Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (4 page)

“Asheram,” he barked, “can’t we do better than that?”

Asheram glanced from her ladyship’s determined pout to
David, whose mouth was probably just as set. “My lord,” he started.

David met his gaze, and Asheram stood taller. Turning to the
art teacher beside him, he bowed. “There are a number of rooms in the west
wing, Miss Alexander, that should allow you to be closer to your charges.”

“All of them occupied,” her ladyship announced, daring
anyone to disagree with her.

“Try the east wing then,” David smiled. “I’m the only one in
it, and it gets downright lonely at times.”

Her ladyship gasped, and Miss Alexander stared at him.

“You wouldn’t!” her ladyship cried. “You couldn’t! My lord, even
you
have to see the impropriety.”

“All I see is that I’m a poor host if I put my guests up in
the rafters,” David replied doggedly.

Her ladyship stamped her foot. “I will not stand for such
goings on! There are impressionable girls in this house! Miss Alexander, you
claim to want to be their chaperone. Can you possibly condone sleeping alone,
near a man who isn’t related to you?”

Hannah raised her head and looked the woman in the eye for
the first time. “I’m sure his lordship could be counted on to be a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman,” David replied, eyeing Lady
Brentfield, “as her ladyship has good cause to know.”

Now it was the countess’s turn to blush.

David bowed to Hannah. “Miss Alexander, you will be safe in
this house, wherever you choose to sleep.”

Asheram cleared his throat, a clear indication that David
had overstepped his bounds once again. That was the problem with this earl
business--in some areas he could do anything he wanted; in others he had to
walk a dangerously narrow path. So far, he simply hadn’t gotten the hang of it.

“Miss Alexander,” his man intoned, “if you’ll follow me. I
think we may have one more room in the west wing.”

David could not help grinning in triumph. “I look forward to
dinner,” he called after them.

Her ladyship flounced out of the room in high dudgeon.

All in all, David thought, it hadn’t been a bad beginning.

A short time later, Hannah could only stare at the lavish
room to which Mr. Asheram had led her. The mahogany-framed box bed reached to
the low gilt-edged ceiling. The hangings flowed with rose, ivory, and jade. The
matching carpet under her feet was thicker than the comforter on her bed at the
school and easily ten times as big. With the bed, the twin wardrobes, the
dressing table, the set of dressers, several occasional tables, a writing table
and chair, a chaise lounge, and a quartet of chairs near the white marble
fireplace, the room held nearly as many furnishings as in her mother’s entire
home in Banbury. It was a room fit for a countess, not a portrait painter and
certainly not the mistress of art from the Barnsley School for Young Ladies.
She could not shake the feeling that she had somehow connived her way into such
wealth.

It was quite clear to Hannah that the astute Lady Brentfield
had immediately seen how useless Hannah would be as a chaperone. There was no
other explanation for the woman’s instant antipathy. And she had good cause to
be annoyed. Hannah hadn’t even managed to lead the girls into the house! She
had conversed with a peer of the realm as if he were a shepherd! Small wonder
her ladyship had decided that Hannah should be sent packing.

She should have been relieved at the dismissal. She could
have returned to the school, painted the Pentercasts as she had originally
planned. But it rankled that she had not been able to manage the girls. And
Miss Martingale would have been furious that Hannah had proven so inept. The
head mistress would see it as a reflection on the school, Hannah was sure. She
might dismiss Hannah out of hand. That would surely reflect on Hannah’s ability
to gain commissions.

So, given the most nebulous of second chances, Hannah had
stayed. The countess had confessed she might actually find a need for Hannah’s
services. Lord Brentfield had mentioned she might be useful in some project of
his, although she did not believe that he truly desired her to paint his
portrait. He had only been trying to find a way out of a difficult situation.
Like it or not, she was back to where she had started on this adventure and
felt even less happy about it.

A little blonde-haired maid in a dress as black and stiff as
Hannah’s was busy lighting a fire. “Shall I help you change, miss?” she asked,
rising.

“Change?” Hannah murmured, glancing about the room again.
The only way she would ever feel comfortable in this room was if she were
miraculously changed. She did not think that was going to happen any time soon.

“Change for dinner,” the maid explained. “All the young
ladies be changing.”

“Oh, yes, the young ladies.” Hannah managed to bring her
wayward mind back to her duty. That was why she had agreed to stay, wasn’t it?
Her reaction had nothing to do with a need to prove herself after Lady
Brentfield’s criticism of her work. It certainly had nothing to do with a sudden
desire to impress the earl. “I should see about the girls,” she murmured. She
turned to leave and bumped into Mr. Asheram.

“Miss Tate, the Misses Courdebas, and Lady Emily are fine,”
he assured her. “They’re all in their respective rooms deciding what they will
wear to dinner. I imagine it will take them some time to reach so momentous a
decision.”

Despite her concerns, Hannah couldn’t help but smile.
“Knowing them, it will indeed.”

“If you won’t be needing Clare, I’ll send her on.”

Hannah shook her head, and he waved the maid away. He
started to follow, then stopped, eyeing her.

“Is the room to your liking, Miss Alexander?” he asked.

Hannah glanced about again at the immense room, guilt
washing over her anew. “It’s beautiful.”

“But not what you were expecting,” he guessed. “Be assured
you are welcome to it. I hope nothing her ladyship said disturbed you.”

Everything Lady Brentfield had said disturbed her. Hannah
knew she must behave perfectly as a chaperone from that moment on. And she had
to forget she was a painter, for a time. She could not let her pride in her
work cause her to insult her ladyship. “I was not as respectful as I should
have been,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Neither was her ladyship,” Asheram replied. “However, it
seemed to me that some of his lordship’s comments troubled you the most.”

Hannah felt herself blushing. His lordship had been
inordinately kind to her. She told herself not to be encouraged by that. He
would certainly focus the rest of his energies on his guests. She probably
wouldn’t get to say another word to him. Still, she hated Mr. Asheram to think
that she was annoyed with the earl. “I realized the minute he mentioned the
east wing that he couldn’t have meant it the way it sounded,” she told the man.
“He didn’t mean to imply he was installing me near his chambers.”

“He seldom means anything the way it sounds,” Asheram
assured her with a sigh of his own. “Lord Brentfield is in the enviable
position of not taking life seriously. It is both his most admirable quality
and his besetting sin. Some things and people should be taken very seriously
indeed. But then, that’s my specialty.”

“And I think you must do your job very well,” Hannah told
him, noting the wise eyes, the noble brow.
Ancient Sage
, her artist mind
suggested. “Mr. Asheram, is it?”

He beamed at her, the first truly happy smile she had seen
on him. “Yes, Miss Alexander. It
is
Mr. Asheram. I’m very pleased you
noticed. Now, I’ll leave you to dress for dinner, though somehow I don’t think
that’s such a difficult choice for you.”

He had meant it as a compliment to her intelligence, but as
she shut the door behind him, Hannah reflected that it was a painful truth. The
uniform of the school was the ugly black bombazine she wore. Besides her spare
uniform and the old lilac kerseymere she used when painting, she owned only one
other dress, the navy poplin she wore when going to consult with her painting
subjects. That she must surely save until a more formal occasion. In the end,
she could do no more than to remove her bonnet, smooth her long, straight hair
back into her coronet braid, and hope she was presentable.

She felt even more out of place when she joined her charges
in the corridor to walk to dinner. Daphne and Ariadne were dressed in light
yellow silk gowns that made their hair glow with golden lights. Lady Emily wore
a darker brown that unfortunately brought out the yellow in her skin. The gown
was of such a rich material, however, that it gave off a luster of its own.
Priscilla had attempted to look demure in a white gown with tiny pink roses
embroidered around the neckline, but as the neckline was rather low and the
waist cunningly tucked to accentuate her curves, she only succeeded in looking
sensuous.
Vestal Virgin Led to the Altar
, Hannah thought, then shook her
head to clear the vision.

They all asked her opinion, and she managed some phrase that
set Daphne and Ariadne blushing with delight. Lady Emily looked skeptical.
Hannah turned to find Priscilla considering her with narrowed eyes. When she
met Hannah’s gaze, she gave a hard smile that somehow reminded Hannah of Lady
Brentfield.

“Miss Alexander,” she proclaimed, “you look like a proper
teacher. I’m sure we can find you a place at the bottom of the table where no
one will notice you haven’t any other gown.”

Hannah gritted her teeth but kept her lips turned up in a
smile as a bewigged footman in the silver and black livery of the Brentfields
led them down the long main corridor that spanned the west wing.

Her annoyance with Priscilla’s unkind remark quickly disappeared
as she glanced around the great house. They passed dozens of doors on either
side, some open. Through them she glimpsed other bedchambers, sitting rooms, a
music room, and a sun room. What caught her interest most, however, were the
many works of art that decorated each room. There were portraits, landscapes,
battle scenes, and still lifes. There were fine ceramics, bronze busts, and
rich tapestries. She spotted at least two full-size marble statues.

“What an impressive collection,” she marveled aloud to
Priscilla, who walked beside her. “Perhaps his lordship might be persuaded to
give us a tour.”

Priscilla eyed her again, and Hannah had the distinct
feeling the girl thought she had said more than she intended. “It is better
than a museum, is it not?” she finally agreed. “When I am mistress of
Brentfield, I’ll allow the poor free visits, on every other Wednesday.”

“Someone should catalog it,” Lady Emily muttered.
“Otherwise, who knows what the visitors will run off with.”

“I don’t think anyone would have the strength to carry even
one piece,” Ariadne argued. “I’ve read the most interesting treatise recently
about the ratio of muscle to will.”

“Well, I think it’s glorious, just as you said, Miss
Alexander,” Daphne enthused. “If you want me to, I’ll ask his lordship for a
tour.”

Priscilla sniffed. “If there is any asking to be done, I’ll
do it. Though why I should consent to share my time with David with all of you
is beyond me. My nature is entirely too generous.”

Lady Emily snorted, but Hannah eyed her charge thoughtfully.
Priscilla might claim an attachment to the Earl of Brentfield, but Hannah had
seen no sign of affection from his lordship when the girl had been introduced.
Indeed, Lord Brentfield had not treated her any differently than he had the
other girls. If anyone had received undo attention, it was Hannah herself,
although that had only been because of his interest in her art. Perhaps Lady
Brentfield had requested that the earl keep a proper distance until Priscilla
was presented at court and the betrothal formally announced. Or perhaps
Priscilla was making it all up to appear important in her friends’ eyes. Hannah
felt a little wicked for hoping the latter was true. After only one meeting,
she liked the new earl enough to wish him a more thoughtful bride than
Priscilla Tate.

In either case, she promised herself, as they descended a
graceful curved stair, she would keep an eye on the matter. Lady Brentfield
would surely not approve of her niece taking great liberties with her freedom
before the engagement was announced. Hannah had declared her intentions of
being a good chaperone, and she would follow through.

The footman led them to another immense room, easily three
times the size of the cavernous dining room at the Barnsley School. “The Blue
Salon,” he said as he held the door open for them.

Hannah could see why the room had been given the name. The
satin draping the walls was patterned in fleur de lis of azure on periwinkle.
The expansive sky blue Oriental carpet was edged in a navy scroll pattern. The
dozen or so armchairs and sofas that dotted the room varied among beryl,
mulberry, and lapis. Most of the paintings on the wall were of cool
oceanscapes, although the one still life of a young girl was done in russet.
The towering vases on either side of the wood-framed hearth were patterned in
cerulean. The intense colors made the black piano at the far end of the room
glow with cobalt highlights.

Lady Brentfield rose as they entered. The woman was dressed
in black as dark as Hannah’s, but the cut of the dress and the material was
altogether so much finer that Hannah’s spirits plummeted anew.

“My dears, how delightful to see you again. You all look
lovely. Don’t they look lovely, my lord?”

The earl was standing beside the huge window overlooking the
grounds, which were even now purpling with dusk, the color clashing with the
peacock blue side curtains. He turned at the sound of Lady Brentfield’s voice
and moved closer, smiling at them all. Hannah’s heart started beating faster
when she realized his smile warmed as it reached her. Perhaps she would get to
talk to him after all. Lady Brentfield quickly stepped to his side, and the
girls crowded forward, forcing his attentions to them. Hannah managed a
chaperone’s smile and dutifully faded into the background.

“I’m sure there are still a few minutes to dinner, my lord,”
Lady Brentfield assured him. “Would you like Priscilla to play for you?” She
waved at the polished black piano.

“Maybe later,” he replied pleasantly. “I thought I should
get to know these young ladies. Do any of you paint, like Miss Alexander?”

Hannah caught herself blushing as his gaze sought her out
again. Ariadne and Daphne exchanged glances as if they too had noticed the
look. Lady Emily narrowed her eyes at him.

“Priscilla is quite gifted in that area as well,” Lady
Brentfield proclaimed. “Didn’t you show me the most darling miniature, Miss
Alexander, the last time I was at the school?”

“Yes,” Hannah replied, trying to think of a tactful way of
reminding Lady Brentfield that the miniature had been painted of Priscilla by
Lady Emily, in an uncharacteristically sunny mood. But before she could offer
anything more, Lady Brentfield continued.

“That is the way with young ladies these days, so very
talented. It’s their schooling, I am certain of it. What we would do without
dedicated teachers like Miss Alexander, I surely do not know.”

“Neither do I,” Priscilla announced, batting her lashes at
the earl. Hannah looked closer, realizing that the color of the girl’s lashes
had darkened, and what Hannah had taken for a healthy glow earlier was actually
well placed paint. She wondered whether Lady Brentfield would see this as a
sign of forwardness and whether Hannah should broach the subject. Surely this
was one of her duties as a chaperone. Glancing at her ladyship, she was not
entirely surprised to notice the same features on the countess’s face. She
tightened her lips and said nothing.

“My lord,” Mr. Asheram announced in the doorway, sparing her
from further ruminations, “ladies, dinner is served.”

The earl smiled at them all again and moved closer to
Hannah, eyes lighting as they met hers. Hannah froze as she realized he meant
to offer to escort her in. Her--the chaperone! Lady Brentfield evidently
recognized the look as well, for she pushed Priscilla against him.