In my head, I was a jaguarete and I stalked Gladstone and struck him down.
But I was probably more a baby lamb or calf that mewled in the street. “How do I avenge Helena and not be caught?”
“Another way will manifest. Another way, as my brother would say, comes for the faithful.”
She took Noah from my arms and held him up. “This one needs you alive. You’re his mother.”
“Not his mother. I couldn’t even feed him. I’m terrible at the wraps for his bottom. They’re a lot stinkier now that he eats mushy food. Right, Noah? Good and stinky.”
“You feed him porridge. And you love on him. He’s yours even if you’ve not birthed him.”
Enna’s words gnawed at something deep inside. I despaired of all the things I wasn’t capable of when it came to children. No seed had firmly planted in my womb. I wasn’t great at guiding Felton’s two daughters. “How do I find my way if I’m to lead us? Life is easier when all I think of is paint.”
With a shrug and a tug, she kept us walking. “You let the worries tear at you, and you go into that art world. It’s hard to let the colors go when you’ve made them. The world outside of your head can be nice. You have to try to make it like you see it when you paint.”
Her wisdom and friendship meant so much. It kept me grounded, like when I took walks when noises made me jittery.
“Mrs. Charity, you go and paint. You’ve a big commission.”
“I’ll be late, Enna, coming home.”
“Always on the days you finish, but when are you early? Never.”
“You could come watch. Drury Lane’s manager agreed, like at the King’s Theatre.”
“No. It’s near someone’s naptime.”
“I’m not sleepy. Oh, you meant Noah. Yes.”
Enna gripped my hand. “There’s a man looking at us.”
“They’re always looking.” Blackamoor, brown, Sephardic, white—they all looked at me. Some made offers, outrageous ones.
“Not the way this one is.”
Tall and thin, looking dead at me. Felton. He said he was a spy. I wished he was an assassin for hire.
“Go, Enna. I’ll be alright.”
She wrapped Noah up in her scarf and dashed down Brydges Street. I glanced at Felton and the party he chatted with across the street. No more running. With my head high, I walked into Drury Lane Theatre, daring him to follow.
CHAPTER29
FELTON—ENGAGING THEARTLOVERS
Felton spied Cecilia standing in front of the Drury Lane Theatre. She noticed him. He felt her gaze, and his blood raced in anticipation.
He’d returned to Town two days ago and had made Cecilia his mission—tracking her location, her employers, her food habits. Tramel was right. She still loved cheese.
“Lord Gantry,” Lord Ashbrook said, “I hope that my overview about art is sufficient.”
The earl and his wife had accompanied Felton to Covent Garden on a quest for a pomegranate or fruit for some sort of mash.
The two were cozy, arm in arm, another ridiculously happy couple.
“Sir, have I answered your questions about art? It’s difficult to describe a lifelong passion in a few passing minutes.”
“I think so. I don’t know how remiss I was in this area. I want to be open to learning.”
