Passion Wears Pearls (38 page)

“With Keller’s money, you mean!”

“I have money
of my own
, rightfully earned by my father’s hard work. I cannot move forward with my life and be in debt to you.”

“Debt? Give it to charity if you don’t want it!”

“
You
give it to charity, Mr. Hastings. I can’t imagine accepting anyone’s gratitude for something
your
money has provided. If you wish to become a philanthropist, then by all means! But I am not going to be your first case!”

“You’re doing this out of spite. I asked you to sit for me for a fee and you agreed. The painting was completed and it was—all that I’d hoped. I’m a man of my word. I don’t want your money.”

“I’m no longer in a desperate position where I need it! Please … it was always a ridiculous sum and your friends seem quite convinced that you cannot spare twenty pounds.”

“Oh, God.”

“Something to do with the state of your coats and the paint on your shirts, I’d guess. And even if you have more money than Midas, it doesn’t matter. I want nothing to do with this business. I wish to be free of all of it.”

“Goddamn it—”

“Language, Josiah!” She smoothed back her hair out of nervous habit. “I shall leave it on the table, Mr. Hastings.”

“Then it will rot there. Take the money, Eleanor! I
need
you to take the money!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the—” He caught himself, a wave of hunger for her nearly unmanning him. “Because it’s the only thing I’m free to give you.”

The words stung like poisoned nettles against her skin, and Eleanor marveled that she was still standing. “Truly?”

He turned away. “Be merciful, woman, and take the damn money.”

“Have you nothing else to say to me? Nothing?”

He had a thousand things to say to her, but he couldn’t imagine a man feeling more muted by fate and circumstance.

“Then you don’t deserve any mercy, Mr. Hastings. I have already given you too much of myself for too little.” She tried to drop the envelope on the table but missed as her eyes filled with tears. Somehow the sight of her offering pitifully fluttering to the ground was the last straw. “Good-bye, Josiah.”

She made yet another emotional escape from his presence, resenting the crushing pain this last encounter had caused. She’d vowed not to cry again, or forfeit her dignity, but Eleanor knew that the money had been a flimsy excuse for her visit.

She’d wanted to hear him say that he’d missed her. She’d wanted him to beg her to stay and admit that he’d made a mistake. She’d fantasized about how he might sweep her into his arms and banish the hurt of these last few days.

It’s the only thing I’m free to give you.

Because he could not give her anything else—not his name or his heart, not a single promise of fidelity or a future—not even his trust.

I failed him somehow. There was something in me that didn’t seem strong enough to him or reliable for the hardships to come. Something … but what else could I have done or said to convey to him how very much I care?

Or did he speak his mind to Mr. Keller that wretched morning when he said women were interchangeable? That I was nothing to him?

How could that be true? If he didn’t care, then how could he have been so tender and caring, so generous and thoughtful? How is it that every fiber of my being is so hungry for him, even now?

After everything that had passed between them, it had all come down to a transaction completed and money in her hands in exchange for her innocence.

It was over.

It had been a long, restless, sleepless night, and Friday morning dawned with a biting cold in the air. Eleanor listlessly rearranged the food on her breakfast tray to avoid a long sigh from Mrs. Clay, but finally gave up the attempted subterfuge. She’d made halfhearted plans to go out and look into securing different lodgings. She had money enough to take a home in Town if she wished, but nothing felt settled.
I wonder if I could get my father’s house back? Would I want to be there alone now? Or is it haunted with too many bad memories?

The Grove had become home in the last few weeks, but its association with Josiah was unacceptable. She looked over the pile of offerings from the solicitor’s office that had been deemed suitable. Mr. Olmstead had attached a note advising her of a reputable hiring agent so that she could acquire a staff when the time came. She fingered it and then set it aside. She gathered all the papers into a leather packet and headed down the stairs, only to find Mrs. Clay sweeping out the entryway.

“Are you off today, miss?” Mrs. Clay asked. “You’ll want to be wearing your warmest woolies, if you ask me. But Mr. Hastings’s carriage hasn’t arrived, so if you’d—”

“I am not … I am no longer employed by Mr. Hastings, Mrs. Clay,” she said, cutting the older woman off.

Mrs. Clay’s look was pure surprise. “No? Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Well, there’s a turn! I hope it wasn’t—” Mrs. Clay’s cheeks grew ruddier with emotion. “Was he the reason you were asking me about judging a man’s character? Was Mr. Hastings unkind to you, Miss Beckett? Is it even possible?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, Mrs. Clay! It’s just that the painting he was working on … is quite finished. It was—unthinkable for me to continue … modeling. I made an exception for Mr. Hastings, but it isn’t a very reputable pursuit for an unmarried woman.” Eleanor winced, disliking the prissy tone in her voice. “I’m sure you understand.”

“I suppose. I’m too old to keep up.” Mrs. Clay sighed. “He’s a dear man. I’ve always liked him, miss.”

“As you should, Mrs. Clay. Mr. Hastings is a perfect gentleman.”

The older woman smiled. “No man is perfect, but Mr. Hastings’s greatest fault only adds to his appeal, don’t you agree?”

“His greatest fault?” Eleanor asked, dreading the conversation. Josiah was a topic she’d hoped to avoid, but it had taken no less than twenty seconds for his name to take hold. “What flaw is that?”

“Pride! He’s terribly proud, isn’t he? Before he left for India, he was as poor as a street urchin and I knew it! But he had every tailor in Town vying to dress him and delighted in playing along with his betters. It was all a game for the handsome rogue, but I can spot a man who’s missing a meal. Even so, would he take a dish for charity here when offered?” Mrs. Clay shook her head. “Not once! Not once did he take advantage and ask for a crust of bread on credit. But if ever I needed anything after losing Mr. Clay, rest his soul, there was my artist ready to lend a hand or just bring
in his rich friends to make sure my common room was lively and my accounts sound.”

“Proud.” Eleanor repeated the word softly, absorbing this new perspective while struggling with the feeling that she’d just missed an important clue.

“Too proud for his own good, I’d say, but then, it’s not my place.” Mrs. Clay returned to her chore, working the mud out of the corners with her straw broom. “Far too proud. Something happened in India, and the fact that he’s never said a word of it only makes it certain in my mind.”

“Perhaps.” Eleanor put a hand on the banister to ground herself as the nagging sensation grew stronger.
There’s something there. I’ve missed something important in all of this.

“When he introduced me to Mr. Rutherford, I knew. His concern for his friend was striking, but whatever tiger had taken the snap out of Rutherford’s eyes, it didn’t fail to take a bite out of Mr. Hastings, too, did it? Mr. Clay’s father had that look about him after the war, but he was a proud man, too. My Mr. Clay, rest his soul, said a man’s pride dictated silence and was the mark of scars you can’t see with your eyes.” Mrs. Clay kept sweeping as she talked. “He had a way with words, didn’t he? Perhaps he did possess a bit of gypsy blood.”

“Yes, your husband was very eloquent.” Eleanor took a deep breath. As interesting as it all was, she wasn’t sure how Josiah’s silence about the Troubles had much to do with his dismissal of everything that had happened between them. “Mr. Hastings’s pride being what it is, I cannot make a complaint of it. I can assure you, Mrs. Clay, he was always considerate and put me first in all his …” The words trailed away and the world retreated a single step as if into a fog.

He’s losing his sight.

And he’s proud.

It was never about trust. Why did I think it was trust? All this time, trying to earn his confidences when that wasn’t the problem at all. He’s thinking of me—as always.
He’s protecting me and I reinforced it with all that nonsense about security and wanting the future I’d lost. I was so determined to keep my respectability so that my life could be restored, and he heard that, knowing that a life with him wouldn’t restore my life, but change it altogether.

He doesn’t think less of me.

He thought more of me than I did.

“Mr. Keller!” Mrs. Clay’s greeting interrupted her thoughts. “I’d just meant to tell Miss Beckett that you’d come by while she was out yesterday, and I’ll confess right away that it had slipped my mind. I am so sorry!”

Thomas nodded solemnly, shaking some of the snow off his coat onto the freshly swept floor. “Do not trouble yourself, Mrs. Clay. It seems the lady is here, and unless I’ve arrived at a bad moment, all is well.” He turned to Eleanor. “Miss Beckett? Were you on your way out?”

“Yes, just.”

“Can I offer you the use of my coach?” he asked.

“You’re too generous, Mr. Keller.” Eleanor hated the awkwardness of it all. When she’d seen him last, she’d just had her heart broken and hadn’t been very gracious. And this was their first meeting since the legal settlement, so Eleanor didn’t want to appear ungrateful for what he’d done. But after the revelations following Mrs. Clay’s maternal nudging, she wanted nothing more than to think for a few minutes in peace. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Keller.”

He held out his arm and she allowed him to escort her out to his waiting carriage. Once they were both inside, she took the fur he offered her and laid it over her lap to stay warm. “I am still in shock, Mr. Keller, at your generosity.”

He held up a hand, waving off her words. “I received your note after the settlement. A better man would have forfeited all of it, for the sake of morality, but I couldn’t betray all of my father’s ambitions. I’d hoped you would understand that adhering to their initial agreement as partners and the division of profits your father signed seemed like an acceptable middle ground.”

She nodded, numbly trying to take it all in. “Of course.
I never wished to see your family impoverished at my expense, Mr. Keller.”

Thomas smiled, leaning back against the upholstered seat. “You’ve forgiven me again, and I’m immeasurably grateful to Providence, Miss Beckett. To meet you by chance that night and to win your friendship, by any means, is more fortune than I’d hoped for.” He eyed the leather packet in her hands. “Are you out on business, then? Can I direct the driver somewhere on your behalf?”

Eleanor took a deep breath, aware that his simple offer was perhaps a turning point, and her choices in the next few minutes were far more critical than they might appear. “Mr. Keller? May I ask you something first?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If I remember you rightly, you said that it was an unexpected invitation to the Walls’. Yes?”

He shrugged. “Yes, your memory serves you well, Miss Beckett. I was invited by Mr. Wall to his salon gathering. A pleasant surprise, to be sure, but finding you made it even more of a revelation, Miss Beckett.”

“Are you not a close acquaintance of Mr. Wall?” she asked.

“Not at all!” he scoffed. “Frivolous pursuits have never appealed, and by reputation, the Walls do nothing that isn’t silly, from what I could see.”

“So why do you think he invited you to his party?” she pressed. “If he didn’t know you?”

Thomas’s naturally serious countenance grew even more somber. “I’m sure I don’t know. Social ambition? Curiosity? An assessment to see if I might qualify beyond my fortunes for their circle?”

Eleanor nervously smoothed back her hair. “Mr. Wall is a close friend of Mr. Hastings.”

“Is he?” Mr. Keller seemed genuinely shocked at the notion.

“Mr. Wall could have done it at Josiah’s bidding. It was Josiah, all along, do you see? He meant for me to have the chance to give you the cut direct, if I wanted to, I’m sure of
it. A chance to fuss a bit and feel better, I think, for all that had happened between our fathers.”

“Hardly an admirable gesture, Miss Beckett, to unknowingly set you up for a public confrontation. I’m glad your better nature didn’t succumb to the temptation to call me out in front of all those people.”

“As I am that your better nature preferred justice over greed. But don’t you realize what it means?”

Keller shook his head.

“He’s done nothing, absolutely nothing, since the instant I’ve met him that wasn’t motivated by his desire to make my life better. Even letting me go.”

“As well he should. As I told him, it’s the only honorable course and—”

“As
you
told him?”

“I offered him the advice of a man with a better vantage on the situation. After all, an artist is hardly a respectable choice for any woman, much less one in your position. He was taking advantage of you—perhaps for the money all along! As you say, he did arrange to make the introductions between us. He might have hoped for the very outcome we achieved, and then thought to benefit with you as a patroness to support his lackadaisical—”