Page 6

Chapter 6

The bristles of Emily’s brush whispered across the canvas, forming new peaks in the oil paint and adding more depth to the still life she was painstakingly creating. She glanced up at the table set alongside the wall of her parlour, upon which she had arranged a jar of yellow crocuses, accompanied by a silver candlestick, a pearl necklace and a decorative fan, all against the backdrop of a velvet cloth the colour of rich burgundy. She had assigned herself quite a challenge; capturing the details of this composition, from the lustre of the pearls to the texture of the fabric, would be a robust test of her abilities.

Nevertheless, she was determined to persevere until she got it as close to perfection as possible. She had been practicing diligently every day because she intended to apply soon to an art academy in England, now that it was absolutely certain that she and Rory would not be returning to America. Though this had been looking very likely anyway, their definite decision to remain on this side of the Atlantic had only come after much discussion between them, following the revelation of her father’s two generous proposals for their living arrangements. Evaluating his suggestions from all angles, they had eventually opted for the private suite at Bewley Hall, and it made her so glad that she would stay close to her parents and brothers.

She sometimes wondered if Rory would have preferred the other option of residing separately from her family, but he had encouraged her to express her preference and seemed quite content to go along with it. It made a lot of sense for him too, after all, taking into account his training as the estate’s deputy land agent and the fact that the tutor had since joined the household. Dwelling here meant that he could fully commit to both of those paths in situ. On the back of all this, he had written to Boston to cancel the lease on the carpentry workshop; that era of their lives was now well and truly over.

Their suite, on the upper floor of the east wing, had undergone a remarkable transformation over the past several months. What had once been a collection of unused rooms had now become a cosy sanctuary for her and Rory, comprising a drawing room, a bedchamber, a bathing room, and an additional chamber that remained empty for the time being but that would, she hoped fervently, serve as a nursery one day.

Though her womb was still empty for now, she reminded herself that these things could not be rushed as she carefully applied more chrome yellow to the crocus petals. The gentle March sunlight filtered through the parlour windows, casting a warm glow upon her work, and she found herself lost in the peaceful rhythm of her brushstrokes.

Her peace was broken when a knock came at the door, but she didn’t mind because it was her dear mama who entered the room. Her heart swelled with gratitude every time she looked upon her mother and remembered how she had survived such a harrowing nightmare at the hands of those starving men on that farm in Ireland. Although her mother had emerged with both external and internal scars, Emily was just thankful that she was alive, and that she had a smile on her face as she crossed the parlour to where Emily sat on her tall stool.

‘How is the latest masterpiece coming along?’ she asked, peering over Emily’s shoulder at the incomplete painting propped on the easel. ‘Oh my, the sheen you have accomplished on Lady Bewley’s pearls is superb.’

She stepped over to the table and bent to look closer at the items arrayed upon it, but she didn’t touch anything. The pearl necklace occupied a particular place of honour in the still life owing to the fact that Polly, who was very protective of Lady Bewley’s possessions, had offered it with great solemnity when Emily had enquired if there was any piece of pearl jewellery in the house which she could include in the arrangement. It was elegantly simple, just two strings of pearls draped across the velvet backdrop, but it had once adorned the neck of a lady whose greatest riches had been her kind heart and her generous soul, and thus Polly, Emily and her mother all treated it with the utmost reverence. Emily had actually tried to refuse it but Polly had insisted, saying that Lady Bewley would have been only too delighted to support Emily’s artistic endeavours.

As though her thoughts had been following the same thread, Emily’s mother said, with her gaze still locked upon the necklace, ‘You know, it is a true sign of Polly’s esteem that she permitted you to have this. She believes you are destined for international renown with your remarkable talent.’ She straightened and turned back to Emily with an expression of pride. ‘Of course, I could not agree more. You have an extraordinary gift and I hope you will always find time to nurture it, even when other blessings come into your life.’

Emily felt a flush of warmth through her chest. She harboured enormous ambitions for her art that were nearly too lofty to speak aloud, so it meant a great deal when others articulated their faith in her abilities, even if those voices were tremendously biased.

Her mother approached her at the easel again. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed your work, but I came to let you know that our plans will be able to go ahead this summer. We have just received confirmation from Mr Dunhill at the Theatre Royal in Dublin. He has agreed to not one, but two charity performances at his theatre this July.’

‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Emily. ‘It will have such an impact on the cause.’

‘I do hope so,’ said her mother. ‘Did your father tell you he has invited Patrick to attend?’

‘Oh, indeed,’ Emily said neutrally. Her feelings towards her cousin were complicated, to say the least. Most of the evidence she had seen demonstrated that he was an arrogant, self-centred lounger, and yet he had played a minor role in freeing her mother at the farm, so she had to acknowledge that there must be a modicum of decency buried deep within him. The worst thing she could say about him was that he was too like his father, whom she would never forgive for having deceived her with his letter full of lies that had lured her from Boston to London, and had very nearly resulted in her own father’s conviction at the Old Bailey courthouse. To be frank, if she never saw either of them again, it would be too soon. But Patrick was family, so allowances had to be made.

‘Will he reside with us in Dublin or might he have an alternative for accommodation?’ she asked, discreetly crossing her fingers around her paintbrush.

‘If he comes, I expect he will reside with us. He is unlikely to want to stay at Anner House—I imagine Lord and Lady Anner will have no wish to see him.’

That was a realistic assumption – when Garrett and Patrick had publicly announced their biological connection, the Anners had been exposed as frauds for having falsely claimed Patrick, whom they had named Edward, to be their nephew and heir. No, they certainly would have no desire to welcome him back under their roof.

‘And where shall we stay while we’re in the city?’ Emily asked. The previous year, her mother had sold the Dublin townhouse belonging to the Courcey title in order to raise funds to support the struggling tenants on the Oakleigh Estate.

‘I have already made enquiries about that. I wrote to my uncle’s second cousin, the new Lord Walcott—’ Her mother cut herself off with a rueful laugh. ‘How silly of me, he’s not “new” at all—he has held that title for over ten years now. I suppose I still find it hard to conceive of anyone but my dear, lavish uncle being the Lord Walcott.’ Emitting a wistful sigh, she carried on. ‘I wrote to his cousin at Lockhurst Park to enquire about his townhouse in Dublin, on Rutland Square. We visited it when you were younger, do you remember?’

Emily could recall a few sparse details from that time – her colossal granduncle reclining on a chaise longue, his small dog barely able to manage a weak yap, and an extravagant amount of food for breakfast.

‘He confirmed that it is vacant at present and that he is willing to rent it to us for the duration of our stay in the city. We shall not need it above a few weeks—after the performances are over and the money has been collected, I hope we’ll make our way down to Oakleigh. The boys still have never been there and I long for them to see it.’

That lifted Emily’s spirits again. How special it would be for her brothers to finally stand in the place that meant so very much to their parents, the place where the first seeds of their close-knit family had been sown. Jack and Gus may have been born and raised in America and currently living in England, but Ireland was nonetheless their native land.

Buoyed by this pleasant notion, she brought her brush back up to the canvas. However, her mother was not finished.

‘Gooseberry,’ she said, an endearment which Emily had become fond of again, now that she had grown out of her adolescence. ‘We believe we’ll be able to have a more visible presence at these events in Dublin. Do you think they might be a suitable occasion for Rory’s first foray into society?’

Emily’s hand stilled. She turned to face her mother. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said cautiously. ‘He’s making fine progress with the tutor. This could be the ideal opportunity to put his new skills to use.’

Her mother studied her for a moment. ‘But you’re apprehensive about how he’ll handle it?’

Emily winced. ‘I know he’ll be very nervous. He doesn’t have a great deal of confidence yet. I think he just can’t see himself fitting into that world at all.’

‘I wonder if perhaps the best way to improve his confidence is to confront it straight on then?’ her mother suggested gently.

‘Perhaps,’ said Emily. ‘I’ll speak to him about it.’

‘Do, and remind him that we would all be there to support him. He wouldn’t be facing it alone.’

Emily smiled. ‘Thank you, Mama, I will.’

After her mother departed from the parlour, Emily stared absently past her easel out the window as she tried to picture her down-to-earth Rory mingling among pretentious lords and ladies. She had every faith that he was capable of doing anything he set his mind to – the obstacle most likely to trip him up would be his own lack of faith. He would need plenty of time to prepare himself mentally for the task.

It would probably be best to forewarn him now, she decided, and she slipped down off her stool to seek him out. Before she left the parlour, she used a rag to wipe off the excess paint from her brush, cleaned it with turpentine and water, and then laid it flat to dry – she had learned from frustrated experience that carelessly leaving her brushes standing in water for too long resulted in bent bristles. She wanted to prove that she was a serious artist at whichever art academy she attended next, and taking good care of her materials was a pertinent part of that proof. She refused to give them even the smallest reason to decline her application. That made her think darkly of her former instructors, Mr and Mrs Brubaker, who had recommended their daughter over Emily for a place at the National Academy of Design in New York, despite the other girl’s lesser talent. Some impediments were beyond her control, she supposed, but in everything else she would do her utmost to meet the mark and, even better, surpass it.

Locking the parlour door behind her out of an abundance of caution for the security of the pearl necklace, she proceeded along the corridors of Bewley Hall until she approached the room that had been designated as the domain of the tutor, Mr Humphrey. Even before she reached it, she heard his cheerful voice with its subtle Scottish lilt drifting through the slightly open door. She sidled up to the gap and peered in to catch a glimpse of him standing in front of a large table scattered with books, pencils and a brass protractor. Rory, Jack and Gus sat around the table, their collective attention on Mr Humphrey as he elaborated on some sort of mathematical problem.

She’d had little interaction with the tutor herself, but Rory had confided in her that he had never met a man so determined to extract the positive from even the gloomiest horizon. Neither Rory nor Gus had been illustrious students to begin with, and Mr Humphrey had scrabbled to praise such things as their ‘perseverance’ and their ‘enthusiasm’ until they had begun to show signs of improvement. At least Jack’s grasp of the academic material had been satisfactory enough that the tutor could take solace in him, and Rory had since reported that he and Gus were gradually catching up.

As she lingered at the doorway, Mr Humphrey wagged his finger at his three students and said, ‘Bearing all of that in mind, now answer me this. If a merchant purchases a fabric at five shillings a yard, and then goes on to sell it at eight shillings a yard, how much profit will he make on a sale of 120 yards?’

Jack and Gus both reached for their pencils to start their calculations. Rory, on the other hand, remained still, a small crease on his forehead. Then he said aloud, ‘360 shillings.’

Mr Humphrey beamed. ‘Aye, Mr Carey, precisely! Very well done. I wager you wouldn’t have produced such a quick answer even a fortnight ago.’

Rory flushed with embarrassed pleasure. ‘’Tis getting easier,’ he acknowledged.

‘ It’s getting easier,’ Mr Humphrey corrected. ‘While I commend your arithmetical progress, you must also apply the same diligence towards your elocution. No challenge is too great for a capable young man such as yourself.’

As Rory nodded half-heartedly in reply, Gus chirped, ‘The answer is 360 shillings!’ His face was the picture of innocence but the page in front of him was blank, and Emily suspected that he had exercised his ears rather than his mind.

Nevertheless, she turned away from the door beaming as brightly as Mr Humphrey. It appeared that Rory was not only catching up, but forging ahead. She could not be prouder of him.

Rather than interrupting the lesson, she decided it would be best to wait until later to broach the subject of the Dublin charity events with him. However, she had hardly retreated down the corridor when she heard stampeding footsteps behind her and, whirling around, she saw Gus barrelling into view.

‘Mr Humphrey let us finish a bit early!’ he informed her as he ran by without stopping. ‘We’re going out to the paddock for a ride before dinner.’

Jack came jogging after his younger brother, offering Emily a patient smile. He carried on and the two boys vanished out of sight. Chuckling to herself, she retraced her steps to the door of the tutor’s room where Rory was just emerging. His face lit up when he saw her and her insides fluttered in response. Though they were still in the early days of their marriage, she hoped that sensation would never fade.

‘I was hoping to catch you,’ she said shyly. ‘Do you have a little time for us to speak together? Or are you going out to the paddock too?’

He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I could walk there very slowly.’

She grinned back and took the arm he offered her, a gentlemanly gesture that was most certainly a product of Mr Humphrey’s tutelage. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been courteous before, only that he was starting to gain a better understanding of the precepts that now governed their lifestyle. She wouldn’t have minded at all if he hadn’t offered his arm, but she enjoyed leaning into him as they strolled along the corridor in Jack and Gus’s wake.

‘I may have eavesdropped on your lesson a few minutes ago,’ she confessed. ‘I overheard Mr Humphrey posing his mathematical question, followed by your very swift answer.’ She squeezed her arm against his. ‘He was impressed, and so was I.’

Rory ducked his head, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. ‘I’ve been working hard,’ he admitted. ‘I want to be worthy of you and your family.’

Taken aback, she halted, which compelled him to stop as well. ‘You are worthy,’ she said, gazing earnestly up at him. ‘Don’t ever doubt that for a second. An education wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to what I think of you, nor to how much I love you. My parents would say the very same.’ She giggled. ‘Though, of course, their love for you is of rather a different nature to mine.’

He grimaced instead of laughing too. ‘It’d make a big difference to what other people think of me though, like Bewley Hall’s wealthy neighbours, or society in general.’

She sobered. ‘Yes, well, that is in fact what I wanted to speak with you about.’ She urged him to begin walking again, heading in the direction of the side door that the family used when they wished to go outside without the pomp and circumstance of being attended by the butler and the footman at the front door. ‘Mama just told me that she and Papa are definitely able to proceed with their planned charity events in Dublin this summer.’

She felt him stiffen, and she knew he understood what that implied for him.

‘How would you feel about it?’ she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. They reached the side door where he placed his hand on the latch but didn’t make a move to open it.

‘I know ’tis the next natural step,’ he said. ‘And ’tis also an inevitability—if I don’t go to these events, there’ll be others in the future. So I’ll make sure I’m ready for these ones.’

He opened the door. A gust of cool March air swirled into the corridor and she shivered. She had not brought her shawl so she didn’t follow him when he stepped outside, choosing to hover on the threshold as he turned back to face her. The breeze tousled his shaggy brown hair, making it even more dishevelled than usual.

‘I don’t want you to feel pressured into it,’ she said. ‘You’re under no obligation to attend if it will cause you discomfort.’

His mouth slanted in a wry expression. ‘That’s also an inevitability. But I’ll be fine. ’Tis time for me to grasp that nettle.’

She worried at her lower lip with her teeth as she contemplated him. ‘What troubles you the most about the prospect of it?’

He gave a casual shrug, but she discerned the shadow of uneasiness behind the gesture. She waited, still and patient.

At last, he said, ‘Just that ’tisn’t who I really am. You and I both know it, and everyone around us will probably figure it out too. I’m going to feel like an impostor from start to finish.’

She pondered that, wondering how best to assuage his concerns. It wasn’t dissimilar to how she had felt on many social occasions in her life. The ball at Marlowe House in Boston came particularly to her mind, when she had donned a beautiful gown that did not belong to her and infiltrated the party pretending to be one of the guests. However, in contrast to Rory attending the upcoming events in Dublin, she’d had absolutely no entitlement nor invitation to be present at that ball. She had been a maidservant in the employ of Mr and Mistress Marlowe, and everything about that night had been an act. With that recollection, an idea occurred to her and she brightened.

‘Rather than thinking of yourself as an impostor,’ she said, ‘why not believe that you’re an actor? You will merely be playing a role, and interacting with your audience directly instead of performing to them from a stage.’

He eyed her doubtfully.

‘I’m not jesting,’ she said. ‘I mean it. Let’s invent a character for you to play. He can be someone who is entirely at ease in society situations, who doesn’t care how the upper classes perceive him, who is able to converse effortlessly with lords and ladies alike. You can slip him on like a glove, and remove him at the end of each night.’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s that simple, is it?’

‘It could be,’ she said, undaunted. She waved her arm through the air as though she were brandishing a wand like a sorceress. ‘Think of yourself as a lord, and you shall become one.’

Playing along, he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin at a lofty angle. ‘What power you wield. I can feel the change happening already. Am I an earl like Lord Bewley was?’

‘Heavens, why stop there? You shall be a duke!’ She gave him a deep curtsey on the threshold. ‘I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance, your Grace. What an honour it is to be in the presence of the admirable Duke of’ – she cast about for a name that sounded suitably noble – ‘Desmond,’ she finished grandly.

He made an exaggerated bow in return. ‘The honour is all mine, fair lady.’

She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘With such a distinguished title, I imagine you must be exceptionally rich. Pray tell, where is your vast estate?’

‘A fertile land called County Kerry,’ he replied. ‘Don’t judge it for being located in Ireland. ’Tis—I mean, it’s a place of glorious beauty.’

‘Oh, I’ve no doubt there isn’t an estate in all of the British Isles to rival the splendour of Desmond Hall. I do hope I shall be able to visit it sometime.’

He squinted at her. ‘Isn’t it improper for a lady to invite herself into a gentleman’s home?’

She let out a tinkle of laughter. ‘Indeed, it is. I am also playing a role—that of a wanton woman who wishes to be ravished in the wilds of Kerry.’

‘Well, in that case…’ He stepped up to the threshold and braced his forearms against both door jambs, leaning over her. ‘This duke would be very happy to oblige.’

He bent his head and locked his mouth upon hers in a kiss that was instantly hot and fierce. The passion of it stole her breath away and she grabbed his lapels, pulling him closer. Her skin heated, banishing all awareness of the cool weather until the breeze swept a lock of his shaggy hair across her forehead, tickling her eyebrows. She tittered and drew back from their embrace.

‘I wonder,’ she said, brushing his unruly strands back with her fingers, ‘whether the Duke of Desmond might favour a slightly shorter cut?’

He nodded in resignation. ‘I reckon he probably would.’