Page 16 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
Delicious. Code forscandalous. And Theo needed scandal. Scandal fed him, gave him air and inspiration.
And frankly, he felt a bit like a villain standing so close to a woman attempting to do such good and threatening to evict her as soon as could be. But scandal meant there roamed the world a real villain, one he could uncover and bring to justice, and in so doing, right his own wrongs.
He returned to the chairs, took a cup of steaming tea, and sat in the blue one Lady Cordelia had so recently occupied. “Why is it… delicious?”
“Well”—the baroness leaned close, dropped her voice—“unlike your parents’ house party, it’s for couples only. Artists and their…muses.” She hissed the last word.
Not muses then. Or notjustmuses. Their mistresses.
Well damn. Gossip, common knowledge, painted Pentshire clean as new-fallen snow, innocent as a babe, sweet as a lamb. He’d only just inherited his father’s title in the last year and most considered him a shining new star of parliament with principles as old fashioned as his waistcoats, which he appeared to have pilfered from his grandfather’s wardrobe.
Theo whistled. “Do you know who has been invited?”
Lady Cordelia dropped into the chair beside him. “Are we truly gossiping at a time like this? Aren’t we in the middle of a row? No, a battle. For my future no less.”
He waved away her concerns. “Shh. Lady Balantine, continue.”
The baroness popped her fan open and fluttered it before her mouth as she spoke. “The guest list is… fascinating. An earl who considers himself a genius, a few viscounts, a baron, and wealthy merchants without titles. An actress or two if I’ve heard right. All influential, all wealthy, all painters. Most married. Andnotto the women attending the party.”
Exactly what Theo needed. If he could attend the party, he could gain material for the most successful print of his career. A series of them perhaps. Entitled “The Truth and Beauty of Art.” The truth was those who dabbled in it were not beautiful at all.
And he could reveal their ugliness.
The dowager and Lady Cordelia continued their gossip, and he leaned into the back of the chair, sipping his tea slowly, plotting.
He must visit with Pentshire and secure an invitation.
Four
Cordelia traveled the length of her parlor and back, hands on hips, fleeting feet over the carpet, mind racing. So little time. So few options. The clock ticked in the buzz of loneliness surrounding her—a reminder. The only other sound was the soft slap of her feet against the floor. How many hours, days, months, had she paced alone like this, waiting for another instructor to arrive and keep her company, waiting—always in vain—for the marquess to visit. Above her, a violin quivered into unsteady life.
Miss Williams was here!
Cordelia ran up the stairs and threw open the door at the end of the hall where Miss Williams always held her lessons. She and her student—a graying woman wearing a blue muslin day dress—looked up as the violin screeched into silence.
“Miss Williams,” Cordelia said, breathless, “may I speak with you? It’s rather urgent.”
The instructor frowned, pursed her lips, then said, “Mrs. Brown, please do practice your scales. I’ll return shortly.”
Cordelia grabbed Miss Williams’s wrist and dragged her into the room across the hall. “I am so sorry to interrupt your lessons. Only, it’s an emergency.”
“Make it quick,” Miss Williams grumbled, tilting her ear toward the closed door, through which the muffled sound of shaky violin notes wavered.
“The gargoyle arrived today with unhappy news.”
“Oh? Nothing worth tossing me out the window for, then?”
“I do apologize for that. Badly done of me, I know. Forgive me?”
“Humph. What is this news?”
“We must be out by the end of the month. Or have triple what the townhouse is worth in order to buy it ourselves.”
Miss Williams’s mouth dropped open. “Triple? By month’s end?”
Cordelia nodded her head so quickly, she rather felt like her neck might snap.
Miss Williams groped about for a chair, and once she found the back of one, she dropped into it.
