Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

" S ir Edward and Lady Boothe."

Chauncy rose from his seat, hiding his reservations as he welcomed Sir Edward to his grand ancestral home.

The artist whose ability to render an exceptional likeness underpinned Chauncy's plan to protect the Prince Regent was not very prepossessing. Though he came here in the capacity of a menial, Chauncy had decided to accord him the status of a guest on account of his birth, despite the family's fall from grace.

It seemed everyone from the baronet's father to sister had besmirched the family lineage. As a result, so Chauncy had heard, they were on nobody's guest lists until word had begun to spread that there was no one to rival Sir Edward for speed and accuracy when it came to a likeness.

But the fact that Sir Edward had brought his wife, when no such invitation had been extended, riled him.

He offered the fellow a frosty smile, lest the young man presume too much, and said, "Sir Edward, your reputation as an artist of exceptional accuracy is the reason you are here, so let me be brief?—"

"You are too kind, Your Grace, but it is indeed true that my skill is without equal, certainly according to the Duchess of Wentworth."

Chauncy narrowed his eyes. Not only did he like being taken advantage of, he disliked being interrupted.

"But speed is as important as accuracy," he went on grimly as two footmen carried Sir Edward and Lady Boothe's trunk upstairs, "and as long as you prove efficient in both departments, that is all I require. So, let us waste no more time in idle chatter when I don't doubt you are keen to rest after your long journey."

"Of course, Your Grace," replied the young man, his pale face flushing at the implied rebuke.

Chauncy inclined his head. When Catherine had said Sir Edward was dull, Chauncy had disregarded her. Most of what came out of Catherine's mouth were lies but, while he'd not expected a vibrant, energetic young man, Sir Edward's myopic blue eyes, straw-colored curls in need of barbering, and weak chin seemed just the physical manifestations of a lackluster spirit when what Chauncy needed was acuity and action.

First impressions certainly filled Chauncy with foreboding. In two weeks, he and the nation, would depend upon this Edward Boothe—with his ability to wield his pencil like a saber—to identify three plotters suspected of the recent failed assassination attempt upon the future king George IV.

Hopefully, the identification could be done in time to foil the villains' next possible outrage.

"And Lady Boothe, I hope you will be comfortable. Please don't feel the need to stay amongst us if you—er—feel the need to retire at any time." Chauncy's frown deepened. What had his cousin Beth told him? That Lady Boothe had not been seen in public for some years due to an affliction that kept her confined to her chambers.

Locked up, Beth had said, her kind-heartedness preventing her from calling the woman a lunatic.

And Boothe had brought his mad wife to Chauncy House when such important work was to be done?

"You are kind, Your Grace," Lady Boothe murmured. With her head lowered demurely, it was impossible to see her face. Chauncy imagined she was trying to conceal the glint of madness in her eyes and hoped he would not encounter her wandering the corridors at odd times.

He wondered if he should charge one of the servants with keeping her under surveillance.

"When would you like the first sitting, Your Grace?"

"Midday tomorrow."

Sir Edward nodded. "Where will I set up my easel?"

"In the long saloon. Delves, my butler, will show you."

"Perhaps the conservatory would offer better light."

Chauncy jerked his head to the right. The little wife was offering an opinion on a matter that did not concern her? He sent her a quelling look, which was wasted, for she barely raised her head. All he could see was her chin and mouth. Not deformed, by any means, but there must be some reason she would not look at him. He was about to respond when Sir Edward said hurriedly, "The better the light, the better the likeness, Your Grace."

Chauncy raised his shoulders in a gesture of concession. "I wish the likeness to be as truthful as possible. If you wish to draw in the conservatory, I have no objection, though before the next three days I hope you will have proved your ability to create several likenesses. I am curious to see how fast you can draw for you have been commended on your speed."

Let the man begin in a good light, he thought, reconciling himself to several days of tedium, either in front of an easel or having to make small talk.

At least Saunders and Rowley would be on hand to entertain him while he was in captivity, so to speak.

Alas, he reflected, their wives would be too.

However, at least that meant he could leave Lady Boothe up to them.

As soon as the door of the suite to which they'd been escorted closed behind them, Selina allowed herself a sigh and a smile.

"We've done it, Edward. I am through the doors of Chauncy Manor and the Duke has not barred my way." She threw her arms wide and breathed out, all the tension that had built up over the six hours of their carriage journey through the flat Norfolk fens draining away. "All will be well, now, for with the duke's patronage, our future is assured."

Edward turned on his sister. "Why must you always speak out of turn, Selina?" he demanded. "The duke did not like having his plans altered. Certainly not by a woman ."

Selina ignored him, placing her reticule on the single iron bed in the antechamber before turning back to her brother. Edward would, of course, occupy the sumptuous canopied four-poster in the adjoining room.

"And why must you always look so hangdog, Edward?" she returned, her enthusiasm dented. "I thought you might be a little more charming to His Grace than you are at home with me and poor Anna. Lord Chauncy's commission could be the first of a string of requests for likenesses from wealthy patrons."

"Freedom from financial worry… Wouldn't that be a blessing?" Edward muttered before returning his glower to her. "But, Selina, it was clear Lord Chauncy did not take kindly to being told where he was to be painted. I'm sure there's just as much light in the saloon as will be needed."

"Possibly, Edward. But not the opportunity for me to observe the duke at close quarters from the other side of the conservatory glass if something goes amiss." Selina bent to pull from their trunk her single fine evening gown. "If I cannot be by your side for some reason, of course, there has to be an alternative plan." Holding the beaded pink overdress against herself, she did a twirl. "And, if all does go to plan and you find yourself more rich patrons amongst the company tonight, perhaps I'll find a rich husband." She smiled, anticipating her brother's lack of humor as she added, "I'm not yet quite beyond the pale, Edward, even if you like to pretend I am."

Edward merely harrumphed as he set out his painting equipment. "You damned any chance of a respectable marriage, my dear Selina, when you ran away with the gamekeeper and disgraced the family name. No one will marry a widow with that kind of scandal hanging about her. A penniless widow, at that."

"The footman, Edward," Selina corrected him, folding her gown carefully and putting it in the wardrobe. "Samuel was a footman, as you well know, God rest his sinning soul. And, as you also know, it is the talent of this penniless widow that kept a roof over his head, and now yours, Edward." Selina stood beside her brother to examine the paints and brushes he'd laid out on the bed. She would need just pencil and paper to render the initial sketch while Edward pretended to do the preliminary work on the likeness. While Edward was an adept painter, and his watercolors and landscapes were sought after, it was Selina's quick likenesses, done on paper with pencil or graphite, that had started to bring in the real money.

And that had led to the Duke of Chauncy's invitation.

"Who do you suppose is the recipient of this likeness of our handsome duke? Do you think he is negotiating a magnificent marriage with a foreign princess?" Selina contemplated the duke's handsome, saturnine features, adding with a suggestive smile as she did another twirl, "Or do you think he's in the market for a wife here on English soil?"

Her brother sent her a narrow look. "You forget yourself, Selina. You are decidedly out of the market. Since everyone believes you are Anna, not only are you supposedly mad, you are also supposedly married."