And to draw them, to recreate such natural beauty on paper and canvas took her to another world – where no one could haunt her.
A lilac petticoat landed on her face.
“Any nightmares this week, Hebe? You appear tired.”
“No,” she fibbed. “I’m fine.”
“Hmm. And do you think this little jaunt will lead to more horse-related commissions for you?”
“The duke believes so and I can only hope that proves to be the case. My one commission for the rest of this year is a pug who attempted to fornicate with my lemon parasol during our initial meeting.”
Sniggering, Aunt added three yards of trimmings to the bed, and Hebe’s eyes widened as a Mount Vesuvius of silk surged high, spewing molten red ribbons and blazing yellow lace.
Aunt Beatrice huffed. “No more for today. I’m weak with fatigue.” She pottered to the window overlooking a befogged Conduit Street. “Perhaps we ought to venture out tonight? No doubt we will be even busier tomorrow, cancelling the milk pails and all that. We could celebrate the duke’s commission with one last night in London?”
Hebe folded her arms and pondered. Why not?
“That would be most pleasant.A Midsummer Night’s Dreamis playing at the Theatre Royal, I believe?” Perhaps a sedate play might soothe her slight nerves over this commission for the astute duke.
Aunt sucked a lip, wandered to the dressing table, unstoppered a perfume bottle and sniffed. “I’ll sort out the details, dear. No need for you to fuss.”
4
THIS HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE MRS LOCKE
“Aunt?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is this…a gambling hell?”
From the gas-lit street of Pall Mall, Aunt Beatrice tilted her head to peer through the ornate doorway and past the rather broad shoulders of a black-clad doorman.
So Hebe followed suit.
Sinful shades of scarlet, ebony and gold scalded her eyes while a solo violin struggled to be heard above the drift of raucous laughter and clink of glasses.
“Why, yes. I do believe it is a gambling hell, Hebe dear.” Rouged lips curved. “Now come along. Don’t dally.”
The doorman perused Aunt’s crimson-embossed invitation before a graceful twirl of hand ushered them forth to the vestibule where a maid divested them of their silk cloaks.
“But, Aunt, is this not rather…” Hebe’s voice dipped to a whisper. “Scandalous?”
“I do hope so.” Aunt’s lips tipped. “But us widows can be forgiven much, although Lady Marberry may withdraw her soiree invitation.”
“She never sent one this year.”
“No loss there. She waters down the champagne.” Aunt adjusted Hebe’s curls to best advantage before they followed the scent of tuberose perfume and musky cigars.
Four crystal chandeliers cast their faceted glow over a cavernous room, packed with green-baize tables, crimson-furnished chairs and what looked to be half of London society’s upper echelons. A scattering of women sauntered in elegant gowns, and she recognised a notorious duchess, but they were outnumbered by the gentlemen who lounged with nonchalance, tossing coin as though bread to the ducks, whilst herds of young bucks flung dice, jostling for status.
No wonder she received no art commissions, for this was where deals were brokered, exclusive clubs that thronged with the male of the species…
“’Tis said that only the most disreputable of ladies are summoned by the Prince, so it is quite an honour to receive this invite, Hebe. I wonder if he’s hereabouts?” Aunt’s turban swung this way and that, the eye of its peacock feather better able to see over the many heads.
“But I thought for our night out in London we’d go see a sedate play or attend the ballet?”
Aunt scrunched her nose. “The countryside might be splendid for horses, my dear niece, but it could be said to lack certain…pleasures.” She linked arms with Hebe and hustled her to an oval table with a spinning wheel of gold. “So, I thought we’d take our fill tonight.”
