“The sitting appointments. You will inform me of them.”
“The sitting appointments?”
Yusef drew his stick back and continued on. “When they are to occur. And where, if not here,” he added indifferently over his shoulder.
He heard the other man’s footfalls quicken; in no time Hartley was once more alongside him. “Barking commands comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?” It was meant as a jibe, but an acidity had seeped into his voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not accustomed to being ordered about in my own home, is all.”
“You should accustom yourself to it with respect to this matter, or you may consider my contribution to you and your fellow advocates for bastardy law reform withdrawn. The decision is entirely yours.”
Hartley responded with the resigned sigh of a politician who knew only too well the personal abasement ofquid pro quo.
They were met at the front door by the sorrowful soul that passed for a butler in this house. Silent as a shade and bewigged in the style of a bygone era, the creases in his gloomy visage ran deep as he held Yusef’s personal effects. Yusef paid him no notice, turning instead toward the honorable member of Parliament once more.
“You might consider hosting a dinner as well. Invite the artist, and give your mother the opportunity to make an occasion of it all.” Yusef kept his features static as he tucked his walking stick under one arm so he might accept his gloves and hat. From what he supposed, Rose’s typical clientele was lacking; likely middling class, ho-hum lawyers and family doctors at best. She would do well to expand her acquaintances, and Mrs. Hartley could offer her an excellent first step in that direction. And by bringingabout such an occasion, he could at least be of assistance to her as well.
Hartley stared at him for a moment before realization dawned on him, and his brow lifted in surprise. “The artist—Miss Verdier. You’ve an interest there.”
“One would expect you to be a bit quicker on the uptake, going by your reputation,” Yusef drawled, altogether bored with the conversation. He had much more important things to dwell upon; namely, everything involving Rose Verdier.
Hartley only chuckled at that. “You certainly could have stayed longer. You know my mother would’ve fallen over herself if you had.”
Yusef tugged his gloves on and raised an eyebrow. “Fine. You may invite me to dinner as well.”
Hartley shook his head, a resigned smile on his lips. “I suppose I will.”
Yusef stared back down the hall, hoping that Rose would request a generous sum. He felt his chest constrict. All those years ago, he’d been incapable of making her happy. But now? Now, perhaps, he could give her everything that was her due.
It would only be right.
With a slight nod to Hartley, he left.
Chapter Two
Icknield Court, Worcestershire, 1858
Rose rolled her shouldersever so slightly, hoping she might shift the starched collar that was mercilessly itching her neck without attracting any notice.
It didn’t work; still her skin prickled. She shut her eyes and tried to ignore it. Scratching at herself like a hound with fleas simply wouldn’t do. Although, her mother had told her the Earl of Ipsley was quite fond of beagling.Perhaps he wouldn’t mind, she thought sardonically.
She opened her eyes and sighed inwardly. She must sit and suffer, lest she bring shame upon her parents. Her heart hurt with loneliness as she wished that her beautiful, bubbly mother were at her side, helping her navigate this foreign and terrifying situation. Or even her father, with his dark and serious eyes; he wouldn’t be much for assisting in conversation with all these fine lords and ladies, but she would at least feel more at ease with his stern presence to accompany her.
But she knew they could not be here, as they were needed at home, several miles away. Saturdays at the coaching inn were always busy, and the Saturday before May Day one of thebusiest, for everyone was traveling about and coming to town to make merry. Besides, the invitation had been extended only to Rose, for her to come and exhibit her unusual talent for the amusement of the earl’s guests. And since she had yet to be informed of when exactly she was expected to do that, she must wait, and do her best to exemplify patience and decorum.
She cast an anxious glance around the drawing room, taking in the fine furnishings, cavernous ceiling, and enormous paintings. Indeed, she’d spent the past ten minutes staring at the canvases and memorizing their details—the backgrounds, the subjects in their ruffs, the slightly bemused but very composed expressions on their faces. For some reason there was an air of familiarity to them, despite their powdered hair and aristocratic dress. By contrast, the stiff, aloof guests of the earl who had been arriving over the past half-hour seemed entirely alien to her as they milled about, holding coupes of sparkling cut glass rather than the pewter tankards of her father’s coaching inn. She felt a surge of melancholy at the thought of The Bit and Bridle, and tears welled in her eyes.
Oh no, she silently panicked.Not now, before I’ve even done my demonstration.Mother had implored her one last time not to disappoint the earl before Victor, the inn’s odd jobs man, had snapped the reins and driven the cart off. She had been very serious, and Rose could not bear to let her down.
She dropped her eyes, tightening her fists behind the folds of her new dress. As she stared at the curling white and rust-colored flowers on the carpet below her, a single tear fell, darkening a tiny portion of the sky-blue background. Her heart raced. She must not cry. Not now. Not in front of all these rich people.
Suddenly she felt someone approach. Terror washed over her.
“What’s your name?”
The voice belonged to a boy, his perfectly accented question carrying a rather rude inflection. Seconds ticked by while Rose sat silent, her eyes still downcast. Near the rug’s borders the colors changed, the rust red taking prominence, the flowers now blooming in blue and white.
