Page 15 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

“Seeing as my ‘aberrations’ have always served me just fine, I’m afraid I’ve developed bolder opinions on the subject,” he said. “I’d have thought, when we first met, that you might have too.”

“Perhaps I have,” she said coldly. “But mere philosophy, bold or otherwise, won’t make your mum accept me as a daughter, will it? Or does she have some bold opinions of her own that I’ve not been made privy to?”

Warren had opened his mouth to argue already, but what he’d been ready to say paled in comparison to the point she’d made.

“I want a good relationship with her,” Anjali went on. “I don’t have family in London, Warren. If I cannot get on with my husband’s family, I will have a lonely existence indeed. I’m already starting at a disadvantage, you know.”

“The wedding,” Warren said with a nod of understanding. “If you can even call it that out in the middle of nowhere, with no one involved.”

“It had to be done,” Anjali said very seriously. “Things at sea can be dangerous, complicated, and time-sensitive.”

Warren, with his own history of shameful bedpost notching, didn’t have to stretch his imagination much to understand what she actually meant by that and didn’t ask any questions.

“Anyway,” she went on. “I’m pleading the none-too-bold idea that I practice the household work she expects of me, while you, perhaps, do what your brother expects of you.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” He raised a skeptical brow. “Everything’s abstract with him. Ideas and notions and promises. What am I meant to actually do ?”

“Find something meaningful to do with your hours.”

“My hours have always been meaningful, until the two of you came back and changed everything.”

Her expression softened. “Look, Warren. I just want the time and space to get settled in here with your mother and learn what I need to learn. She thinks I need to master the practical tasks before I can properly manage staff, and I suppose that sounds right. I can see that it’s a difficult transition, but we will all be happier in the long run for it.

Or am I completely misreading the situation?

You tell me. You are, as you point out, the expert in matters of your mother’s household. What do you think?”

Ugh, bugger her for being right. While Mother had allowed for Warren to take on so much domesticity out of necessity, he couldn’t kid himself.

If she’d had a daughter in the first place, either of her own or if Warren had married one of those granddaughters after all, things would not have happened the way they did.

Mother was a vibrant woman, but while Father had been a bit more flexible, she had never been especially modern in her thinking.

Anjali’s lack of household skills did not have the mystique of Warren’s necessity in her eyes.

Harry was right. She would always look sideways at Anjali, if Warren didn’t give these women the opportunity to find their rhythm.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I’ve been launched into higher status without warning. Second sons of status are supposed go into the military or religious life, or so I’m told. Can’t say I’m inspired by those options.”

“Get educated, then,” Anjali suggested. “Go to university. He’ll pay for it.”

“I’ve spent the past decade caring for my mother and pouring drinks. I don’t think Victoria herself could pay a university to take an interest in me.”

“Then get yourself to a point where they will.”

“How?”

“Study something,” she shrugged. “Pick a topic. Some starting point. You’re in the most exciting city in the world. There are libraries, schools, societies, teachers all around you. What captures your bold mind?”

So certain he’d been that his life would never change, he’d never let his mind be captured overmuch. The last thing to re ally get his attention and shake up his patterns had been a certain detective who continued showing up in his dreams even now.

While Matty Shaw was not, sadly, an official course of study, thoughts of him led down a path.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about the path, or whether it was an especially good one, but the fact that it existed made it the best he had.

He put a finger up for Anjali to wait, then went to the new desk in the new study that still held all his and Mother’s old papers.

It was a bit of a stretch, but maybe…he tried one drawer and then another, and was about to give up hope when he found them.

It had always been hard to shake her of an idea once it got into her head, and this was no exception: she’d bothered bringing along that whole stack of art class advertisements she’d been saving for who knew how long.

He riffled through the stack until he found the one that had come in the post along with Harry’s last letter.

He gathered it up and brought it back into the kitchen, where Anjali had gone cross-legged, seeming to have taken up the floor itself as her new captain’s chair.

“I’ve been told,” he said, as he joined her down there, passing over the ad, “that a few of my drawings are alright.”

Anjali examined the postcard, both sides. “Art,” she said, looking pensive. “I think that sounds lovely, but will your family find it frivolous?”

“If they do, they’d be fools to say it,” he said. “My father was an artist.”

Anjali raised a brow. “Harry said he was an inventory manager and a sailor.”

“What?” Warren couldn’t keep the disgust off his face. “That’s what he did for money, sure, but it wasn’t the whole story. Didn’t he tell you those are our father’s paintings in the sitting room?”

Clearly, he had not, though Anjali didn’t verbally confirm her husband’s misrepresentation.

“Well,” she said carefully, “in that case, I think it’s a noble enough pursuit. And I assume your mother would be happy with it.”

“Who do you think has been saving every art school brochure for me since eighteen eighty-four, or so it would appear?”

“I do wonder, though… .”

“If Harry will approve?” Warren filled in.

“Will he argue with your mother, if he doesn’t like it and she does?”

“He’d better not, but considering what else he’s gotten away with, nothing would surprise me at this point.” He shrugged a little apology. “No offense.”

“None taken. But if he does argue with her,” she said with a sly smile, “I’ll take her side.”

Warren grinned back. “She’ll like that.”

Looking much happier, Anjali passed the postcard back. “It’s settled, then. The best thing for both of us. Though you could probably do better than this little school. Not the royal school, as you said, but surely there’s something in between…”

“I told you some people said my drawings are alright, but to be honest, I’m far from convinced.

” He thought of his father’s paintings, their skill and beauty.

How different they were from the silly sketches Warren did in moments of idleness.

“If it turns out I’m dreadful, I’d hate to have wasted resources.

This might get me out of your way, without causing too much embarrassment if it doesn’t work out. ”

She nodded. “Why don’t we all talk it over at supper? I think you’re onto something.”

He tried to imagine himself as the artist at the easel printed upon the postcard. Not an easy feat, but the fact was, he had no other ideas, and if he didn’t take the idea that he had, it could cause rifts in his family that would be hard to heal later.

“Alright,” he said. “In that case, I suppose I’ll get started with the ‘getting out of your way’ bit, then.”

He started out, but she stopped him. “Wait!”

He looked back to find she’d turned over the pot. She’d somehow managed to burn half of the rice to the bottom, while the rest remained so soggy it had spilled all over the floor in a sticky, gloppy mess.

“How did you even do that?” he laughed.

“Will you help me clean it up?”

“I thought you wanted to do everything yourself.”

“I do,” she said. “Right after this one.”

They shared a smile and started cleaning up the mess.