Chapter Twelve

Twelve

Teddy gripped hard to Jennings’s shoulder as Jennings slowly conveyed him down the curving marble staircase, step by laborious step. It was the usual method by which they managed stairs, with Jennings’s arms firmly around Teddy’s midsection, hoisting Teddy up so that his legs fell straight beneath him, and his booted feet just brushed the floor.

It would, perhaps, have been easier if Jennings had simply carried Teddy. That’s how Teddy had been moved from one place to another in the early days of his injury. How he’d abhorred that mode of assistance! The sense of helplessness—of somehow being less than a man—had been insupportable.

He far preferred the feeling of leaning on Jennings to that of being cradled by the man like a babe. It made it no less awkward with so many people watching.

Ladies and gentlemen trotted past them down the staircase on their way to the entry hall below, all of them bundled up in their warmest coats and cloaks in readiness for an evening of sleigh rides through snow. They threw countless pitying glances Teddy’s way as they descended. Alex and Laura, who were following close behind Teddy, no doubt registered every one of them.

Teddy marked them, too, but unlike his sister and brother-in-law, he did his level best to ignore the looks and the whispers. Over the past two years, he’d had a great deal of practice in ignoring such things.

That didn’t mean he was blind to the obstacles awaiting him this evening. He’d been contemplating the difficulties that a sleigh ride would entail all afternoon. It wasn’t just climbing into the vehicle that was at issue. It was the ordeal of descending to the hall, and then of making his way down the icy front steps to the sleigh below, all amid a flurry of goggle-eyed guests who hadn’t the sense not to gape at him like simpletons.

But Teddy had given his word to Stella. And really, this wasn’t so different from the tedious logistical maneuvering he dealt with every day. It was only that tonight there was a larger audience to it.

“I don’t object to you going sleighing,” Laura said as Jennings settled Teddy into his chair at the bottom of the stairs. “I only question your going alone.”

Teddy straightened himself in his seat. Gripping his wheels with his gloved hands, he rolled his chair toward the closed doors of the hall. “Who said I was going alone?”

Alex’s face was impassive as he kept pace with him. “You’ll be joining a young lady, I presume.”

Laura took her husband’s proffered arm, walking along with him. “Why would you presume that?”

“What else could have persuaded him to participate in an outdoor activity?”

Teddy shot a narrow glance at his sister and brother-in-law. “If you must know, I’ve agreed to join Miss Hobhouse.” He didn’t wait for them to respond. “Jennings? The door.”

Jennings darted ahead. Snowflakes swirled into the hall on an icy gust of air as he opened the door. Outside, a slim, velvet-cloaked lady waited at the top of the snow-covered stone steps in company with one of the footmen. It was Stella.

Steeling himself, Teddy wheeled his chair outside. “Miss Hobhouse.”

She turned sharply, a leatherbound book tucked under one arm and a fur-trimmed muff dangling from her hand. Her eyes brightened with something like relief. “Mr. Hayes.”

He realized then that she’d been uncertain of him. That she’d thought he wasn’t coming.

“My apologies,” he said. “It took rather longer than I expected to fetch my coat.”

“Not at all,” she replied. “Your timing is perfect. Lady Anne and Mr. Hartford have just driven off. I’ve been standing here only a moment.”

A small sleigh awaited them at the bottom of the steps. Adorned with red ribbons and greenery, it was hitched to a restless bay horse. He danced in his traces, sending the bells on his harness jingling. A groom with a heavy scarf wound round his neck stood at the horse’s head, holding its bridle.

“Is that your sketchbook?” Teddy tossed a pointed look at the book under her arm. He had recognized the nature of it immediately. He’d had similar ones of his own over the years.

“It is,” Stella said.

“With your sketches of winged horses?”

“Just horses. I ceased drawing wings when I was fourteen.”

“Pity,” he said. “I should have liked to see them.”

“You don’t wish to see these? I thought you might like to before I leave tomorrow.”

“There won’t be much light for it during our drive.”

“Lord March has had torches placed on the path.” She moved toward the sleigh. “Shall we climb in before another couple beats us to it?”

Teddy sensed his sister and brother-in-law hanging back in the hall like two doting parents. He felt an irritating flush of embarrassment. He wished they’d go away. He wished everyone would go away. Bolstering his acquaintance with Stella would be so much easier if he could board the sleigh under his own power and then drive off with her into the moonlight, away from the eyes of prying strangers and concerned relations.

“A capital idea,” he said tightly. “Jennings?”

Jennings materialized at his side. “When you’re ready, sir.”

Teddy gave the manservant a terse nod. There was no avoiding the indignity of what followed. Putting an arm around Jennings’s shoulders, Teddy gritted his teeth as Jennings took hold of his midsection and hauled him up out of his seat. It was a well-choreographed movement. One practiced hundreds of times over the years.

Teddy’s heart pumped hard with equal parts effort and anxiety as Jennings conveyed him to the sleigh. He was always at his most vulnerable during those moments when he was out of his chair. It was then he felt the full brunt of his disability. It was why he so rarely indulged in outdoor excursions—outings during which he’d have to be lifted in and out of his chair any number of times, and all of them in the presence of a group of other people. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble.

But Stella was.

She waited patiently as Jennings helped Teddy into the seat of the sleigh, and then, with the footman’s assistance, she climbed in to join him. Her full skirts bunched against Teddy’s leg. He couldn’t feel them, but he heard the rustle of her petticoats and crinoline—of starched linen underthings and soft velvet outer things whispering with a sensual friction. Her arm brushed his as she drew her cloak more firmly about herself, sending a surge of heat through his veins.

They’d never been this close before. Perhaps it was too close. She was all laundry soap and lilacs. An intoxicating combination of practicality and femininity.

“It’s me who should be handing you up,” he grumbled.

“According to whom?”

“Good manners.”

She wedged her sketchbook next to her before settling her oversized muff on her lap in lieu of a lap blanket. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her gray hair hidden by a close-woven net and a stylish plum velvet bonnet. She’d arranged the amethyst satin bonnet ribbons in an oversized bow on the left side of her face. It gave her a rakish air.

“Do good manners also dictate that you drive?” she inquired. “Or shall I take the ribbons?” Her silver-blue eyes sparkled with good humor. “Though I warn you, I’m nowhere near as good a driver as I am a rider.”

“In that case”—Teddy gathered the reins—“I’ll do the honors.” He signaled to the groom to stand away, and then, with a slap of the leather, gave the horse the office to start.

The rangy bay leapt forward at a bouncing trot down the torch-lined path that led away from the house. He had a powerful gait, as well as an inclination to take the bit in his teeth. Teddy was thankful he’d spent so much time in strengthening his upper body. If he hadn’t, he’d have found himself in for a devil of a fight.

“He’s a spirited one,” Stella said appreciatively.

Teddy steered the horse through the snow. “Like your mare?”

She was surprised into a laugh. “Not by half. Locket is too temperamental to pull a vehicle of any kind. I doubt I could control her if I wasn’t on her back.”

“She sounds more and more like a horse unsuited for a lady.”

“She is,” Stella agreed with an unmistakable twinkle of pride. “Entirely unsuited.” She slipped her hands into her velvet muff. “While this fellow is merely feeling his oats. He’s not truly dangerous, I suspect.”

“No,” Teddy said. “He’s only testing me. Trying to see how much he can get away with.”

“Perhaps you should give him his head?”

“And let him bolt? No, thank you.”

“A good gallop always puts Locket in a more convivial mood.”

“A good gallop would see us both pitched into a snowbank,” Teddy said. “Not ideal, given the circumstances.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

It took most of Teddy’s attention to keep the horse from breaking into a canter. “How was dinner?” he asked. “I couldn’t see you from the bottom of the table.”

He’d caught sight of her only once, as the ladies had risen to withdraw from the dining room. She’d been wearing the fashionable lace cap he’d loaned her. It had effectively concealed her hair, without making her look like too much of an oddity.

“I couldn’t see you, either,” she said. “The earl does insist on that long row of epergnes to display his flowers.”

He cast her a glance. “Who were you seated between? Anyone interesting?”

“Lord Gaines and Mr. Moncrief. They’re friends of Lord March, and both old enough to be my grandfather.”

Teddy felt an inexplicable flicker of relief. “Not matrimonial prospects, then.”

“By no means. It was a fortunate thing, really. They were far too stuffy to ask why I’ve been absent from dinner most of the week. I suspect they were too embarrassed. Lady Anne has apparently put it about that I’ve been suffering from a mysterious stomach complaint.”

Teddy’s lips twitched with amusement. “So I’ve heard.”

She gave an eloquent grimace. “Is there anything more indecorous? A stomach complaint could be anything, from indigestion to—”

“Quite.”

“I told Anne as much, but she said that it must be my stomach. She claims there could be no other believable reason for me to absent myself at meals while still appearing for all the outdoor activities.”

“She’s not wrong,” Teddy said.

Stella heaved a sigh. “I’m not persuaded that anyone truly cares anymore. Between Lady Anne’s engagement and the revelations about Mr. Neale’s parentage, my participation—or lack of it—must be the least interesting thing at this house party.”

“I wouldn’t let your guard down just yet,” Teddy advised. “At any moment some well-meaning busybody could importune you about your illness—or, more likely, about your cap. I trust you have a convincing story at the ready for why you wore it at dinner?”

“I intend to credit the French.”

“Ah yes. The French. Let the gossips try to argue with that logic.”

“They can’t. We none of us can. Not when it comes to fashion.” Her expression became serious. “Thank you again for lending it to me. Both you and your sister have been exceedingly generous.”

“It was all to the good. You could hardly have justified going sleighing if you’d missed dinner.”

“I’d have found a way,” she said stoutly. “But I take your point.”

He skillfully guided the horse around the curve of the road, turning toward the path that ran alongside the woods. A row of torches blazed ahead. He stopped the sleigh beneath them. “Will this do?”

Stella stared at him blankly for an instant before comprehending his meaning. She gave an eloquent grimace. “My sketches! Of course.” She hurriedly extracted her sketchbook from the seat beside her. “Amid all the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten.”

She offered the book to him, a little self-conscious. He gave her the reins to hold in return.

The horse stamped its hooves restlessly in the snow as Teddy examined Stella’s drawings in the torchlight. It was a new sketchbook. Most of the pages were still empty, save a half dozen at the back. Those were covered with detailed pencil sketches of horses. Teddy recognized the subjects. They were the retired horses who resided in the pastures at the back of the earl’s estate.

One sketch stood out among the others. It depicted an aged cart horse, stocky legged and thick fetlocked, with a pronounced sway in its back. It was standing in a snowy paddock next to a smaller companion—an old hack, boasting a thin mane and a wild tuft of forelock. The two retirees rested, bodies listing toward each other. The larger horse’s muzzle was turned toward the smaller one, though not close enough to touch him.

It was an excellent rendering. True to life in its proportion, and commendable for its use of light and shadow. But that wasn’t where its strength lay. It was in the composition of the scene itself.

The whole of it gave an impression of kinship. Of solidarity against an unkind world. And more than that. There was a shelter nearby, but neither horse was beneath it. They chose instead to gain warmth from each other, despite the promise of protection nearby.

Teddy swallowed hard. “You taught yourself? Is that right?”

“For the most part.” Stella looked at the drawing with him. “Do you think it very amateurish?”

“You know it isn’t.”

“Well, I do feel it’s rather good,” she said. “But I’m not the expert.”

He looked up at her. “You have a rare talent for inspiring emotion. You should engage a drawing master to help you perfect it.”

Stella’s eyes shone. “Truly?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“No, I don’t expect you would.” She accepted her sketchbook back from him, handing him the leather driving reins in return. “I shall see if I can find a tutor when I return to Derbyshire. There must be someone thereabouts who is qualified to teach me.”

Teddy’s stomach clenched on a bewildering twinge of longing. He had the sudden, stupid wish that it might be him.

A ridiculous notion. He wasn’t a drawing master. Nevertheless…

The fragments of a picture formed in his mind. A vision of the two of them sketching together in a studio somewhere. Just he and Stella, in companiable silence. Rather like those two horses.

Shaking off the vexing mirage, Teddy gathered the reins and urged the horse forward. The restless bay walked on through the snow with a bounce in his step, taking them deeper along the edge of the wood. The torches were spaced further apart there, giving a sense of privacy in the moonlit gaps between them.

Stella tucked her sketchbook beside her. She watched him handle the ribbons. “You’re an excellent driver.”

“I don’t know about excellent, but I can manage well enough.”

“Do you drive out often when you’re on your own?”

“Not often, no,” he said. “Not alone. Jennings must accompany me. But I used to drive a good deal.”

“Used to?”

“I wasn’t always in that chair. When I was a lad in Surrey, I drove our little gig all over the village.”

“I’d rather ride than drive,” she said.

Teddy shot her a wry look. “Regrettably, I haven’t that option any longer.”

Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Did you ride? Before?”

“I did.” His brows pulled into a reflective frown. “The truth is, I preferred walking. I was a great walker. I could stroll for hours in the woods, examining the bluebells and the forget-me-nots, hoping to spark a flash of inspiration.”

“For your paintings?”

“Always. Nature provides any number of subjects. All a man must do is keep his eyes open.”

“A bit more difficult now that you paint portraits. You can’t simply walk into the woods any longer. Not if you’re trying to find a lady to pose for you.”

“Nor for any other reason.”

She flinched. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. It’s merely the reality of things.” Teddy saw no point in skirting around the issue. His walking days were over. It wasn’t as if he could conceal the fact. “My sources of inspiration haven’t diminished just because I’m in a chair. There are avenues in Paris with as many interesting faces as there were flowers in that wood.”

“Interesting faces?” she repeated. “Not beautiful ones?”

He smiled to himself. “Are you angling for a compliment, Miss Hobhouse?”

“Not at all. I only wonder how fleeting your interest might be in my face, with so many other flowers to divert your attention.”

“You’ve kept my attention for three full months. I expect you’ll still command it three months from now, when we meet again in London.”

Her bosom rose and fell on a weary exhalation of breath. “Not that again. I’ve already told you—”

“So you have. And yet…you’ll be in London in March, as will I. What harm is there in meeting again?”

“I can’t imagine the circumstances where we would.”

“Then you lack imagination.”

“Really—”

“A museum. A gallery. The theatre. A shop in Bond Street. We could cross paths in any of those places, or wherever else it is you go for amusement.”

“Rotten Row,” she informed him without hesitation.

“Riding, of course. But surely that can’t take all your time?”

“Most of it. I must take Locket out at least twice a day. She needs exercise to blunt the edge of her temper. I ride her once at dawn, and then again during the fashionable hour. Sometimes I ride at midday as well, when the weather is fine.”

“In Rotten Row, then,” he said. “That’s where we’ll see each other.”

“You would visit the row in your wheeled chair?”

“If you were there, I would. If”—he added—“there was the smallest chance I could persuade you to sit for me.”

“I wish I could sit for you,” she said frankly. “I wish I could take the risk.”

He gave her an alert look. “Nothing is stopping you but your outdated ideas of propriety.”

“Not outdated. Not for a young lady in my position. Besides, I already push the bounds of propriety far more than I should.”

“In what respect?”

Removing a hand from her muff, she enumerated the ways on her leather-gloved fingers. “I gallop when I should walk. I dance with my friends when we haven’t any gentlemen partners. I color my hair. I—”

“And here I thought you didn’t aspire to be thought an eccentric.”

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I must embroider pillows all the day long.”

He grinned. “How do you plan to spend your days, then, now that your final season is over?”

“Aside from riding and sketching? I don’t yet know. My future is too uncertain to make firm plans. If my brother decides to get married—”

“To the tyrant.”

She winced. “I shouldn’t have called her that. It was uncharitable of me. Miss Trent was doing nothing more than any other determined young lady might do to secure her own happiness.”

“Alienating potential in-laws?”

“Attempting to consolidate her power.”

Teddy flicked her an amused glance. “You speak of young ladies like military generals at war.”

Stella half smiled. “I don’t expect it’s vastly different. Not if you consider it properly. After all, what is the London season if not a campaign?”

“By that measure, your brother’s future wife sounds like Wellington.”

“Which would have made me Napoleon, on the verge of being exiled to Elba.”

“He didn’t stay on Elba long.”

“Saint Helena, I meant,” she amended. “Luckily, with me out of the way, my brother won’t have proposed. My final defeat will have been averted. Or, at least, postponed for a time.”

Teddy’s brows notched with concern. “Is it that bad?”

Her smile dimmed. “Not entirely. Not yet, anyway. I still have my friends to sustain me, even if only through the post. And I haven’t yet lost my reputation. I needn’t retire from the field in complete disgrace.”

He frowned. Was that why she was so reluctant to risk her good name? Because she felt her reputation was all she had left? “Small comfort.”

“I take what I can find.” She gazed out at the dark, snow-covered landscape in silence for a moment. “Where will you live in London?”

“Somewhere that I can be entirely on my own. Away from family and well-meaning friends. Someplace I can be free to make my own decisions, even if they’re the wrong ones.”

“You desire to live alone?”

“As alone as I can be with a manservant to assist me and a cook-housekeeper to ensure my clothes are clean and my meals fit to eat.”

“Won’t you be lonely?”

“I shall be content,” he said. “More importantly, I’ll be productive. My work suffers from too much interruption. All this traveling to and from France, and the people stopping in to visit or to conduct business at the perfumery. I’d prefer to remain in London. To stay in one place long enough to form a circle of artistic friends. Perhaps submit a piece to the Royal Academy—if I can produce something worthy enough.”

“It sounds as though you have your future entirely planned out.”

“All that remains is to put that plan into action.”

“You’re a man,” she said. “There’s nothing preventing you.”

“Only duty and obligation.” He adjusted the reins, guiding the horse along the edge of the darkened woods. “I must first spend a few more months with my family. We’re traveling to Devon tomorrow. My brother-in-law’s childhood friend, Captain Thornhill, has a cliffside estate on the coast. Thornhill is married to Lady Helena, the sister of the Earl of Castleton. She and her husband expect us to stay for at least a month.”

Stella looked at him with interest. “Your brother-in-law has a varied acquaintance for a tradesman.”

“Because he’s friendly with the sister of an earl? Not really. Lord Castleton is something of a tradesman himself. He owns a tea plantation in Darjeeling where he spends the bulk of his time. The tea they produce there is almost as good as the blend we shared together that afternoon in the small parlor.”

She smiled again, remembering. “First flush Darjeeling. It was special, wasn’t it? Unquestionably the finest tea I’ve ever had the privilege to drink.”

“Darjeeling is often called the champagne of teas,” he said. “Indeed, some people might say that our first meal together consisted of cake and champagne.”

She cast him a speaking glance. “Some people might be foolish beyond permission.”

Teddy smiled at her as he slowed the horse to a walk. Her perfect oval face was aglow—pink cheeked and bright eyed—set in its frame of plum velvet and amethyst satin. It was likely only the cold that made her so radiant. Nevertheless…

A peculiar ache settled in his chest. His smile dimmed as he returned his attention to the road. How was it that every time he saw her, she became more beautiful? It was a bewildering sort of magic. One that was conjured by their growing friendship. The more he knew her, the lovelier she became. It was, he supposed, because she was a lovely person. He was only just beginning to realize how lovely.

And now it was too late. Tomorrow she would be gone.

A part of him was tempted to keep her out in the sleigh even longer in a feeble attempt to make up for it. To drive for another mile or more. But he’d already taken her too far. She had the remainder of the evening’s merriment still to get through. All the mulled wine and carols, and party games with her friends.

Teddy wouldn’t curtail her pleasure to bolster his own. She’d already missed too much of the party on account of her hair.

He turned the sleigh back toward the house. The horse had calmed significantly after its exercise. He was now content to walk, albeit with a spring in his step to be returning to the warmth of his stable. The bells on his harness jingled.

“I’d better return you to the party,” Teddy said. “With luck, you’ll have time to steal a final kiss under the mistletoe before everyone retires.”

Stella tipped her head back to look up at the stars. A smile sounded in her voice. “Foolish beyond permission, just as I said.”

“Why foolish?”

“I won’t be kissing anyone under the mistletoe this evening.”

Teddy didn’t believe it. He’d seen the way some of the gentlemen had looked at her that night in the drawing room as she’d passed them, silk clad and auburn haired. She could have had her pick of any of them.

He mustered a weak chuckle. “Had your fill already, have you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I’ve spent most of this week in hiding, and the rest of it either with Lady Anne or with you. Who exactly am I meant to be kissing? There’s been no mistletoe for me, and no willing partners. Disappointing, really, given the season. Even the grimmest frump garners a dry peck on the cheek at this time of year.” She exhaled a visible puff of breath. “I suppose I shall have to chalk it up alongside every other failed effort—”

“Do you require mistletoe?” he asked abruptly.

She turned her head. “I’m sorry?”

“For a kiss,” he said. “Must there be mistletoe hanging about?”

She considered the proposition. “No,” she replied. “Not in theory.”

Before he could counsel himself against it, for the second time that evening, Teddy brought the horse to a halt in the snow. He tied off the reins and turned to face her, his heart thumping heavily. By some miracle he managed to keep his nerve. “It’s unlucky anyway, in my opinion. Who wants to share a kiss under a poisonous parasite? Wouldn’t it be better out here, in the moonlight, under a shimmer of stars?”

Stella had gone unnaturally still. There was a glimmer of alarm in the blue-gray depths of her eyes. That, and something else. Something Teddy couldn’t precisely identify. Whatever it was, it made his pulse pound with a frightening power.

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “I rather suppose it would be.”

“Well, then?”

“Are you asking if you can kiss me?”

“May I?”

She nodded, only the subtle tremble in her breath betraying that the prospect of a kiss was anything other than the veriest commonplace.

He brought his hand to cradle her cheek. His eyes looked steadily into hers. “I expect I should make a humorous remark now. Either that, or say something romantic.”

Stella’s throat bobbed on a delicate swallow. She appeared to be at a loss for words.

“Very well.” His leather-gloved thumb moved over the curve of her cheek in a lingering caress. “Romantic it is.”