Page 19 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
The nose unwrinkled. “Hm. All those in attendance will be portrait artists as well. What…kindof portraits do you paint?”
Theo blinked. “People?” The proper subject of all portraits, and—oh. Hell. Lady Balantine had mentioned something about muses, mistresses. “Women. I prefer to paint women.”
Pentshire nodded, and each nod seemed to shed the look of the innocence he wore like a cloak. “Bring your model, then. When you come.” He sipped his port.
What model? He had none. Damn. He searched for an excuse. “She’s… busy. It would be best if I came alone.”
Half tipped, the wine not to his lips yet, the glass stilled, then Pentshire lowered it slowly, setting it on the table with a soft clink. “No model, no invitation. This house party is meant to celebrate the joy of two bodies coming together in love. If you cannot magnify that theme with your art and your presence, then—”
“Why?” Theo demanded.
Pentshire shrugged. “I would love to extend an invitation to Lord Waneborough’s son, but I won’t. The guests who have confirmed are bound to secrecy and promise their own secrecy. You will too if I deign to extend an invitation.”
The opportunity slipped through his fingers like spilled ink from a pot. He couldn’t let it because the more this man talked the more Theo knew… whatever he discovered at this house party would be big, would allow him to draw a cartoon the printshops would fight over. It could well make his career, allow him to rent a house of his own instead of living with his sister… a house, not a single room, and maybe one day, start his life with a—
No. He didn’t want domestic felicity, no matter how lovely his siblings made it look. He wanted to reveal this man’s secrets.
Pentshire downed his port and rose to leave.
Theo caught his wrist. “She’ll rearrange her schedule. I’m sure she’s as keen to attend as I am.”
“Invitation extended then. But if you show up without your model, I’ll turn you away. Do you understand?”
A profitable scandal indeed awaited Theo. If he could find a model to pretend to be his mistress, his muse. Theo rolled his eyes, tossed Pentshire’s wrist away. “Of course.”
“I’ll see you there, then. Holloway House just outside of Manchester.”
Theo crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Pentshire disappear into the hallway. “Damn,” he hissed. He’d received an invitation, but it mattered not if he could not find a woman.
What now?
No answer came as he left White’s and made his way toward Maggie’s. When he reached her townhouse, he slammed the door behind him more loudly than he’d intended. The slam rang in the empty hall, the walls shook, and two heads appeared out of different doorways.
“What,” Maggie asked, blinking, fingers wrapping around the doorframe.
“Was that?” Zander finished, stepping into the hallway from the dining room.
“Grrgglll.” The growl turned into a gurgle as if his throat couldn’t decide which emotion strung him tighter—frustration or despondence. Theo stood tall, though, despite the fact he really felt like drooping. Perhaps even lying prone on the floor like a rug to be stepped on.
Maggie and Zander exchanged a look and rushed toward him. They each took one of his arms and propelled him toward Maggie’s parlor. Maggie sat him down and Zander filled a family of tumblers with a decanter of port from a cabinet.
“Do tell.” Zander handed Theo a glass and sat across from him.
Maggie curled up on the opposite side of Theo’s sofa.
Theo’s head grew heavier every moment till he could not keep it up any longer. He dropped it to the back of the sofa with a groan he muffled with his palm.
“Are you still in the doldrums about the Lady Cordelia problem?” Maggie asked.
“No. It’s not that,” he snapped.
Maggie looked up at the ceiling and Zander down at his shoes.
He approached an answer to the Lady Cordelia problem as easily as he might approach the sun. That is, not at all, reaching it an utter impossibility. And now he had the added difficulty of finding a model to bring with him to Holloway House.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hung his head, lost his gaze in the vines swirling on the carpet beneath his boots. “Perhaps the two of you can help me in another way.”
“Yes,” Maggie said, “Let us help you.”
