Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (13 page)

Chapter 10

Hot sun beat in through the studio windows. The air was heavy, still and thick. Dressed in a costume of ivory satin, sweat trickled down Eulogy’s back, and yet this discomfort was as nothing compared to the ache in her heart. She stared out at the sapphire sky and the swifts darting against azure blue and sighed.

“Mauvoreen, it pains to see yer like this. Will yer not tell me what ails yer?”

With a pang of guilt, Eulogy shook her head. “I can’t”

“Tis as plain as day that summats not reet.”

“It’s nothing really, just feeling sorry for myself. It will pass.”

“Don’t forget, Mauvoreen, that I’m an artist. Artists notice everything. You’ve not been yerself for two weeks now. Tell me, yer’ll feel better.”

“Have I not the right to be sad? The people I love are dead, my real mother was a stranger and my life based on a lie.” She bit her tongue, hating herself for the outburst.

Quietly, Farrell laid down his brush and came to her. Gently he touched her cheek.

“Of course, tis natural for you to be sad. But there is summat else. A wistfulness. As if y’er pining for summat…or someone.”

Eulogy jerked involuntarily.

“Aha. Getting close?”

“Perhaps.”

Farrell sighed. “Well I’ll not press yer. But whatever it is…just remember y’er noble by birth and by nature y’er kind and true, whoever cannot see that is a fool.”

 Ironic, Eulogy reflected, that Farrell saw what Huntley could not.

“Y’er trembling. Not turned to drink I hope?” he joked.

“No!”

“T’would be wrong. Especially as not a drop has passed my lips—t’anks to yer.”

“That’s your own doing. Not mine.”

“Aye, but tis yer that gave me the will” Farrell tapped his chin. “It pains me to see yer so ill at ease with Huntley. Can ye not tell what he did to upset yer so?”

Eulogy jumped at his name. “How did you guess?”

“Yer two had a falling out that afternoon at the Academy, didn’t yer?”

“Not exactly a falling out.”

“Well summat happened cos y’ve barely spoken to him since. And if he hurt yer, his exhibition is nothing. I shall cancel it.”

“Oh no! Don’t do that. Cry off and no one will touch your work again.”

“I mean it.” Farrell’s expression remained grave. “Yer happiness means more than any exhibition. Tis him isn’t it? I shall tell him where to stick his poxy gallery.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Aye, Mauvoreen, in a heartbeat.”

 “No, you mustn’t.” Her breath caught. “It was a misunderstanding, nothing more and Huntley apologized immediately.”

Farrell stood and paced the room. Eulogy watched, horrified by the doubt she’d sown in his mind. Huntley had placed his faith in the artist’s reformed character. For Farrell to throw that away would be inconceivable.

“Yer know the man loves yer?’’

“No! You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“He’s caught, Mauvoreen, between what he feels and society’s rule. Just like me and Gabriella were.”

Eulogy tensed. Had she heard him correctly?

“Mauvoreen, don’t make the same mistake as me.”

“Tell me.”

Farrell stopped pacing, and casting sideways glance, returned to his canvas.

“You first.”

Eulogy took a deep breath and on their own accord, words spilt out. “He made an improper suggestion.”

“Huntley?” Farrell bristled.

“Yes.”

“He touched you?” Farrell’s ire tangible, Eulogy hastily shook her head.

“No, at least not how you mean. Only I mistook his intentions for something different.”

“Then what?”

Eulogy hung her head. “He wants to make me his mistress. He thinks me a woman of compromised virtue.”

 “Then the error is his.” Farrell’s blue eyes darkened to slate. “Have it out wi’ him, demand to know why he came to that conclusion.”

“But…”

“But nothing. London is full of malicious gossips. Who knows which jealous belle wants revenge because Jack Huntley has eyes only for you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She grew still. “And the letters would imply I’ve invoked someone’s displeasure.”

“Letters? What letters?”

Too late Eulogy realized her mistake. “Really, they are nothing. Just the unpleasant scribbles of someone with too much time on their hands.”

“Mauvoreen, what do these letters say?” Farrell glowered, fixing her with a hard stare.

“Oh, well, one suggested I leave London and never return.”

Farrell’s face darkened. “Who sent them?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you suspect?” Farrell’s face grew dark as thunder. “Who sent the letters? Tell me! ”

Eulogy hesitated. “I wondered….maybe… Lord Devlin.”

But instead of laughing and dismissing her concerns, as she hoped he would. Farrell grimaced and nodded.

“Happen it would just like that weasel, to try something so underhand.” Farrell looked grave. “You should have told me this sooner, Mauvoreen. Devlin is not a man to cross.”

“Well if you are right, then I must confront Devlin and find out the truth.”

“No!” Farrell pulled at his hair. “That is a bad idea.”

“But you said to be direct with Huntley.”

“Devlin and Huntley are altogether different beasts. What applies to one does not follow for the other.”

“First you say one thing, then another.” The sense of life being beyond her control rose to the surface. “Is it unreasonable, to wish to know who I am? To find out about mother and why father couldn’t love me. Don’t you see?”

Farrell turned as pale as primed canvas.

“Mauvoreen, I beg you, stay away from Devlin.”

“So who will tell me?” She glared, defiantly. “I lost everything and know nothing. To hear of my father’s grief, perhaps then I can forgive him for giving me away.” She slipped to the floor and clutched her knees, burying her head in her skirts. “You tell me nothing!”

“Mauvoreen, please stop”

Eulogy rocked like a child.

“Mauvoreen, very well.” Farrell put down the brush. “I’ll tell what I know, but only if you leave Devlin alone. Tis poking a hornet’s nest.”

Farrell sat beside her on the dais, his ready smile and twinkling blue eyes replaced by somber sincerity.

“Blow your nose.” He handed her a paint stained rag.

“Thanks.”

“Twill be hard to hear, but happen if it keeps you safe.” He drew a shaky breath. “Where to start?”

“How did you know my mother?” she whispered.

“Lord Devlin commissioned me to paint his wife’s portrait. During the sitting we started to talk and, over time, Gabriella and I became friends.” His words slid into silence.

“You painted Lady Devlin once?”

“No. Devlin liked how I captured her beauty. There were several portraits.”

“My mother, what was she like?” Eulogy held her breath.

“Oh, Mauvoreen, she was gentle, kind, sweet natured. With hair of burnished mahogany and warm brown eyes. Such an honor, to be her friend.”

Eulogy let out a slow sigh. “No wonder father loved her so much.”

Farrell’s pained expression struck her as odd.

“But that’s the rub, Mauvoreen. He saw Gabriella as a possession, his to command and use, or abuse, as he saw fit.”

“What are you saying?”

Reluctantly, Farrell met her gaze and Eulogy gasped at the pain she saw.

“You’ve met Lucien Devlin, well there’s a saying. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Farrell shuddered. “In some ways, I can’t blame Lucien for how he turned out, look at the example he had. Hayden Devlin, your father, was a cold, cruel man, a selfish bully who thought only of advancement and status. He made Gabriella’s life a misery and tormented her as only a bully can. The one bright spot in her life darkness was her children. Especially the younger son.”

“I don’t understand. Do you mean Lucien?”

“No, there was another boy, Frederick, born between Lucien and you. He was like you, rather than his elder brother. Sensitive, adored by his mother but he was frail and suffered with poor health.”

“He died?”

Farrell looked grim. “Worse, and I’m only telling yer so yer understand and stay away. Haydon Devlin as good as killed his son.”

 “Go on.” Eulogy felt revulsion, and yet had to know more.

“It irked Haydon that Gabriella loved Freddie so much. To him the boy was a weakling, cosseted by his mother and frightened of his own shadow. Which he was, but only because of his father’s fearful temper and the beatings. The boy was wary of horses and that more than anything, made Haydon angry. So one day Haydon forced Freddie onto a hunter ‘to make a man of him.’ Sets the poor lad at a fence far too big, he falls, and broke his neck.”

“But that’s dreadful.”

 “And by all accounts Devlin boasted he was well rid of the runt that he had plenty more spawn in his loins for better lads than he.”

Bile rose in Eulogy’s throat.

“I blame myself for what happened next. I should have made Gabriella come away with me to safety.” Farrell wrung his hands. “But it would have ruined Gabriella and ended my career. So I did nothing. Told myself it was the noble thing to preserve her reputation.”

“What happened?”

Farrell closed his eyes and shuddered. “I was working in London, when Ella’s letter came. She was fearful for the babe she was now carrying. Devlin had done something to awful to confide in a letter and she was terrified lest she carried a girl.

“What you have to understand was that back then, at that time I was the toast of the ton, working all day, parties all night. I thought Ella exaggerated, emotions brought on by the pregnancy and replied, reassuring her that Devlin would come to love the child be it boy or girl. Her last letter said that she relied on me as her one true friend, and if ever her child needed help she would send her to me.”

Eulogy’s mind refused to work. “The baby she was carrying, that child, was me?”

Farrell nodded “Lord Devlin was abroad when Gabriella was brought early to child bed. Later I learnt the babe hadn’t survived, and I believed that to be the truth until you arrived on my doorstep.”

Cogs slowly clicked into place.

“Doctor Foster attended Gabriella’s confinement and many years later, when Mary fell gravely ill, she told me father loved my mother too much to bear the sight of me so he gave me away.”

“Your mother loved you enough to give you away, rather than suffer at your father’s hand.”

“But she died giving birth to me?”

“No, Mauvoreen. Happen Mary Foster wanted to soften the pain, but Gabriella went on to bear another babe, it was two years later giving birth to that child, a boy that she died.”

The room swam as things began to make sense. “So what Devlin said was right. No wonder he thinks me an imposter.”

“But remember, Mauvoreen, Lucien Devlin is as wily as he father. I imagine he knows the truth all right, but it suites him to deny it.”

“But why?”

“My guess is that Lucien Devlin is on his uppers. Word is he’s courting an heiress, and I imagine her ardor would swiftly cool if she knew how the Devlin men treat their wives.”

Eulogy clenched her skirt in her fists. “It was a shock, me turning up like that. And my only proof was a ring, which could have been stolen and then I get the facts wrong.”

“Mauvoreen, you forget your face. A person only has to compare Ella’s portraits to you. He knows the truth all right.”

“It was the shock. Lucien needed time to get used to the idea.”

Eulogy closed her eyes, hugging her knees. Despite the sadness of Farrell’s tale, an ember caught in her heart. Her mother loved her. She was the daughter of a noble woman who had done a brave thing to keep her child safe. And her brother? No matter what Farrell said, Lucien deserved a chance.

“Thank you.” She smiled at Farrell. “You are the first person to tell me the truth and I thank you.”

“Mauvoreen.” His face creased. “Take my advice. Don’t deny your feelings for Huntley, like I did for Ella. Tell him everything before it’s too late. He wants to protect you, only he daren’t let himself care.”

But Eulogy’s mind was made up. “If he can’t love me as plain Doctor Foster’s daughter, then I won’t use my bloodline to change his mind.”

“Then promise to let him be your friend, for my sake.”

She nodded slowly. “Friends with Huntley it is.” She flushed, even saying his name made her hollow inside, it would be hard to guard against such love. After taking a deep breath, she straightened her crushed skirts.

“Shall we continue?”

With a grunt Farrell reached for his palette.