Chapter 10

Sidney stared at the canvas in front of him, feeling a mixture of annoyance and sorrow. He gazed at the face that was emerging under his brush and oil paint. Blue eyes looked back at him, the exact shade of summer morning sky. Hair fell across a pale forehead in soft waves of pure pale blond.

"But the nose is horridly wrong," Sidney said angrily.

He had been trying for at least twenty minutes to recall, and then to depict, the shape of Lady Anastasia's face and nose. Her eyes he had set down immediately—nothing about them eluded his memory. They gazed at him now, twin pools of mysterious, shimmering blue and he felt his heart leap. He had managed to render them so that, at least in part, that part of the painting resembled her beauty.

"But this chin! And this nose, too."

He sighed and stood back. He was getting tired, and the longer he stared at the canvas, the less sense it would make to him. He knew that from experience. He put his brush into the turpentine and turned away. He needed a few minutes to regain perspective.

"Sidney? Sidney!"

He shut his eyes. It was his mother at the door. He did not like being interrupted, but this time he had an additional fear. He did not want anyone to see what he painted. He never painted portraits, though he had some talent. He did not want her to ask him who the person was and why he was painting her. He turned the easel swiftly to face the window.

"Coming, Mama. Just a moment."

He pushed the easel back so that it almost touched the windowsill. That way, nobody could walk around to the front and see what he painted. His mother was curious, on the rare occasions that he hid a painting, but she never pushed.

He opened the door. His mother looked up at him, a slight surprised smile lighting her face when she saw him, though he could see lines etched on her brow.

"Son! There you are."

"Mama, come in," he said at once, standing back so that his mother could enter. She wore black, though her shawl was white, and she had not worn the usual jet beads. She was in half-mourning now, as was he. His heart lifted to see it. "May I send the butler to fetch some tea for you?" he asked. He felt genuinely pleased to see her despite her having interrupted. He had been working all morning and part of the afternoon uninterrupted while she went into town to call on a friend. He was glad to have some company, especially that of his mother, who was as close to him as Amy, if in a motherly way.

"Thank you, son, but no," his mother murmured. "I had something to mention to you. If I may?" She frowned.

"Of course," Sidney said awkwardly. His mother never looked so tense, and he wondered what on Earth might be bothering her. "I would be glad to hear of it, whatever it is."

"I was in Grantley's Tea Shop," his mother said awkwardly. "When I happened to see these. I never normally look, but I was with Lady Renning and Lady Aldersley, and they always look." She blushed, as though she felt uncomfortable. "I happened to see your name in it. I'm sorry, son," she said carefully. "But I had to read further. I hope you can forgive me."

Sidney took a breath. He could see what she was holding. It was the scandal sheets—one of the least appealing parts of London high society. Scandalous news was printed there, and he took a breath, knowing it had to be about him or Mama would never have deigned to read anything. He took it from her, eyes widening as he read.

"...that this scarred oddity dares to show his face at public balls is a disgrace by itself," he read aloud. He blinked, his eyes filling with hot, angry tears. He bit his lip and turned away so that his mother could not see them. Being called unattractive was bad enough, especially given that he was handsome—or he had been, before the riding accident. Being spoken of like a creature, a beast not even granted human dignity—it was painful.

"Oh, son," his mother whispered. She was crying, tears running freely from her pale green eyes. He reached for her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's not your fault," he said stiffly. "You didn't write the article." He tried to laugh. Even he could hear the tightness in his voice.

His mother looked down. "I know. I should never have shown you, son. I just had to understand what it meant," she added softly.

Sidney frowned. What it meant was evident, unless there was more. He read on. His eyes skimmed over the raw insults. He knew they would be there, and he did not want to know the details. He read on.

"...but that he chose to dance with Lady Anastasia, a young lady who made her debut in society just last year, is surprising. That a young lady so new among the ton should risk the dent to her reputation of taking the hand of this creature is surprising. Perhaps she likewise has a scandal up concealed."

Sidney felt his hand close so forcefully that the paper tore.

"Sidney?" his mother asked, frowning. She looked worried. He took a breath.

"Sorry, Mama. I just...I suppose the tension of it all is too much." He tried to hide his rage. Somehow, he did not want his mother to know of Lady Anastasia. She was beautiful, she was fresh in society. He knew his hopes were foolish. Mama would try to spare him, but she would try and dissuade him from pursuing her and push him towards someone he could reasonably aspire to wedding as they needed an heir.

"What happened?" his mother asked. "Who is this young woman? Have I at any time met her?" She sounded interested, not angry.

He took a breath. "I am sure neither of us have met her before," he began. "Mama...please, do not worry. I assure you I will do my best. I know I must wed. Somehow, even if it means braving Almack's again, I will achieve our objective."

His mother frowned. "Son. I just wondered," she said gently.

"I..." Sidney began, trying to assure her that he knew she was worried, and he would try to take the matter in hand, but then the door burst open.

"Your Grace!" The butler exclaimed, but before he could get a word out, a voice boomed.

"Where's my cousin? You wretch! Show him to me."

Sidney took a breath. "Giles!" he called out. He glanced at Mama, who was pale. He went swiftly to the door and found Giles there. The mix of unwashed clothes and brandy suggested to Sidney that Giles had likely not gone home, or that, if he had, he had slept in his clothes. He tried to smile and was enveloped in a hug.

"Cousin! There you are. I thought...I thought you were at the Grantham..." he swayed on his feet. His expression showed that he was in pain and Sidney felt a twist of compassion. The poor man had spent the night, and probably the day, drinking and not eating and there was a fair chance he had done himself some damage with that.

"Mr. Moreton?" he addressed the butler. "Please, send for Dr. Benfield."

"At once, Your Grace." The butler bowed.

Sidney turned back to Giles as his cousin let out a guffaw. "You sly thing! Sneaking off home. I thought you were at the Grantham..."

He turned around and Sidney winced, knowing the poor fellow was going to be ill. He quickly gestured to a passing footman.

"Please, Mr. Hensley—take my cousin to the guest suite. Make sure he goes to bed at once."

The footman gave Giles a compassionate glance and inclined his head.

"At once, Your Grace."

Sidney watched as Giles followed the footman down the hallway. He let out a sigh.

"Poor man."

Sidney nodded. His mother was watching with a compassionate stare.

"Harriet is so worried. It's on account of Lady Amery's daughter."

"I know," Sidney replied sadly. Giles had been wildly enamored of the girl, but she had eloped with a sea-captain and gone to France with him on his ship. He felt his heart twist painfully. Giles had lost interest in everything after that, and that was why he drank.

"Poor fellow. He needs someone to help him."

"I am sure," Sidney said sadly. He did not know what to do. He could not restore Giles' faith in the world or his trust in his own heart. He knew that those things had been taken from Giles and he would have given them back, if he could, but Giles was interested in only one thing. All he wanted was to forget, and if that took a bottle of brandy a day, he was apparently unconcerned by the unpleasant results.

Or Sidney thought sadly, forgetting was more important.

"Poor man," his mother repeated. "But, if this continues, he cannot be the heir." She gazed up at Sidney worriedly.

"I am aware of that," he said carefully. "Mama, I will do my best. I promise."

"I am sure of that," his mother said and smiled up at him. "You are the best son, Sidney. Truly, you are."

Sidney kissed his mother on the brow, hugging her close. She had never even noticed his scars, or so it seemed. She loved him and he loved her. He wanted to do what made her happy.

"But it's impossible," he told himself sadly as he entered his chamber.

"Your Grace? What is impossible?" His manservant, Mr. Richford, demanded. He was tidying the room and Sidney let out a sigh.

"Nothing, Richford," he said gently. "If I might have a moment?"

"At once, Your Grace," Mr. Richford agreed, and hurried to the door.

Sidney sat down on the bed heavily. He stretched out his long legs and leaned back, one hand going to his cravat and tugging at the knot to loosen its itchy, hot band.

It was impossible—the entire situation was impossible. He could not fail to do his best for his mother. Yet, how was he supposed to find someone? He was hideous, and the scandal sheets delighted in ridiculing that. He blinked, the tears returning. He took a deep breath, trying not to cry. If he let himself feel sorrow, he would not be able to move forward.

He blinked again, trying to think about the promise he'd made. Miss Highbury, as much as she hated him, was at least being practically forced on him. He had to consider it. His mother would be delighted. It was wrong, though—she would be miserable. So would he. He could not do it.

He shut his eyes. Papa was not there to guide him, and he wished beyond all things that he was.

"I don't know what to do," he said to the empty room. "Papa? Help me."

He leaned back on the bed, his eyes open, wishing that his father was still there, ready with an explanation to clear up the mystery of everything from the gyroscope to some complicated question about navigating the globe. He longed for that reassuring voice, those gentle hazel eyes as he gazed at Sidney with understanding.

As he shifted on the bed, he was surprised that, instead of an answer coming to him, Lady Anastasia's face was suddenly clear in his mind. He could see all her features clearly, even the ones he had struggled to draw. He focused on the image in his mind, recalling the way they had talked. He smiled, recalling her witty banter.

At least you have reminded me of how her nose looks, he thought silently to his father, with some amusement. It wasn't possible that Anastasia was the answer to his questions.

He could not allow himself to hope that. Hope would be too painful.