Chapter Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

“Please allow me to congratulate you,” Stella said, after she and Mrs. Archer had sat down at a small table inside the confectioner’s shop and ordered their tea. “Mr. Hayes tells me that you and Mr. Archer are anticipating a child.”

“Do call me Laura,” Mrs. Archer said. “And may I call you Stella?” Her face bore no malice. She appeared calm and steady, a slight smile on her lips and a measuring look in her slate-blue eyes.

A building sense of apprehension nevertheless made Stella’s stomach tense. “Yes. If you like.”

“Mr. Archer and I are expecting,” Laura said. “And happily so, thank you. But it’s your happy news I’m interested in. I understand that congratulations are due to you, as well?”

Stella didn’t answer. She felt, for an instant, at a complete loss for words. “I-I don’t know what Mr. Hayes has told you, but—”

“He told me, and all of us last night after dinner, that he proposed to you and that you’ve accepted. He hasn’t mischaracterized things, has he? I’d be surprised if he had. Teddy rarely lets even the smallest details escape him. And an engagement is rather more than a small detail, wouldn’t you say?”

The bell on the front door of the tea shop tinkled, announcing the entry of another couple. A lady and gentleman passed within inches of Stella and Laura, choosing a table nearby.

Stella cast them a wary glance. She lowered her voice. “He did propose,” she admitted, conscious of their lack of privacy. “And I did say yes.”

“May I ask why?”

Why?

Stella had no great desire to share her reasons. Not in such a public setting. And not when she hadn’t yet discerned Laura’s intentions. “Why does any lady say yes to a proposal?” she answered vaguely.

“For security. For money. For love.” Laura searched Stella’s face. “ Do you love my brother?”

Stella’s mask of composure briefly slipped, thinking again of the kisses she and Teddy had shared. Of the way her pulse fizzed to see him. To talk with him. To share their mutual interest in art and drawing. “I don’t know that I—”

“You needn’t tell me,” Laura said before Stella could stammer out another vague reply. “Not if you haven’t yet told him. Nor are you obligated to confess it to me if you’ve accepted his proposal for more mercenary reasons. Marriages are complex arrangements, I realize. Even ones entered into for love are also entered into for other reasons. Most gentlemen understand that. They know there’s more to marriage than a moment’s passion.” She paused. “But my brother isn’t like most gentlemen.”

Stella frowned, temporarily forgetting their lack of privacy. “Because of his condition, do you mean?”

“Yes, because of that, but also because he doesn’t think the way other people do. His art is the whole world to him. When he has a passion for a certain piece he’s working on, it consumes his every thought. During those times, he doesn’t exercise the best judgment.”

At last, Stella began to comprehend where Laura was headed. It wasn’t a very flattering direction.

“I know he wants to paint you,” Laura said. “I’ve so far encouraged his obsession, even helping him in writing to you this winter. I’m sorry if that strikes you as contradictory, given what I’m about to tell you.”

Stella stiffened slightly in her chair. “You’re going to say that he didn’t mean it when he proposed to me. That it was only about art.”

Laura smiled gently. “Not at all.”

“What, then?” Stella asked. “You clearly don’t approve of us getting married.”

“It’s not disapproval you hear in my voice. It’s concern.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of the shop’s proprietor, a heavily whiskered older man in an apron. He brought them a pot of tea, two teacups, and a plate of freshly baked currant buns. A jug of milk and a bowl of sugar followed.

After he’d gone, Laura lifted the round china pot to fill each of their cups. Her expression was unusually grave.

“My brother wasn’t always as vigorous as you see him now,” she said. “When the fever came to our village, we lost my father to it. I contracted it as well, leaving me with an unfortunate affliction of the lungs. But Teddy had it worse than either of us. He was too strong to die, but too weakened to fully fight the fever. It took root in his spine, ultimately affecting his legs.”

“He mentioned something of the sort,” Stella said.

“Did he?” Laura set down the teapot. “Did he tell you how the loss of his legs affected him in the immediate years that followed?”

“Not specifically, no.” Given Teddy’s strength of will, Stella had assumed he’d promptly accepted his limitations and set himself to learning how to get about in his wheeled chair. He was extraordinarily adept at doing so.

“Teddy and I were already in a precarious position after my father died. Our perfumery had temporarily shuttered, and our inheritance was tied up for a time. We struggled to make ends meet as it was. But for a young man of Teddy’s age to suddenly lose the ability to walk—to be sentenced to his bed, made dependent on his family and servants for the smallest thing—” Laura stared pensively into her tea. “My brother fell into a deep melancholy. He refused assistance from his room. He rarely ate. He only drew and painted—subjects he observed from his chamber window. By the time my husband entered our lives, Teddy had wasted away to a shadow.”

Stella’s teacup stilled halfway to her lips. Her brows notched in confusion. “But I’d thought—”

“That he’s always been this energetic and determined? No, indeed. It was my husband who encouraged Teddy in that, initially. Mr. Archer has a way about him. He can generally manage people without putting their back up. And, of course, a young man always takes the advice of another gentleman better than he does from a mother or a sister.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Stella asked.

“Because I want you to have no illusions about my brother. Just because he’s confident in his work, and precocious in most other respects, don’t imagine he’s incapable of being hurt. All that life in him, the sensitivity in his art and his ability to see things in all their light and shadow, stems from his own vulnerability. He’s not so far removed from those days of melancholy in his room. Indeed, there are times when he still struggles mightily with his condition.”

Stella slowly returned her cup to the table, leaving her tea untouched. She recalled how Teddy had been at Sutton Park. His consistent refusals to join them out of doors. The way Jennings had to lift him from his chair, and the red flush of exertion—and possibly embarrassment—in Teddy’s face as he’d gripped the manservant’s shoulders.

It had struck Stella then, and again yesterday as Jennings had assisted Teddy in and out of the wagonette, how easy it was to forget that Teddy had anything to struggle with. The force of his personality so often overshadowed his physical limitations.

But Stella wasn’t unaware of Teddy’s challenges for all that. She was only ignorant of what she should do to address them. Teddy didn’t want help. He didn’t want pity or sympathy or any degree of fellow feeling. He wanted to be recognized for the things he could control, not for those things he couldn’t. By that measure, wasn’t it better to ignore his disability rather than to always be drawing attention to it with questions, concerns, and offers of assistance?

“I know he struggles,” Stella said. “I have no illusions. But that had nothing to do with me accepting his proposal. I don’t view him that way. To me, he’s just…Teddy.”

“That he is, isn’t he?” Laura smiled again. She nudged Stella’s teacup toward her. “Do drink something, please. You look rather pale.”

“I’ve had a great many surprises in the last week.”

“Change is always surprising. Frightening, too. But it can ultimately be wonderful, in my experience.”

Stella took a reluctant sip of her tea. “Your brother told me that you and he had the benefit of an aged aunt looking after you when you lived in Surrey. But I have no one but myself. I must trust my own judgment.”

“Do you trust it?”

“I do,” Stella said, confessing it as much to herself as to Laura. “I daresay I feel things as deeply as your brother. And I feel that this is right. That he and I are right for each other. I can’t explain it—”

“You don’t need to. Not to me. It’s enough that I can see you care for him. That’s all I require to reassure me.” Laura’s smile turned rueful as she drank her tea. “I know you must think me ridiculously overprotective of him, and doubtless I am, but the thought of anything happening to him—”

“I wouldn’t hurt him,” Stella said. “I mean to make him happy.” And myself , she added silently.

Laura’s expression softened. “I wish I might be around to see it. Alas, my husband and I return to France in the morning. It’s necessary for my health. But it means we won’t be here to attend your wedding.”

Her wedding.

The phrase took Stella off guard. “I confess, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Teddy has,” Laura said. “He laid it all out for us last night, to our astonishment. He’s even secured Mr. Finchley to act for you in protecting your assets.” Her eyes twinkled with sudden humor. “That’s when we knew it was serious. When he was willing to forgo having Finchley for himself so that you could have the very best. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

A blush threatened. “I didn’t ask him to do that ,” Stella said.

“No, indeed. Which made it doubly impressive.” Laura helped herself to a currant bun. Tearing off a piece, she buttered it with her knife. “Will you join us for dinner this evening in Half Moon Street?” she asked. “It won’t be as grand a party as I would have liked to give to celebrate your engagement, but I hope you’ll come all the same. My husband and brother will be there. And the Finchleys, of course.”

“Does Teddy know you’re inviting me?”

“Teddy was off at daybreak this morning to meet with his estate agent about repairs to the property in Maiden Lane. So, no, I haven’t yet broached the subject with him. But he won’t object to it. He’ll want to see you, surely.”

Stella dearly hoped he would. “Very well. I would be happy to attend, if…if my hosts can spare me.”

“I shall invite Captain and Mrs. Blunt, as well,” Laura said. “And Mr. and Mrs. Malik, too, if that would help to ease your anxiety.”

Stella’s shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t realized that she’d been bracing herself. “Yes, it would,” she said gratefully. “Thank you.”

?Teddy refilled his champagne glass, only half listening to the loud buzz of conversation around him. There were so many people at dinner that Mrs. Jarrow had to add an extra leaf to the mahogany table and set out two additional branches of candles. In addition to Alex and Laura, and Tom and Jenny, Ahmad and Evelyn had come, along with Ahmad’s cousin, Mira, and her fiancé, Tariq Jones. Mrs. Blunt and Captain Blunt were in attendance, too.

And Stella.

She sat across the table between Tom and Ahmad, talking to each of them in turn as the courses were served. First julienne soup, then braised beef à la flamande with dishes of tomatoes and green peas, followed by a decadent charlotte russe topped with strawberries, and accompanied by several bottles of celebratory French champagne.

Initially, Teddy had been angry to learn that Laura had invited Stella to dine. And it wasn’t only because his sister had gone behind his back—which was aggravating in itself. It was because (he realized with a certain degree of masculine chagrin) he didn’t want to share Stella with his family. Indeed, he didn’t want to share her with anyone.

But share her he must.

For some infernal reason, Jenny had insisted on adhering to a seating plan this evening. The guests were arranged in a traditional male/female pattern, and none of the spouses or betrothed couples sat next to each other. It meant that Teddy had scarcely exchanged ten words with Stella all night.

As he ate and drank and engaged in tedious small talk with his seat partners, he could only look at her, seated across from him in a simple, long-sleeved silk dinner dress, the candlelight flickering over her face and throat, and shining in her neatly plaited silver hair.

The frustration he’d been feeling since leaving his last meeting with the workmen in Maiden Lane built to a fever pitch. Yes, Stella had agreed to let him paint her. And yes, she’d agreed to marry him. But the delay between that agreement and the manifestation of either event was beginning to seem insurmountable.

“How are things coming with your new house?” Julia Blunt asked from her chair on Teddy’s right. “Mrs. Archer said you had been consulting with the estate agent today about renovations?”

The hum of conversation at the table went quiet as the rest of the dinner guests paused to listen to his answer.

“Oh yes,” Jenny said. “You must give us a full report.”

Stella met Teddy’s eyes across the table. She lifted her brows.

He gave an eloquent grimace in response. “Poorly,” he said. “There are more repairs required than I had anticipated.”

“Major repairs?” Alex leveled a frowning look at him. “That doesn’t bode well.”

No, it didn’t. But Teddy didn’t like to admit it. Not when Alex and Laura had only just barely come to terms with Teddy setting up house on his own. “The landlord is taking responsibility for the exterior work,” he said. “Mr. Chakrabarty saw to that. But the interior renovations will be left for me to arrange. I consulted with several workmen in the afternoon, to no success. They all equivocated on costs, and none of them would agree to a starting date.”

Julia commiserated with him. “We have a dreadful time getting people to come to Goldfinch Hall. My husband has been obliged to take on some of the repairs himself.”

“Surely it’s easier to find workers in London?” Captain Blunt asked. Clothed in a severe black suit, he was seated between Jenny and Evelyn. The scar on his face pulled gruesomely as he spoke.

“Finding them isn’t the issue,” Ahmad replied from his place between Jenny and Stella. He’d come straight from his dress shop and was still wearing the plain but elegantly cut coat and trousers he wore when he worked. “It’s persuading them to show up. All the best ones are already employed, and the ones who aren’t are often unreliable. Either that or their craftmanship is shoddy.”

“Worse and worse,” Jenny remarked as she raised a forkful of cake to her mouth.

“Exactly,” Teddy said.

“What does this mean for the house?” Stella asked. “Will it not be ready by summer?”

“The lower rooms will be habitable,” Teddy said. “But as far as restoring the rest…” He shook his head.

He’d learned today that, in addition to painting, plastering, and minor repair to the stonework, there were countless other items in need of replacement. Some of the windows had cracked panes of glass, most of the latches on the doors and windows were broken, and there were no bell pulls or wires installed in any of the rooms. Add to that decaying roof tiles over the scullery, questionable drainage, and the very real possibility of rot in two of the upstairs bedrooms, and it seemed that Teddy and Stella would be lucky to take up residence any time before the new year.

Tom seemed to sense Teddy’s frustration. “You can live in it while you restore it,” he said. The candlelight glinted off the rims of his spectacles. “It’s been done before.”

Captain Blunt nodded. “That’s what we’re doing at Goldfinch Hall.”

“Oh yes,” Julia agreed as she finished her piece of charlotte russe. “And while we wait, we simply close off those parts of the house that are dangerous.”

“Can you not do that in Maiden Lane?” Evelyn asked, sipping her champagne. “Close off the upstairs and live in the lower rooms until you can have the upper ones repaired?”

Teddy frowned. The rooms below were only sufficient for a studio, a parlor, and bedrooms for himself and Jennings. He’d promised Stella the upstairs would be hers. That she could live there, all but separately, if she chose.

A knot formed in his stomach. They’d been engaged fewer than eight-and-forty hours and he was already forced to break his word to her.

He chanced a look at her across the table.

She was raising her champagne glass to her lips. A line of worry etched her brow.

“I shall think of something,” he said. “Have no fear.”

Mr. Jones, Mira’s fiancé, spoke up from his place beside Evelyn. “Must the workers you hire be master craftsmen?”

“Do you have another idea in mind?” Teddy asked.

“A bit of painting, plastering, and woodwork isn’t beyond the skill of a sailor who is home on leave and short of coin.” Mr. Jones was himself a sailor. A half-Bengali midshipman, recently home after a lengthy voyage. “There are plenty of men on the docks who would be grateful for the work. Not all of them Englishmen, though.”

“I doubt Teddy minds it,” Mira said. Dark haired and green eyed, she worked with her cousin, Ahmad, at the dress shop. She was a brilliant seamstress in her own right, as evidenced by the elegant embroidery on her maize-colored dinner dress.

“I don’t,” Teddy said. “Not so long as they know what they’re about with a hammer and trowel.”

Ahmad half smiled. “If you’re lucky, one or more might have a background in masonry or carpentry already. Many of us had entire careers in our home countries before we set foot on English shores.”

“Perhaps Mr. Jones can ask about for you?” Evelyn suggested. “You wouldn’t mind that would you, Tariq?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Jones replied. “I know several fellows who are eager for respectable employment. Women, too. There’s a sailor’s widow in our community—Mrs. Mukherjee—who would make someone an excellent housekeeper.”

“We will be requiring a housekeeper-cook eventually,” Stella said. “If that’s something she, or anyone else you know, might be suited for.”

Mr. Jones inclined his head to her. “I’m happy to make inquiries.”

“Thank you,” Teddy said. “We’d be grateful to you.”

“The joys of staffing a new household!” Laura said, smiling at her husband. “How well I recall having to start from scratch when we moved to France. We were lucky to find so many good people.”

“I was lucky in my wife,” Alex said warmly, gazing back at her.

“To our wives.” Tom raised his glass of champagne.

The rest of the gentlemen happily followed suit, each lifting their glasses high. “To our wives!”

“And to those who are soon to be so,” Teddy added, raising his own glass in Stella’s direction.

“Hear, hear,” Mr. Jones cheered, lifting his glass to Mira.

“Handsomely done, as ever.” Jenny smiled at Tom. “And an excellent reminder that it’s time we ladies withdrew before you gentlemen get any more in your cups.” She rose. “Ladies? If you’ll follow me.”

Later, after port and cigars in the dining room, Teddy and the other gentlemen joined the ladies in the parlor. Jenny played a rousing polka on the piano, and the guests laughed, danced, and talked amongst themselves. It was Alex and Laura’s last night in London. The mood was both merry and a little sad, just as it always was at the close of their annual visits when the time had finally come for the friends to bid each other farewell.

Teddy and Stella sat beside each other near the window, he in his wheeled chair and she on an overstuffed chintz chair beside him. With so much music and merriment about them, they could converse in something like privacy.

“I could have happily strangled my sister when she told me how she’d commandeered you in Bond Street,” he said, his words for Stella’s ears alone. “What exactly did she say to you?”

“She was merely concerned.”

“No doubt.” He paused before asking again, “What did she say?”

Stella replied at length in a voice as low as Teddy’s had been. “That you had been in poor health for a time after your illness.”

Had she, by God.

A muscle tightened reflexively in Teddy’s cheek. “I see.”

“She was concerned that I might inadvertently hurt you.”

Teddy could only imagine. “She’s excessively overprotective. She’s had to be in the past. I’ve had the devil of a time convincing her to give up the habit.”

“It wasn’t an exaggeration, then?” Stella asked softly. “About your being unwell?”

“Define unwell,” he quipped.

“She said you’d fallen into a deep melancholy. That everyone feared—”

“Quite.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s true,” he admitted grudgingly. “Before—when I first realized I wasn’t going to get better—” He broke off with a flinch of bitter memory.

It still stung him to recall the desperate hope he’d once cherished in those early years. The foolish dream that his paralysis was only temporary. That one day, as if by a miracle, he’d wake up and be himself again. Wholly himself.

“I had to withdraw for a time,” he said. “I took refuge in my art, until…”

“Until when?”

“Until I was strong enough to deal with it all. I knew I must do so eventually. And I did. Though the delay in getting there has had rather a lasting effect on my family. They can’t seem to let go of protecting me.”

She smiled at him. “You’re fortunate in your family.”

“Am I?”

“Assuredly. You’re not alone. You’re surrounded by people who love you. All of these people, not only Alex and Laura but the friends they have who are as good as family to you. If they interfere, it’s never to hurt you or diminish you. It’s to shield you from other people doing so.”

“I don’t need to be shielded,” Teddy said. “But point taken.” His gaze drifted over Stella’s face. “I’m sorry you feel so alone at the moment. You’re not, you know.”

“I don’t feel alone.”

“Absent family, I meant.”

“Oh. That.” Her smile faded. She straightened an unseen rumple in her skirts.

It was what Alex would call a tell . Teddy had gradually come to recognize it in her—this urge she had to smooth some nonexistent crease in her clothing whenever she was feeling vulnerable.

“You asked me yesterday if you should write to my brother about our engagement,” she said.

Ah. So that was it.

“I still could,” he said. “If you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t. I don’t require Daniel’s approval. Not any longer. It’s only that the habit remains. This dreadful anxious feeling of waiting for his permission—or, more often, for his censure. I suppose it’s because he’s the only family I’ve had since my father died. Now he’s gone from my life…there’s no one left.”

Teddy extended his hand to her. “We shall soon remedy that,” he said. “The minute these dratted repairs are completed, you and I will be married. I’ll be your family, then.”

She slid her hand into his. “My husband, yes.” Her fingers curved around his. “It’s rather more intimate than a meddling brother or sister.”

“You’ll have those as well,” he assured her. “Alex and Laura will soon take you under their wing. In time, I vow, you’ll prefer their company to mine.”

“Don’t be absurd.” She looked at him again, with uncharacteristic shyness. “I love your company.”

Love .

The word wasn’t lost on him.

“And I love yours,” he said. His mouth hitched in a smile. It was a convenient mask for the vulnerability beneath. “I love your face,” he added.

She blushed. “Rubbish. It’s my hair you love.”

“That, too.” He paused, frowning. “I wonder if we should recruit Ahmad to help us with fabric?”

She gave him a bewildered look. “What fabric?”

The chords of a merry jig sounded in the background as Jenny started another song on the piano. This time it was a popular tune from the London music halls. Alex swept Laura up in his arms to dance with him. She laughed and clung to his shoulder, her skirts flouncing as he turned her.

Teddy dropped his voice. “A drape of some sort. Have I not mentioned?”

Stella’s expression turned wary. “A drape for what?”

“For you, of course. A star doesn’t wear all these petticoats and crinolines.”

Her eyes went round. She leaned toward him. “Do you mean, a drape for”—her voice sank to a shocked whisper—“my unclothed body?”

Teddy’s smile held a hint of devilry. “Exactly.”

“You never said anything about me posing in such a state.”

He hadn’t dared. It was difficult enough getting her to agree to sit for him without adding disrobing to the mix.

“I’m thinking it must be tulle or some kind of diaphanous net,” he continued, enjoying her blushes. “Something with pearls sewn into it or colored glass, or another glittering type of stone that will catch the moonlight.”

“Teddy, really—”

“We’ll be married. Or soon to be so. There’s no scandal in it. Anyway, it will just be the two of us to begin with. I’ll lock the parlor door, and Jennings can take himself off for our sessions.”

“What do you mean to begin with ?”

“Part of the painting will necessarily have to be done out of doors. It’s a twilight piece, with the sea at its back, and you in the foreground. One of the Pleiades come to earth.”

“This begins to sound more and more out of the realm of comfort.”

“Immortality is rarely comfortable, but we’ll manage, I’m certain.”

A glimmer of suppressed laughter danced behind her eyes. “I don’t know whether you’re teasing me again, or whether you’re serious.”

“Both, possibly,” he said. And then, in distracted thought: “Tom has a point. We needn’t wait to use the house while the repairs are being done. We needn’t even wait until we’re married. The drawing room only wants a good cleaning, and then I can set up my studio. I’ve already waited too long to start painting you. I can’t wait any longer. The more I delay, the more chance the vision will slip away from me. If I don’t commit it to canvas soon—” He stopped, belatedly realizing that he was talking at her rather than to her. He suppressed a grimace. “Unless you have an objection?”

“No,” she said slowly. “Not so long as you don’t expect me to undress right away. I shan’t want to do that before we’re married.”

His heart thumped heavily. The implication was clear. “I won’t ask you to,” he promised. “ Yet. ”