Lord Perfect (8 page)

The sparsely furnished room was large and amply supplied
with windows. "The light is good, you see " she said,
"especially in the early afternoon. It's always kept clean.
Several of us—all women—share the rent and use the space
alternately. We employ a diligent cleaning woman."

She showed him the easels, neatly stacked in a corner of
the room. "My girls are the daughters of prosperous tradesmen.
Some are a little spoiled, but I have managed to teach them the
importance of maintaining order in the work space."

He walked to a window, clasped his hands behind his
back, and looked out. She noticed his head was bare. She glanced
about and saw his hat on a chair. He must have taken it off when he
entered the room. She didn't know why she was surprised, or if
surprise was what she felt. The afternoon light played over dark hair
clean and free of pomade. It had a hint of curl, which would be far
more pronounced when it was wet.

Do
not
picture him wet
,
she commanded herself.

His deep voice dragged her back from the brink of
danger. "What else do you teach them?" he asked. "What
is your method?"

She explained how she began with simple still life
exercises, allowing her students to bring a few objects from home and
arrange them as they wished. "Perhaps some fruit or a cup and
saucer at first," she said. "Later, I might arrange a
bonnet, a pair of gloves, and a book. There are outdoor exercises,
too, when the weather permits. Trees, doorways, a shop front."

"You do not take them to the Royal Academy to copy
other artists' works?" he said, still looking out of the window.

"That is not the best method for my students,"
she said. "They do not aim to become artists. Their main desire
is to acquire refinement and ladylike accomplishments. Their parents
want them to rise in the world. I teach my students to see. I teach
them mechanics and techniques. In learning these, they acquire the
capacity to discern quality. What they learn from me they might apply
to other subjects or hobbies." She tried to imagine what an
adolescent lordling would gain from such instruction.

"You teach fundamentals, in other words," said
Rath-bourne.

"Yes."

"That is what Peregrine lacks," he said,
turning away from the window finally. The sunlight outlined the
almost-curls and burnished his chiseled features. "He lacks the
foundation. He has had drawing masters. Apparently, their methods did
not suit him. Perhaps yours will."

"He would require private lessons," she said,
ruthlessly suppressing the seed of hope trying to sprout within her.
He had said only "perhaps." It was the diplomatic thing to
say. The room must seem shabby to him, her methods amateurish, her
students nobodies. "I cannot teach him in classes with the
girls. His presence would be disruptive. He will make some girls shy
and others bold and all of them silly."

"Peregrine
is
a disruptive presence," said Rathbourne. "It hardly matters
who is about. Girls, boys, adults. Teachers, family, clergymen,
sailors, soldiers, members of Parliament. My nephew is a doubting
Thomas. He wants everything proved. He is inquisitive, argumentative,
and obstinate. He will ask you
Why
?
a hundred times in an hour. If you do not triple your usual fee at
the very least, you will be a great fool."

He could not be serious. Thrice her fee for one boy?
Lord Lisle couldn't be more difficult to manage than Olivia, however
much he tried, however much his parents had spoiled him. Olivia had
inherited altogether too much of the Dreadful DeLucey character.

"In that case, I shall quadruple it,"
Bathsheba said.

"He said you were sensible," said Rathbourne,
coming away from the window. "Would you be willing to take him,
then, in spite of my warning?"

She did not even blink. Her father had taught her how to
play cards. "Have you made up your mind, then?" she said.

He looked about the room. "Society won't like it,"
he said. "Society's sympathies lie with your late husband's
family."

"Oh," she said. She felt so weary, suddenly.
She felt like Sisyphus, pushing the great stone up the hill, only to
have it roll back down again. The stone was her past, and it rolled
over the sprout of hope and crushed it. She'd felt the same way the
other day in front of the print shop when she'd realized that her
name was closing another door against her.

"These ancient grudges and prejudices are so
tiresome," he said. "If Peregrine's parents find out you
are teaching him, they will fly into fits. Emotional extravagance is
their nature, you see. They cannot help it. Perhaps this is why they
are at a complete loss what to do about him. Their solution is to
leave him to me while they retire to their lair in Scotland. But if
my in-laws leave him to me, they must live with my decisions."
His gaze came to her then, and he smiled a very little. "All I
need do is make up my mind. Do you know, you look at this moment as
your daughter did when she became annoyed with Peregrine? Perhaps you
wish to strike me with a sketchbook?"

"Would that help you make up your mind?" she
said.

The smile became more pronounced, and she wished he had
kept it hidden away, because the actual thing, rather than the hint
of it, made her heart go much too fast and her brain much too slow.

"I have decided that the boy needs you," he
said. "I have decided that he is more important than old grudges
and scandals."

HE'D COME TO his senses, Benedict believed.

He'd been aware of her entering the print seller's
before he acknowledged it. He'd heard the light step, sensed her
presence. He'd taken his time turning to her, steeling himself first.

Then he'd looked, and the spell was broken, he thought.

She was not the most beautiful creature in all the
world, as he'd believed. She did not appear too young to have a
daughter near Peregrine's age. The face Benedict had found so
unforgettable was careworn, the eyes not so brilliant as he
remembered.

Consequently, he could be certain that he was choosing
strictly as his conscience commanded, unaffected by the Great World's
opinion or the scenes he'd endure should Atherton learn of it. One
must choose what was best for Peregrine.

The instant Benedict said the words, he knew he'd made
the right choice.

What he did not expect was to see the rightness
reflected in her countenance. First her eyes lit, then her expression
softened, then the taut line of her mouth dissolved into a luscious
curve of a smile. The careworn expression fled, taking all signs of
age with it. The blue of her eyes was brilliant, almost blinding, and
she seemed all alight somehow.

If he'd been a fanciful man, he might have imagined he'd
uttered a magical incantation to effect such a transformation.

But he never allowed himself to be fanciful.

"You truly are perfect," she said wonderingly.

Perfect. So everyone said of him. How low their
standards of perfection were!

"Yes, it is a great bore," he said. "I
ought to say, 'Nobody is perfect,' but that is even more boring. My
comfort is, if word of this gets about, people will stop saying I am
perfect. How exciting. At last I shall have a fault."

"I had no idea it was so difficult to acquire one,"
she said. "Luckily, you came to the right place. As you may have
heard, my branch of the DeLucey family possesses them in abundance."

"If I need another one, I shall know where to
come," he said.

"I recommend you grow accustomed to the one first,"
she said. "At present, it is a secret fault. Some people
consider these the best kind."

"One fault, one secret," said Benedict. "I
feel quite dissipated."

"I'm honored to help," she said. "But to
return to business: Shall Lord Lisle come here for his lessons? I
know it is out of the way, but that may be an advantage. He is less
likely to cross paths with anyone who knows him."

"That advantage occurred to me," said
Benedict. "It will be simple enough to send him with a servant."
A discreet one. "On foot, I think."

"But it is nearly two miles from Cavendish Square,"
she said.

"You know where I live," he said.

"Who does not?" she said.

Who, indeed? Benedict wondered. Privacy was one luxury
out of his reach.

'Two miles is nothing," he said.
"Peregrine needs the exercise, especially now. He has recently
realized that a high competence in Greek and Latin is essential to
the antiquarian. As a result, he has become obsessed with the
classical authors. If he truly means to go to Egypt, he will need to
be fit physically as well as mentally. He will need to become
accustomed as well to being among people who do not
travel
in the same spheres
as he."

He allowed himself a smile over the
phrase. She did not know
everything
about him—or very much about London— if she thought him a
stranger to Holborn. Then he dragged his gaze from her remarkable
face to the window, and the view beyond, of the buildings opposite.
This was all for Peregrine. He must keep his mind on Peregrine.

She seemed to have no difficulty keeping her mind on
business. She named the days and times the classroom was available
for private instruction, wrote down the supplies needed, and obtained
the name and direction of Benedict's man of business, to whom she'd
send her bill.

After this, he had no excuse for lingering. In another
ten minutes he'd collected the watercolor from Popham and set out for
a more exclusive establishment well west of Holborn, to have the
drawing mounted and framed.

It would hang in his bedroom, Benedict decided.

Chapter 4