Silver Splendor (5 page)

Elizabeth had the odd feeling that was not what he’d started to say. “We’ll have the money in a few months,” she said. “You’ll soon secure a teaching position, I’m sure of it. And who knows? Perhaps I shall land a grand commission… to sculpt Gladstone or maybe even Queen Victoria herself.”

He smiled with a ghost of his former cheer. “That’s my Libby, always full of hope, always looking on the bright side. I’m proud of you, girl.”

He left to finish fixing his tea and Elizabeth wandered to the worktable. On the untidy surface her copybook lay open to the sketch she’d started of Lord Nicholas. Even in those few quick strokes, the splendor of his profile was unmistakable. Yet something about him looked not quite right.

Sitting, she took the pencil and began to fill in the details from memory. His essence evaded her… that force of character she had seen from the moment she’d regained consciousness in his arms. Elizabeth flushed, recalling how she’d condemned him as nothing but a handsome face. Now that the heat of anger had passed, she was not so certain of her judgment. It took a strong and sensitive man to tender an apology, didn’t it?

Then again, maybe her father was right. Maybe she was too trusting, too ready to believe the best of people.

Absently she reached for the ball of clay lying heavily in her pocket. With a shock Elizabeth saw that unintentionally she’d begun sculpting the earl’s face… the firm line of his jaw, the haughty tilt of his chin. She moistened the drying clay in a bowl of water and began to refine the rudimentary image. The familiar earthy scent of the clay soothed her.

Hours later, long after her father had retired to his adjacent bedroom, she looked in satisfaction at the likeness of Lord Nicholas. It was unfinished, but at least she could see that elusive spark of life within the clay. She wrapped the bust in a damp rag and covered it with oilcloth, then washed her hands and tumbled into bed.

Despite her weariness Elizabeth found herself staring into the darkness. What if she’d agreed to the earl’s
proposal? He would have taken her into his arms, held
her against that hard body, kissed her. Perhaps at this
very moment she would have been lying naked beside
him.

The image made her feel strangely warm. Rolling over, she fluffed the pillow into a more comfortable shape, then closed her eyes, willing him out of her mind. It was no use.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. For the tenth time in as many minutes, Nicholas attempted to concentrate on the speech of a minor lord. The bill under discussion was one he supported: a proposal to expand public education. The debate had drawn a fair sized crowd to the long, stately Chamber of Lords with its elaborate heraldic designs on the walls and ceiling. A few peers dozed off the effects of luncheon, the other members listening courteously.

Nicholas knew he should be reviewing his own imminent speech. Instead he found himself recalling how soft and vulnerable Elizabeth Hastings had looked upon awakening in his arms, how the rain dampened fabric of her bodice had outlined her womanly shape. In his mind he unbuttoned her gown and peeled away her chemise, cradled her bare breasts in his hands and put his mouth to her puckered nipple —

A loud exclamation interrupted the fantasy. Murmuring swept the assemblage, but Nicholas had no notion of what point the speaker had made.

To hell with Elizabeth Hastings,
he thought, shifting irritably on the red leather bench. He couldn’t understand why she obsessed him. She was an artist, for God’s sake, too unconventional and independent for his tastes.

The ache in his loins did little to improve his disposition. Remembering how disdainfully she’d rejected his proposal, he scowled. He hadn’t felt so humbled since adolescence, when his father had chastised him for succumbing to the charms of a pretty parlor maid. From then on, Nicholas had conducted discreet liaisons within his own social circle.

Until now.

Too late he’d recognized the innocence inherent in Elizabeth Hastings’s proud bearing and offended dignity. His sense of honor had prompted an apology and that should end the matter. She had made her contempt unmistakable.

You have a pleasing face. Beyond that, nothing about you interests me.

The words haunted him. Maybe he was too accustomed to fawning women. His pride was bruised; that must be why he couldn’t purge her from his mind. The acknowledgment of his conceited behavior was a bitter pill to swallow.

Reaching into the pocket of his morning coat, Nicholas drew forth the signet ring he’d forgotten to return to Elizabeth Hastings. He ran a finger across the seal; embossed in the silver was a soaring swan on a shield. Although he didn’t recognize the coat of arms, it clearly belonged to a noble house. If her grandfather was a peer, then why did she live in poverty? And why did she have that husky soft American accent while her father spoke like a native Englishman?

It was none of his concern, Nicholas told himself. Yet for four days now he’d kept the ring when the most logical course of action was to return it by messenger.

So much for logic.

Restlessly he moved on the hard bench, only half hearing the droning voice of yet another bombastic bore. Anticipation burned inside Nicholas. He would stay long enough to say his piece and cast his vote.

Then, using the ring as an excuse, he would call on Elizabeth Hastings.

“Does your brother know you’re here today?” From her chair at the worktable, Elizabeth gazed suspiciously at the girl standing before a half finished bust on a pedestal. Afternoon sunshine poured through the tall windows, setting fire to Cicely’s chestnut hair. Her coarse white apron looked incongruous against the turquoise striped silk of her gown, and clay smeared the lace at her cuff. Unlike the earl, Lady Cicely Ware’s appearance was closer to average than perfect. Her features were symmetrical but unremarkable. All that saved her from the ordinary was a mischievous smile and thick lashed eyes the color of lapis lazuli.

At the moment those eyes were avoiding Elizabeth. “Who, Nicholas?” Cicely said, as if she had a dozen brothers instead of just one. “Oh, pooh, of course he knows I’m here.”

She walked quickly to the unkempt boy perched on a wooden box in the center of the room. “Might I bother you to turn a bit to your right, Kipp?”

With ill concealed boyish awe, the urchin regarded Cicely. His face was filthy beneath a misshapen bowler hat, his feet bare beneath tattered knickers. “Be glad to, yer ladyship, ma’am.” Obligingly Kipp Gullidge shifted position.

“Not quite so far, please. There, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Cicely returned to the pedestal and studied the bust. “Now perhaps I shall get this right.”

Half amused and half exasperated, Elizabeth refused to be distracted. “Back to your brother. If Lord Nicholas knows you’re here, he must have changed his way of thinking over the past four days.”

Cicely’s hands froze on the day. “Four days? How did you… oh.” Her voice dropped to an abashed murmur. “He came here to see you, then.”

Elizabeth nodded.

Cicely’s blue eyes were big with guilt. “Oh, pooh. And I was hoping I’d convinced him I’d given up art.”

“You should have told me he disapproved of your working with me, Cicely.”

Her lips pursed into a pout. “It’s none of his concern. If I’m old enough to come out into society, then I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Yet he is your brother. Like it or not, that does give him something to say about your behavior.”

“All Nicholas wants is to see me married off to some stern faced prig.” Wrinkling her patrician nose in disgust, she added, “He thinks I ought to spend my time snaring a husband, then devote the rest of my life to pleasing him. How terribly tedious!”

Elizabeth agreed, though she kept the opinion to herself. “Regardless, you should have been honest with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cicely said in a subdued voice. “If you tell me not to come here any more, I’ll understand.”

The proud set to her chin brought a stinging reminder of the earl. “No, I won’t say that,” Elizabeth said. “I couldn’t bear seeing your talent wasted.”

Cicely dubiously eyed the bust. “Do you really think I have talent? Looks rather out of kilter.”

Kipp craned his neck. “Blimey, it looks like me all right!”

“Let me see,” Elizabeth said.

Setting aside her sketch pad, she rounded the table, her Turkish trousers swishing. Though only roughly shaped, the highlights and hollows of the face were unmistakably Kipp. Yet somehow the impish quality of his personality was missing.

“These lines here are a bit out of proportion,” she said, indicating the jaw and chin. “You used a penknife, didn’t you? To breathe life into the clay, you’re better off relying on your fingers.” Elizabeth swept her thumb across the malleable clay. “See how free, long strokes give freshness to the surface? And remember what I told you — you want to create more than a mere likeness. You must look beneath the outer features and express the inner character.”

“You always make it look so simple,” Cicely said
dolefully. “I don’t understand… I was always good at
drawing, yet I don’t appear to be making any progress
at sculpting.”

“It takes lots of time and work. Don’t get discouraged.”

“But how much time? I want to become as skilled as you.”

Laughing, Elizabeth returned to her chair. “Patience, Cicely. I started sculpting when I was younger than you and I’ve been at it for eight years now.”

Cicely arched curious brows. “Where did you learn so much?”

“I attended art school in New York. But most of all, I learned by doing… by making mistakes and trying again, over and over.”

“Then I shall do so, too,” Cicely declared. “I intend to come as often as possible to study with you.”

“What about your brother?”

“Oh, pooh,” Cicely said with an airy wave of her hand. “He’s off at parliament much of the time. Anyway, I won’t let Nicholas stand in my way.”

Elizabeth couldn’t so easily shrug off the earl. If he were to discover his sister’s deception, he would certainly take steps to stop her. What would he do? Put a guard on Cicely? Banish her to the country? Elizabeth doubted he’d come back here after the setdown she’d given him. Somehow that thought sparked a peculiar pang of regret.

Picking up her pencil, she gazed at the copybook. The page contained sketch upon sketch of the earl — studies of his face, his body, his hands. The memory of his finely chiseled features was both bright and elusive. She recalled the suggestion of arrogance in his posture, the hint of superiority in the set of his lips. Yet certain details escaped her.

Frowning, Elizabeth nibbled at the end of her pencil. Were his eyes soft or severe? Did his hair curl just the slightest bit or was it as well disciplined as his personality? She longed to see him again, to examine him from every angle. The thought of viewing him without his clothing especially fascinated her. At the Art Students League of New York, she’d done many drawings of nude models; now she felt the burning desire to see sunlight flowing over Lord Nicholas’s strong torso, gleaming on the magnificent curves and planes of muscle, metamorphosing the man into a perfect living sculpture.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Kipp muttered.

Elizabeth looked up to see the urchin shifting restlessly on the wooden box. “What’s wrong?”

“Cor, Miss Ubby, me leg’s in a crimp,” he said, rubbing a bare, filthy calf. “‘Ow much longer you be want-in’ me to sit so quiet?”

Her heart went out to the boy. “I’m sorry, Kipp. You’ve certainly earned a break.”

“Better yet, why don’t we stop for the day?” Cicely suggested. “It’s so pretty outside, we could stroll to the Embankment and make some sketches.”

Cicely’s eagerness to quit troubled Elizabeth. This was not the first time the girl had ended the sculpting session early. Certainly she had talent, but her enthusiasm came in fits and starts. Did she have the interest and dedication necessary to devote her life to art? Or was Lord Nicholas right? Was she intrigued by a false romantic perception of artists?

Glancing at her copybook, Elizabeth decided she wasn’t accomplishing much today, either. She slapped the pad shut.

“All right, Kipp, that’ll be all. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll fetch your payment.” Rising, she headed toward the ginger.jar where she kept her meager stash of money.

“Oh, do allow me, please.” Heedless of her clay smeared fingers, Cicely dug into a small frilly reticule and extracted a sovereign. “Here you are, Kipp.”

Eyes round and brown as his bowler hat, the boy snatched up the gold coin and clutched it to his shabby checked shirt. “Cor, is this all fer me?”

“Why, of course,” Cicely said, eyes sparkling at his delight. “You may spend it however you like.”

“God bless you, yer ladyship, ma’am,” he said, bobbing his head.

The wage far exceeded the tuppence Elizabeth had promised Kipp for acting as model. She wanted to protest, but held her tongue. Cicely meant well by the grand gesture. Though Elizabeth had told the girl about Kipp’s background, Cicely couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that the boy’s mother would likely squander the money on gin.