A Gift From a Goddess Page 5

  As they sat with their muffins and coffee a knock sounded at the door. “Come.” The servants wouldn’t interrupt his work unless it was something serious.

  His butler puffed as he entered the room. Lewis stared at him in surprise. Stubbs never came upstairs. “A note has been delivered, milord. From a Mr. Crabbe.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited?”

  “I didn’t like the cut of the fellow’s jib, milord,” Stubbs said. “Threatening manner he had. Thought it better not to delay.”

  Lewis perched on the edge of the table and scanned the note. “Someone called Seth Crabbe is demanding to be told where his sister, Marigold is. He believes I have hidden her away.”

  Hebe put down her cup. “If I knew where she was I wouldn’t tell him. Seth knocks her about when she doesn’t ’ave money to give ’im.”

  “Tell the fellow we don’t know, Stubbs.”

  “Very well, milord.”

  When the door closed on the butler, Lewis crumpled the note into a ball. He eased off the table while admitting to himself that he was in some way to blame for the girl’s plight even though she’d found work after he let her go. This was becoming complicated. He didn’t want the girl drawing gossip down on his head and involving Hebe. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “Marigold ’as two friends in the business, Dora, and Liza. One of ’em might ’ave put her up.”

  “Shall we go and see?”

  Surprise widened her eyes, but she popped the last piece of muffin in her mouth and stood.

  As Lewis drove his curricle out of the stable mews behind his townhouse, Seth Crabbe pushed himself off a wall and strode over to them. A big, burly fellow with red hair, he glowered at them and grabbed the horses’ reins. “You know where Marigold is, don’t you, Miss Hebe?”

  Lewis raised his whip. “Unhand the horses, sir.”

  Seth held up both hands and backed away.

  “I don’t,” Hebe said. “And I wouldn’t tell you if I did. You blackened Marigold’s eye.” She glared at Seth as Lewis told the horses to walk on.

  Seth turned to follow as they drove past him. “What if I did? She had it coming,” he spat.

  “Poor Marigold,” Hebe said.

  “Indeed,” Lewis said in a grim tone.

  “What will you do if you find her?” Hebe asked Lewis as he drove them through the squalid East End streets.

  “I’ll send Marigold to my Bath estate if she agrees. She’ll be safe there.” He smiled at Hebe. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want to remain in the country.” He doubted it. A London girl would miss the hustle and bustle of the big city.

  “That is generous of you, Lewis,” Hebe said. “Especially when Marigold said such dreadful things about you.”

  Lewis shrugged. “We’re all capable of behaving badly when we’re in trouble.” He glanced at her. “We might try the artist Walter Ashe. He may be using Marigold again.”

  He turned the horses’ heads toward Holland Park.

  They negotiated the traffic and reached the treed streets of Holland Park within the hour. Ashe’s house was a two story brick set in a tidy garden with a studio tacked on one side. The artist, a short man his hair graying at the temples, struggled to open the front door, his right hand bandaged.

  Lewis introduced them.

  “Lost my maid at the worst time. Have to do for myself.” Ashe held his hand up. “Darndest thing. Cut my palm peeling an apple.” He led them into a large studio with floor to ceiling windows along one wall and a glass skylight.

  Hebe stared around apparently spellbound. The other three walls were hung with large oil paintings, all of which were of hands.

  “Excellent light,” Lewis said approvingly.

  “Yes. I’m eager to make use of it and find this injury most annoying,” Ashe said. “We’ve met haven’t we, milord?”

  “You painted Lady Chesterton’s hands.”

  Ashe’s hazel eyes went hazy as if in thought. “But of course, I remember the lady. You’re not here to buy a painting then? What can I do for you?”

  “I’m inquiring about a model, Miss Marigold Crabbe, I believe you’ve employed her in the past.”

  “Marigold?” Ashe nodded. “I was working with her.” He drew a cover away from a canvas resting on an easel. It was a half-finished painting of a pair of well-shaped hands. He shook his head with a frown. “Couldn’t continue after this happened, so I paid her and sent her off yesterday.”

  “Did she tell you her direction?” Hebe asked.

  Ashe studied her. “You’re a model?”

  “Yes. I work for Lord Chesterton.”

  “Ah yes. Sculpture. An interesting medium.” Ashe shook his head. “Haven’t a clue where young Marigold was off to. Might be anywhere. She’s a tempestuous young lady.”

  When they left the house, Hebe frowned at him.

  “What?” Lewis asked, as he assisted her into the curricle.

  “His eyes looked strange. They were cloudy, the irises enlarged.”

  “That would be from Absinthe. Some artists use it. They say it improves their work.”

  “I don’t see how it could,” Hebe said with a shake of her head. “He didn’t even ask why we wanted Marigold.” She settled in the curricle beside him. “And we’re no closer to discovering where she might be.”

  “We’ll try a couple of painters I know.”

  Some hours later, after visiting Marigold’s mother, and another of her model friends, which proved a dead end, they were forced to give up. Marigold wasn’t to be found, and gunpowder gray clouds had rolled in across the sky turning the day to night.

  “That’s it for today then,” Lewis said. “Can’t work in this light. Shall we stop at an inn for luncheon? And then I’ll drive you home.”

  “No need for that.” Hebe looked alarmed. “I can find my way.”

  “But I shan’t allow it.”

  In the snug dining room, Lewis ordered wine, and chicken soup for them both. Hebe shifted in her seat and looked around several times.

  “No one is likely to recognize you here,” he said.

  Her blue eyes met his. “You are so very kind, Lord Chesterton,” she said, her voice soft. “I have been dishonest. I must set things to rights.”

  Lewis noted how she addressed him and the change in her speech, with a lowering of spirits. She was going to confess. He’d noted how she’d struggled to uphold her ruse as they’d driven around London. He’d been foolish to have suggested trying to find Marigold. Wasn’t sure why he did. It was as if he had to prove to Hebe that he was a decent fellow after all. Dammit, now he would lose her. “Do you want to talk about it, Hebe?”

  She raised her eyebrows her blue eyes flashing in outrage. “How long have you known?”

  “That you’re a baron’s daughter? Not immediately. I suppose when I returned your glove and heard your mother’s voice.”

  She firmed her mouth as the steaming plates were placed before them along with crusty bread from the oven, warm and yeasty, with fresh butter.

  When they were alone again, Hebe took several sips of burgundy. Her blue eyes had become shadowed. “Why did you allow me to continue to make a fool of myself?”

  “You did no such thing. You’re a good model so naturally, I wished to keep you. I’m a selfish man, Hebe. My aim was to finish the statue.”

  “You could have hired someone else.”

  “You were my inspiration for Aphrodite.”

  “I was?” Her cheeks flushed pink.

  He smiled. “You, and a mosaic of the goddess I discovered in Greece.” He refrained from adding what part of their body inspired him most.

  “Whether you are aware of the truth or not makes little difference, surely,” she said.

  “But it does, Hebe.” He noted the worry in her eyes. “I am guilty of ignoring your circumstances. It was wrong from the start. I understand your need to work, but I would prefer to help you find more acceptable employment.”

  “Do
n’t you think I’ve tried?”

  She looked so crestfallen, his heart went out to her. He disliked the idea of her working at all. “Please allow me to help you.”

  “Thank you, Lewis. I appreciate the offer more than I can say. But now I will finish this tasty meal and go home.” She ducked her head, hiding her expression and took a piece of bread from the plate.

  Lewis was absurdly downhearted. It wasn’t that he’d lose a good model. He would miss her. It had been remarkably pleasant to have a lady of her quality working for him. But he’d balked at seeing her stripped naked, he had to admit. It seemed like a dreadful invasion of this lovely young woman’s privacy. It probably wouldn’t have worked if he’d continued.

  They ate in silence, Lewis having given up after Hebe’s monosyllabic replies to his attempt at conversation.

  When they’d finished, Lewis paid the bill, helped Hebe into her pelisse and they left the coaching inn, crossing to where a servant had been holding the horses.

  “Miss Hebe Fenchurch? Can that be you?” A young lady in a moss green pelisse and matching bonnet hurried toward them along the footpath.

  Hebe turned her stricken face to him. “It’s Lady Felicity Merton, we met during my London Season.”

  Lewis glanced over at the small, carrot-haired young woman advancing smartly along the street. “Then introduce me.”

  “How nice to see you,” Felicity said, a little short of breath. Her maid had trailed along behind her and now stood nearby. “I’d just visited the apothecary for Mama’s medicine and I said to Maisie, that I was sure it was you.” Her curious gaze flicked over Lewis. “Many have wondered whether you and your mother had left London, after your poor papa died. We thought you might have gone to live with your grandfather at his estate in Kent.”

  “Lady Felicity, may I introduce you to Lord Chesterton? He is a friend of my mother’s and has kindly offered me a lift this morning.”

  Felicity bobbed. “How do you do, Lord Chesterton.”

  Lewis bowed. “Lady Felicity.”

  “We haven’t seen you anywhere this Season, Hebe.” Curiosity was writ large on Felicity’s face. She glanced at Hebe’s drab pelisse. “Perhaps we will, now that your mourning period has passed?”

  “My mother and I have been away from London.”

  “Oh. During the Season? You have missed many delightful engagements.” She rattled off the names of two: a ball and a dance party. “And all the gossip at Almack’s! I can’t wait to tell you about Annabella Crawley!”

  Lewis glanced at the sky. “I believe it is about to rain. Please do excuse us, Lady Felicity. My horses are growing restive.”

  “I believe you are right, my lord.” She smiled at him as if he’d pronounced something of great magnitude and shook out her umbrella. “Shall we see you at the Iverson’s rout, Hebe? We can catch up then.”

  “I don’t expect to as Mama has been a trifle under the weather.”

  “You really should have her try Mr. Blanchard’s tonic.” Felicity’s maid obligingly held up the bottle. “It’s known to be strengthening.”

  “What an excellent idea. I shall tell her. Thank you, Felicity. Good day.” Hebe put her hand on Lewis’ arm and climbed into the curricle.

  As the horses drew away, Felicity stood watching them.

  “It seems I’m always telling lies. I should not have said that about my mother,” she said gloomily.

  Lewis swore under his breath. “What a fool I am. I have compromised you, Hebe.”

  “What nonsense, Lewis,” Hebe said, straightening her hat. “It is not scandalous to be seen in a carriage with a gentleman. Especially if he is a friend of the family. Please don’t give it another thought.”

  He glanced at her, marveling that she thought of him rather than herself, then turned to guide the horses around a wagon piled high with vegetables. “I am immune to gossip. But I hope this doesn’t rebound on you.”

  She raised her chin. “I don’t see how it could as I am not part of that world now.”

  Hebe’s forced smile sent a streak of protectiveness through him. Aware of her fierce determination to hang onto her pride, he had to tread carefully. He pulled the horses up farther along the street from her house and reached for his wallet. “I usually give my models a bonus when I finish a work.”

  “But it’s not finished.”

  “The most important part of it is. The head and shoulders. I have my drawings to help me complete the rest.” It wasn’t entirely true. He was sure that nothing in his imagination could do justice to Hebe naked. He removed a bundle of bank notes and held it out to her.

  Her gaze flew to his. “That’s too generous. There’s no need, I’m sure to find work.”

  Lewis opened her gloved hand and pressed the money into it. “Don’t be foolish. Your mother will appreciate it.”

  “Oh, yes. She will. Thank you for everything, Lewis. You’ve been so very good to me.”

  He tied off the reins and jumped down. She took his arm, and they walked along the street. When they approached her house, he bowed his head and left her.

  Seated on his curricle, he waited until she slipped inside. As his gaze lingered on the shut door, he suffered a strange sense of loss. A tightening of his ribs. He shrugged and moved the horses on with the damning sensation that he’d let her down. That he hadn’t done enough. He feared he would continue to worry about her, that it wouldn’t be a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ as Chaucer had put it.

  Chapter Six

  When Hebe gained her bedchamber, she sank onto the bed. It hurt terribly that she would never see Lewis again, never watch him work, his tall, lean frame bent over the marble. She’d grown familiar with his gestures, the way he smoothed back his thick black hair, and gave her all his attention when he’d stopped work to join her for luncheon.

  It had been good of him to offer to help her. But he’d been so generous already. It was enough to know that he would help, should she go to him. Hebe had doubted she would ever put her faith and trust in another man. Not after her father had left them in such dreadful straits. But Lewis had restored her faith. It was hard to bear that she had lied to him. He had known all along! And he’d said nothing, while she continued to make a fool of herself.

  She took a deep breath and counted the money. Eighty pounds! It would stand them in good stead for some months and give her time to find work. She could continue to give her mother a weekly allowance without her realizing that Hebe had lost her job. She sat back and frowned. Lewis had given her far too much. Was it out of sympathy? The thought horrified her. She would have to find a way to repay most of it. But right now, she was in no position to.

  Hebe sagged at the thought of venturing out in search of work again. Hopefully, one of the artists she’d worked for might need her for a new painting. She would troll the studios tomorrow although nothing would induce her to return to Alberto Bertoletti.

  Fresh worries now assailed her, and her confidence waned. She had been careful never to venture into parts of London where the ton might go. And her artists, apart from Lewis and Sally, did not know her full name. What if someone else recognized her? And discovered the truth? The shock really would make her mother ill. Poor Mama. After Papa died, the invitations had dried up, and it became impossible to make morning calls or indeed receive them. Her mother refused to show her face anywhere. The family had fallen so far from grace it appeared that the polite world had forgotten them. But apparently, according to Felicity, they hadn’t.

  Her mother came into the room. “Mr. Wainscott called in today.”

  Hebe swallowed her throat suddenly dry. “What did he want?”

  “To inform me that he is about to be married. He was concerned because he had asked you first, Hebe, which you failed to mention to me.” Mama paused and raised her eyebrows. “After he received no reply, he decided it best to choose another lady.”

  “I am sorry, Mama. I’d forgotten all about it.” Hebe’s guilt was heavily laced with
relief. “I wouldn’t have accepted him.”

  Her mother sighed. “I fear you might have done so just to please me. But I very much doubt I would have let you.”

  Hebe went hot with relief. “You didn’t want me to marry him, Mama?”

  “Wainscott is not good enough for you, my dear. And I will never allow you to become a sacrificial lamb.” She took Hebe’s arm. “Come into the parlor. I wish to talk to you.”

  When they settled on the sofa, Mama took up her knitting. “As you know I have written to your grandfather again but have yet to receive a reply. I am concerned that his reason for abandoning us was due to his financial situation. I should like to talk to him as I remain hopeful that he might suffer some guilt for his actions.”

  Hebe remained doubtful. “I know you do, Mama.”

  “A letter has come, however, from your father’s spinster sister, Aunt Prudence, in East Sussex.”

  “After all this time?”

  “The few times we met she was never particularly warm toward me, quite indifferent in fact. But it appears that she has a good opinion of you, Hebe.”

  “I don’t see why she should. We hardly know each other.” Hebe was surprised, having only seen her aunt once, some years ago at Christmas at Longford House, Grandfather’s estate, when she was sixteen. Her impression of her aunt was of a vague lady who had wafted about in trailing draperies and possessed consuming interests in bees, the cosmos, and her yappy terrier with the unlikely name of Aries.

  “Prudence has written to tell me she needs a companion and, as the stars are in alignment, you might do.”

  Her dreams of independence faded. Hebe drew in a breath and released it slowly grappling with the awful prospect of living in a small village in East Sussex with her eccentric Aunt. “Will you come too, Mama?” Her voice sounded surprisingly calm; when she wanted to scream and rail at the unfairness of life.

  “For a short while, and then I shall visit your grandfather. I hope to receive a small stipend from him which will keep me for the years I have remaining on this earth. I believe it is his duty. Hopefully he has come to realize it.”