Silver Splendor (8 page)

“‘Er ladyship asked me to, m’lord,” said the coachman, his tone subdued.

“I see,” the earl said in his most chilling voice. “And if she asked you to let her roam the neighborhood unescorted I suppose you’d have agreed to that, as well.”

“No, m’lord,” the coachman said hastily. “I’ll set it to rights immediately.”

He started to clamber down, but Lord Nicholas stopped the servant with an imperious wave. “Never mind. The purpose was to protect my sister in my absence. Since we’re about to depart, that hardly matters now.”

“Oh, Nick, please don’t be angry,” Cicely said, her smile cajoling. “I threatened to put down the top myself if Greaves refused. It was growing ever so dark and stuffy inside.”

“Aye, an’ she wanted to talk to me,” said Kipp, thrusting out his thin chest. “‘Er and me’s the best o’ mates.”

“Indeed.” Lifting haughty eyebrows, Lord Nicholas surveyed the unkempt boy, from his misshapen bowler hat to his filthy bare toes. “And who, might I ask, are you?”

Kipp squared his scrawny shoulders and jabbed a thumb at his ragged shirt. “Me name’s Kipp Gullidge, yer lordship, sir. ‘Er ladyship’s been makin’ a likeness o’ me.”

“Kipp is a friend of mine,” Elizabeth said. “He sometimes poses for me.”

“He’s a good boy,” her father added with a touch of antagonism. “I wouldn’t allow my daughter to associate with just anyone.”

The earl’s gaze swung to her, his flawless features set into a familiar forbidding expression. It seemed suddenly difficult for her to catch a breath. Despite the lamplight she could not read his thoughts. Unexpectedly he turned away and offered a hand to the boy.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Gullidge.”

Surprise stabbed Elizabeth as Lord Nicholas shook the urchin’s grubby hand. The earl looked as grave as if he were greeting Gladstone himself. Kipp’s chest puffed out even more, and he glanced around as if to make sure the onlookers had noticed a person of quality singling him out.

Elizabeth’s heart went liquid. Lord Nicholas might easily have snubbed the boy, but instead had given him something to swagger about for days to come.

“I was just telling Kipp about the break in,” said Cicely.

“Aye, an’ the bugger ‘oo done it I ‘ave the devil to pay when
I
nab ‘im!”

Lord Nicholas aimed a stem look at the lad. “I forbid you to involve yourself. You’re to leave this matter to the police, do you hear?”

“But ‘e tore up Miss Libby’s —”

“I’ll have your word on this, Master Gullidge.”

Abashed, Kipp hung his head; with a grimy toe he traced a crack in the pavement. “Aye, yer lordship, sir.”

“We’ve a gentleman’s agreement, then. And a gentleman never breaks his word.”

Kipp straightened his drooping shoulders. “Aye, sir.”

“Very good.” Ignoring the avid eyed bystanders, Lord Nicholas addressed Elizabeth and her father. “Shall we go, then?”

The footman leapt down to open the door. He extended an impeccable, white gloved hand. Unused to such deference, Elizabeth felt awkward as she accepted his assistance into the landau and sat down opposite Cicely.

“You’re coming with us?” the girl asked. Her puzzled eyes fastened on the straw case and artist’s satchel that Owen brought into the carriage and propped at his feet.

Elizabeth smiled. “Your brother has engaged me as your art instructor. Papa and I will be staying at your house.”

Cicely let out a squeal of delight. Swiveling as her brother seated himself beside her, she snatched the sleeve of his morning coat and demanded, “Is this true, Nick? You’re allowing me to study with Elizabeth? Oh, you’re such a wonderful brother!”

Lord Nicholas aimed an austere look at her. “This isn’t meant as a lark, Cicely. You must apply yourself and learn, prove to me and to yourself that your interest in art is genuine.”

So this was a test, Elizabeth realized in dismay. He meant to establish once and for all that he was right. And he was using her to do it.

“Oh, pooh,” the girl said, with a dismissive flutter of her fingers. “You think everything ought to be work.
I
prefer to seek enjoyment in life.”

The earl merely tightened his lips and settled against the seat. Elizabeth waved a goobye to Kipp, her father and Cicely echoing the farewell. A lump formed in Elizabeth’s throat as she realized how lost and lonely the boy looked. Impulsively she leaned over and kissed his dirty cheek, her arms encircling his thin frame. “I’ll come back and visit.”

“Aye, miss,” he said, though she could see the doubt in his dark eyes. She swallowed a reassurance. Words would mean precious little to a street boy who knew too much about broken promises.

“If you need Miss Hastings,” the earl advised, “she’ll be staying at Hawkesford House in Berkeley Square.”

“Aye, yer lordship, sir.”

The carriage started over the cobblestones. One arm hugging the side of the landau, Elizabeth looked at Kipp standing in the street, shoulders hunched. When the darkness had devoured his slight form, she sat back and saw the earl gazing at her. Warmth shone in his expression… or did the glow of the lamps merely soften his handsome features?

Elizabeth turned her warm face to the cool night breeze. Misty eyed, she watched the familiar neighborhood stream past. Lights winked in windows; noises and smells filled the air. It might be commonplace and tumbledown, but this small section of London had been her home for the past month, a place as real in her heart as the crowded avenues and quiet parks of New York.

Misgivings suddenly pricked her. What did she really know of the aristocratic life she was about to enter? Accustomed to the omnibus, she had never before ridden in such luxury. Discreetly she stroked the smooth seat and drew in the faint rich scent of leather. She felt grateful for her father’s presence beside her, yet worried, too. How would Owen adjust to living in the household of the Earl of Hawkesford?

Cicely chattered, making excited plans that Elizabeth only half heard. She fingered the ring on its chain around her neck and wondered about her grandfather, her mother’s father. Owen refused to speak of him. Even Mother had acted sad and silent whenever Elizabeth had mentioned him. Had Lucy grown up in surroundings as genteel as the earl’s?

The landau headed toward Mayfair; dingy shops and dark tenements gave way to splendid stores and stately homes. The clop clop of hooves and the rattle of wheels created a symphony of sound. The streets glowed with gaslights. Dandies capered on fine horses; magnificently dressed ladies stepped into carriages, aided by footmen in swallow tailed coats and knee breeches.

At last the landau drew to a halt. A grand, sprawling house stood across from a shadowed park. Surrounded by an ornate wrought iron fence, the oyster gray stone building looked like a country mansion strayed into a London square. Elizabeth stared in awe as the footman helped her from the carriage. Gas sconces lit the entryway; Corinthian columns supported a pediment above the gleaming, brass fitted door. Adorning the center of the pediment was a stone medallion on which soared a gracefully carved hawk.

“‘Mors ante dedecus,”
her father said, craning his neck to read the inscription below the medallion. In a faintly derisive voice, he translated, “‘Death before dishonor.’”

Lord Nicholas inquired politely, “You read Latin?”

Her father squared his shoulders. “A word or two,” he said curtly.

“Don’t be so modest, Papa.” Hugging his arm, Elizabeth looked at the earl. “My father is an instructor of Latin, mathematics as well. For many years he taught at a boys’ academy in New York.”

“What brings you to London, then?” Lord Nicholas asked.

“Papa grew up in England. He wanted me to see all the museums and art treasures here.”

“I see.”

Lord Nicholas shot her a keen look that made her stomach clench. She was still wondering at the meaning of his scrutiny when he turned and strode up the steps. As they followed his tall, dignified figure, Cicely tipped her pert nose and said, “Well, if
I
have anything to say on the matter, you’ll stay for a long, long time. This household needs some livening up.”

At the door stood a beanpole of a man in tails and a black tie. “Hello,” Elizabeth said, smiling.

The cadaverous butler lifted his graying brows and looked down his long nose at her. Suddenly she saw herself through his critical eyes: the old fashioned mulberry gown and unstyled hair. She regarded him with a twinge of amusement. Apparently she didn’t fit the usual mold of noble guests who entered this hallowed establishment.

Cicely breezed inside and dropped her soiled reticule on the azure silk seat of a chair. “Good evening, Peebles.”

“Lady Cicely!” That austerity of countenance dissolved into relief. “Praise heaven, you’re here. Her ladyship was about to organize a search party.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Peebles.”

“Is my aunt at home?” the earl asked, handing his top hat and gloves to the manservant.

“Yes, my lord. In her rooms, I believe. She’s been in quite a state since Miss Eversham returned without Lady Cicely.”

“Oh, pooh. You needn’t carry on so. I was only gone a few hours.”

“A few hours too many,” Lord Nicholas said, shooting a severe look at his sister.

Cicely meekly ducked her head, but not before Elizabeth caught the twinkle of unrepentant mischief in those lapis lazuli eyes.

To Peebles, he said, “Tell my aunt I wish to have a word with her in the drawing room.”

“Very well, my lord.” The butler bowed, then stepped stiffly away.

“This way, if you please,” said the earl.

Without a backward glance he strode across the vast foyer, Cicely at his heels. Elizabeth accepted her father’s arm and followed, their footsteps echoing on the gleaming white marble floor. She marveled at the balanced beauty of the room. Twin stairways curved like a horseshoe, joining at the second floor, then continuing in a dizzying spiral to the third story. She longed to stop and study the gilt-framed paintings that embellished the walls. The few elegant chairs looked as though no one had ever sat in them. Even the air smelled immaculate, redolent of beeswax and brass polish and linseed oil. Absorbing the luxury, she wondered what the earl had thought of her cramped lodging house.

They entered a long drawing room hung with draperies of pale green brocade. A gentle hiss came from fan shaped gas sconces. Furnishings of mahogany and walnut formed precise groupings atop the Persian carpets. Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to the extravagant ceiling with its garlands and medallions, then down again, to a stunning mantelpiece of pale marble veined with gray.

She stroked the smooth stone, tracing the carved simplicity of the columns. “Lovely,” she murmured. “It looks like a Robert Adam design.”

“It is,” Lord Nicholas stated, coming to stand alongside her. “He was commissioned by my great grandfather to do the interior of the house. That’s the second earl’s portrait above the mantel.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the aristocratically handsome gentleman clad in old fashioned knee breeches. “It’s a Reynolds, isn’t it?” she asked, reverently studying the fluid elegance of the brush strokes.

“Quite astute, Miss Hastings.”

“You see what I told you?” Cicely said, plopping onto a brocaded Queen Anne sofa. “The men always inherit the good looks in this family. And if ever you’re bored, Nick can entertain you for hours with the history of every piece in this house.”

His jaw tightened, accentuating the perfection of his cheekbones. “It would do you well to learn your heritage.”

“Oh, pooh. I’ve no interest in dusty relics.”

Her casual attitude disturbed Elizabeth. Didn’t Cicely appreciate the fortune of birth that had given her such an extravagant home? Even Owen seemed to have put aside enmity long enough to be fascinated by the surroundings; his head was tilted in a study of the titles inside a glass fronted bookcase.

The tap of footsteps drew her attention to the doorway. Elizabeth stared, dazzled by the woman who swept into the room. With her noble beauty, she might have stepped straight off a Gainsborough canvas. She wore an evening gown of ice blue silk that suited her porcelain skin to perfection. Her rich russet hair, beribboned and drawn into a chignon, made her look as stately as Britannia on a ship’s prow. Like the earl, this woman had high cheekbones and a straight nose, cool gray eyes, and a haughty bearing. As she drew nearer, Elizabeth detected the fine age lines around the eyes and mouth.

“Cicely, you wicked child,” she scolded. “What a fright you gave us! Imagine, abandoning poor Miss Eversham like that. And then going off alone, staying out after dark, like a common shopgirl! I pray no one of consequence saw you. Were my dear sister alive, she’d be appalled to witness her daughter’s behavior —”

Her thin eyebrows arched at Elizabeth. Pinned by that cool scrutiny, Elizabeth repressed an amused smile.

Swiveling toward the earl, the woman demanded, “What is the meaning of this, Nicholas? What mischief has Cicely wrought now?” In a lowered voice, she added, “And why have you brought this… street woman into our home?”

“Mind your tongue,” Owen snapped. “Fancy lady or not, I won’t hear you speak ill of my daughter.

Gasping, she whirled toward him. “How dare you address me in that tone.”

“My daughter is your equal. The Book of Proverbs says, A good name is rather to be chosen than riches.’“

“Enough.” The earl’s frosty voice ended the exchange. “May I present my aunt, the Lady Beatrice Fairfield. Aunt Beatrice, this is Miss Elizabeth Hastings and her father, Owen. I’ve engaged Miss Hastings to instruct Cicely in sculpting.”

Elizabeth gave Lady Beatrice a sunny smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Lady Beatrice’s fine features drew into a deeper grimace. “Nicholas, have you gone mad? A lesson or two in drawing is one thing, but sculpting! All that mud and plaster. Ugh.” She shuddered. “We’ll be outcast if anyone hears of this. No proper lady would interest herself in such a common profession.”

“It’s hardly common,” Elizabeth said. “The museums are crowded with aristocrats enjoying the artwork.”