make a few sketches first. I might ask
you to stand later.”

He nodded. Marian surveyed his elegant but dark attire, noting once more the black ribbon about one sleeve.
“You wish to be painted in mourning?”

“‘Twould seem appropriate.”

“I thought perhaps your regimentals..:’

“No” The single word was emphatic.

Marian thought with regret that he must have looked
magnificent in uniform.

“May I state a preference, though,” she said, “for a
coat that is a bit brighter? ‘Twould make for a more vibrant painting.”

“What color would you like then, Miss Ware?” He
was signaling a footman.

“I-one of blue, I think, my lord.”

As the footman listened to the order and departed,
Sidley looked down at her. “You are fond of blue, Miss
Ware?”

“Not overmuch,” she assured him. The wretch was
too pointedly holding her gaze with the cobalt depth of
his own. Opening her sketchbook, she gestured to the
chair. “If you would, my lord.”

For some minutes she drew in silence as he faced the
window. He did not move even when the footman returned with a valet, who carried three coats. In some distraction Marian, who had become absorbed in her work,
looked to the servants as the valet cleared his throat.

“You must tell me whether I am permitted to move or
speak, Miss Ware,” Sidley said, maintaining his pose.

“Oh! Of course, my lord.”

He turned to the proffered wardrobe. Marian was not
surprised at his choice. She suspected it was the same coat he had worn in Hatchards’s two weeks before,
when they had been introduced. When he sought her approval, she quickly gave it.

“I shall wear it tomorrow, then,” he said to her relief.

For a moment she had wondered if he intended to
change right there before her. As she felt her cheeks
grow warm, she concentrated on the paper in front of
her and asked him once again to look away.

“Are we not to have any conversation then, Miss
Ware?” he asked after some time. “I confess I had not
planned on so much reflection. If you must know, ‘tis a
form of penance”

“You might talk if you wish, my lord.”

“And you shall dutifully listen?” His lips did not
smile, though his voice did. “Can you not work and
speak at once?”

“Of course I can.” Though she thought her own claim
too brave. At that moment she was contemplating the firm
lines to his mouth and chin, the way in which the morning
light played across his even features. “This is … this is a
very beautiful room,” she said.

“It is perhaps my favorite at Aldersham,” he said.
“And not only because it is, in general, private. I find it
particularly appealing in the morning, and I am by nature an early riser-which will, no doubt, surprise you,
Miss Ware”

“Why should that surprise me?”

His lips twitched. “I was under the impression that you believed my nocturnal entertainments must leave
me desperate for sleep, as most of our friends seem to
be this morning.”

“You might be desperate for sleep, my lord, and still
rise early.” She suspected that was indeed the case, as
she thought again that he looked peaked, much too pale.
She heard him mutter “impertinent creature,” but the
comment sounded cordial enough, and when she asked
him to turn to face her, his gaze was steady and open.

“I was used to riding every morning,” he told her.
“Do you ride, Miss Ware?”

“I have ridden, my lord, but never regularly. For want
of a horse.”

“You must ride here.”

“I shall probably be too busy-with your portrait,
my lord.”

He smiled. “You needn’t work so assiduously. I do
not demand too close a likeness.”

“I do not see the purpose of a portrait that is not a
likeness.”

“Which explains why this might be your sole commission, my dear Miss Ware. Few are satisfied with a
likeness.”

“Is this a commission then, my lord? I had thought
perhaps ‘twas a favor.”

One well-shaped eyebrow rose. “A favor to me, certainly. But no, you will be paid for your time and talent.
I am not that mean”

She asked him to stand and face the window.

“What do you think of our company, Miss Ware?”

“It seems a very jolly group.”

“`Jolly’?” The set line to his lips disputed that rather
impatiently. “I fear you do not look below the surface.
Or perhaps you have not observed much beyond Mr.
Richard Poole’s smiles?”

Marian frowned. “If you cannot look happy, my lord,
I would wish you might at least relax. Your face reflects
your thoughts”

“Does it?” He turned to look directly at her. “If so, you
must read my mind. You must know what I am thinking
this minute.”

She thought at first that he was angry; the intensity of
his expression made her think so. But there was something else there, something she would most closely liken
to hunger.

“You are thinking of your breakfast,” she said.

His features relaxed. “Close enough, I suppose, that I
must credit you with knowing what you are about.” A
small smile stayed with him as he again faced the
window.

“‘Twas an expression you might not want so accurately portrayed,” Marian suggested.

For a moment he was silent. “That would depend,
Miss Ware,” he told her lightly, “on where the thing is
to be displayed.”

Again she worked silently, until she asked him to
face her while standing.

“What do you think of the ladies, then?” he asked.

“I like them all.”

“As do I. But you draw no distinctions?”

“Were I to do so, even with my host,” she said with
some heat, “I should be thought rude.”

He smiled briefly. “Can you picture any of them as
mistress of Aldersham?”

“Your aunt, Lady Adeline, certainly.”

He laughed. “Touche, Miss Ware.”

Marian had to look away from his gaze. She concentrated on his brow and the sculpted line of his cheek.

“You remind me of my old nurse,” he said, once
again demanding her attention.

“Am I to be complimented, my lord?”

“Never more so! She was the most disciplined person I have ever known. I thought of her often on the
Peninsula-to my enduring benefit, I assure you. Discipline saves lives.”

Marian, not knowing how to respond, applied herself
to her work. When he stood even five feet away, he
seemed to loom over her; she thought she must paint him
seated, if only for her own peace of mind. She frowned
as she considered that-and the idea that he compared
her to a martinet of a nurse.

“You are, of course, much younger and prettier.”

“My lord, I-”

“And you do not squint.”

She choked back a laugh.

“My old nurse, Miss Philomela Philpott-”

“That was not her name!” Marian objected.

“Oh, do you know her, then?”

“Of course not,” she protested. “But, my lord, you are
absurd!”

He smiled. “Sadly, I never did know Miss Philpott’s
Christian name. She was above all things proper, and
moved on to a worthier youngster almost a score of
years ago. At all times I called her merely `Nurse.’ But
the point, Miss Ware, is that I shall never forget the last
words she said to me. `Master Leland,’ she said-for I
was not always Sidley, you understand-‘Master Leland, you must keep your affairs in order.’ And that is
what I have attempted ever since.”

Marian drew a rather emphatic line about his collar.
“This is true?” she asked.

“Truth matters to you?”

“Why, of course,” she said simply, and startled an
expression on his face that was uncharacteristically
serious.

“The reference,” he continued, “was to keeping my
affairs in order. For I find that with the passage of time
my affairs have multiplied alarmingly. And among them
is the need to maintain my family and its standing.” He
paused. “I must take a wife.”

She could not meet his gaze. “I have meant to tell you,
my lord, how grateful I am to be included in this party. I
know that it is-that I am not that Katie-”

“It is my pleasure, and my aunt’s, to have your com pany, Miss Ware,” he said smoothly. “Your presence
would enhance any parry”

She raised her chin to stifle the impulse to cry. For
the words were at once everything proper, yet distancing all the same. Despite her effort, her lips trembled.

“I fear I must take a break for some minutes here,
Miss Ware,” he told her as he moved away from the windows, “for I see my steward crossing the lawn, and I
must have a word with him. Your pardon”

Marian breathed in relief once he had left the room.
His presence made a mockery of her self-control, emphasizing just how alive to him she was. Placing her sketchbook aside, she reached for her painting smock and slid it
over her gown. The young maid jumped up to help her tie
it in back, before opening one of the windows to admit
the morning air. For some minutes Marian debated which
of several poses she should paint and settled on having
him seated, more for his own comfort with his injured leg
than for any preference of her own. This task, which
should have been easy, was, in fact, proving arduous.

When a footman arrived with a pot of hot chocolate
and two cups upon a tray, Marian had him pour out for
her. She savored sips of the heavenly potion as she
blocked out the canvas. By the time Sidley returned,
she had recovered some level of equanimity.

“I apologize,” he told her, taking a seat when she gestured to it. “Just a small matter, but important nonetheless”

Until that moment she had not focused on how many
“small matters” must be comprehended in the smooth
running of an estate such as Aldersham. Perhaps Lord
Sidley was not as inattentive as she had heard, that the
place should be so magnificent.

“I see you’ve sampled the chocolate,” he said, having
a footman bring him a cup.

“It is delicious,” she said. “Most extravagant”

He looked pleased. “‘Tis the French method. I have
converted my aunt to it, despite her protests.”

“Why should she protest?”

“Lady Adeline believes it intemperate to find too
much pleasure in any one thing.” His gaze watched her
over the rim of his cup. “Do you sympathize with her,
Miss Ware?”

“Not at all. I suppose I indulge myself in painting. I
should rather paint than anything else. I might spend
hours and scarce be conscious of the time.”

“It sounds a complete trance”

She thought his tone somewhat dismissive. “I see no
call to disparage concentration, my lord.”

“I do not ‘disparage.” Tis envy you hear, Miss Ware”

.‘Envy?”
?

“I have only ever found one subject as transfixing.”

At his subsequent silence, she peered around the
canvas at him. His gaze, his grin, made her blush.

“We speak of different passions, my lord,” she said
stonily. “My interest is most selective.”

“I assure you, Miss Ware, so is mine.”

For some time she did not speak to him, except to ask
him to lift his chin or shift his shoulders. She hid behind
the wall of canvas and let herself believe she disliked him.

“Tell me, what does your Lieutenant Reeves look
like?”

The question, coming after a prolonged silence, startled her so much that for a moment she could not even
recall William’s face.