To Capture Love (2 page)

To Capture Love

about The Honorable Geoffrey Livingston.

Her mind set on her course, she made arrangements whereby the curator could contact her directly if needed and shook his hand to seal their secret pact.

****

Stone glanced around the ballroom. He felt an idiot appearing at these dances. With his game leg he could neither dance nor stand for long without his bad limb showing its displeasure with a bone-wrenching ache. He had come because he heard his brother’s friends planned to attend, and speaking to them of Geoffrey offered him the only consolation these days. Strolling around the perimeter, he saw a group of men sporting the regimental colors of the third Prince of Wales Dragoon Guards.

Ignoring the mamas and their young charges that eyed his sloping walk across their path with keen interest, he halted at the outskirts of the group of soldiers. Something seemed to have the men entranced.

He tapped on Patterson’s shoulder.

“Stone,” Patterson said with unbridled enthusiasm.

He turned to his companions and spread the good news of the earl’s arrival.

The men parted and Stone saw what had caught and held the men’s attention. Beside an older female, no doubt her chaperone, stood the young lady who had run into him on the museum steps. He caught his breath in surprise.

She had made herself especially presentable this evening.

No longer in a hurry, her candid gray eyes surveyed him with a slow but comprehensive glance that left him a little unsettled.

He frowned. What was it about this young lady that disturbed him? Her features were quite exquisite when she smiled, and she did smile at him, with apparent shyness. He shook himself out of his stupor, remembering that she was merely another in a long line of hopeful females who had placed herself on the Matrimonial Market and dangled after a good catch. Besides, she could hardly be considered shy while surrounded by a bevy of attentive officers.

Patterson did the introduction.

“Miss Blackburn.” Stone bowed. “We meet again.”

“We were just regaling the lady with stories of 7

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Geoffrey,” Patterson said. “Do you remember the time he set up his own foxhunt?” He turned to Miss Blackburn.

“We almost lost him when his horse threw him after stumbling across a rabbit warren.”

The stories seemed to multiply from that point on as one officer after another remembered their own tale.

Stone listened, feeling his pain lessen as each story brought back his brother as if Geoffrey were standing beside them enjoying the tales himself. He didn’t realize he too had joined in until the supper gong sounded.

He glanced up in surprise. How had the time passed so quickly? Patterson offered to take Miss Blackburn into supper and she accepted willingly. Stone watched her depart, his thoughts somber. Why had she not insisted on the men leading her out onto the dance floor instead of listening to them speak of war and a dead comrade?

Hardly the most entertaining way to spend her evening.

He left the ball shortly afterward, his leg plaguing him for having stood so long. He spent the rest of his night at his club drinking brandy, trying to forget that Geoffrey would never stand beside him again at a ball regaling him with stories of his escapades.

He awoke the next morning in his own bed, not remembering exactly how he had managed to return home. He had the devil’s own head, an aftereffect of too much drink. His temper already short grew stick thin after a meeting with the curator who spun a far-fetched tale of the artist having gone off on a retreat to prepare himself for the work ahead. What was the point of being an earl, he asked himself, if he could not even manage to meet the men he hired?

At the theatre several days later, he glanced at the box directly across. To his amazement, Miss Blackburn was present in the company of her parents. She had on a fetching crepe and muslin dress in shades of pale blue that made her look like an angel. Hardly noticing the play, he amused himself with the idea of wishing her good evening during the intermission.

At the first opportunity, he hurried over only to find soldiers crowding so deep he could not get within two feet of her. Cooling his heels back in his own box, he glared at her from across the theatre. On the very rare occasions 8

To Capture Love

she glanced up, she seemed not in the least bothered by his bad temper and smiled sweetly, taking his breath away and leaving him even more frustrated.

The next day he checked with his friends at Whites if any had heard of a Miss Blackburn. To his disgust, he discovered that she was the newest rave in London, a diamond of the first water, despite no longer being a female of tender years. He put her to be at least one-and-twenty. Why had she not been snatched up before this?

She was of good family, with a father who, Stone’s friends were quick to point out, had inherited a goodly sum from his mother. As a result, the lovely Miss Blackburn came with at least one thousand a year on her marriage.

At the rate of her rise in society, she would no doubt be betrothed before the end of the season. Before that event occurred, Stone promised himself at least a short dalliance with the beauty. It might be the best distraction for him from his pre-occupation with his brother’s demise and his search for an elusive artist.

With that goal firmly in mind, the next morning Stone called at the Blackburn home. The butler invited him into the salon and Stone groaned inwardly at finding not less than seven gentlemen already entrenched in various chairs around the room.

Mrs. Blackburn came to greet him and led him forward. Patterson was present and stood to offer Stone his chair while he fetched another from those arranged along the far wall. All the gentlemen were soldiers, Calvary or Army, and many he recognized as friends of Geoffrey. The lady apparently had an interest in war.

As yet another story began about a dashing officer who fought off impossible odds, escaped nail-biting ambushes, and succeeded in getting through with his dispatch, Stone felt forced to interrupt.

“All is not derring-do and bravery on the part of our soldiers,” he said, looking straight into Miss Blackburn’s serious gray gaze. Time she understood that war involved loss as well as excitement. “I’ve seen examples of savagery by the Spanish toward the invading French.”

A hush fell on the group, but Stone found he could not stop.

“Have you been told the story of the rifleman who 9

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was cut off from his regiment and nearly starved to death? Or of the wretched Portuguese peasants having their crops stolen, their animals slaughtered, and their women abused? War, Miss Blackburn, is not all pleasantries. Living in the safety of London, with your thoughts on the next ball or the prettiest gown, you may not comprehend the true hideousness of combat. It isn’t all wild hunts and chivalrous escapades. War is simply a necessity to ensure your and my freedom.”

Silenced reigned in the room. Too late, Stone regretted his harsh words. In Miss Blackburn’s gaze, the curtain that hid the darker side of attaining peace had been raised. Hardly the courtly words he’d intended to ply her with. Why was it that every time he spoke to her, he seemed to lecture her on her lack of character?

“I’m sorry if I have disillusioned your perceptions,” he said, feeling completely wretched. He rose clumsily to his feet. “I did not intend to spoil your fun.”

“Pray, stay sir,” she said in an earnest voice. “My interest in the war extends to all aspects of it, both good, and bad.”

“My daughter, Lord Ashford,” Mrs. Blackburn said with a gentle look, “is exceptional in her outlook on life.

She does not cringe from its unpleasant side.”

He tilted his head studying her mother. “You do not object to this?”

Mrs. Blackburn chuckled and her glance toward her daughter was filled with love. “Whether I mind or not has little effect on my daughter. I have learned to bend to her wishes in this, as she bends to mine in other areas.” She gave a daughter an approving nod.

Stone grew curious as to what it was that Miss Blackburn had bent on to accommodate her mother.

Still standing, he turned to the young lady only to find her trying unsuccessfully to hide a mischievous smile. He wanted to kiss those sweetly curving lips that trembled with humor and perhaps take a taste of the lighter side of life himself.

Her gaze swung up to his and stilled, as if startled by his yearning look. She blinked, appearing set aback.

Wishing everyone else in the room to perdition, he could not look away as he felt himself drown in her tender gray 10

To Capture Love

eyes. “My lord?” Mrs. Blackburn said, breaking into their preoccupation.

Her daughter glanced away first, her cheeks delicately stained like ripe peaches. He breathed through the aching tightness in his body, and realized that this time it was the result of shock and desire, not pain. Mrs.

Blackburn observed him with a knowing glance.

He bowed to her and her daughter and bid everyone an abrupt goodbye.

****

After the earl’s visit, a gem of an idea grew in Pauline’s mind of how she could fashion the exhibition.

She had finally obtained both the information and inspiration she needed to begin her work.

She stopped attending the various functions her mother had procured invitations for, spending the next few weeks instead in the museum workroom. She labored at a feverish pace, her passion to create hammered to life by his lordship’s last blistering words to her and then pooling inside her at his hot longing glance.

She did not truly understand what that look had meant, but it had warmed her through and made her want to please him in some way. Since the only thing she knew for certain that he wanted was the sculpture – that was all she wished to do.

She chose English Alabaster for her medium, for it was the softest and easiest of stones to carve. And it had a translucent quality that she enjoyed molding.

First, she roughed out the shape of the sculptures, slowly approaching the particular elements she wished to capture. Next came the detailed carving with a soft steel hammer and chisel. Later, would come the finishing stage with rasps and rifflers, and finally the sanding and polishing, the most strenuous part of the work.

She rarely took breaks, working from sunup to sundown. Her mother insisted on a servant bringing her meals to the museum with instructions that Pauline was not to be allowed to return to work until she had finished every last bite.

All her mother’s complaints that Pauline’s numerous admirers were petitioning daily for a chance to speak with 11

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her daughter fell on deaf ears. And Pauline enlisted the curator’s assistance in fending off the earl’s numerous attempts to watch his artist at work.

At last, weeks later, the piece was finished. It took up a good portion of the room set for the display, for Pauline had opted to fashion not one sculpture of Geoffrey Livingston but a complete war scene with many players.

The prospect of seeing his lordship’s response left her shaking with fear. She hoped she would not disappoint.

****

The day the war display was ready, news spread around London like wildfire. Stone was surprised to hear the opening would be the very day he heard Black had finished his work.

Why had the curator not invited him for a private viewing first? The man had been acting contrary for months. Now, to hear that the display was ready, months before the expected deadline, and that he would not be given a preview of the work, set his back up. What if Black had not done a credible job? What if he hated how Geoffrey was depicted? These worries warred with the excitement of seeing the statue.

As he dressed, he had an overwhelming impulse to not go alone. The only companion he wanted with him, he realized, was Miss Pauline Blackburn. He had not seen her since his deplorable exhibition at her townhouse. She had mysteriously dropped out of circulation soon after. He had sent a note to her mother, apologizing for his behavior and asking to do so in person. The response said Miss Blackburn had left on an extended country visit and would not be available for a long while. Could she be back yet? He sat at his desk and wrote out an invitation.

Within an hour, a response came that Miss Blackburn had already accepted another invitation to attend this very display and that she looked forward to seeing him there. Stone’s chest compressed with disappointment, then he reminded himself that he might see her this evening yet.

He timed his arrival for a fashionably late hour. He wanted the majority of the viewers to have had their fill and to have left the room, so he could view the statue in relative privacy. However, the various chambers were still 12

To Capture Love

crowded with London’s elite when he arrived. At least the display was receiving solid attention. The bits of conversation he heard as he strolled by sounded favorable of the artist. He stood in the doorway, but was unable to discern which display was of Geoffrey for the mill of lingering people.

The curator, seeing Stone, rushed to his side.

Effectively cutting a path through the throng, he led him to the display.

There was not one, but many statues, taking up a full corner of the room. At the forefront was a soldier on horseback.

Stone gazed at Geoffrey. The translucent features of the alabaster were so lifelike he thought his brother stood before him. The artist had captured every nuance of Geoffrey’s devil may care character. That look of utter enjoyment of life, which Stone remembered all too well, sparkled down at him.

Surrounding Geoffrey was the mayhem of war. The good, the brave, and the subjugated. The starving children, the frightened women, and the wounded soldiers. The entire depiction took his breath away.

“I must meet him,” Stone whispered to the curator.

The man shied away from him, shaking his head and Stone grabbed him by his cravat and dragged him close.

“Take me to him. Now!”

The curator let out a suppressed squeal of alarm and nodded in defeat. “You must not give away who the artist is, my lord. Not to anyone.”