A Gift From a Goddess Read online

  Silence settled over the room, except for the tap, tap, tap, of his chisel, and the crackle of the coal fire. Careful not to move her head, Hebe’s gaze took in the jumble of things on the table. She attempted to read the spines of several books on art then studied the rich patterning on a rug thrown over the chair. But her eyes constantly returned to Lewis, a picture of concentration as he bent his dark head over his work. Now pitted, the marble began to change shape beneath his chiseled attack, as the chips fell onto the sheet at his feet.

  Two hours passed in relative silence. Completely absorbed, his gaze flickered over her as if she wasn’t a living, breathing person, but a statue herself. Fascinated, she watched him knock out the edges of stone with a flat chisel and hammer as the rough shape of her head, neck, and shoulder, emerged.

  “We’ll have a break.” Lewis put down the implements. He emerged from behind the marble block pulling off the gloves and strode over to pull the bell cord.

  Hebe stood clutching the sheet against herself. “I’ll put on my robe.”

  He turned his back to her and rummaged through the papers on the table. “Mm? Yes, do.”

  When she returned, Lewis sat on the splat-back chair inspecting his drawings. As Hebe seated herself he stood and added coal to the fire. His sharp prods with the poker sent sparks flying up the chimney. She leaned back, enjoying the warmth and silence. Four stories above the road they were high in the air, with only the birds for company. Little noise reached them from the refined streets below.

  There was always a cacophony of sounds in Cheapside: neighbors calling, screaming, arguing, even coming to blows. Then there were the drunks, who laughed, sang, or wept, as they staggered along the street beneath her window. It made her so tired. She supposed it was because she wasn’t yet used to the constant clamor. She’d spent much of her childhood in the quiet countryside of Wiltshire. Her chest tightened, and she tried not to reflect on the past, afraid it would make her tear up. It always upset her to think of her dog. A neighbor had promised to take good care of Rex, her red setter. Her mare, Columbine, had been sold along with her father’s hunters.

  Hebe sighed and told herself to stop moaning about what couldn’t be changed. She listened for footsteps climbing the stairs that would herald the arrival of a hot drink and something nice to eat as she hadn’t had time to have any breakfast. The truth was she didn’t feel a bit like moaning. She glanced over at the handsome sculptor. What woman wouldn’t want to be here in his company?

  ~~~

  Lewis sipped his coffee, strong and slightly bitter the way he liked it, while Hebe nibbled on one of Cook’s scones laden with cream and strawberry preserve, her eyes closed, and her lips curled with pleasure. A dimple at the corner of her mouth caught his eye. He must get that just right. “This is so delicious.” She licked a piece of jam from her bottom lip.

  He lowered his gaze to his cup, amazed at how unconscious she was of her sensuality. At times, he had to steel himself to the task in hand. He had great hopes that he could capture that quality in his statue. “The preserves come from Bath. The blackberry is my favorite, you might like to try that next.”

  “Oh yes, Bath,” she murmured taking a sip of coffee.

  “You’ve been to Bath? My country estate lies only twenty miles from the town.”

  Her blue eyes widened, and she straightened on the chaise. “No. Never set foot outside ’o London.”

  Lewis sighed. He wondered how long he would allow this ruse to continue. He was concerned for Hebe, and didn’t wish to embarrass her, but this really served neither of them.

  Trouble was, he thought, casting her a reassuring smile, if he allowed the truth to come out, he would lose his model. As things now stood, she wasn’t a baron’s daughter. Not as she presented herself to him. But once her noble birth was revealed, the curtain between a sculptor and his model would fall. The strict morals and etiquette that society demanded of him would change everything. And he had to admit that she could turn out to be the best model he’d ever had.

  He brushed the crumbs from his lap with his napkin. “Shall we begin? The days grow shorter and I’d like to put in another couple of hours before the light goes.”

  Hebe put down her cup and hurried behind the screen. “You’ve achieved a lot already, Lewis,” she called. “Shouldn’t take you long, seein’ as it’s only to be of the ’ead and shoulders.”

  Lewis stared at the screen while he pulled on his coat. “This is just the beginning. It will be a full-length statue. I plan to begin the torso next week.” His body stirred at the thought. He went still with horror. This had never happened before. What was wrong with him?

  Just then Hebe appeared from behind the screen clutching the sheet, her eyes wide. “Oh! Yes, of course.”

  Her reaction surprised and sobered him. Surely she had posed naked for artists. This would mean nothing to her. “Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier,” he said fighting to sound casual, as he came to rearrange her pose.

  “Not at all,” she said sitting upright.

  He breathed in the scent of violets, her hair silky soft beneath his fingers. There was something vulnerable about her as she clutched the sheet to her slim body. It occurred to him what his problem was. He felt compassion for her. He dropped his hand. Because dash it all! It wasn’t right.

  She was driven to do this work out of desperation, due to her circumstances, none of which was her fault. He was like the rest of them, compounding the cruelty that had been visited on her. He spun around and retreated to his block of marble, placing his hands on the hard stone while he ordered his thoughts. The coldness beneath his fingers worked to cool his ardor.

  “Is there anything wrong, Lewis?” came the small anxious voice behind him.

  What to do? To dismiss her would mean casting her back onto the streets. What if another job didn’t come along? And dammit, he didn’t want to lose her. “Nothing Hebe,” he said, turning back to her, his voice tight. “Let’s begin.”

  The ability to immerse himself in his work had never failed him before. In the past it might have been Prinny sitting there on the sofa for the dearth of attraction he felt for his models. This time, when he gazed at Hebe, he saw her. It made his chest tighten, and he was afraid his hand would slip. One hard jab could split the marble and ruin it.

  Have a care, fool! He took another deep breath. It wasn’t that Hebe was any more beautiful than other models he’d used, why even Marigold…

  Suddenly, the door flew open and a curvaceous redhead in a snug gown of green satin decorated with silk camellias, rushed in like a whirlwind. “So, it’s you!” She stabbed an accusatory finger at Hebe. “I ’eard ’is lordship ’ad a new model. I never expected it to be you.”

  Startled, Hebe stared at her. “Yes, it’s me, Marigold. As you can see.”

  “You ’ave no right…” Marigold began.

  “I heard you were posing for an artist in Holland Park. That you no longer worked here.” Hebe’s gaze flew to Lewis for confirmation.

  “Walter Ashe isn’t it?” he asked walking over to her.

  Marigold nodded. “But ’e only wanted to paint me ’ands. Imagine that.” She held up a hand. “Said mine were pretty.”

  “Hands are all he paints. I commissioned a painting for Lady Chesterton. Marigold…” Lewis took her by the arm. “What are you doing here?” It wouldn’t have been Stubbs. He’d given his butler firm instructions not to admit her.

  “Hebe’s not right for you, Lewis.” Marigold pulled away from him. “Look at ‘er, she’s too pale and flat chested.”

  Lewis turned to where Hebe stood clutching the sheet. “You’d best get dressed, Hebe. We’ll finish up… begin again tomorrow.”

  Hebe darted behind the screen as Marigold wandered over to examine his work. She spun around with a triumphant expression. “See? You’ve only done ’er ’ead! She don’t inspire you like I do.”

  Lewis rang the bell. There would be hell to pay when he found out who had admi
tted her to the house. “Sit down while I send for coffee. We need to talk.”

  Marigold nodded. Pleased, she pulled her knitted shawl of a different green around her bosom and settled her ample bottom on the chaise.

  Minutes later, Hebe emerged from behind the screen, her usually neat appearance suffering somewhat from haste.

  “I am sorry, Hebe. Tomorrow. Usual time,” Lewis said.

  Hebe nodded. “Tomorrow then. Goodbye.”

  After the door closed, Lewis turned to the girl. He tamped down the desire to remove her bodily from the room. “Now, Marigold…”

  “Would you like me to disrobe?” She fingered the buttons on her dress with a coy smile.

  God help me. Lewis shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

  He drew up a chair. “Are you in need of work?”

  “Course I am. What kind ’o question is that?”

  “I can recommend you to a friend of mine who is at present without a model.”

  Marigold pouted. “I like it ’ere with you.”

  Lewis frowned, losing patience. “I intend to continue with Hebe. I’m not about to change.”

  She gave him a sly glance. “Me brother, Seth won’t like it if you shove me out. You don’ want to make ’im maggotty.”

  Lewis ran his hands through his hair. “That is a chance I’ll have to take. I don’t wish to shove you out, as you put it, Marigold. But after you’ve had your coffee and cake, I should like you to behave nicely and leave.”

  “An’ if I don’t?”

  “I’ll instruct the footman to remove you.”

  She cast him a hostile glance, huffed, and settled back on the seat. “I ’ope it’s chocolate cake.”

  Women! More trouble than they were worth. Lewis tapped his fingers on the chair arm and considered sculpting busts of naval heroes in the future.

  Chapter Four

  hebe walked up the steps to her front door, dread tightening her stomach. Was she about to lose her job? Marigold was beautiful and very determined. Hebe wondered if the model had been right. Was it Lewis’ opinion that her body lacked the right look for Aphrodite? Would buxom Marigold be seated on the chaise longue when Hebe arrived tomorrow?

  At least, Mr. Wainscott didn’t lurk in the parlor, today. She feared she might have been less than polite to him if she found him there. Her mother was out too. The house was quiet. She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber dragging her feet as if lead weights were attached to her ankles. She tidied her clothes and tried to convince herself that if needed, another job could easily be found. Failing, she sank onto the bed with a sigh. At the sound of the front door opening, she hurried down to greet her mother.

  Mama smiled as Hebe took the heavy basket from her. “You’re home early, dearest. Come and have something hot to drink. I indulged in some chocolate. I shouldn’t have, but one must have a treat now and again. And I found the perfect blue wool for the shawl I plan to have finished before the days grow cold. We shall have to economize on heating. I never realized how expensive coal is.”

  As her mother chatted on, Hebe followed her to the kitchen where the cook was rolling dough, her spirits lowering further. What if she had little money to give Mama on Friday? Trawling the artist’s studios again looking for work was too awful to contemplate. After tomorrow, would she ever see Lewis again? That was hardest of all. It wasn’t just that she liked him, it was peaceful there, and the work was more interesting. Artists tended to be secretive about their paintings; many threw a cloth over their canvasses when the day’s work was done.

  The next morning, Hebe found Marigold hovering at the top of Mount Street.

  “I’ve been lookin’ out for yer,” she called. “Wanted to warn yer.”

  Hebe frowned. “What about?”

  Marigold hurried over. “Look!” She pulled back her hair and turned her face to better display the dreadful bruise on her cheek, her left eye black and swollen.

  Hebe’s anguished gasp breathed in Marigold’s cheap scent, somehow making her even more sorry for the girl. “Oh. That’s awful, Marigold. What happened?”

  “Lewis hit me. A fearful temper that one.” She arranged the lock of hair to better conceal the bruise. “Be careful, Hebe. If I was yer, I wouldn’t work for ’im.”

  Hebe stared at her. “It was Lewis? Why would he do such a thing?”

  “I riled ’im. Needed the work. Me ma’s sick.”

  Hebe shook her head. Confused, she struggled to take it in. “I am sorry. What will you do now?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t work like this can I?”

  “I can lend you a little money if that will help.”

  “Thanks Hebe.” She held out her hand. “Might stop me goin’ on the streets for a bit.”

  Hebe drew out her purse. She dropped a few coins into Marigolds palm. It left her with barely enough for the hackney. “I wish it was more.”

  “Thanks, ducks.” She nodded her head toward the house. “Give up on ’is dibs before it happens to yer.”

  Marigold hurried away up the street. Could Lewis be capable of such an act? It didn’t equate with what she knew of him. But you never could be sure. Her pulse racing, she made her way up the lane to the servants’ entrance, unsure of how to proceed.

  Lewis turned to her as she came into the studio. “Hebe, I’m sorry about yesterday, but it won’t happen again.”

  She studied him for any sign of guilt but found nothing different in his expression. “I just saw Marigold outside in the street.”

  He sighed heavily. “Did you?”

  “She has a terrible bruise on her cheek and her eye.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I am sorry to hear it. Did she say how it happened?”

  “She said you hit her.”

  For a moment, Lewis just stared at her, then his brown eyes widened. “Marigold said I hit her?” He turned and snatched up his coat. “Wait here, Hebe,” he said grimly. He threw open the door and was gone.

  Hebe stared at the empty doorway while her mind whirled. Had they been lovers? Was that what this was about? She took a deep breath and walked over to study the marble block. Lewis had begun work on a small area of the statue’s hair. She reached out to trace a stone lock with a finger, but instead, turned to listen for footsteps on the stairs which could bring about an end to her time here.

  She heard a slow heavy tread. Lewis.

  He entered the room. “She was gone. I didn’t hit her, Hebe. I would never hit a woman.” He stood looking down at her, his dark eyes imploring. “I hope you don’t think that of me.”

  “No. I don’t, Lewis.” Hebe couldn’t conceive him capable of such an act. Marigold wasn’t very reliable when it came to the truth. Might she be angry with Lewis for letting her go and wanted to get back at him? Or maybe hoped to scare Hebe away? Sally might tell her more. As soon as she could Hebe would go to see her.

  Lewis walked over to his work table to select his tools. “Let’s begin, then, shall we?” he asked in a flat, defeated voice.

  She darted behind the screen to disrobe. Who had hit Marigold? It was a savage blow, perpetrated by someone capable of extreme violence. Hebe shuddered and feared for her. It brought home to her how vulnerable they all were working for strange men. She’d been naïve to believe she could handle this dangerous world she’d stepped into. Her old life was gone, along with her reputation, and her chance for a happy marriage. Once this job was finished, would she still have the courage to continue?

  ~~~

  In his library, Lewis poured himself a whiskey and sat down to think. If Marigold spread it about that he’d hit her, the past would be stirred up all over again. He was tired of defending himself against rumor. Damen was right, he should marry again to bring some measure of respectability and order to his life. Would a wife make his life easier? Or would he be put through hell again? He’d scrupulously avoided the intense passionate relationship he’d had with Laura and Adela for a good reason.

  Tonight, Emmy p
lanned to introduce him to a lady at the Mulgraves. He must at least open his mind to the possibility. Trouble was, every time he did, the bad memories would return, and the dark veil would fall, sending him into that wretched place again that he dreaded.

  As the town clocks struck eleven, Lewis paid off the hackney and crossed the gas-lit pavement in Berkeley Square. With a nod to the liveried footmen at the door, he entered the Mulgrave’s well-appointed mansion which was bursting with noise and light. He greeted the butler, handed his coat and hat to a maid, and went in search of his host and hostess. The Mulgraves were known for their hospitality and their rooms were always crowded.

  He found Lord and Lady Mulgrave in the elegant drawing room lit by dancing lights from an impressive pair of French crystal chandeliers and offered his apologies for being late.

  “Late or not, we are always pleased to see you, Lord Chesterton.” Lady Mulgrave patted her ivory-colored locks, adorned with a quivering blue feather. “You have been missed.”

  Lord Mulgrave nodded in his vague manner. He failed to take note of the outrageous come-hither look his wife gave Lewis. But then he always turned a blind eye to his wife’s affairs.

  “I was sorry to be away from the country when your ball was held,” Lewis said, determined not to encourage her. “Your parties are unrivaled in London.”

  Mulgrave nodded his gray head. “The Prince of Wales said he would come tonight.”

  “Indeed!” Lewis injected as much enthusiasm into the word as he was able. He found Prinny and his toad-eaters a boring lot for the most part. It seemed likely the Prince would attend as Isabella, Lady Hertford, a lady of middle-years and Prinny’s current mistress, had just passed Lewis with a smile of greeting. “Ah. I believe I just caught sight of Lord and Lady de Lacy. I need a word. Please excuse me.”