Marchington Scandal (11 page)

Stonenden advanced purposefully on him, and Winstead backed away.

“You are afraid,” he squeaked. “You are afraid to put her to the test. You have all concocted this story between you, to discredit me and ridicule art, but I shan't let you get away with it.”

The whispers in the audience had risen to a murmur, and the stage manager had been forced to delay the curtain until the disturbance should die down. Several theater employees were making their way toward the box. Katharine, scarlet with embarrassment, was also angry. So the idea that she painted was a ridicule of art, was it? Suddenly she heard herself speak in a clear, ringing voice. “I shall be quite happy to prove that I can paint. But I won't have a crowd around me. Choose a trustworthy witness, Mr. Winstead.”

The intruder seemed utterly astonished at this, and Katharine realized that he really had not believed she painted the pictures. “Ah…I…ah…” he stammered.

“Not yourself,” added Katharine. “We must find a neutral party.”

There was a pause; almost the whole audience was now staring at the drama in the box, play forgotten. And in the sudden silence, Lord Stonenden abruptly said, “What about me?” Hundreds of pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at him. “I want a portrait of myself. Let Miss Daltry paint it.” He looked at Winstead. “I suppose you will take my word? I am thought to be a tolerably good judge.”

The little man quailed before his eye, moving back toward the doorway.

“Well?”

Winstead seemed to collapse upon himself. Murmuring brokenly that it was quite all right, he backed through the plush curtain and out of the box.

“I shall show you the portrait when it is done,” called Stonenden after him.

The noise in the theater rose to a roar. Those who had heard this final exchange were besieged by those who had not caught it, and the story of Winstead's challenge and Katharine's acceptance ran round the audience like lightning. “Oh, dear,” murmured Katharine, “perhaps I should
not
have written that article.”

“
You
wrote it?” exclaimed Stonenden, who still stood near her.

Startled, Katharine looked up at him; she had spoken without thinking. “Shh. Yes, but please do not tell anyone.”

“You! I thought it was Tillston.”

Katharine shrugged. The stage manager signaled the orchestra to begin and glared around the audience until people began to settle back in their seats.

“I suppose I'd better go,” added Stonenden. “I shall call about the portrait.”

“You meant it!”

“Of course. I never say what I do not mean.”

“But it will be…that is…”

“You do not mean to play faintheart now, I hope?”

“No, but—”

“Good.” And with that, he was gone.

Katharine heard nothing of the rest of the play; she was too preoccupied with her own emotions. Embarrassment was paramount; she hated scenes such as had just taken place, and she hated exposing her painting to strangers, as had now abundantly been done. She was also astonished at Lord Stonenden's very uncharacteristic action. When he had first intervened this evening, she had admitted a moment of gratitude. It had become clear to her that Winstead required an uncompromising response, and he was more capable of it than anyone else she knew, certainly than herself. But when he had gone on to suggest the portrait, she had been amazed. Lord Stonenden administering a blistering set-down was a familiar figure; going out of his way to support her, he became a stranger.

But even her surprise was overborne by excitement. Katharine had never had the opportunity to paint a real portrait. Her Indian maid had sat for her, and she had once attempted a likeness of Mary, but she had never tried a male figure, and she had never done anything public. The chance was daunting and thrilling at once. Could she paint a creditable portrait, one that Stonenden would wish to hang in his house? This uncertainty outweighed all other concerns, and Katharine began to plan just how she would set to work. Her companions, after unsuccessfully addressing her several times, abandoned her to her thoughts, no doubt concluding that she was upset by the evening's occurrences.

On the following morning, Elinor was at the Daltry house before breakfast, and she joined the ladies at the table when they came down. She seemed very agitated, quite unlike last night, but as long as the servants were in the dining room she kept to unimportant topics. Katharine, watching her closely, was impressed with the way the younger girl controlled herself. Elinor had clearly learned a great deal since her arrival in London.

When they had finished their meal, Elinor leaned forward and said, “Oh, Katharine, I must talk to you.”

“Of course, let us go up to the drawing room, where we can be private.”

Mary made as if to leave them, and Elinor added, “You come too, please, Mary. I did not mean that I didn't want you.”

When the three women were seated upstairs, Elinor pulled a sheaf of papers from her reticule and exhibited it. “I found these in our library,” she said dolefully. “They were lying open on the writing table. I did not look in Tom's pockets or anything low. He didn't care whether I saw them, I suppose.”

“What are they?” asked Katharine.

“Bills. He has been spending amazing amounts of money. I don't know what his father will say, though Tom has an income settled on him, of course. But he is buying things for…that woman.”

“He is not paying her bills?”

“No. It is presents, I think. But, oh, Katharine, what am I to do? He is so irritable now, I can hardly talk to him. And he is never home. I don't know what he does or where he goes. My life is ruined.” She drooped in her chair.

“Now, Elinor.”

“Of course it isn't, dear,” added Mary. She patted Elinor's hand. “This will pass, you'll see.”

“I don't know. Tom has started railing against Lord Stonenden now. He is mad sometimes, I think. I am so afraid he may actually call him out. What a scandal that would be! And Stonenden is a leader of fashion.”

“Stonenden!” exclaimed Katharine so abruptly that both the others stared.

Elinor nodded. “He has been seeing the countess also, and Tom is in a rage over it. Last night when he came in, he raved about town beaus and their insinuating ways until I thought he should have an apoplexy. And if it came to a duel—”

“Well, it won't,” snapped Katharine. “Stonenden would never accept such a challenge even if Tom were addle-brained enough to offer it.”

Elinor drew back a little in the face of her vehemence.

“And in any case,” continued the other, “I believe the plan I have set in motion will end this thing soon.”

“What plan?” replied Elinor eagerly, and Katharine realized with a start that she had neglected to tell her young cousin about her scheme to make Tom jealous. She flushed a little.

“Tony,” she said.

Elinor frowned, then, surprisingly, flushed slightly herself. “What do you mean? Did you know I wished to talk to you about him, too?”

“Talk about him?”

“Yes.” The younger girl's flush deepened. “He has been coming to see me quite often, and I…I have been wondering…that is, I know he is a friend of yours, Katharine, and I thought you could tell him for me that I am not—”

“Tony is my plan,” interrupted Katharine.

Elinor stared.

“I asked him to take you driving and pay you attentions in order to make Tom jealous. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, Elinor. I don't know how I came to be so heedless.”

“To make Tom jealous,” repeated Elinor slowly. She sat for a moment taking this in, then smiled brilliantly. “Then he is not…and Tom will think…oh, Katharine, how splendid!”

Katharine could not help laughing a little.

“You must think me such a ninnyhammer,” continued Elinor. “I was worried that Mr. Tillston was truly interested in me. I didn't know what to do. But if it is all a hoax…” She contemplated this beatific vision. “What a grand idea! I wonder if Tom has noticed? I shall go out with Tony every day. I wonder if I should order a new pelisse for driving in the park?”

Katharine laughed again, but Mary said, “My dear. Should you be so happy with a scheme that is, however necessarily, based on deceit?”

Elinor paused, frowned, then tossed her head. “I don't care. Tom is being abominable, and he
deserves
to be deceived. It is not as if I were doing anything wrong.”

“No,” said Mary doubtfully.

Elinor rose. “I must go. Oh, Katharine, thank you! I knew I could count on you to help me, and you
have
.”

“Wait and see how it comes out before you thank me.”

“I know it will be all right.” She sighed. “Tom, jealous—only think of it!” She started to turn away, then looked back and added, “And you are certain it will be all right about Lord Stonenden? He would not fight Tom?”

“I shall forbid him to.” Katharine looked grim for a moment, then smiled thinly. “How can I paint his portrait if he is fighting duels?”

Elinor laughed. “Will you really paint him? I thought it was a joke. How famous.” With a wave of her hand, she hurried out. Katharine watched her go with a smile.

But when she turned back to Mary, the older woman was looking at her very seriously. “Do you mean to go forward with the portrait, Katharine?” she said. “I don't think it wise.”

“Why not?”

“It will merely keep the whispers alive, dear. You would do much better to ignore them.”

“But then everyone would think that odious Winstead told the truth.”

“I doubt that. But even if they did, it would be better than exposing yourself to public notice this way. Admit that you were cruelly embarrassed last night.”

Katharine nodded. “It was very unpleasant.”

“And you hate being gossiped about, particularly your painting.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then?”

“All that is true, Mary. But it is also true that this portrait would be my first chance to do a
real
painting. One that might be hung and seen. I have stacks of canvases upstairs that no one will ever look at. At first, I preferred it that way, I admit, and I was furious with Tony when he showed them. But now, I don't know. If I am to get any better, I must have criticism, I think. And this seems a perfect way—”

“Katharine. You could show your painting to a number of people without doing this portrait.”

The girl looked down. “Yes, well…the truth is, I want to do it, Mary. It is an interesting challenge, and I want to try it.”

Meeting her cousin's eye, Mary Daltry sighed. “But having Lord Stonenden in your studio for hours at a time…”

“Oh, you will sit with us, of course,” replied Katharine eagerly.

“I?”

“Yes. I cannot be closeted with Lord Stonenden day after day. You must be there.”

Mary frowned.

“You can sit in the corner with your workbasket, Mary, and it will be quite all right.”

“I suppose I could.”

“And it will only be for a short time. I can do a portrait in two or three weeks, I daresay.”

Mary sighed. “You insist upon doing it?”

Katharine met her eyes and nodded.

“Well, then, I suppose we must do our best.” The older woman shook her head.

Katharine jumped up and went to hug her briefly. “You
are
wonderful. And now I must go look over my paints and see if I need anything. I shall see you at luncheon.” She was out of the room before Mary could reply.

In the afternoon, Mary went out to pay a call, and Katharine sat down in the drawing room to write some long-overdue letters. Her hatred of letter writing arose out of its impersonality. She got no sense, from a sheet of pressed notepaper, of the other person's presence. Yet if she did not write, she had no contact with them at all. So, at long intervals, she forced herself to sit down and pen something, however unsatisfying; but she faced such occasions with loathing.

Thus, when one of the maids came in to announce a caller, Katharine jumped up from the writing desk at once and said, “Oh, whoever it is, send them in!” But she was a bit taken aback a few moments later when Lord Stonenden strolled into the room.

Clothed with his usual quiet elegance, in a dark blue coat and yellow pantaloons, he smiled and nodded. “Good day. I have come as promised.”

For some reason, Katharine felt a bit flustered. “Promised?”

He raised his eyebrows. “To discuss the portrait.”

“Oh, oh, yes! Please sit down.” Katharine did so herself, on the sofa, and he took the armchair across. “What…what sort of portrait do you want? A full-length, or only a bust?”

“Oh, a full-length, to be sure. You do mean to paint it, then?”

She cocked her head. “Of course.”

“I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Not at all. Why should I?”

Stonenden smiled slightly. “I can think of several reasons.”

He did not elaborate. Katharine met his dark blue eyes and saw both amusement and challenge there. Her chin came up. “Of course, if you have changed
your
mind, Lord Stonenden, you need only say so. I shan't hold you to your word.”

“On the contrary, I am eager to begin. When is it to be?”

Katharine had not thought quite this far ahead. Once again, she was disconcerted. “Well…oh…perhaps tomorrow?”

“Certainly. I have never before sat for a portrait. What must I do?”

Katharine took a breath and gathered her wits. “Nothing, really. Simply come here in the morning. Do you mind beginning early? The light will be best then.”

“I am completely at your service.”

“Eight o'clock?”

“Very well. And how long do you expect to work? Not that I mean to hurry you in any way, but I must put off some engagements.”

“Say…two hours?” Katharine was not at all sure how long she would wish to work on a formal portrait. This would be very different from drawing her native servants in India.

Lord Stonenden nodded. Katharine expected him to take his leave now that their business was concluded, but instead he leaned back in his chair and said, “Your talk of India interested me greatly, Miss Daltry. Might I perhaps be allowed to see some of your paintings of native subjects tomorrow, or sometime?”

“I…suppose so.” Katharine's eyes dropped from his. She remained oddly uneasy, not sure how to deal with this new Stonenden. His interest seemed sincere, and the genuine attention in his dark eyes was hard to meet calmly. It confused her. He continued so assured. Several things she had meant to say to him fled her mind.

“You don't like showing your work?”

“I never did. But I am trying to learn to now. Sir Thomas made me see that I need objective criticism if I am to progress.”

“I am sure he would be happy to give it.”

“Oh, I shan't ask him again; I shouldn't have the courage. But I think I shall show some things to friends, perhaps.”

“You don't sound very certain.”

Katharine smiled, then shrugged. “Well, it is difficult for me. For a long time, my paintings were such an important, private thing, not to be shared with anyone. It is hard to change that.” Even as she spoke, Katharine was surprised. She was revealing more than she meant to, and she could not understand how it happened.

He was nodding. “Yes, I can see how that might be.”

Katharine stared at him, her amber eyes full of astonishment and doubt.

“You don't believe me?” he responded with amusement.

“What? Oh…I…”

“But I assure you I can understand wanting to keep some favorite pastime from society's eyes. I have wished many times that I could do so.”

“H-have you?”

“Indeed.”

“But what pastimes…I mean…” Katharine stopped abruptly.

“What are these mysterious activities?” He laughed a little. “Ah, but they are secret.”

Katharine met his eyes and laughed also. “I see. But if I show you my paintings of India, you must reciprocate by telling me.”

“It seems a fair bargain.” They smiled at each other. “I had hoped to meet your companion today,” continued Lord Stonenden then. “Miss Daltry is out, I take it?”

“Yes, Mary is paying calls. I am sorry she is not here to greet you.”

“And how are your other cousins, the Marchingtons?”

Katharine's momentary contentment evaporated. The mention of Tom and Elinor brought a rush of associations. “They are well,” she replied stiffly.

“You are less worried about him, I hope?” He smiled at her with what Katharine felt to be odious superiority.

“Yes,” she snapped before she thought, “no thanks to the Countess Standen.”

“Ah, Elise can be irritating.”

“
Some
people find her the reverse, seemingly.”

“She has her attractions, of course.”

Thinking that Stonenden knew more than most about these attractions, Katharine rose abruptly to her feet. She was not going to sit here and discuss the man's paramour, though he and the countess would no doubt think that a fine joke. “If you will excuse me now,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

Stonenden, rising also, looked surprised. But he said, “Of course. I did not mean to keep you.”

She rang the bell for the maid.

“I hoped to reassure you about Tom Marchington,” added Stonenden as they waited for the girl to appear.

Unable to imagine how he had hoped to do that, Katharine merely continued to look at the floor. In a moment, the maid entered.

“Good-bye,” said Katharine.

Lord Stonenden gazed down at her as if he expected she might offer her hand, then said, “Good day. I will be here tomorrow promptly at eight.”

“Y-yes.” She had almost forgotten about the portrait.

He bowed slightly and followed the maid out of the room. Katharine went to fling herself back on the sofa. Had she, she wondered, made a mistake after all? Her desire to paint this portrait had suddenly waned. What had seemed an exciting and important chance now looked more like drudgery. Should she try to cry off? Katharine stared blankly at the wall for a long moment; then, with an impatient exclamation, she got up and went back to the writing desk and her unfinished letter.