Laurie's Painter (sweet Regency romance) Page 3

  "Excuse me." Laurie reached for the teacup that Jenny held toward him. "I was gathering cobwebs."

  Jenny smiled at him kindly, and he looked down into his cup, where he saw delicately hand-painted pink flowers. She had given him the good cup, he noticed. The others were cracked.

  He wished this young woman did not read him so easily. But she made conversation on unexceptional topics, speaking about her brother's work, the shocking price of tea, and how lovely it must be at Joysey's estate in the country. "I can't wait to hear of my brother's portrait of it," she said.

  At this both men stared at her.

  "But Jen," said Henry, "you must come."

  "What?" said Laurie at the same time. "You must accompany—"

  The men looked at one another. Jenny blinked, a bloom rising in her cheeks—not an unpleasant look, Laurie decided. "I—I beg your pardon. I was not in the least trying to hint..." She looked mortified.

  He reached automatically for her hand to comfort her, but was stopped by the distance between them, and could only hope they'd not noticed his impetuous, forward impulse.

  "No, Jenny," said Henry gently. "But it wouldn't be proper for you to stay alone, you know."

  "Oh!" she protested weakly. "But Mrs. Hudson—"

  "Mrs. Hudson isn't an unmarried woman of the Quality, no matter how fallen on hard times. Say nothing more about it! I'm still your elder brother," he insisted, in a tone attempting to ape a firm fierceness, but barely concealing his warm, affectionate tone.

  He gave her arm a squeeze, and she laughed shakily, raising her gaze guiltily to Laurie's. Her green eyes implored him not to think ill of her. "I did not realise how it sounded, sir."

  "Of course not. But I should be very disappointed if you were able to follow the fashion of the redoubtable Mrs. Hudson, for then I should miss out on the opportunity to tease you and observe what transports my home leads you into." He rose, smiling, and reached for his gloves. Jenny gave him a startled blink; her brother a glare.

  "Adieu!" he said. "Since I see you both need to plan the packing, or leave it to Mrs. Hudson—I am quite curious about her now, you know—I shall return later with the plans for your removal to the countryside. This weekend, perhaps? I can have a coach arranged by then easily." His smile widened at Jenny's startled look and her brother's increasing wrath.

  "You—sir—are much too high-handed!" Henry struggled to get up from his seat. His sister laid a hand on his arm and stopped him, but he continued speaking. "I have work to finish, far too much work. I cannot possibly get away to do your portrait for a month, possibly longer."

  "Ah, but you must," said Laurie gently, standing looking down at the pair and smiling slightly.

  "I mustn't," insisted Henry. "I have obligations."

  "Obligations, to those who will put off paying your bills till you must dun them?" he enquired sweetly. "I shall pay ahead."

  "I have obligations," insisted Henry through gritted teeth.

  And that, it appeared, was something he would not budge on. Laurie tried reasoning with him, but it failed.

  "A gentleman does not shirk his commitments. Whatever my current station in life, I was born to be a gentleman and I am not going to do something so base."

  Laurie reflected that he had hardly asked the man to commit full scale armed robbery. He allowed his face to become politely sardonic and gathered his gloves. "I can see you feel strongly about it!"

  "Indeed." Henry's tired gaze glowered up at him. His eyes held a martial glow, as if awaiting the battle. Laurie backed off from the fight. But Henry's stubbornness grew annoying. He had no cause to aim his wrath at a man who was only trying to help him. Surely he didn't treat his other clients with such rage?

  As he rose to leave, Jenny rose smoothly, smiling, and saw him to the door. He was surprised to see that she seemed pleased by the way the conversation had ended, satisfied and happy with him. That made Laurie feel better. Though why he should care what a chit of a girl thought—

  He dismissed that line of thought entirely. It was no good getting over a bit of spring in one's blood (even if it had picked the wrong time of year), by dismissing the object of one's affections. For one thing, he wouldn't believe it. For another, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get over it that way—or perhaps any other.

  At the doorway he turned to her. "I don't suppose you will talk to your brother...?"

  She shook her head, smiling up at him proudly. "I admire the way you got him defensive about it," she offered in a low, confiding voice. "It was clever of you. Now he's only thinking of when he'll go there to paint for you, not whether he will. And as he's promised, and said so much about honour, there's no getting out of it now."

  "But it will take him months to finish all those paintings."

  "Well, yes, perhaps," she admitted, still with a warm smile around her sparkling eyes, "but it's winter. He wouldn't be up for travelling now anyway."

  Laurie blinked. He'd forgotten the difficulty for an ill person travelling in the cold weather. He must be losing his wits. "Of course. I shall welcome you both in the spring." He bowed to her deeply, and she curtsied in return. Her expression was kind and gentle and approving, and somehow fond, as though she had accepted him into their little circle without caveat. That smile gave him warmth in his chest that carried him down the cold steps and into his vehicle, and half the way home.

  In the spring, Jenny would be under his own roof. He wondered how she looked in a finer nest.

  He wished he dare suggest to Henry that some of the money Laurie would pay ahead could be used to deck her out in finery befitting her station. He knew both siblings would probably scoff at that—Jenny because she seemed so humble and fitted into her poverty-stricken existence, Henry because he seemed so aware of their debt.

  Perhaps Laurie could change that, before spring came...

  Chapter three

  "Joysey, old man, I do believe you were whistling." William Vale turned to grin at Laurie teasingly. "And in the club, too! I wonder what the rules say!" He flipped through an imaginary book, and his eyebrows rose. "You'll be docked a guinea, I'm sure of it!" He closed the imaginary book and grinned, a dimple showing on his wide face. "Tell us. What are you so happy about?"

  Laurie had stopped whistling. Now he stared at Vale, uncertain how to answer.

  "It's a girl, isn't it?" Vale's grin widened. "And here we'd taken bets than you'd never fall for another!"

  That was too much. Laurie felt his spine begin to stiffen. He fought to keep from snapping at Vale. After all, one could usually tease Laurie about anything at all. Perhaps Vale did not know that the fact he'd made a fool of himself over a woman when he was a stripling was still a sore spot. After all, he was not a close friend. Nor, apparently, a very tactful man.

  Vale continued. "Is she an actress, perhaps? Or a real woman, someone you'd marry?"

  Another man, Carlson, hearing the bent of conversation, veered toward them, drink in hand. "Steady on, old man! I thought you were the eternal bachelor, Joysey. You've never given in and found yourself a bride?"

  Vale clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. "One of the new crop, is she? Diamond of the first water, difficult to resist? Even you're not immune, old man."

  "I never said I was. But I haven't." His interest in Jenny Wilkenson (non-debutante) was, perhaps, not entirely that of a friend, but surely it was a bit soon to think of marriage? He felt his mouth go dry at the thought.

  Then again, why not? If he continued to feel this way about Jenny—this utterly interested—perhaps she would be a good choice. Though his family had no title, their wealth was plentiful. He would have to marry eventually to secure his family's bloodline, and though he had put it off and had as little to do with assemblies and balls and such things as possible since his humiliation, he knew it would have to happen eventually, and if so, why not marry someone he truly liked?

  At least, if he continued to feel this way. There was something about Jenny that left him unable to dismiss her or forget her. He found himself visiting the Wilkenson's home far more often than he had any real excuse to, simply on the hopes of talking to her whilst drinking their weak tea.

  "Come then, why were you whistling?" Vale's hand tightened on his shoulder as if he meant to squeeze it out of Laurie. "Never say it's because you bought a new book! That was the whistling of a man thinking of a woman."

  Laurie arched an eyebrow, his good humour overcoming his dark irritation at Vale's pushiness. This statement was beyond absurd. "Oh? Do you keep track, then, of the whistling of the British male? I suppose it's like bird calls. Do you go out in the afternoons, waiting in the bushes, spying upon men to hear their territorial calls?"

  Carlson burst out laughing and even Vale grinned. "Oh, well, joke if you wish! You certainly sounded happy."

  "I am happy. In fact, I am happier yet having learnt of your new hobby. What do you call it? The study of man-whistlers? So shockingly scholarly of you! Perhaps you'll write a book and we can all be proud of you here at the club. 'The Calls of the British Man.' Or perhaps—'Man Calls.' I shall await your efforts with interest."

  By now others were watching, smiling, enjoying the joke. Laurie's interrogation had been forestalled. Vale grinned, seeing he'd lost control of the direction of the conversation and acknowledging the defeat with his smile. "I shall autograph you a copy—since you'll be in it!"

  They both pretended to bow pompously to each other; the surrounding men laughed. "Come on—I'll buy you a drink, man-watcher," said Laurie, feeling tolerant in his victory. "You must tell me about any other odd hobbies you have!"

  Actually, he knew of Vale's hobbies already. He was an excellent huntsman, a bruising rider, a great whip-hand—and a particular ladies-man. And that was the reason he must never learn of Jenny.

  One could trust a man like Vale about debts of honour, contests of any sort, even to keep his temper when his teasing backfired. But one could not trust a man like Vale around a beautiful and innocent young woman. He did not intend to risk it, certainly not. Jenny was... his friend.

  There was time enough to figure the rest of it out later.

  ~*~

  Jenny added another layer of blue to the canvas. She stood back and regarded it. This would be the background for the Kingston family portrait. Henry had said it needed to be just so, a beautiful, almost satin blue, rich and reminiscent of a Gainsborough. Jenny did love blue. Or as she thought of it, the bluest of blue.

  She used to have a dress made of a rich, heady blue. It hadn't looked the best with her complexion—she looked better in lighter blues, as her mother had pointed out—but when young Jenny saw that fabric, she'd begged and pleaded until Mother gave in and had a dress made for her little girl, a dress of the bluest blue.

  How strange to grow up and work with blues even more beautiful, yet to do it in secret, to help her brother earn their living.

  And now she had nothing new to wear. Her most recent dress had been sewn painstakingly by rush light when it was too dark for other work. She had pricked her fingers far too often. The dress had not been well-cut and was of a plain pattern. That gingham dress was now worn and faded. She'd made it last year, and nothing since. Her other clothes had been reworked from the old Wilkenson wardrobe: clothes she'd outgrown, things of her mother's, and a few very worn undergarments.

  Something about putting on undergarments that barely held together (full of holes, washed gingerly, and patched often yet still dilapidated), made one feel the pinch of poverty more than almost anything else. Perhaps because they were so personal and private. If ever they didn't have to use so much of their money for repaying those detestable debts, the first thing she would buy were smooth, new undergarments, things that would make her feel like a woman instead of a scarecrow.

  Her plain dress was the best for doing the marketing, however. She could go out and be mistaken for a servant—unless her words gave away her upper-class birth. Consequently, she nearly always spoke in as low a voice as possible to attract the attention only of the people from whom she bought.

  Saffron for her brother's consumptive cough remedy, bread or flour, butter, a bit of meat when they could afford it, cabbage or potatoes. Tea leaves were bought sparingly. Sugar they did without. Sometimes she bought ass's milk for her brother, since it was supposed to be healthier for children or sickly people, but he deplored the expense.

  It seemed they were always thinking about expense and little else. Cold? We can't afford more coal. Hungry? We can't afford more food. Clothes falling apart? Ah, but they could afford more clothes for Henry, simply because he could not be seen in public without a good suit. Though she knew it was hardly fair, Jenny couldn't help feeling a little pang as she sewed him new things and nothing for herself.

  There was a rap at the door.

  Jenny looked up, startled, from her lost thoughts and the canvas. She'd finished the blue background and been going over it idly, lost in her thoughts. This would never do! She should let it dry and begin work on the touch-up of another painting right away whilst there was still light.

  Instead, she moved to the door with a rustle of skirts.

  One thing she truly wished they could afford was a servant—even part time—to help with cleaning and to answer the door. It was so much more respectable to have a servant. And then Jenny would not be alone when her brother was away. She was used to it, yes, but there was something so very friendly about having someone else in the house. A servant would perhaps even become a sort of friend.

  Jenny shook her head at her own foolishness. Servants had never been friends to her parents; as a child, she had loved them all (except for the stable master whose large beard frightened her for some reason). But of course, adults did not have the same attitudes as children, of trusting friendship toward those who worked for them. And in truth, she'd been their only servant for so long, she wouldn't know how to act if she didn't have to do every chore about the place.

  She opened the door and blinked in surprise. Laurie! He stood there looking remarkably trim and dapper in his rake's clothing, smiling down at her with such warm eyes. She felt her heart lurch and bump inside her chest, and couldn't help returning his smile.

  "Hello, Miss Wilkenson." He removed his hat politely. He had—such a clean face. It was a strange thing to think, but nearly every other man she saw besides her brother looked scruffy and in need of a good wash. It was wrong to look down on them for it. No one here had much water, and one had to haul everything by hand on the days when the pump at the end of the street was turned on. It was certainly not likely that most people could bathe or wash often. Even simply washing with cloths was difficult at times. Not to mention laundering their clothes! Jenny found it extremely trying to keep up. Sometimes only shame of what her mother would think if she gave up kept her at the attempt.

  Now Jenny found a regretful smile tugging at her face. "Hello, Mr. Joysey. I'm afraid Henry is at work."

  "That's all right. I came to see you." He smiled. He had such very fine, dark eyes. They seemed to hold secret worlds. A girl could get lost in them if she wasn't careful.

  Jenny told herself she knew better and needn't worry. "Oh, well, I can't invite you in. I'm sorry. I'm alone and it wouldn't be respectable."

  "That's all right. Why not come out for a carriage ride with me in the park? If you can spare the time, I should enjoy it very much."

  His smile made her want to forget her chores and go out with him immediately. And there was no reason not to, was there? "Very well. Allow me to get ready. I shan't be long." She retreated with a smile, shutting the door.

  And what a silly goose she was, grinning like a fool, back pressed against the door and hands clutched together at her chest. Her mind raced, thinking which dress was the least tattered and best for driving out with a fine, dark-eyed gentleman.

  She ran to wash the paint off her hands, then began to search.

  Settling at last for the dress made from her mother's old walking-dress, which looked almost ladylike if one didn't examine it closely, she changed as hurriedly as possible—then rushed back to fetch her shoes, then her coat, and then her reticule.

  Flushed and breathing quickly, she stopped for a moment in front of the door to catch her breath, trying to remember everything her mother and governess had told her about being a lady.

  Stand straight—smile politely—do not talk overmuch—take measured steps—don't forget to curtsy—

  Taking a deep breath, Jenny smiled in anticipation and moved forward. Standing straight, taking measured steps, she opened the door.

  ~*~

  Jenny looked charming. Laurie could see her gown was not in the best mode nor made from entirely new material, but it was cleverly done all the same, and she walked with the dignity of a lady. Not to forget, of course, she was gorgeous whatever she wore.

  "You look lovely," said Laurie. She shook her head and lowered her gaze, cheeks growing faintly pink. He offered her his arm and smiled down at her, feeling...well he could not remember feeling exactly this way ever before. When she reached out and took his arm, he was on top of the world. He knew everyone was staring at the man with the most beautiful girl on his arm.

  He handed her up into his curricle carefully, took the reins from his groom, and started down the street.

  She kept glancing around. "I believe people are watching us. I don't often go for rides with gentlemen." She sounded embarrassed, though he didn't know why she should.

  "Oh? When was the last time?" he quizzed her.

  "Well—never."

  "You've hidden yourself too well. You're too lovely to not have a dozen admirers." He looked at her, smiling. She had a faint, mysterious, Mona Lisa smile on her face and was shaking her head gently. "You don't think you are?"

  "I can hardly believe you are this much of a rake! Perhaps my brother was right about you." She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with teasing fun.