Picture Perfect (4 page)

‘
I’m just going to have a word with Leahey about one or two of those paintings of his,’ Colonel Black said to Annabel as they gathered in the foyer at the end of the evening to await their carriages. Without waiting for a reply he whisked away, leaving Annabel standing in the corner, alone in the thinning crowd. She busied herself with donning her blue gloves and hoped her father wouldn’t take too long. He had already sent Bill, the groom, for the carriage and one thing her mother had always impressed on her was the unfairness of sending servants out into the cold only to keep them waiting, but Mrs Black had enjoyed minimal success in training her husband with regard to this.

‘Mr Leahey’s paintings did not seem to be entirely to your taste, but I trust the sculptures were more to your liking, Miss Black?’ Although she hadn’t seen him approaching, Mr Denham did not make her jump this time, but she wondered at the particular emphasis he put onto her name.’

In truth, Annabel had not found herself able to concentrate on the sculptures. She had been so intent on keeping Mr Leahey at a distance without appearing to do so, hoping to avoid a repeat of his outrageous offer, but Mr Denham didn’t need to know that. ‘I found the sculptures to be very tastefully done,’ she said.

‘
How unlucky it is that none of the sculptors are here tonight,’ Mr Denham said gravely, ‘or with praise like that you might have found yourself gifted with several pieces of their work.’

‘As the sculptures are so discreetly done, I am sure that the sculptors themselves have equally discreet natures and none would make so forward an offer.’ Annabel snapped, hoping the sculptures, particularly the nudes, had been modestly presented, although in truth she really could not recall any of them specifically. Really, anyone would think she had asked Mr Leahey to give her the painting.

Mr Denham laughed, ‘You are so wonderfully easy to tease.’ Annabel was incensed, she barely knew the man, yet he felt he could openly admit to such a familiarity. She knew she should snub him as coldly as possible and walk off, but she felt reluctant to turn away from those laughing blue eyes, even though what they were laughing at present was herself. Then Mr Denham seemed to sober. ‘Mr Leahey seemed rather taken with you,’ he said.

‘And most people here seem rather taken with him,’ she said, sounding a little irritable even to herself. She attempted to modify the harshness in her tone, ‘as well they should, since he is the featured artist and Lord Seaforth’s personal protégé.’

‘But you seem less impressed,’ Mr Denham said, looking at her closely.

Annabel shrugged, not sure what to make of his regard, but feeling a warmth come to her cheek under his scrutiny as if the mere touch of his eyes was making her glow just a little. She forced herself to reply coolly. ‘His paintings are not to my taste, but I am sure Mr Leahey himself is perfectly pleasant even if he is somewhat over-enthusiastic.’

‘Ha!’ Mr Denham laughed loudly. ‘I would have expected you to have been rather more flattering. I thought you were drawn to artistic souls, whatever the merit of their creations.’

Annabel stared at Mr Denham, quite nonplussed. Why would he have expected such a thing of her? He spoke as if he knew her and a sinking suspicion that he had mistaken her all evening for someone else began to form.

‘
Mr Denham,’ she began, reluctant to continue the charade, yet equally reluctant to end their conversation, and disband the prickly intimacy in which she felt they were ensconced, but he interrupted her.

‘So formal! I must have offended you.’ He did think she was someone else! Someone who knew him well enough to address him by his Christian name, whatever that might be. But how could he know someone apparently so well, and yet not recognise that he was face to face with an entirely different person? Was he extremely near sighted but too proud to wear glasses?

‘You haven’t offended me,’ she said uncertainly, and then she spied her father across the room, free of Mr Leahey and looking round for her. ‘I must go,’ she added firmly, more for her own benefit than his. Propriety insisted that she end the conversation but she felt she would be discarding something oddly precious when she walked away, however she really did have to go. ‘Good evening, Mr Denham,’ she said, wondering wildly for a moment how she could find out what his first name was, ‘it was very nice to meet you.’

‘Nice to meet me?’ he echoed, looking at her as though he thought she were mad and she found herself feeling inexplicably despondent at such blatant evidence that his attentions had been meant for someone else with whom he was already acquainted. Not having the heart to reply she left him standing there and joined her father, but at the door she couldn’t prevent herself from glancing back at Mr Denham. He was staring after her with a slight frown on his face, then their eyes locked and she found herself momentarily ensnared as his mouth quirked in a smile. Then she was through the doors and her father was handing her into their carriage.

‘Quick, quick,’ he said, ‘there’s a nip in the air tonight and you know how your mother fusses about the cold.’

‘Do you know that gentleman?’ Annabel asked.

‘
Which gentleman?’ Colonel Black said distractedly, closing the door after him with a slam and rapping smartly on the underside of the carriage ceiling. Annabel heard Bill flick the reins and they

were off.

‘The one I was speaking with, Mr Leahey’s friend.’

‘Everyone there tonight was a friend of Mr Leahey. You don’t mean Lord Seaforth do you? You should know him, he’s known you since you were a child.’

‘No, not Lord Seaforth. The younger man, with the blue eyes. I thought he might be a friend of Henry’s.’

‘Henry has a vast number of friends.’ Her father raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to know them all.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Annabel said, and then she perked up. ‘Are we going to any more viewings this season?’ Perhaps she would meet Mr Denham at Somerset House or at the showing of a private collection if he truly were an art lover and had not merely attended the gallery in support of his friend. Then immediately she tried to chide herself. What was the point in looking forward to meeting with someone whose attentions to herself were entirely based on a misconception? But irrational though it was, she could not suppress the hope that she would meet with Mr Denham again and soon.

Jack Denham drove slowly home in his curricle, giving himself time to contemplate Justine Beresford. She had been far more than usually perplexing tonight, but for once, instead of being irritated by her games he had actually found her even more enticing than usual. She even seemed prettier, if that were possible, though maybe it was simply that she had been more relaxed at a private viewing than she had been in the hurly-burly of the final ball of the previous year where he had last seen her. Surprisingly, given that she had been eighteen when they had first met at Almack’s last year, she even seemed a little taller than before, although he doubted that anyone other than himself with his eye for infinitesimal detail would notice it. But odder than that, Justine had made no cutting remarks, despite being obviously unimpressed with Dermot Leahey’s

paintings, and she had not flirted with him in the least, although she had perhaps been a little too encouraging with Leahey. He frowned, wondering if Justine’s apparent interest in the artist was genuine or merely designed to make him jealous. If so it wouldn’t work. He liked her enormously and found their usual flirtations undeniably fun, but he had not yet decided if he wanted Justine Beresford for his wife and he would make up his mind in his own good time and not a moment before.

All in all she had behaved very oddly though and he wondered why, persisting in addressing him by his title when they had exchanged Christian names almost on their first meeting last June at Justine’s insistence. Yet this new formality had somehow made him feel more comfortable with her and he suddenly wanted to see her again, soon. He could call on her, he reflected, the Beresford family all counted him as a friend, it would not be too forward of him. Then he remembered the Lockton House ball was coming up the day after tomorrow. Justine was bound to be there, everyone always was. He hadn’t decided whether or not he would attend, but suddenly the prospect of seeing Justine there made it quite enticing. He would go and see how things progressed.

‘
Have you heard the news?’ Madeline said the moment Annabel stepped into the carriage the following afternoon. The cousins had arranged to shop in Berwick Street for fabric as Madeline had declared that it was important now to prepare their mid-season dresses. They were being chaperoned by Aunt Delilah while Mrs Black attended a committee meeting, but Annabel was quite sure that it was Madeline who would dictate which shops they visited. Now about to embark on her fourth season, Madeline saw herself as quite the expert in fabrics, dress styles and millenary. Privately, Annabel didn’t see the need for this afternoon’s expedition, she was quite certain that her impressive wardrobe of beautiful new dresses with their matching shoes, her new bonnets and her three pelisses, the most luxurious of which was dark rose, lined in the palest of pink silk and trimmed with lace from Limoud, would be enough to take her through the whole season, but unexpectedly Mrs Black had agreed with Madeline.

‘Although it may be for the first and last time,’ she had observed dryly to Annabel the evening before, ‘I do think Madeline is right, a new wardrobe half way through the season can make quite an impact. Even gentlemen such as Henry who quite honestly professes to know nothing of women’s attire, will notice the stir a young lady can make with a fresh look. He would not notice the dress itself but he could not fail to be aware of the impact she has made on those who are more observant than himself.’ Did her mother think she was in particular need of making an impact in her first season? Annabel couldn’t help but wonder, and the possibility that Mrs Black feared that her first season would be her only real chance to impress if the circumstances of her adoption became generally known wended itself insidiously into her mind. On the other hand she was about to embark on an afternoon of wholly frivolous shopping with her cousins and aunt, who was getting quite as excited about the first ball of the season as her daughters, and Annabel couldn’t worry for long.

‘What news are you talking about?’ she asked Madeline as the footman swung the carriage door closed behind her and she settled in the seat next to Augusta, with her back to the horses.

‘There has been a robbery. A valuable picture has been stolen from the Dulwich Picture Gallery.’

‘The Dulwich Picture Gallery?’ Annabel felt an unpleasant bolt of surprise. ‘I was there with Father only last night.’

Madeline’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, and uncomfortable as she felt about her proximity to the crime, Annabel couldn’t help but be pleased at her normally blasé cousin’s reaction. ‘Really? Then the painting may have been stolen from under your very nose,’ she breathed.

‘Madeline,’ Aunt Delilah Black remonstrated mildly, ‘that is a rather vulgar expression.’ But Madeline did not seem at all perturbed by the reproof.

‘It is most thrilling,’ she said. ‘There is sure to be a nation-wide hunt for it.’

‘Why?’ Annabel asked ‘What was the painting.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Madeline said dismissively. ‘It was something famous.’ So Mr Leahey’s collection remained intact, Annabel couldn’t help thinking.

‘It was
Venus of Urbino
’ said Augusta.

‘A Titian!’ Annabel gasped. The thief was bold indeed to have stolen one of those. ‘Father will be terribly upset to hear about that! He has always said there are few enough Titians on display to the public as it is.’ At that moment the carriage came to a stop.

‘Here we are, girls,’ Aunt Delilah said. ‘Berwick Street!’ The next hour flew by in a haze of shimmering, floating fabrics. Although Annabel had shopped with her mother before Christmas, she wasn’t prepared for the abundance of new material that had arrived in the spring. Delicate muslins vied with brilliant silks for her attention and then were both overshadowed by luxurious velvets. ‘Thank goodness the war with France has finished,’ Aunt Delilah remarked, ‘One’s wardrobe had become so limited without the continental touch.’

Annabel had selected a swathe of pink muslin, so finely woven it was almost sheer, and another length in very pale yellow. Both fabrics would make enchanting day dresses, and as the season drew to a close, she was sure there would be plenty of picnics and other daytime activities to attend in the summery weather. Then she saw Madeline eyeing a bold silk in peacock blue and impulsively she decided that as well as her more sensible choices she would have one more evening dress made up. Leaving her cousins and aunt to debate the merits of violet and rose she dug through the bolts at the back of the shop. Some of which the shop assistant had put out since their arrival, suggesting that they were the very latest fabrics to arrive. The colours were strong, almost surprisingly dark for that time of year, and next to the silks were lengths of lace, almost jumbled together as if the shop manager had not yet had time to think of how to display them to their best advantage. She ran her eyes across the silk, ignoring the dark blue and a purple so strong that at first she had taken it for black, and then one fabric jumped out at her, a deep red silk that rippled on the roll and seemed to speak her name and she knew at once that it would be glorious on her. But not on its own. The red silk would be the under dress, cloaked with something flimsy or filmy. Annabel turned to the laces piled next to the silks and found it almost immediately, a delicate gold lace, intricately patterned with Brussels’ fastidiousness, but light enough that the red silk beneath would shine through like a ruby. It was perfect. ‘Aunt Delilah,’ Annabel said. ‘I’ve found some more fabric I wish to buy.’