Chapter Nine

Nine

Stella was late to her rendezvous with Teddy the following day. It wasn’t because she’d had a change of heart. Despite the doubts that had plagued her through the night, and continued to follow her into the morning, she was keenly aware of the honor he’d bestowed on her by asking her to sit for him.

Altogether too aware.

As a consequence, on returning to her room after a chilly morning ride with Anne and Mr. Hartford, Stella had lingered far too long at her toilette. She’d washed with lilac-scented soap, chosen her gown with care, and spent long minutes in front of her dressing table, carefully concealing her gray hair beneath her borrowed black crepe-and-lace morning cap. It wasn’t every day one posed for a portrait, after all, even if it was only a sketch.

But when Stella at last entered the private parlor, nearly ten minutes past the appointed time of their meeting, Teddy didn’t seem to register the extra effort she’d put into her appearance. Busy assembling his art supplies, he spared her only a fleeting glance. “Take a seat in the chair by the window, if you please.”

A dainty shield-back chair, made of sinuously carved elm, had been positioned there at an angle. It would give him a view of her face in three-quarter profile.

Stella went to it and sat down. She arranged the full skirts of her gown about her legs. It was one of the most flattering day dresses she’d commissioned from Mr. Malik. Made of mazarine blue silk, it was trimmed with black passementerie and boasted a high neckline, wide cord-edged sleeves worn over crisp, white muslin undersleeves, and a dainty cord-and-silk belt that buckled neatly at her waist. It had taken Stella ages to close the tiny row of black cord-covered buttons that ran down the bodice’s snug front—a task she’d never have managed if her corset hadn’t been cinched so dashed tightly.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

“You’re here, that’s what’s important.” Teddy continued lining up his supplies on an inlaid table beside his easel. Unlike Stella, he didn’t appear to have put any effort into his appearance. Quite the opposite. He was rather underdressed.

His coat had been discarded over the back of the settee, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. His cuffs were partially rolled up—a practical action, given his occupation, but one that revealed a scandalous expanse of leanly muscled forearm.

Stella made an effort not to stare. “I was out riding with Lady Anne and Mr. Hartford,” she told him.

She’d borrowed a placid little gelding from the earl’s stable. It had been nothing to riding Locket, but it was still riding. The exercise had done her a wealth of good.

“As I observed,” he said.

“You saw me?”

“I saw all of you setting out this morning. I’ve a perfect view of the stable yard from the window of my room.”

Stella frowned. His tone was unusually opaque. She couldn’t tell if he was irritated or indifferent or…something else.

Did it bother him to see others engaging in an activity that he could no longer engage in himself? Surely not. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have attended the opening night ball, would he?

“We’ll be going out again later,” she said. “Lady Anne and Mr. Hartford have got a smallish party together to visit the ruins at Odiham Castle. You might join us if you like.”

He flicked her a dry glance. “On horseback?”

“No, of course not. We’re taking carriages. It isn’t terribly far, I believe.”

“When is this thrilling expedition meant to take place?”

“At half past eleven. Will that give you enough time to complete your sketch?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Stella hadn’t expected him to be so definite. Talented as he was, this was only a rough sketch he was making, not a masterwork. How long could it truly take? Her own sketches rarely required more than an hour. “I suppose I could—”

“We’ll have to meet again,” he said brusquely.

An unexpected rush of girlish giddiness rose in her breast. She realized, in that moment, just how much she wanted to meet him again.

And again, and again.

Never mind that it was ill-advised. That it may be, potentially, hazardous to her reputation. It was wonderful to have a gentleman’s undivided attention. She was parched for the lack of it.

And not just any gentleman.

Teddy Hayes’s attention meant something. He wasn’t some insensitive society coxcomb or some boorish country squire. He was thoughtful. Discerning. He’d studied art in Paris, for heaven’s sake.

Stella managed to keep her countenance. “Very well. When do you propose?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said.

Her spirits sank a little. Much as she’d like to meet him in the morning, her remaining two days at the house party weren’t wholly her own. She was here as Anne’s guest, not as a guest in her own right. It was to Anne that Stella owed the bulk of her time. Especially now.

Knowing that Stella was limited to activities where she wouldn’t draw attention to herself in covering her hair, Anne had planned for a surfeit of outdoor amusements. Not only riding and visiting nearby places of historic interest, but sledding and sleighing, too.

Stella couldn’t absent herself from the very activities that had been arranged with her in mind. “The afternoon would be better,” she said. “If that’s convenient.”

“The entire afternoon? Or only another hour?”

“I can’t promise the whole afternoon. Lady Anne may have need of me.”

“May she, indeed. In that case, we’d better begin.” Opening his sketchbook, he selected a pencil from the row of supplies beside him as solemnly as a Roman gladiator choosing a weapon for the arena. “If you would be so good as to look in the direction of the clock,” he said. “And lift your chin a fraction.”

Stella obeyed his directions. She could no longer easily see what he was doing, except for a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. The whisper of his pencil grazing softly over the paper tickled her ears. “Must I be silent?”

“On the contrary. You must tell me about your horse.”

She smiled. “You wish me to glow again, I perceive.”

“That’s the idea.”

It was easier said than done. She was unused to making meaningful conversation on command. It was one thing to engage in mindless small talk. That she could do in her sleep. But to expound on the subject she loved best, wholly to produce some ephemeral change in her countenance, was quite another matter.

“Well?” he prompted. The question was punctuated by another scrape of his pencil.

“I’m deciding what to say,” she answered. “I confess, I feel a bit foolish. Is there anything particular you wish to know about Locket?”

“Where do you keep her?”

“In London, when I’m there.”

“And the remainder of the time?”

“At home in Derbyshire. My brother and I have a cottage near his church. There’s an old barn and paddock attached to it. Locket is there now, waiting for me to return. My groom’s old gelding, Crab, keeps her company. They’re the only horses at present.”

“You keep no carriage horses?”

“We keep no carriage. My brother feels it would be unseemly for a clergyman in his position.”

“Yet he escorts you to London for two consecutive seasons?”

“He hasn’t a choice.” Stella stared fixedly at the clock. She was already prone to speaking too freely when in company with Teddy Hayes. The steady scraping of his pencil loosened her tongue still further. “My father left a small portion for me in his will. Part of it is mine absolutely. The remainder was held in reserve, designated specifically for my launch into society. My brother could either carry out the duty of chaperoning me himself or hire a companion to do so, with funds from his own pocket.”

“So, it’s a matter of economy,” Teddy observed.

“Something like that,” Stella said.

Exactly that, in fact.

Daniel was an excessively frugal man. If it were up to him, Stella would have voluntarily relinquished her portion long ago. Even now, more than ten years after the unfortunate loss of their father, he still made occasional remarks about how her meager funds would be better spent in helping the poor.

Or in helping to support Daniel’s own hobby.

Though her brother would never admit to it being such. It was a calling, he said. A long-winded treatise he was writing on the modern manifestations of original sin. He’d been working on it for more than seven years. Stella had often played secretary for him during his endeavors, transcribing his notes and assisting with his research.

“Is it economical to keep two horses?” Teddy asked as he worked.

“It would be cruel not to. Horses are herd animals. They do best with other horses nearby. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with my brother.”

Teddy flashed her an interested glance.

Stella felt the inquiring look as much as saw it. “I subsidize her stabling expenses myself,” she explained. “The income from my inheritance isn’t very large, but it’s enough to keep Locket in relative comfort, and to afford the expenses of her groom and his mount. That’s all I require.”

“She means that much to you?”

“She means everything to me.”

“More than your own independence?”

“Locket gives me independence. More than I’d have in any other circumstances.”

“I can think of a few circumstances where you might have more,” he said as he resumed his sketching.

Stella was aware of them. She’d thought of them often enough. “Only marriage and widowhood. And, unfortunately, the latter state can only be arrived at by the former. As far as anything else…” Her brows knit. “An unmarried young lady can’t keep a house for herself. Not without a chaperone of some sort. Even then, it would be considered wildly peculiar.”

“Your chaperone needn’t be a chaperone in fact,” Teddy replied. “Before my sister’s marriage to Mr. Archer, she and I lived under the care of our old aunt Charlotte. But it was my sister who ran the household. Aunt Charlotte was merely there to lend us countenance.”

“I don’t have an aunt Charlotte, regrettably. There’s only my brother. And now that my second season is at an end…” She couldn’t finish the thought. Not out loud.

The scratch of Teddy’s pencil went quiet on the page. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Stella chanced a look in his direction. But she didn’t find him looking back at her with concern. He was glaring down at his sketchbook, scowling at the page as though vexed by something he saw there.

As she watched, he retrieved a piece of Indian rubber from his row of supplies and used it to erase part of the sketch. It wasn’t a very promising development, if his expression was to judge.

“What will you do?” he asked distractedly.

Stella stared back at the clock. She had no desire to discuss her lack of options. Not with Teddy or anyone. Certainly not when he wasn’t wholly attending to what she was saying.

She didn’t want to think about the bleakness of her future. The house party was meant to be a respite from all that, if not an outright solution. One last chance for pleasure and merriment before it must all come to an end.

And it must.

The provision in her father’s will didn’t stretch to a third season.

“I will return to Derbyshire,” she said.

“After which…?”

Stella set her shoulders. “There is no ‘after which.’?”

?Teddy once again raised his head. He was troubled by what Stella had been telling him. By the prospect that, in a very short while, she’d be retiring to Derbyshire, permanently out of his reach. But, at the moment, something else troubled him far more.

He held his sketch pad an arm’s length away from him, hoping that a bit of perspective might improve his opinion of his progress.

It didn’t.

A building irritation rapidly soured his mood. Something wasn’t right. Here she was at last, his luminous star, seated in front of him, a willing subject—for today and tomorrow, at least. And he couldn’t capture her. Not the way he wanted.

This time, it wasn’t the light that was at issue. It wasn’t even the information she’d been imparting, grim as it was. It was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Seeming to sense his growing displeasure, Stella again turned her head. A guarded expression came over her. She’d plainly realized that she’d said too much—confided too much. Unmarried ladies weren’t meant to converse so freely with unmarried gentlemen. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m not sure.”

“Is it something I’ve said?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“It’s…” He studied her face, his frown deepening. She had on the same black crepe cap she’d been wearing yesterday, and like yesterday, it masked the entirety of her hair. Teddy wasn’t one to comment on the vagaries of ladies’ fashion. Even so…“Why have you taken to wearing that dreadful cap?”

Some of the color drained from her face. She touched a self-conscious hand to the dull black ribbons that trimmed the offending article. “It’s not dreadful.”

“It is,” he assured her.

“Many ladies wear caps indoors.”

“Only matrons and aged spinsters. Neither of which you are.”

“I am a spinster,” she said. “Technically. And I like the way it looks. I think it’s rather stylish.”

“It’s rather hideous, is what it is,” he replied frankly. “I trust you didn’t pay overmuch for it.”

“I didn’t pay anything for it. I-I borrowed it from Lady Arundell.”

That explained the dour color and the old-fashioned style, but it didn’t explain Stella’s reason for wearing it. The Countess of Arundell was a stately older lady who existed in a perpetual air of mourning. Stella was practically a child by comparison, and not one who had any reason to mourn, not so far as Teddy was aware.

“You’ll have to remove it,” he said. “It’s covering all of your hair.”

She recoiled at the suggestion. “What difference does that make? You don’t approve of my new hair color anyway.”

“No, I don’t. But I’d rather see your hair as not.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t. Unless…” She went paler still. “Must you?”

“If I’m to get this sketch right, yes. There’s a lack of balance and proportion because of it. I couldn’t discern what the issue was until now. I need the whole of you, unaltered by”—he pointed his pencil at her head—“whatever that is.”

Stella bit her lip. Her eyes flicked anxiously to the open door of the parlor. The hall outside was silent. There was no one about. No servants, and certainly no guests. Not in this part of the house. Not unless summoned specifically.

She slowly untied the ribbons of her cap. “Very well,” she said. “But you mustn’t say anything.”

“What else is there to say? I’ve already seen your hair. It isn’t as though—” Teddy broke off as she slipped the crepe-layered atrocity from her head. His jaw threatened to drop.

Bound up in a neatly plaited roll at her nape, her hair was once again the color of fine sterling: beautiful, lustrous, and uniformly gray.

He gaped at her. “When did that —?”

“The night of the dance,” she said shortly. “The auburn dye washed out unexpectedly. That’s why I’ve taken to wearing a cap indoors. It’s the only way to disguise it.”

His mouth went dry. “I see.”

“And if you make a single unkind remark—”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “I haven’t.”

“No, but I can tell what you’re thinking. You’re thinking—”

“It’s lovely,” he interrupted hoarsely. “Just as it was the first day I saw you.”

She huffed. “Yes, I daresay.”

“I’m not quizzing you, Stella.”

She met his eyes. Whatever she saw there seemed to reassure her. The color gradually returned to her face. “Well…” She folded the cap in her lap with restless fingers. “You’re odd, as we’ve established.”

His mouth pulled into a brief smile. “Would you…?” He motioned to the clock.

She was still visibly flustered. She nevertheless dutifully resumed her pose.

He turned the page of his sketchbook to a blank sheet and started his outline anew. His pulse was racing. This was the shining star he’d seen in the King’s Gallery. The vision that had plagued his every waking hour, and his dreaming hours, too. He felt a decided sense of urgency, afraid the moment would once again slip through his fingers before he’d committed her image to paper.

By God, a sketch wasn’t enough. A single oil portrait wouldn’t be enough. Here was a lady who could inspire a dozen canvases. The Pleiades. The moonlight. The stars over a raging seascape that would put Turner to shame. Teddy wanted to paint her in every light. In every mood.

But want was too weak a word.

He had to paint her.

“This is, I take it, the reason you haven’t been at table these past several days?” he said. “Or at the dance?”

“It is,” she admitted. “There wasn’t time to have a fashionable morning cap made in the village. And I couldn’t borrow one from any of the other guests without raising suspicion. Lady Arundell’s cap was the best I could manage. I’m fully aware it does me no favors.”

“You still might have come to dinner or—”

“On no account. I may be reduced to roaming the remote corridors of Sutton Park with my hair covered in a borrowed matron’s cap, but I’d as soon not expose myself to the other guests at a meal, or a ball, or over a hand of cards. They’d find it as strange as you did. I’d be thought an absolute eccentric.”

“There are worse things in life.”

“Any number of things, I’m sure. That doesn’t make this any less problematic. An unmarried young lady can’t afford to be thought peculiar. She can’t afford to be obtrusive at all.”

“You’d rather be ordinary?”

“What I’d rather be,” she said, “is inconspicuous.”

He gave her a sharp glance.

How often had he felt the same? That the very fact of being different had put him under a painful variety of scrutiny? He didn’t aspire to ordinariness. Far from it. But conspicuousness was a loathsome alternative. If Teddy was to be recognized at all, he’d rather it be for his skill with a brush and pencils than for the fact that he was a young man, in the very prime of life, stuck in a wheeled chair. His injury wasn’t the whole of him. It wasn’t even the most interesting part. It irked him to no end that, to some people, it was the only thing worthy of noticing.

Is that how Stella felt about her hair? Is that why she desired to be ordinary?

“Were you so inconspicuous before?” he asked. “Unless…You weren’t born with this hair color, were you?”

“No, indeed. When I was a girl, my hair was a plain, nondescript mouse brown. The color didn’t begin to change until I was fifteen. By sixteen, I was completely gray.”

“And you’ve no idea why it happened?”

“The village doctor offered suggestions. So did my brother. But they neither of them understood the why of it any better than I did. All I know is that it’s come to define me. It’s the first thing people notice. Often the only thing.”

“Do you care so much what people think of you?” Teddy asked. It was the very question he’d frequently posed to himself.

“I wish I didn’t,” she said. “But I must.”

“Because you’re in search of a husband.” He was unable to disguise his disdain.

Stella responded to his tone with a faint smile of amusement. “You refer to my efforts with contempt. And yet, you must eventually marry.”

“Must I?”

“Every gentleman does eventually.”

“I won’t,” Teddy said bluntly. “I have no wish for a wife.”

She flashed him a surprised look. “What? Never?”

“I’m not the marrying sort.”

She returned to staring at the clock. He could tell what she was thinking. She assumed it had something to do with his chair.

And perhaps it did. To be sure, it was a large part of the reason he’d vowed to remain a bachelor. But it wasn’t the entirety of it.

“I’m too fastidious and particular,” he said, answering the question she’d been too polite to ask. “A wife would only get in the way of my painting. Either that or she’d bore me. And I despise being bored, almost as much as I despise having my work interrupted.”

“A wife’s purpose isn’t to entertain a husband. She’s meant to be a helpmeet.”

“A helpmeet,” he repeated. “Just what I’ve always desired—said no man ever.”

“My brother has said so.”

“Your brother is a clergyman.”

“A clergyman can’t be so different from other men.”

“I can’t speak to the inclinations of all men,” Teddy said, “only for my own.”

“What about love?” she asked.

“Ah. Love. That old fairy tale.” He chuckled to himself, recalling the ridiculous infatuation he’d suffered in his youth. “I can personally confirm that it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

She flashed him an odd look. “You’ve been in love before?”

“I thought so at the time. I was but a lad. And she—”

“A French girl?”

“English to her core. Her name was Henrietta Talbot. She had golden ringlets, a dimpled smile, and all the charm of a provincial petty tyrant.” He paused. “She was our near neighbor in Surrey. Most of the gentlemen thereabouts fell in love with her at one time or another. It was practically a rite of passage.”

“What happened?”

“I grew up,” he said. “End of story.”

“That isn’t the end. You could still meet someone else one day. Someone you liked better.”

“No, thank you. I’m looking to decrease the amount of interfering people in my life, not augment their numbers. By this time next year, I shall be wholly independent—no family, no overbearing friends, and certainly no wife.”

“Independence is a state greatly to be desired,” Stella replied solemnly. “Alas, a lady in my circumstances must be realistic.”

“Which means—?”

“Which means that self-delusion serves no purpose on the marriage mart. A young lady must acknowledge her weaknesses, however discomfiting they are. She must understand how she rates in the scheme of London society and formulate her plans accordingly.”

Teddy couldn’t hide his disappointment at her pronouncements. She hadn’t struck him as a wallflower, cringing about at the edges of society. Not on any of the occasions he’d observed her. She’d seemed singular. Remarkable. “In other words,” he said, “a young lady must know her place.”

His disapproving tone brought the smile back to Stella’s lips.

She briefly turned to meet his eyes. The cold light from the window sparkled in the thick plaits of her silver hair, making her appear, for an instant, every inch the starry goddess he’d imagined her. “Know it, yes,” she said. “That doesn’t mean she must accept it.”