Page 15 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“It’s a fool’s scheme,” Theo insisted. “Lady Cordelia has no natural artistic talent of her own. She has been under my family’s protection for four years, my father’s protection, but we can no longer support her and are soon to accept an offer on the Drury Lane house. She must find some other arrangement. My brother, Lord Lysander—”
“Oh, my darling Zander.” The Lady Balantine cupped her cheeks. “How is he and his talented wife? I do hope they visit soon.”
“Lord Lysander suggested you might be able to help Lady Cordelia. She can act as your companion or—”
“I do not wish to be a companion, Lord Theodore.” Lady Cordelia’s voice rose high and firm as she stood to tower over him. “I will care for myself if you would give me time to see my vision a success.”
He could tower, too, so he stood, slowly, not stepping away from her to put more space between their bodies. But he seemed to have scared himself instead of her. She stood so close he could smell her, hear her breath, feel its susurrations against his waistcoat, see the tip of her chin as she lifted it to meet him sharp stare for sharp stare. And all her offers, jest though he knew them to be, as well as young Tommy’s question about paying for kisses, held knife points to his throat and demanded—look at her,seeher. Kiss her?
He slammed his eyes closed, whipped around, and stormed across the room, breathing slowly to wipe away those thoughts. Why in hell would heeverthink of kissing her? She damn well sparkled, and he hated glitter. He turned around to tell her… to tell her… What had he been about to say?
She must have taken his march across the room, his silence, as concession, as victory for herself. She sat taller than before; her shoulders squared with confidence. “I have it all planned, Lady Balantine. And I’ve a list of other possible donors. It is to be a school foreveryone. We have ten students on scholarship learning everything from writing to painting to violin. To support their endeavors, we also have over twenty paying students. One class is currently entirely full. It’s for widows. They learn to sketch anatomy.”
Theo snorted.
“And most of the women who attend are wealthy. They pay well for a time to meet with like-minded ladies and delight in a bit of diversion. Learning something new distracts them, you see. From their loss. Helps them move through it.” Lady Cordelia sank back into her chair, her hands coming to her belly like armor. “Our young violin student is quite good. He learned fiddle from his father at a young age, and my violin instructor, Miss Williams, ensures me he will in time be able to play with quartets or perhaps for the theater, and bring more money to his family than he could working in a dangerous factory. And my instructors. I am not taking advantage of them. They know they are currently volunteering their time, but they are committed nonetheless. It is not simply my project. It is all of ours. After all, they have what I do not—talent, the ability to teach. I am merely organizing them all.”
Lady Balantine had found her fan once more, and with each of Lady Cordelia’s sentences, she fluttered faster, leaned closer, and by the time Lady Cordelia had stopped, the dowager fell back into her seat, elation shining in her eyes.
“My, my. What a perfect scheme. Absolutely perfect.”
Lady Cordelia’s speech hung over Theo like a persistent cloud. Were the instructors truly part of the scheme, willing to give of their time to help others? That changed things a bit, didn’t it? Not enough to have him interfere with Raph’s intentions to sell the house, but his anger ebbed away, replaced by a glimmer of… respect.
He had no idea how she’d come to be under his father’s care, but she had something of his father’s large heart about her, and he couldn’t help but admire that, misguided as it often was. She had purpose, the kind of purpose that sought to elevate the world and improve lives. Similar, in an odd way, to his own. But where he sought to reveal the hypocrisy of those who abused and mistreated the less fortunate, she sought to lift up those who needed help. They worked, it seemed, on the same problem but at different ends of it.
His end, clearly, was the superior one. There would be other ways she could do good, but this way, the school, would never work. It was too big a project, too beyond her abilities, and he couldn’t figure out how to fight her, to get her to see sense.
All he had to make his point was the truth.
He returned to his seat and licked his lips, then he held his hands out to the women, palms up. “I admit your scheme is admirable, Lady Cordelia. But you do not have the luxury of time. My father settled two hundred pounds a year on you, a sum my brother is required to continue paying until you find another position, another patron. And with the house to be sold so soon, you must find one quickly.” He looked away from the worn palms of his gloves to Lady Cordelia’s face, soft with listening, lips slightly parted. “I know we are asking you to give up your independence, the house that has been your home for the last four years, but there is no other way. Even my father knew it, or he would not have made it possible for us to stop the payments to the artists he supported, to you. But he did.”
Lady Cordelia’s lips parted. For a moment she appeared vulnerable, lost, but the illusion quickly dropped, revealing the strong, determined woman he knew well once more. She exhaled, a heavy thing, before she faced the dowager. “How much can you donate?”
What gumption. Not will you donate, buthow much.
The dowager watched them warily as if they might become birds and fly at her turban. “I can’t say off the top of my head. My son has lately found himself in financial trouble, and I’ve been draining my coffers to fix it. I’ll have to speak with my agent.”
Lady Cordelia clutched her fists into her skirt, then uncurled them and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. When they dropped, her eyes were clear and something like a small smile curled her lips. “I see I have much to think on. And much to do.” She stood. “Lady Balantine, would you please contact me when you know how much you can donate? And if you have like-minded acquaintances.”
Lady Balantine nodded. “Of course. But please do not leave so soon.”
“I have many more potential donors to contact. I’m afraid we must.”
“But—look! The tea has arrived.” The dowager swept an arm toward the door as it creaked open and a cart pushed through. “Sit, sit, my darling, you cannot leave yet. I’ve so much to speak of, and no one to speak it to.”
Theo stood as well. “Apologies, my lady, but Lady Cordelia is correct. We must take our leave.”
“I’m sure I have some gossip to keep you entertained. Such as”—she lifted a finger—“Lord Mason’s affair with an opera singer or”—another finger joined the first—“the rumor that Lady Greystone’s new twins do not belong to her husband. Or, oh!” Both hands appeared in the air, all fingers flown wide. “The new artists house party that’s arose to replace the one your parents used to host, Lord Theodore.”
Theo stopped, and Lady Cordelia, who’d been trailing him out of the room, bumped into him, frowned, and rubbed her nose as she rocked onto her heels.
The dowager grinned. “Interested in that, are you?” She folded her hands over her now folded fan. “Have a seat, have a seat.”
The maid with the tea cart poured three cups, and the steam rose from each gold-rimmed cup, taunting, inviting.
“Who’s hosting it?” Theo asked.
“The Earl of Pentshire. It’s to be held at his home near Manchester in three days’ time. And oh, but it’s delicious.”
