Page 10 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I have a month?” The words barely made sense on her lips.
“Do not worry, though. I have a patron for you.”
She jumped to her feet. “You do not!”
He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his very long and thickly muscled legs, folding his blunt-nailed fingers together across his taut abdomen. “I do. The dowager Baroness Balantine. She’s a particular friend to my brother and his new wife. You should remember her. You met her once.”
She’d followed Lord Theodore about one day because his brother had gone missing, and she’d wanted to help, needed to, really. The late marquess had loved his children more than anything, had kept small silhouettes of all six of them in various pockets so that he crinkled when he walked. He’d have been heartbroken to find his son in trouble, and she’d needed to feel useful to the man who had helped her so much.
She touched the necklace at her throat, the small, goldwork bird that hung always about her neck, a gift from her father. The only thing that remained of her former life, and sometimes it filled her with sorrow, with memories that seemed almost unreal, of a time when she’d been a pampered earl’s daughter with parents who loved her. Many times, she’d shoved it into a dark drawer, but of late, she’d clutched it tight. Birds took flight, after all, winging above gray clouds and rain to find sunnier climes.
She would be that bird. She wanted to live with that hope.
Before her father had died, she’d been a dependent in need of a husband. After her father’s death, she’d been a future wife with no family connections to bring to her marriage. And after her betrothed had abandoned her, Lord Waneborough had taken her in, protected her, given her hope. But under his protection, she’d become an empty canvas to fill up with artistic skill. None of the paint he attempted to apply there took. Slid right off. Leaving her just as dependent on the men in her life as she’d ever been. As all women ever were.
Her school would change all that—give her purpose and independence, a means to care for herself and for others.
But Lord Theodore wanted her to be dead weight once more, an unneeded companion to a charitable woman when she wastryingto prove herself useful. Shewouldprove herself useful, fly above the shadows of his disapproval and make a new life for herself.
She folded her arms with military precision behind her back. Did she have any other choice than to continue being the burden she’d always been?
“Lady Balantine,” she said. “The woman who disappeared and forged all the art?”
“She merely paid for the forgeries, and she’s no longer in that sort of business.”
“You wish to connect me with a woman who has a nefarious past?” Not that it mattered. Everyone believed her own past to be quite nefarious. The old marquess’s by-blow or his mistress? The question kept her instructors debating for days, weeks,months.
Lord Theodore shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what her past is as long as she wishes to support you in the present. And the future.”
“Support me doing what, Lord Theodore?” The man truly had nothing in that brainbox. When he moved, if you got close enough, you could likely hear things rattle. “You’ve seen the extent of my talents. I’m useless. No one wants useless.”
His stone face cracked with a fleeting flinch before it set once more into hard lines. “She doesn’t care. Lady Balantine has a soft heart. She’ll let you play companion if you like.”
“I donotlike.” She marched toward him, stood above in what she hoped appeared an intimidating pose, legs wide, hands on hips, wearing her own Thames-wide scowl. She let passion, not prudence, guide her words. Because while she had nothing of value to offer anyone, she knew she did not want to sit by the side, an observer of everyone else’s lives. “I have my own plan, my lord, and I do not need your help.”
He straightened, bringing his face closer to hers, then he pushed to standing so that he towered over her. “Oh? Your own plan? To join the demimonde?”
“No.” She should never have said that when she’d not truly meant it.
“What is your plan?”
I think you should just tell Lord Theodore. He may be able to help, Miss Williams had said.
Cordelia wanted to shove that idea out the window alongside Miss Williams, but she’d run out of options. Someone wanted to buy her house. Only one option remained: tell Lord Theodore her plans and hope he supported them.
“I wish to buy this house,” she said, “and open an art school. For everyone. Not just for those who can pay but for those whoneedit.” She would not wince at her own revelation. Or hide. She’d stand her ground even though that ground stood so close to that which he occupied, and she’d hold her chin high. “The Waneborough Charitable School of Art.”
“Named for my father.” No emotion in his deep rumble of a voice.
“Yes. Of course. He saved me, and in his name, I will save others.”
Lord Theodore’s eyes flashed like lightning, clear and sharp and frightening. “How will you pay for those who cannot?”
“The tuition of those who can. You’ve met some of them already.”
His eyes brightened. “The widows who tried to undress me.”
“Yes. And I’ll gather donors as well. I’ve a list of names I’ve collected of wealthy individuals who might be interested.”
