Lord Sidley's Last Season (19 page)

“You must grant that hers is a practical decision, Sidley. Sensible young women do not toss aside solid
prospects to be favored for a few weeks by their betters”

Sidley scowled. “You think me so lacking in honor?”

“I think you are not yourself. I think you are not thinking.”

Again Sidley idly swirled the untouched brandy in his
glass. “Miss Ware wishes to paint Jenny Knox,” he said
abruptly, and he watched Vaughn blanch. “Yes, I thought
so,” he added. “This is not a matter of thinking, Vaughn, but of feeling. All of us must, apparently, play our prescribed parts. But I cannot deceive myself that the
outcomes are in any regard optimal. Decidedly not”
Placing the snifter to the side, he rose to his feet. “Some
days ago she sent me a watercolor sketch. Though she
claims she drew it up as a preliminary, I suspect she must
have worked on it as something quite apart” He walked
to a bureau and, opening an upper drawer, carefully removed a tissue-wrapped sheet of thick paper. Uncovering it, he held it up for Vaughn’s inspection.

Vaughn regarded it for a long moment, then said
frankly, “You told me she painted with the best. I affirm
it.”

Sidley’s smile was humorless. “‘Twas done with
some affection, would you not say so, Vaughn?”

“I imagine she paints what she feels, which lends the
piece its power. But you must still interpret. And what
has changed? Even if she does return your sentiments,
you would have her break her promise to a man who
has been at sea these past two years?”

“Worse things have happened,” Sidley said intently.
“What must an engagement be, after all? ‘Tis meant to
be short of a marriage.”

“But not, perhaps, as flexible as you would wish it.
We’ve discussed this before.”

Sidley sighed. “You do know, Vaughn, that this is insupportable.”

“But you shall bear it.”

“Yes,” he said with resignation. And having to some degree at last reached that state of acceptance, and hearing Lady Adeline and Miss Poole in the hall, the two
men departed in considerable melancholy for the evening’s effort at entertainment.

With some uneasiness Marian set up her easel in one
of the Formsbys’ drawing rooms. The afternoon was
bright, but her spirits were dim. She suspected this would
be the last time she would paint Lord Sidley, and she
greeted the prospect with both expectation and sadness.
Forwarding the watercolor portrait to him had been as
close as she dared come to confessing her feelings, but
she had heard nothing from him in response, which she
admitted to herself was all for the best. Perhaps he had
concluded only that she wished to finish with all things
Sidley; perhaps what had seemed so obvious to her had
not conveyed clearly to him. Indeed, she had been of two
minds whether to part with the token at all. The watercolor had not been what she determined he wanted in a
formal portrait-she had sketched him quickly, standing
in the library at Aldersham and looking rather soberly out
at the garden. She had drawn him that first day, when he
had worn his black coat and she debated how best to pose
him. But she had captured some part of him in that portrait, something fresh and intimate, that had so far eluded
her in the larger oil. If she could identify the difference
today, she knew her work would be all the better for it.

“Lord Sidley, miss,” Jenks announced, with Sidley at
his heels.

“My lord.”

“Miss Ware”

Two footmen guarded the open door to the drawing
room. Marian noted them absently as she looked to
Sidley. She thought he looked less than pleased to be
present.

“My aunt and Lady Katherine should be back shortly,
my lord. They have gone shopping. I hope you do not
mind if we begin?”

“I am at your command.”

She had him take a seat with the light from the terrace window to the side. It was afternoon light and not
as clear here in the city as it had been in Kent. But Marian’s effort today was to check Sidley’s features and to
unify the values of his hair, complexion, and coat. For
the rest, she still remembered Aldersham. She could recall the feel of a morning there from memory.

“The town is full of news of your recovery, my lord,”
she said.

“That is only a slight exaggeration, Miss Ware, as the
visits of the Russian tsar and king of Prussia have
drawn some middling attention for weeks. As has word
of the abdication of a former emperor-what the devil
was his name? Ah, I see that you smile about it now.
Does that mean you have forgiven me?”

“It should not matter what I think, my-”

“But it does”

“Then yes,” she said, purposely hiding behind the
canvas. “I have forgiven you.”

“I am most grateful for that. And grateful as well for
the watercolor, which is splendid. With your permission I shall have it framed”

“The sketch is yours to do with as you please. I fear
you may be happier with it than with this oil. For I cannot get it right …”

“I have no objection to continuing our sessions. But I
forget-you are shortly to leave us. I understand that
Lieutenant Reeves’s ship has docked at Portsmouth”

Then you know more than I, Marian thought silently.
She fought the slight tremor in her hand and kept
painting.

“I must thank you, my lord, for directing Lord Carroll to Katie. No, do not shake your head. I know that
you did so. I believe she goes driving with Carroll in the
park later this afternoon. You have set my mind at ease”

“You may not thank me should she develop a tendre
for Carroll, though he is better than many”

“Katie is, thankfully, not ready to give her heart. And
as she is in the enviable position of not needing to marry,
she has chosen to enjoy every aspect of the season”

“I am well aware of that. I am exhausted”

Marian laughed. She tried to concentrate on the
painting before her. But she had just then realized why
she faced a difficulty with the oil that she had not
with the watercolor sketch. She had painted the earlier
piece knowing that she found Lord Sidley attractive, that
she liked him, and that she regretted his ill health and imminent loss. She had painted with feeling, but she
had not recognized just how deep her feelings ran.

She struggled to focus. Having asked him here, she
could not very well abandon the session.

“You have a delightful laugh,” Sidley said, drawing
her attention to his eyes. She believed he must read her
thoughts on her face. “Although I cannot claim it is reassuring to have the artist laugh while recording one’s
likeness.”

She smiled. “Miss Poole did not accompany you today? I expected she might.”

“Clara also shops this afternoon, with my aunt, for a
wedding gift for Dicky. Apparently such selections require considerable application. Perhaps you will be as
attentive to your own brother’s nuptials.”

In all truth Marian had given little thought to Michael’s
wedding, which he planned for November. November
seemed so very far in the future.

“I shall most probably offer to paint his bride, my
lord.”

“I had forgotten that you will always be capable of
offering the most rewarding gift possible.”

“You tease me, Lord Sidley. It is, for me, also the least
expensive.”

“I’m convinced that will not long be the case. I assume you will have submissions prepared for next summer’s Royal Academy exhibition?”

“I have some paintings and drawings that might be acceptable, and I will apply myself to more. But as you
know, the exhibition is juried. I must pass muster.”

“‘Tis competitive, certainly, but you will have no difficulty. I believe the standard is `distinguished merit.”’

“I appreciate your confidence, my lord”

“I am no less confident than you are, Miss Ware, to
have embarked on this course at all. I believe you deserve to succeed. To that end, I wish you would permit
me to open some doors for you”

Marian’s brush hand wavered. “How do you mean?”
she asked.

“I should like to introduce you to Mr. Angerstein,
who owns a large number of masterpieces. He shows his
collection at his home in Pall Mall. And there are others
of my acquaintance who further the arts-John Varley,
who still teaches, and whose watercolors I am certain
you know, and Dr. Monro, who supported Turner. Perhaps old Sir George Beaumont might even be prevailed
upon-”

“Why should you do this, Lord Sidley?”

“Why should I not? As I’ve mentioned, ‘tis within
my power. And these gentlemen might interest you, and
aid you”

“‘Tis not necessary for you to make-to
compensate-for anything. You have already done more
than enough with this commission. I would not ask
you-”

“You are due the opportunities because of your abil ity. I ask nothing of you in return. Except, perhaps, that
you think well of me”

“I needn’t take such advantage. I do think well of you.”

“How well?”

She stopped painting and met his gaze. The intensity
of his made her breath catch. He knows, she thought.
He understood the watercolor. Even as she thought it,
she wished she might capture the openness of his gaze
on the canvas. But first she had to answer it.

“My lord-”

“Do not `my lord’ me, Marian.”

Her heart faltered, even as footsteps crossed the hall.
She thought Edith and Katie had returned.

But at the doorway the butler announced, “Lieutenant
Reeves to see you, miss”

William was tanned and healthy. He was smiling
broadly. Marian could not help but view him with relief;
for two years she had feared for his safety. And the
waiting-the waiting had seemed endless. But as she
carefully laid her brush aside and crossed quickly to
the doorway, she sensed Sidley’s gaze upon her. And, despite the smile, William looked as ill at ease as she felt.

In the second’s hesitation before she could reach to
kiss his cheek, William grasped her hand and smartly
saluted it.

“Hello, old girl,” he said. “You look just just as ever.”

“William!” she breathed, “I did not expect you. Not
here in town.”

“No, of course not. Didn’t mean to surprise you, but
Michael thought I should come on to you first thing.”

“Michael! But where is he?”

“In Brinford. Had a letter from him, I mean.”

Marian stared at him. Something was wrong. But
William’s gaze had slid to Sidley.

“My-Lord Sidley,” she said, turning to him. “May I
present Lieutenant William Reeves?”

Sidley had risen to his feet. He bowed, as did William.

“How d’you do, Lieutenant?” Sidley was smiling. “I
have heard much of you”

“You have? I can’t imagine-”

“Your fiancee has been most complimentary.”

To Marian’s surprise, William blushed a bright red.

“Too … too kind. Thank you, my lord.” He cleared
his throat. “Marian paints you?”

Sidley gestured to the canvas. When William crossed
the room, Sidley joined him in appraising the work.

“Good of you to let Marian practice on you, my lord.”

“The honor is mine.” He paused. “Are you not impressed with the result, Lieutenant?”

“It does look very much like you, my lord. That is always most important. You must have preferred, though,
to be painted in your regimentals? I wonder Marian did
not think of it.”

“Miss Ware did think of it, Lieutenant. But it was not
my preference”

“Well … He looked uncomfortable and straightened
his shoulders. “It should have been mine.”

Sidley’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Quite.” He was
watching William’s face. “I do not wonder at it.”

Marian took some umbrage at his tone, which she
deemed critical. She knew that Sidley observed herworse, that he observed her with William. He could not
have failed to note the constraint between them.

“I must congratulate you, Lieutenant, on securing
Miss Ware’s affections.”

“Well, as to that, she is … she is something…

“Something, yes” Sidley’s gaze fell lazily upon her,
in such a manner that Marian grew warm. “I know you
must have much to impart to each other,” he said, moving toward the door, and Marian, conscious of a curious
reluctance to let him leave, followed him. She should
not have desired Lord Sidley’s help with her fiance. The
thought was ludicrous.

Sidley paused at the entry to the hall and turned to
her. “We never quite finish, do we?” he asked softly. Taking the same bare hand William had just saluted, he
raised it to his lips and placed a kiss upon the selfsame
spot. But there was nothing at all similar in its effect.
His gaze assessed her as he donned his hat and gathered
his gloves and cane. “You look lovely, Miss Ware just
as ever,” he said, pointedly amending William’s words.
Then he moved into the hall and left her.

“Well!” William said as she returned to him.

The back of her hand felt precious.

“You are keeping high company these days, Marian.
Sidley! And painting him! What is he paying you?”