Page 7 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

Cassius’ studio

I ndeed, he could switch the painting with one of the other pieces in the exhibition.

The tones of her luxurious hair mirrored her lively spirit and warmth, and her infectious smile was a beacon of light. In short, Beatrice Fairfax was a masterpiece of nature.

How could her uncle be so blind to her loveliness?

By God, people would stop in their tracks to gaze upon her likeness.

Cassius forced his focus back to the moment. “Would you like a brief tour of the studio?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She laid her cloak over a nearby chair. “If it w-wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”

“ Ahem .” Millborn cleared her throat, not quite in disapproval, but certainly in deterrence. “Shouldn’t you begin at once?”

“Forgive me, Millborn.” Cassius flashed her his most disarming smile, and the woman’s starchy demeanor promptly transformed into doe-eyed adoration.

It was terrible of him to manipulate the servant, but Cassius wanted to share his work and studio with Beatrice. The desire made absolutely no sense, but he refused to analyze his motives or the impetus prompting him.

“I know sittings can be quite tedious. I hope you’ll indulge me, for I presumed to prepare a cozy area for you.” Cassius indicated a corner beside another window with an overstuffed armchair, a table with a tea service and steaming pot of tea, an assortment of biscuits he’d purchased from the baker three blocks away, and two gossip rags.

The maid’s eyes lit up like fireworks over Vauxhall Gardens.

“How thoughtful of you, Lord Cassius,” she fairly purred.

“Millborn, why d-don’t you make yourself comfortable while Lord Cassius g-gives me a short tour?” Miss Fairfax touched the maid’s shoulder in affection. “I kn-know your arthritis has been acting up.”

Most nobles had no idea when their domestics ailed. It said much about Miss Fairfax that she not only noticed but also cared.

Indecision flickered across the aged servant’s face as she glanced covetously at the tempting array a few feet away. “If you’re quite certain…”

“Indeed.” Miss Fairfax—Beatrice—glanced up at Cassius.

Surely it could do no harm for him to think of her by her given name.

Did she know Beatrice meant bringer of joy?

“My studio is not overly large, as you can see, Millborn. Do make yourself comfortable.” He offered her his arm and her eyes went round as twin moons. “I promise, you shall be able to see us at all times.”

Millborn darted Beatrice an astonished glance before breaking into a toothy grin, and laying her hand upon his forearm, allowed Cassius to escort her to her little nook.

“You are most thoughtful, Lord Cassius.” Once settled comfortably, she shooed them away. “Go on with you. We cannot dally too long. His lordship wants the portrait finished right quick.”

Millborn sent Beatrice an apologetic glance. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean…”

“I know, Millborn.” Despite her reassuring words and accompanying smile, the corners of Beatrice’s eyes tightened, as did her rosebud mouth.

What woman was eager to have her likeness painted, knowing it would be used to find her a husband not of her choosing?

Honestly, Cassius was of a mind to take his time in completing the project—particularly as he would also secretly be creating a full-sized painting. Not just to spite the pretentious ponce, but to delay Beatrice’s unpleasant fate as long as possible.

He couldn’t help but notice her stutter wasn’t as apparent when her uncle wasn’t around. Likely, the overbearing, unfeeling cur agitated the condition.

“Come, let me show you my current work.” Cassius sought to distract Beatrice from the dark thoughts that no doubt paraded through her mind. “It’s a seascape.”

She nodded and stepped away, murmuring beneath her breath, “I’ll wager she’s asleep w-within fifteen minutes.”

All the better, for he intended to converse with Beatrice while he worked. She stirred his curiosity, and the more he knew about his patrons, the more authentic replicas of their likenesses he could create.

He discovered from asking around Brighton—discreetly, of course—that Beatrice had been in the earl’s care since a toddler and there was a scandal surrounding her birth. Her mother had run off with an Italian lace merchant only to return less than three years later, ill, unwed, and with a small child in tow. Seraphina Fairfax had died within a month of arriving in Brighton.

Society didn’t treat those born on the wrong side of the blanket kindly, and clearly, Lord Highbury resented his niece, rather than cherishing her.

Cassius glanced over his shoulder.

With a ginger biscuit in one hand and tendrils of steam spiraling upward from the cup of tea before her, Millborn picked up a gossip rag. She would be content for some time.

“Tell me about yourself, Miss Fairfax.”

Propriety forbid him from addressing her by her given name— yet .

He steered Beatrice toward the seascape, covered with a cloth. “Have you any hobbies? Likes? Interests? Do you draw or paint?”

Shaking her head, she gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

“I confess my drawing skills are d-dismal at best, Lord Cassius. The only ability I possess is a knack for caring for injured animals. I rescued Nala and Teddy. I also have other pets who were too injured to return to the wild.”

Her kindness and tender heartedness didn’t surprise Cassius. She possessed a gentle spirit.

He’d sensed it from the beginning, for he did too. Of all the eight Westbrook siblings, he was the most sensitive.

“I also want to travel someday.” A faraway look entered her eyes. “To warm, exotic places.”

Like Italy ?

Despite Constanza’s betrayal, he still loved the Mediterranean country.

After uncovering the seascape, he stood back, arms folded. “What do you think?”

Normally, he didn’t let anyone see his work before completion.

“May I?” She flicked her hand toward the canvas resting on the easel.

“Of course.”

Beatrice approached the painting. A finger on her dimpled chin and head tilted, she studied the artwork. “I feel the storm’s power.”

She slid him a sideways glance, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“Go on,” he said.

“I see wrath and fury, but also a wild, uncontrolled beauty.” She hadn’t stuttered at all.

Did tension and anxiety bring about the disability?

“The light isn’t quite right.”

Why had Cassius told her that?

“Really?” Forehead puckered, she returned her attention to the painting. “I think it’s stunning. It feels alive. I can almost hear the waves crashing on the shore, the rain p-pelting the rocks, the wind howling, and even smell the ocean’s salty tang.”

Suddenly feeling foolish, he grunted.

“We should get started.” His abrupt change in tone caused a flicker of uncertainty in Beatrice’s eyes and a pinch of guilt too. “We can finish the tour another day.”

“Certainly.” She approached the blue velvet chair and, after sending her chaperone a swift glance, lowered her voice. “I t-think it only fair to t-tell you that I am an unwilling p-participant in this venture.”

Ah, yes.

Upset definitely aggravated her speech impediment.

“I surmised as much.” A half-smile tugged Cassius’s mouth upward. He appreciated her candor. “So why did you agree to sit for the portrait?”

With inherent grace, she sank onto the seat.

Why did her uncle think her clumsy?

“Uncle Cedric threatened t-to toss me out onto the s-street if I d-didn’t.”

Cassius inhaled long breath to prevent the foul oath, tapping at the back of his teeth, from exploding from his mouth.

Cedric Fairfax, Earl of Highbury, was an unconscionable, sodding rotter.

Cassius took his time buttoning his smock so his temper might ebb before approaching her.

Mindful to keep his tone low so Millborn couldn’t overhear and report back to the earl, he asked, “And you’ve nowhere to go or anyone to take you in?”

He knew that she didn’t. The townsfolk spoke of her kindly but with pity too.

Beatrice shook her head. “Nowhere and no one.”

Her fragile smile nearly shattered his heart.

“Don’t look so distraught, Lord Cassius. I c-come into a twenty-thousand-pound inheritance from my maternal grandmother when I turn five and twenty. I j-just have to figure out how to avoid matrimony for another two and a half years.”

So that made her two and twenty.

He had thought her older. She possessed the maturity and comportment of someone who had seen a few more years.

“Most young women are eager to marry.” He pointed to the chair’s armrest. “Place your right arm on the chair, and your left hand in your lap.”

She complied, her movements naturally agile.

“ Most young women don’t have a mother betrayed by her Italian lover.”

Italian ?

Cassius jerked his head up.

“Mama didn’t know he was married until they were in Italy.” She shrugged. “By then, she carried me.”

Another perfidious Italian.

What were the chances of that?

Not that Italians were any more inclined to treachery than any other people. Goodness and evil didn’t play favorites.

“As such, I’m not altogether keen on marrying.” She ran her slender fingers across the blue silk covering her thighs.

Beatrice meant it. How unusual.

“I would much prefer to control the rudder that navigates my life and not be dependent on another who may or may not have my best interests at heart,” she said, no hint of regret or apology in her tone or expression.

“I was betrothed once.” He hadn’t intended to reveal that detail.

“Oh?” Surprise whisked across her face.

Cassius met her intrigued gaze.

Stop, embecile. She doesn’t need to know your sordid, romantic past.

And yet, the words spilled forth, acrid and icy, despite his mental chastisement. “She tossed me aside for a richer, more important fellow.”

Compassion softened Beatrice’s features. “That must have been awful for you.”

“ She was also Italian.”