Marchington Scandal (15 page)

“Of course. I shall hang it at my house in Kent with the other family pictures, but we must show it in London first. The odious Winstead must be confounded.”

“Oh.” Katharine sat back a little, wondering at herself. In the pleasure of doing the painting, she had almost forgotten Winstead. And now she was no longer certain she cared what he thought. “I don't know that I want to exhibit it,” she said.

“Indeed?”

“I began it to prove something, of course. And I have, to myself. It seems unnecessary to go any further.”

Stonenden gazed at her with mingled surprise and admiration. “Does it?”

Katharine nodded, but at the same time, she remembered some of her other reasons for undertaking this project. “Still, I suppose I must show it. I wanted to prove to Winstead that a woman could paint, and if I do not produce a painting publicly, he will always say that I couldn't.”

“Yes.”

Katharine sighed. “Very well. But how shall it be managed? I will
not
exhibit it here.”

“No,” agreed the man. “I believe I should do so.”

“You? You mean, hang it in your house?”

He nodded.

“And allow crowds of people to troop through to look at it? Not that I am so vain as to think there would be crowds if it were not for this stupid controversy.”

“No, that would be insupportable,” replied Lord Stonenden. “I think the best plan would be for me to give a party to show the portrait. I shall hang it in the ballroom where everyone may see it, and they can all come at once.”

Katharine considered this. “Well, I suppose that will do. It's very kind of you. I shan't come, you understand.”

“Not come?”

“Oh, no, I couldn't bear it.”

“You don't want to share the admiration?” The man seemed amazed.

“If there is admiration, it should be for the painting, not for me.” Katharine dimpled. “And there may be none, you know. In which case I shall be very glad to be absent.”

Stonenden was still gazing at her. “You are an extraordinary woman, you know. I never get your limits.”

She flushed a little. “I don't see that it is so extraordinary to avoid being gawked at and gossiped about.” He continued to watch her, and Katharine shifted uneasily. “Would you, in my place, attend such a party?” she asked finally.

“I cannot imagine being in your place. I have no such abilities.”

Now Katharine stared at him. She had never heard him admit any inferiority, and his tone had been both sincere and distinctly respectful. Their eyes held for a long moment. She tried to speak, but could think of nothing to say.

Finally he added, “You leave it to me, then, to arrange the event?”

“I…yes.”

“And when should it be? You said you might wish to work on the portrait a bit more.”

“Yes. I don't know that I will, but if so, it would be the merest touches. It must dry, of course, but I think it could be shown in, say, a week's time.”

He nodded. “I shall set it for the week after this, then.”

“Very well.” Katharine looked down. “How strange it will be.”

“I shall also think of some means for you to attend without being gawked at,” he added with a smile. Katharine started to protest, but he held up a hand. “If you could observe without being seen, would you not like to hear what was said about your work?”

She smiled. “Who would not?”

“Well, I shall try to arrange it.”

“But how?”

“Leave that to me.” He put down his empty wineglass. “And now I should go, I fear.”

“I will walk down with you,” replied Katharine, rising.

They went down the stairs together and stood waiting while a footman fetched Lord Stonenden's hat. “Will you ask Winstead to your party?” inquired Katharine.

“I must.”

“Well, I should like to see his face when he sees the painting.”

“I shall ensure that you do.”

She smiled. “You are very kind.”

“Do you think so indeed? Your opinion was very different not so long ago.” He looked intently down at her.

Katharine flushed. “I said too much that day. I apologize.”

“You needn't. You spoke your mind, and I prefer that. But if you could alter your view…” He paused, seemed as if he might take her hand, then added, “I was overhasty myself that day.” She met his eyes, still more astonished. Their gaze held as he said, “I often am, and I often regret it. But I promise you now that I mean to perform the service I tried to do you.”

Katharine frowned. “The portrait, you mean? But you
have
.”

“No, the other matter.”

Mystified, Katharine stared up at him. He said nothing, but he moved a step closer and again reached for her hand. Taking it, he held it to his lips. Then the footman brought his hat, and after a brief hesitation, he took his leave. She remained in the hall for some time puzzling over his remark and recalling, more pleasurably, the look in his eyes when he had made it.

The following afternoon, just after luncheon, Lord Stonenden unexpectedly called at the Daltrys' again. Mary had gone upstairs to lie down, so Katharine received him alone in the drawing room. She was both puzzled and intrigued when the visitor was announced, for Stonenden had never called upon them except to sit for his portrait.

When he came in, he was smiling, and Katharine smiled in answer. “What is it?” she asked. “You look very pleased with yourself.”

“I am. I can stay only a moment, but I had to come to tell you that I have discovered a way you may observe the exhibition of your painting without being seen.”

“You are roasting me. I didn't take that suggestion seriously.”

“Why not? It is extremely logical. You do not wish to face a gaping crowd; I understand that only too well. But you would not mind seeing how your work is received. Well, I have found a solution.” His smile broadened, and his dark blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

Katharine laughed. “Out with it, then.”

He drew a sheet of paper from an inner pocket. “I have laid it out so that you can see what I mean.” He put the paper on a small table and gestured for her to sit down beside him. “The ballroom in my house has three doorways,” he went on. “The large double entrance doors, the passage to the supper room, and this small one.” He pointed to a diagram on the sheet. “It leads to a corridor that runs to the kitchen, and it is a recessed door. I propose to move one of the large tapestries a few feet to the left, covering this small doorway. That will leave a niche behind the cloth where you can put a chair. You can peek around the tapestry and see and hear everything. I will hang your painting nearby. And if you get tired, you can simply go out the door and leave the house through the back premises.” He looked up, still smiling. “Is that not a first-rate plan?”

Katharine laughed again. “You look like a little boy who has discovered how to escape his nurse.”

“Well, I feel rather like one. I can't remember having such fun since I slipped away from my tutor and spent the day with the gamekeeper's son poaching the neighbors' pheasant run.”

“You didn't! I can't believe it of you, Lord Stonenden.” Her amber eyes brimmed with laughter.

“Oh, yes. We had a famous time. I have always thought it was worth the whipping I got for it. But what do you think of my idea?”

“I think it is wonderful. Easily worth three whippings.”

He looked down at her, startled, then began to laugh. “It won't come to that, fortunately. But you will do it, then?”

“Assuredly. I would not miss it for anything.”

“Splendid. I'll have the tapestry moved at once.” He looked down at his diagram with manifest satisfaction.

“I have never seen you so pleased,” said Katharine. “Why is this so important to you? It is kind of you to think of me, but…”

“It is only partly that,” he admitted. “Of course, I think you should see people's reaction to your painting without enduring their stares. But it will also give the party a unique piquancy for me, to know you are there secretly observing.”

“Ah. I might have known it was something like that. You are merciless, Lord Stonenden.”

His smile faded. “I don't mean—”

“I was bamming you. I think it a very good joke.”

“It is, isn't it?” He grinned again. “Do you think we might tell one or two trustworthy people? To share it.”

“I should like that above all things, but I have observed that telling even one or two usually lets a secret out. One's trustworthy confidants tell another one or two, and so on, until finally some quite untrustworthy person is told, and then all is lost.”

“I suppose you are right. Indeed, I know you are. It shall remain our secret, then.”

Katharine nodded. “And thank you.”

He rose. “I cannot stay. I should have met Alvanley a half hour ago. But I wanted to tell you face-to-face rather than writing a note.”

She nodded again, understanding the impulse.

“I will inform you about the party. It will be an odd gathering—both Sir Thomas Lawrence and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell have consented to come.”

“You have asked them already?”

“Merely preparing the way for my invitations. I wanted to make sure of a few leading lights beforehand.”

“How efficient you are.”

“Of course.” They exchanged another smile before he bowed and took his leave. Katharine, watching him ride off from the front window, did not realize until sometime later that she had forgotten to ask him what he had meant the previous day.

Katharine had put the final touches on the portrait that morning, signed it, and thrown a cloth over it to keep off the dust while it dried. Nothing remained to be done, and she found that she did not want to begin painting anything else just now. Thus she spent the next few days catching up on neglected reading and seeing some of the friends she had abandoned for her work. She received one note from Stonenden reporting on the plans for his party and the sensation its announcement was creating, but she did not go out to see that sensation for herself, preferring to observe it secondhand. Others were only too ready to report. When her picture was dry, she had it carried to Lord Stonenden's house, taking elaborate precautions to keep it secret. And then she sat back and awaited the day of the showing with a mixture of trepidation and eagerness.

Two days before it was to occur, Katharine and Mary sat in their drawing room in the evening reading quietly. When the bell rang below, Katharine looked up at once, however, for she was rather bored with her book and welcomed the idea of company. And when the maid ushered Tony Tillston into the room, she stood and held out her hand with a pleased smile. “Tony! I haven't seen you in an age.”

“I know it,” he answered, bowing over her hand and greeting Mary. “I have come to complain about it.”

“To me?”

“Yes, it is all your fault, you know. Since you saddled me with your cousin Elinor Marchington, I haven't had a moment to call my own.”

“Not ‘saddled,' Tony.”

“It's becoming something very like that. I didn't mind at first, but the thing is going on a long time, and I'm beginning to be very uneasy about Marchington, I must tell you. I joked about his calling me out, but after last night, I begin to wonder if the man ain't unstable.”

“Last night?”

Tony stared at her. “You mean you haven't heard the story yet? It's all over the
ton
.”

“No, I haven't seen anyone today. Elinor called when we were out shopping, I believe.”

“I daresay she did!”

“Well, come and sit down and tell me.”

“All right, but if I had known I would be the one to bring the news, I might not have come tonight.”

“Is it so very bad?”

“Well, Marchington made a public fool of himself. But let me tell you, and you may judge. It happened at Covent Garden; there was a masquerade last night, you know.”

“I didn't.”

“Well, no, you wouldn't. I…er, chanced to escort a friend there—”

“
Not
Elinor?”

“Of course not! It was…uh…that is…”

Katharine laughed. “Go on, Tony. I think we know what you mean.”

“Yes…well, at any rate, Marchington was there before me. He came alone and, from what I could see, more than half foxed. I didn't notice him particularly at first, though I understand he was noisy and abusive even then. But it wasn't until Countess Standen and Stonenden came in that he began to shout.”

The smile on Katharine's face appeared to freeze. “The countess and…?”

“Stonenden. Yes. Everyone thought that affair over, but apparently Stonenden was simply tired of the crowd. I had it on the best authority that he told her to dismiss the puppies if she wished to see him, and the countess complied.” Tony looked meditative. “Though if I know her, she will have done it in a way to keep them dangling.”

Katharine, sitting very still, said nothing.

“At any rate, when they came in, Marchington went absolutely wild, started shouting insults and threatening Stonenden. I mean, the man must be mad, trying to call out the best shot in the country. Stonenden refused, of course, but I wonder he had the patience to do so. Marchington was dashed offensive. And of course, the gossips got hold of it at once; they're talking of nothing else.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mary. “Poor Elinor.”

“You may say so. And poor Tony as well. I wouldn't be surprised if Marchington decided to take out his spleen upon me. He's not overfond of me, you know. That's one of the reasons I called. I think I'd best sheer off your cousin a bit. I shouldn't like to face a scene like that myself. I haven't Stonenden's address.”

“What…what did he do?” asked Katharine, her tone odd enough to make both the others look at her.

“Who? Stonenden? Oh, he tried to shame him into keeping quiet at first. Whew! I've never heard such blistering set-downs. But Marchington wasn't having any. Some of his friends finally took him away.”

“I see.”

“If it hadn't been so close to me, I should have enjoyed seeing the countess's face, though. She was livid.”

At this moment, the bell was heard to ring again, and soon after, Elinor Marchington came running into the drawing room. “Katharine! Have you heard?”

Katharine nodded.

“Oh, my dear,” said Mary.

“Kitty told me this morning. I came here, but you were out. What am I to do?”

“Do?” Katharine looked at her but did not seem to really see her.

“Yes. Tom is getting worse and worse. I was sure your plan would stop him, but it does not seem to be working. What shall we do?”

Slowly Katharine shook her head.

“Nothing you can do,” answered Tony. “Better to leave the thing alone now.”

Tears started in Elinor's eyes. “But…but…I thought it was all settled. I was sure…” She choked.

“Yes, well…er…” Tony looked at Katharine, but she was staring at the floor.

“Mr. Tillston is right,” said Mary Daltry then, in a tone which made him turn to gaze at her hopefully. “You have done everything you can, Elinor. Everything that a woman of character may do. Now you must let things take their course.”

“You mean, just give up?”

“Not exactly, though I do not see that there is any further
action
you can take. You must wait now. That is very hard, I know, but you must do it. And, perhaps, pray. Things will come right in the end, I am sure.”

Elinor, wide-eyed, turned to Katharine, but she did not seem to be listening. Elinor's shoulders slumped. “I was so sure it would work. I did not even think of anything else.” She bowed her head.

“Perhaps you should go home and lie down now,” added Mary kindly. “Mr. Tillston, would you escort Elinor home?”

“Oh, but I—”

“Please.”

Tony blinked, then rose and held out a hand. “Of course. Will you come, Mrs. Marchington?”

Elinor stared blankly up at him, but Mary bustled over and gathered her things, urging her to her feet. “There you are, my dear. A good night's rest, that is what you need. Try not to think of any of this. I will come and see you first thing in the morning.” As she talked, she draped Elinor's shawl over her shoulders, hooked her reticule over her unresisting wrist, and put her arm into Tony's. Almost before Elinor realized what was happening, she was being escorted down the stairs and out to her carriage.

Mary turned back with a sigh. “There.” She looked at Katharine with concern clear in her eyes. “My dear, are you—?” But she was interrupted by another peal of the bell and footsteps on the stairs. Before Mary could intercept the new caller, Eliza Burnham walked into the room.

“I met Elinor outside, so I suppose you have heard the story. Katharine, something must be done about that boy. He is becoming a London spectacle.” Lady Burnham smiled at her friend; then her brows drew together. “Katharine, what is the matter!”

The girl started. “What?”

“You look…I hardly know what. Haggard. Is something wrong?”

Katharine put a hand to her forehead. “Nothing. I am tired.”

“She was just about to go to bed, actually, Eliza,” put in Mary.

“At eight o'clock? I was doing nothing of the kind.” Katharine sat up straighter and motioned Lady Burnham to a chair. “What can I do about Tom, Eliza? I can think of nothing. I shall be glad of your advice.”

“It is difficult. I own I haven't any ideas. But really, he has created a scandal.”

“Yes. The gossips must be in ecstasies.”

“Well, they are.” Eliza sighed. “It's no good talking to him, I suppose?”

“None. At least, if you mean that I should talk to him. I think it may be time to write his father.”

“Yes, indeed. Past time.”

“Well, I would have done it long since, if Elinor had not protested so. She is convinced it will ruin her life.”

“Well, Tom himself is doing that.”

“Yes.”

“Of course, Stonenden may—”

“We needn't bring Lord Stonenden into this,” interrupted Katharine icily, and Eliza stared at her.

“I have another idea,” said Mary. “I shall write Tom's mother. I have nearly done so several times, but I held off in the hope that the thing would come right. We are not good friends, but we are acquainted. I think that she could be a great help.”

“Fine,” replied Katharine. “Let us do that, then.”

Mary nodded. “I shall write tonight.”

A silence fell. Katharine stared at the floor. Mary watched her anxiously, and Eliza Burnham, following her gaze, was again shocked by the look on the girl's face. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed loud.

Finally Lady Burnham ventured, “Everyone is talking of your painting, in spite of Tom's antics. I'm desperately anxious to see it myself, and I must say I haven't forgiven you for not giving me just a glimpse beforehand.”