Jane gave her a sympathetic smile. “You can’t very well approach an earl and call him a thief.”
“It does seem frowned upon,” Nell said, in all seriousness, but Jane still chuckled.
“You could write him a note requesting the return of them. That seems like a decent starting place.” Jane stared at the cold toast Nell still had not touched.
Even without eating it, Nell could feel the hardness of the dried crust in her mouth, the texture of the edges biting into the softness of her cheeks and gums. She couldn’t stand the idea of it, let alone actually putting it into her mouth. She would eat later, when everything wasn’t quite so overwhelming.
“A note? That’s it?” That seemed so very simple in the face of a very big-feeling problem.
Jane shrugged. “Yes, something informal, so as not to seem angry. Men don’t like angry women, and you don’t want him to withhold something just because you asked for it back in a manner he dislikes. Keep your tone solicitous so as not to cause offense.”
“But he has caused offense to me,” Nell protested.
“Of course he has,” Jane said. “But we aren’t talking about you. We are talking about him. He clearly felt that he was entitled to your work in some way, and thus, he took it. I know it is yours, and I know it was a theft and an invasion of your privacy. I know, Nell. And you needn’t convince me. We must convince him that it would be a favor for him to give it back. A favor easily granted.”
The whole idea repulsed her. She saw Jane’s wisdom, but still, it was abhorrent.
“Send the note with Jacobs, as he could bring the paintings back with him right in that moment. So easy.” Jane shrugged her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she were receiving an embrace from a very large person.
It was Nell’s turn to frown. She wondered if she had those two lines between her brows. Likely so. “Is it easy?”
Jane looked up from the toast. “Isn’t it?”
Nell followed her gaze, thinking that her friend might be speaking about multiple subjects at the same time. But putting the toast in her mouth wasn’t easy. Not right now. Penning the note would be a far less onerous task.
Jacobs entered with her writing desk and yesterday’s post.
“Put it on the bed, Jacobs,” Nell said, her mind churning. Then, she made a decision, and the world snapped into a tidy linear pattern that she could bear. “And stay put. I have a note that I need to write and I want you to deliver it personally.”
Jacobs met her eye, as if he already knew what errand he would be sent on. He put his hands behind his back to wait.
Nell looked to Jane, who nodded her encouragement. Then she hopped up and got out a clean sheet of paper and wrote a formal note to Beckett, addressing him as obsequiously as she could muster and begging for the return of her paintings. She sanded the paper to absorb the excess ink and then folded it to seal it.
“I should like for you to return with my paintings, Jacobs. Please wait for them and don’t be turned away.” Nell handed him the note, feeling more like herself than she had in days. Jane had been correct. It had been fear keeping her at bay from asking for what was hers. She had spent so long trying to keep out of anyone’s path that confrontation felt foreign.
“Ma’am,” Jacobs said, sketching a formal bow that seemed somehow appropriate, even in her tiny household.
After he departed, she and Jane continued to visit, and eventually, Nell ate the toast. With the distraction of Jane’s engagement dinner to discuss, she didn’t focus on the brittleness of the bread as it crumbled between her teeth, or the dryness of her mouth before she could sip at her tea. It went down without only a modicum of trouble, and then Nell’s stomach growled.
Jane took to the bellpull and told Sabine that Nell needed more food, and soon a small spread of cheese and fruit arrived, along with another pot of hot water. Nell tucked into the sharp, salty cheese with satisfaction. She had been very hungry, come to think of it. Nell assured Jane that she would still attend the engagement dinner, and not to rescind Beckett’s invitation, as it would be the height of rudeness to do so. She also agreed that she would still get a dress with Fatima’s help, and she would prepare many scripts in her head to help manage a long evening of socializing.
Once her friend left, Nell sat down with her writing desk and looked at her correspondence. She had not quite finished one of her more political letters and had not yet touched the chess game. She fell more deeply into her writing and was surprised when Jacobs knocked and entered her rooms.
“Ma’am,” he greeted, but his mouth was in a thin line, and he looked somehow even less impressed with the world than he usually did.
“Do you have the paintings?” Nell asked, forgetting all pretense of greetings and thanks.
“No,” he admitted. “But—”
Nell let out a breath and sagged in disbelief.
“But he is here, ma’am. In the parlor. And he demands to see you.” Jacobs narrowed his eyes, as if Beckett’s presence was a personal insult. Indeed, it might be.
But what could she say? The man was already in the house. She sucked in a breath between her teeth.
“I can tell him you are still feeling poorly, though it would be in direct contradiction to my first assurances to his lordship that you were better.”
“What does he want?”
