Page 48 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
Armquist settled the knife on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I’d heard that. A difficult situation for all involved.”
Pentshire continued his tapping. “I’ve met your brother, in parliament. He seems a reliable sort, intent on setting things right. I’m sure your family would help you make ends meet should the right woman snag your heart.”
The very truth of the matter. They would. Had they not done so for Zander and Fiona? Yes, and gladly.
“And I heard you have an inheritance of some value,” Pentshire continued, though his tapping stopped.
All three men looked at him again, this time with a shared light of curiosity in their eyes.
Theo cleared his throat, pushed his plate away, suddenly not hungry. “Yes. A Rubens. Unfinished but highly sought after.”
“Sounds,” Pentshire said, dragging the word out, “as if your father set you up for happiness, to choose your own way, which is more than mine did for me.” More than a little bitterness there. “Smooth ways are hard to come by,” he muttered.
Mr. Castle patted Pentshire on the shoulder. “Me and Mrs. Castle had much less starting out.” He shrugged. “Love provided.” Theo rolled his eyes. How often had his father said similar things? “And a bit of hard work.” Mr. Castle leaned over the table and tucked into his eggs.
Theo watched him. He knew little about the man. “I know you are a merchant, Mr. Castle, but what is it, exactly, you do when you’re not painting? If you do not mind me asking.”
The man took one more large bite of eggs and pushed his plate away. “Not at all. I’m a colourman. It’s how I knew your father. He bought paints from me for his parties. I have less custom now than I did before he died. Yet another reason to regret his loss.”
“He wasn’t ever… short on funds with you? I imagine he racked up quite the debt in your shop.”
“There were times he could not pay, yes. But he offered other means of recompense. He helped Sally, our daughter, find a position as a watercolor instructor in a well-to-do school for girls. And he sent everyone he knew to our shop.” Mr. Castle chuckled. “Quite put that old Samuels out of business. He diluted the colors anyway, didn’t care about quality. And your father helped us start out. Loaned us the money to open our shop. When he couldn’t pay”—Mr. Castle shrugged—“everyone falls on hard times. He was a good man and deserved lenience here and there.”
Theo pushed the food around his plate, poured scalding coffee down his throat.
Armquist elbowed him in the ribs. “You’ll marry her, though, yes? Because if you don’t, I have a cousin, just turning thirty years of age this year and in need of a wife. I think she’d make an excellent—”
“No. She wouldn’t.” Theo stood. “Now, would you leave my personal matters to rest?”
Pentshire stood too. “It’s time for today’s challenge, anyway.” He made for the door and called out over the clatter of cutlery and chatter. “To the parlor when you’re done! Make haste!”
Theo gathered his satchel and followed him out. Better to face a blank expanse of paper than to face how others saw his father—a hero. He slipped into the parlor and found it already occupied. He found Cordelia, too, looking fresh and well-rested. After a night in his bed. His feet moved toward her, two, three steps without intention but to hold her, see if his scent still lingered on her.
But to what end?
He stopped himself, held back, and took up position on the opposite side of the room so he could watch her.
Pentshire calmed the masses, and once silence reigned, he broke into it. “My guests, today’s challenge is a surprising one, but I hope you’ll find it enjoyable. Today, we will let the muses make the art.”
“What?” Miss Mire’s voice, high and shrill, rang out. “I can’t paint or draw or anything!”
The earl ambled toward his mistress, stroked his hand down her hair. “It will be fun, darling. You’ll see. I’ll teach you.”
Theo locked the image away in his memory to draw later—the earl petting his muse before one and all, promising toteachher. Suggestive, that.
“Get to work,” Pentshire said. “As always, the work must be completed by the end of the day. A difficulty for all but Lord Theodore, whose work is so simple and sparse that he can finish it in an hour.” Amid the gentle rumble of laughter, Pentshire found Theo in the crowd, lifted a brow. In challenge?
Theo shrugged. Not a challenge he would accept. He liked the stark black-and-white of his art. Truth was that way—one or the other without any in between. He took in a steadying breath then made his way toward Cordelia. She looked terrified, her face drained of all color, her posture stiff, and her terror eased his own stiffness, lust draining away in the greater desire to put her at ease.
He sat on the sofa next to her. “You can do it.”
She shook her head. “If you had any chance of winning before, it’s over and done with now. I can’t—”
Likely true, but that worry achieved nothing.
He placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “No. Perhaps you can’t. But you can try, and whatever you end up with will be fine. I’ll teach you.” An echo of Pentshire’s words. He dropped his hand to rest between them.
“And you think you’ll be the teacher who finally breaks through?”
