“Even more intriguing!” she said. “I shall be there.”
As soon as she had gone, Lance was assailed with doubt. Never before had he revealed his secret to a soul, and he was not at all sure of the wisdom of revealing it now. But Lily was not like other women. There was something about her that invited confidences, not of the lighter sort, as he shared with Charlotte, but of a deeper, more profound nature. If he had to put it into words, he would say that he wanted her to see into his soul and understand the sort of man he was beneath the frivolous exterior. He might flirt and tease, he might float on the surface of society, he might appear to devote his life to furthering his ambitions, but inside him was a different man altogether, one who yearned for a more meaningful connection than a marriage based solely on rank and fortune. He might never find it, but there was a goodness in Lily that inspired him to be a better man, and perhaps he wanted her to know that. It might be wrong of him but the die was cast now and he could not avoid it.
So the next day, he was at his studio early, and had made good progress with his current project when the door opened, and his landlady showed in Lily and maid. The maid looked around her superciliously, her lips twisted into a sneer, but Lily — oh, Lily understood, just as he had known she would!
“Oh, Isee!”was all she said, crossing the room to stand behind him, so that she had a view of the canvas.
“The young lady is Patty Glover, a scullery maid at a house in Berkeley Square. Today is her afternoon off. The other lady is her mother. Ladies, this is Her Grace the Duchess of Brinshire. No, Patty, pray do not move. Thank you.”
Mrs Glover, who had been leafing through a journal Lance had brought for her, jumped to her feet, a look of alarm on her face. She dipped into a deep curtsy, dropping the journal in the process. Lily’s maid retrieved the journal, and sat down beside her, engaging her in quiet conversation. Lily, meanwhile, maintained her silence, simply watching as he daubed the canvas with swift strokes.
For some half an hour, he painted, acutely aware of her standing just behind him. Had he always been so conscious of her presence? He rather thought he had. Certainly, he missed her when she was not there. Somehow, it felt right to have her there, and perhaps she felt that way, too. She watched him when he sparred with Denny in the Marble Hall, too, their regular bouts to entertain the duke. She was one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. It was as if she were drawn to him, just as he was drawn to her.
Oh, such madness to think that way! Yet it was almost irresistible.
Eventually, Patty had to get back to work and she and her mother left. Lance spent perhaps the most enjoyable hour of his life to that point showing Lily his previous works. Crossing sweepers, cobblers’ apprentices, kitchen boys, under-grooms, milkmaids and endless street urchins — all had passed through his studio for a few coins and, sometimes, a meal or two, to be immortalised in oil paints in all their grime and rags. There were old men and women, too, huddled in shawls, the weariness of hard lives etched on their faces.
Just as he had hoped, Lily asked no foolish questions. If she had ever said, “But why, Lance? Why do you paint such people?” she would have sunk in his estimation, but she did not.
“Such eyes!” she said, as she moved from one to another, propped against the wall for her to see. “Such knowing eyes. And how old is this one, would you say?”
“Seven… eight, perhaps. They grow up quickly on the streets.”
“He is probably a pickpocket.”
“Very likely.”
“Poor child!” she said. “And this woman? She looks about sixty.”
“Barely above forty,” he said. “She was a famous beauty in her day, she told me. Mistress to a viscount, for a while, but reduced to a less comfortable life latterly. Glad of a hot meal when she came to me.”
“How dreadful. Where is she now? Is there anything I might do to relieve her poverty?”
“She is beyond earthly aid,” he said. “I paid for her burial.”
Lily turned to him, her lovely face solemn. “You are a good man, Lance Chamberlain. Thank you for showing me your secret. I am very honoured. You need not fear that I will betray you, and I will vouch for Allen’s discretion, too, but I do not know why you keep these wonderful portraits hidden away. You should exhibit them, so that the world may admire your talent in full.”
“No one wants to look at pickpockets, Lily,” he said quietly.
“Except you and me.”
She gave him her hand, and he lifted it to his lips without a word. Then, the maid still glowering at him, they left him to his own thoughts, which were both uplifting and yet filled with despair.
He knew now that this afternoon had been a test, for both of them. He had needed to know, and he had his answer.
But she was still the wife of the duke, and he understood what he must do.
***
Jamie knew that something had happened, but he could not guess what it might be. His father, who had been so talkative in the carriage all the way from Staineybank, was now unusually silent, and Georgie looked pale and ill. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying, and as soon as she had eaten dinner, she made an excuse and went upstairs to bed.
Jamie said nothing, waiting for his father to tell him what had transpired between them. For a long time, he waited in vain. The table had been cleared of all but the cheese, nuts and port, and then a bottle of brandy was sent for. It was not until the second glass that his father said, “Is it true? That you just… got drunk? And seduced her? You got her with child and were forced to marry? I had expected better of you, Jamie.”
Jamie removed his spectacles and laid them on the table. “The getting drunk I will admit to, and certainly she was got with child, but as to what happened in between, neither of us can remember. Whether I seduced her or she seduced me or the seduction is to be laid at both our doors we shall never know.”
“Good heavens, Jamie! What a coil! I thought you had more respect for women than to take advantage in that way.”
“Take advantage?” Jamie said, astonished. “Is that how you interpret this?”
