“My father has no taste,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Otherwise, I am certain he would have commissioned one by now.”
“You are adamant in Rossi’s defense.”
“When criticism of him is unjust, I think defense is not unreasonable.”
He leaned in still closer, watching the way gold sparked in her eyes at his proximity. “And do you think I am unreasonable, my lady?”
“I am dreadfully thirsty!” Anna interjected, taking Lady Thalia’s arm and practically hauling her backward. “Shall we find some refreshments? Your Grace.”
Maxwell inclined his head, immediately stepping back. As though in a dream, he came back to himself.
He was at a garden party in Vauxhall Gardens for God’s sake. There could be no more of this.
Judging Lydia adequately chaperoned and protected, he strode away with Simon.
Enough was enough.
He would not seek out Lady Thalia again.
“I am so dreadfully sorry,” Miss Parsons said to Thalia as the ladies made their way to the refreshments table. “I had no idea that things were that way between you and Maxwell.”
Maxwell.
Thalia did her best not to notice how strong and sturdy his name sounded, or how well it suited him.
Still, she would not subject Miss Parsons, who must know him well, to be on a first-name basis with him, to her opinion.
“There is no reason to apologize, Miss Parsons,” she assured the girl. “The Duke and I barely know one another. An ended engagement means nothing, I assure you. You are quite all right to ask questions.”
Before Miss Parsons could reply, as soon as they reached the refreshments table, Thalia’s father appeared from nowhere and took hold of her arm, his fingers digging in painfully. To an outside observer, the gesture might have looked affectionate, but Thalia knew better.
Her father had not shown affection for a long time, perhaps ever. The only thing he loved was wealth, gambling, and perhaps drinking. He had never loved her.
“Father,” she said, and gave Anna an apologetic glance.
“I must introduce you to a new friend of mine, Mr. Beaumont,” her father said loud enough for all the other ladies to hear. To her, under his breath, he said, “Youwillmarry this Season, Thalia, or God help me, I will not sponsor another. This is the last of the money I will spend on you.”
Thalia bit back her retort that he had little enough problems with spending money on himself, and on wasting that money in gambling hells. Saying it aloud would achieve nothing and only make him angrier.
Mr. Beaumont, it transpired, liked fishing and himself. He waxed lyrical about both subjects, requiring Thalia to do nothing but nod and smile at him while he spoke at length about the lake on his property that was fully stocked with fine specimens.
All the while, she imagined being married to him—and revolted at the thought. No, this was not the life she could bear to lead. When he looked at her for affirmation, she forced a smile but otherwise let her thoughts wander.
Unfortunately, they kept wandering back to the Duke.
She glanced across at him, but he immediately looked away, engaging himself in conversation so thoroughly that she wondered if she had imagined the heat of his gaze on her.
Not, of course, that she had any intention of marryinghimeither; if she had wanted to, she would have done so when she had the chance.
She turned back to Mr. Beaumont.
Marriage was certainly not in her future. All she had to do was find a way of supporting herself. Inevitably, her father wouldmake good on his promise to cut her off, and she could not be penniless—not when her art could save her.
CHAPTER 3
“What a wonderful evening!”
As the carriage pulled up outside Maxwell’s home after yet another tedioustonevent, he felt as though he had ventured into battle and barely emerged with his life.
