Passion Wears Pearls (8 page)

“Oh my!” She sighed. “I always wanted a sister, but you have four!”

He shook his head. “Yes, but here is where honesty must be applied. Miss Beckett, my family no longer claims me. I haven’t seen any of them for several years. I was tossed out of the house when I turned nineteen because I had announced an intention to pursue my painting as a profession.”

“Painting?” Her brow furrowed at the unexpected revelation. “You are a … painter?”

“Much to the lament of my father, yes.” He waited a moment as she took it in. “Are you shocked, Miss Beckett? I can promise you, it’s hardly the wild and wanton life that most people imagine. It’s …” He struggled for the right words, wanting more than anything to make the muse perched on the carriage seat across from him understand. “It is hard to describe without sounding like an overzealous child, but I paint because I love it—the challenge of it, the craft, and even the frustrations. They’re a part of me, as other men are inspired by the sciences or commerce.”

“You’ve been so generous to me, a stranger, and I’m still
amazed at it. But are you not poor, Mr. Hastings?” she asked shyly, and he surmised it was out of fear that she’d added to his burdens somehow with her own troubles.

“No. Unlike so many artists, I’m not starving in my quest for beauty.” He smiled. “Not that this has softened my family’s opinions.”

“How terrible! Success or failure, can they not be more supportive?”

“When I had no interest in the clergy or the law, as far as my father was concerned, to be a painter is to be a professional layabout.” Josiah shrugged. “I never was eloquent enough to explain to him what it meant to me to paint. It’s as essential as breathing, and when I was young, I was sure that I was just a few paint strokes away from immortality—and, ultimately, redemption in my parents’ eyes. Exile was a fleeting threat and a small price to pay.”

She nodded, and he took it as an encouraging sign.

“But it doesn’t matter how far I’ve traveled to prove myself or how my fortunes have improved. I no longer strive for anyone’s approval, Miss Beckett. But I do still strive for immortality, as vain as that sounds. I have a project to complete, and for some time, I’ve not found a model that inspired me—until today.”

“I-I am no model, sir!”

“It’s honest work, Miss Beckett. I will pay you fifteen thousand pounds if you will sit for me. Just that—sit for me. Nothing more. I’ll even hire a chaperone, if it suits you, to guarantee that nothing questionable or improper occurs while we work.”

She gasped. “Fifteen thousand pounds! You cannot be serious!”

“I assure you, I’m very serious. It’s a small fortune, Miss Beckett, and the only reason I set such a price is that a woman of your character probably wouldn’t even consider such a wild proposition unless the amount was notable.”

“Notable? It’s a heart-stopping amount and one that makes me question your sanity!”

“You’d be out of harm’s way, Miss Beckett. With that
kind of money, you wouldn’t have to worry about the Madame Claremonts of the world. You could live comfortably and independently and do whatever you wished.”

“Oh my!” She put her hand up to cover her heart, and the trembling blades of her fingertips arrested his attention for a second or two before she spoke. “You are serious.”

“I want to paint you, Miss Beckett.”

“Are hysterical women so appealing, Mr. Hastings?”

He smiled. “I’ll keep my reasons to myself only because if I say anything about the appeal of your coloring or the shape of your eyes, you’ll misinterpret my intentions and I’ll not have you freezing to death on the streets for a misspoken compliment.”

She smiled back at him, and Josiah felt the first small hint that he might win the day. “I’d always heard that artists were odd. You are proving it true, Mr. Hastings.”

“Should I provide character references, Miss Beckett?”

“Can you?” she asked, but there was a gentle teasing in her tone that made his blood warm.

“As many as you wish,” he countered.

“I shall want several, but can I—have time to consider it?”

“As long as you need.” He opened the window, leaned out, and gave the driver new instructions. “But it’s getting dark, so let’s get you someplace safe and warm so that you can regroup and think more clearly.”

“I haven’t enough money for a hotel, but perhaps—”

He cut her off. “It’s unorthodox, but I have rooms to spare and a fierce housekeeper who—”

“Absolutely not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am not about to spend the night under a strange man’s roof—even one who rescued me in a single afternoon from a lecherous man, a wicked dragon of an employer, and my horrible landlady. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“I see.” Except he didn’t really, but there was no chance he was going to set her down where he didn’t have some connection to keep her safe.

West’s is out. I can’t impose on the newlyweds. Ashe is out. Caroline must still be recovering from her illness the way Blackwell’s been behaving lately. Galen’s alone in London with Haley at his estates in Stamford Cross, so that’s no solution. Darius doesn’t even have a house in Town, or I’d borrow it while he’s in Scotland. Which leaves …

“Well, I know of a good inn called the Grove, and the woman who runs it is extremely kind; I know you’ll be safe and the fare isn’t bad.”
Michael is going to give me a look and a lecture that would send a lesser man running, but I don’t care. He can help me keep an eye on her until things are settled.

“Very well.” She smoothed out her skirts and rearranged her things. “If you think it suitable and reasonably priced, I will trust you to see to it, Mr. Hastings.”

It wasn’t the endorsement I was hoping for, but I’ll take it, Miss Beckett. Every journey begins with a single step, and if my luck holds, you’ve just turned your toes in my direction.

“Here! You’ve taken the apartment next to mine for a
woman
? What are you up to?” Michael Rutherford was not the kind of man that most people considered trifling with. Between his unusual height and serious demeanor, there were few men who had the courage to face him at all. But Josiah knew him as one of the Jaded and as their protector, and wasn’t about to let himself be pushed around by Rutherford’s growl. It was all a show when it came to his friends, and they both knew it.

“Miss Beckett needs a safe place to stay. I’ve arranged things so that I can discreetly pay for the apartment, and if pressed, Mrs. Clay has promised to quote a ridiculously low amount to the lady.”

“Why would you go to all this trouble?”

“To protect Miss Beckett’s pride, of course! This way her sensibilities aren’t offended, her purse is barely touched, and I’ll have a bit of time to convince her to … help me.”

“That’s not what I meant and—wait! Help you with what? And can you explain to me why I’m involved?”

Josiah took a deep breath, chafing a bit at the cross-examination. “Stop looking at me as if I’d kidnapped the girl, Rutherford.”

“Did you?” Michael growled out, crossing his arms.

“No!” Josiah scoffed. “My God, man! What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“Who is she?”

“I just met her.” He held up a hand before Michael could fire off another question. “I didn’t know her up until an hour ago, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“How exactly did you meet her? Because as you well know, Mrs. Clay is not about to have some common—”

“There is
nothing
common about Miss Beckett, so mind your manners! She was in a bit of trouble, and I couldn’t turn my back on her.
And
as it turns out, I’m indebted to the lady already or I will be if she’ll agree to …”

“What is it that you want this Miss Beckett to do, Josiah, besides live next to me and make you sputter around like a fish out of water?”

Josiah rolled his eyes. “I want her to pose for me—and don’t say it. I know there’s a bit more going on right now than painting, but it’s a priority for me, Rutherford. I can’t explain it, but I don’t care if the world is on fire. I need to paint and I need to paint
this girl.
”

“Is that all you want from her?”

“Don’t be crass! The only reason I’m telling you all of this is that I wanted someone I trusted to be able to look after her. She won’t hear of staying with me, so this was the best I could think of to keep her close.”

Michael crossed the room to pour himself a drink. “I’m not guarding this girl. If she chooses to leave or chooses not to let you paint her, I’m not keeping her here against her will.”

“Understood.”

“Josiah, things could get very dangerous—for all of us—once the announcement is placed in the
Times
. Can’t you wait a while to pursue your painting? There must a dozen women who could pose to—”

“No. I can’t wait. And there aren’t a dozen who would suit.” He pressed his fingers against his eyes in frustration, and took a deep breath. “Rutherford.” Josiah dropped his hand and tried to look his friend in the eyes. “I’m not asking you to babysit Miss Beckett. I just need you to be aware of her presence in this inn so that when you do see her, you’ll keep watch to make sure she’s safe. In other words, if you hear a scream in the middle of the night, you’re not going to ignore it. Yes?”

“I wouldn’t ignore it whether I knew the lady or not.”

“No, but you’ll move a little faster if I ask you to, won’t you?”

“You never fail to surprise, Hastings. And so long as we understand that I’m not this young lady’s bodyguard, then, yes, I’ll strive to move a little faster if I suspect she’s being murdered.” Michael’s humor was dry but impossible to ignore. “Or if some blighter is trying to take advantage …”

“You’re a true friend.” Josiah meant to clap him on the shoulder, but misjudged and ended up awkwardly patting Michael’s elbow. “Well, I have to go. I don’t want her to see me leave and think I’ve lingered for any unsavory reasons.”

Michael followed him to the door. “I’ve missed something, haven’t I? I’ve never seen you like this. Is there something else going on?”

Josiah shook his head, turning away because he wasn’t sure if he could read Rutherford’s expression correctly. “You’re imagining things.”

He left the inn quickly without looking back and never saw Michael Rutherford shake his head in dismay before shutting his door.

Eleanor circled the room again and then finally allowed herself to gingerly sit on the edge of a chair cushion embroidered with a rose pattern. It was all she could do to just be still and absorb the small wonders of a room that radiated cheerful comfort. After weeks of accepting peeling paint and lifeless, cold walls, this was nothing short of a miracle.

Chintz-covered chairs and thick wool rugs in muted colors bespoke of a home more than mere rented rooms. A smaller alcove held the four-poster bed with ruffled bed curtains and a plump feather mattress that promised the best sleep she’d had in ages. There was even an arrangement of dried summer blooms by her bedside to alleviate the press of winter. Linen doilies graced every chair, and glass curios sat atop the little table. And like something from a nostalgic dream of cozy warmth, there was a small sitting area by the fireplace where Mrs. Clay had told her as she stoked the fire that Eleanor was welcome to take her meals privately, if she wished.

“Not as fancy as some, Miss Beckett,” the woman now announced, her hands folded in front of her as she surveyed her offering. “But I do pride myself on a tidy and well-tended establishment. The Grove sits on a quiet-enough street, and I confess, I love every creaking board of her.”

The inn boasted country Tudor charm, and Eleanor had been entranced from the start, but the plump and matronly Mrs. Clay made the Grove a dream to her. Instead of suspicious questions about her lack of luggage or odd arrival in the middle of the afternoon, Eleanor had been swept upstairs in the warmest of welcomes. It made her curious what Mr. Hastings had said in making the arrangements—she wasn’t sure of the details as he’d gone in ahead of her while she’d waited in the carriage. Mr. Hastings had indicated he wanted to make sure a suitable room was available before bringing her inside to protect her fragile sensibilities. While she’d have argued the point in different circumstances, her bruised spirit had allowed him to see to everything on her behalf this time. But now that she was inside the Grove, Eleanor wondered what she might have missed in the negotiations.