Chapter Thirty-Six
“When Samuel said you wanted to go shopping with me, I’m sure that spending twenty pounds in Rudolph Ackermann’s shop buying art supplies was not what he was thinking.”
“No, I suppose not,” Laura answered, as she and Victoria made their way back down the Strand toward Pall Mall, “but his is the only shop this side of London with a reliable supply of cobalt blue.”
“Are you going to show us what you’ve been working on? We’ve barely see you since Madame Vigée-Le Brun’s visit.”
“Not until we get to Brighton.”
“That’s weeks away!”
Already Laura tired of the conversation. In her mind, she was deciding how much she needed to water down the cobalt to best add depth to late afternoon shadows in a casbah market scene.
“Well, the sooner I can get home, the sooner I can finish.”
“You don’t get out of it that easily. You still need a new wardrobe for the trip to Brighton.”
“I have plenty of gowns.”
“Ah, but you don’t have a suitable hat; the sun is particularly fierce by the shore and the last thing you want is to get color on your face.”
Laura remembered her promise to be kind to Samuel. By extension, that meant being kind to his wife, so she trailed Victoria to the large emporium, Harding, Howell & Co’s Grand Fashionable Magazine, where Laura selected a hat, while her sister-in-law pondered fabrics for two new summer dresses.
Despite having accomplished everything she had set out to do, Victoria insisted on more shopping, which took them past the construction of a new arcade in Mayfair. From what Laura could see, it looked as though this Burlington Arcade, when it was complete, would be an impressive structure, a shopping street under glass, protecting it from all weather.
After a while, Laura begged off going into one more shop and readily agreed when Victoria insisted she rest on one of the seats outside the store.
Once, an expedition like this would have been the highlight of a week, but now it had become an annoyance, a chore. How many dresses could one woman actually wear? And did it really matter if the hem was one-inch higher than last season?
Laura found herself watching the passing parade.
How many people, even here in London, owned little more than the clothes on their back?
She started, the thought that ran through her head had Elias’ voice.
“Forgive me, miss, are you by chance Miss Laura Cappleman?”
She tensed then regained her composure. This was London, not Palermo. To the best of her knowledge, there were no white slavers here.
The man who addressed her was tall and fashionably dressed. He about Elias’ build, but he was younger and with much darker hair.
“I do not believe we have been introduced.” Laura gave him a cool look.
He gave a brief nod in acknowledgement. “You’ll forgive my impertinence, but we do know one another, you know. My name is Walter Pearson, I’m a friend of Samuel’s.”
The name sounded familiar. She frowned, struggling to recall where she might have heard it.
“Sam and I were at Eton together,” he prompted. “I spent a most wonderful summer at Bentwood House. I’ll always remember the cricket game we played in the gallery and how furious your father was when I broke the frame of your grandfather’s portrait.”
Ten years disappeared in an instant. Laura touched her cheeks. Of course she remembered Walter. His father was Viscount Thorburn.
“I do remember you! You and Sam were banished to the stables for a week!”
Pearson laughed. “And I’ve been in dread terror of mucking out stables ever since!”
Laura laughed and it felt good.
“What a fortuitous bit of luck we should meet. I’ve not long left Samuel. We had business to discuss after my business trip to Wales. It’s been an age since we’ve seen one another.”
Laura’s smile faltered just a little. “I’ve been abroad and just returned home myself.”
“Abroad! You must tell me where. The rotten war with old Boney put paid to my plans to tour the Continent, but I do plan to go.”
Laura smiled politely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Victoria emerge from the shop.
“I’m afraid I have to be going,” she said. “But I will tell Samuel that I bumped into you.”
“I know it’s rather forward, but may I call?”
Laura stood to attract the attention of her sister-in-law.
“I’m sure my brother would be delighted to see you at any time, Mr. Pearson.”
She had hoped to put him off, but the rebuff only seemed to elicit his interest. Laura sidestepped him and waved a hand.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ll be very busy.”
Laura finally gained Victoria’s attention and bid the man a good day.
“Was that Walter Pearson?” Victoria asked the question as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
Laura had to give Victoria credit for not being as naive as she looked. “If you’ve been introduced, then why didn’t you greet him?”
“Oh, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Laura’s look became shrewd. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Both you and my brother. If I didn’t know better, I’d suggest you are plotting something behind my back.”
The look of panic on Victoria’s face was enough to convince Laura of the truth of the matter.
“Well, yes. We did want you to be reacquainted with Walter,” she admitted. “And before you accuse your brother and me of meddling, Samuel hoped it to be a surprise when we could confirm the guest list. Walter has assured him there will be patrons of the Royal Academy in attendance at Countess Hortence’s soiree.”
Laura found herself filled with renewed energy, she no longer even felt footsore. Victoria latched on to her shift in mood.
“Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“Patrons of the Royal Academy being there!”
“As sure as I can be. Now you will come won’t you? We’ve managed to secure you an invitation. Apparently, you made quite an impression on the countess when you interrupted morning tea in a painter’s smock.”
Yes, Laura rather imagined she had.
“Your brother wants nothing more for you than to settle back into society. A few events such as this, as well as the summer party to Brighton, we will have you introduced to the best people in no time.”
“And what of Walter Pearson? I assume he will be there to facilitate such introductions?”
“What if he is? He’s a fine young man with a good income and he’s a friend of Samuel’s. It wouldn’t do you any harm to be seen squired on his arm. His name could open a lot of doors for you.”
“You and Samuel are trying to make a match of it! Of all the underhanded things!”
“Stop making a scene,” Victoria hissed, looking about to see if anyone had overheard. “We’re not asking you to marry him, just accept his friendship and see where it leads, that’s all.”
“But, miss, I won’t have time to properly dress your hair!”
Laura looked longingly at the painting taking shape on her canvas and then back to the exasperated frown of Wallis. The pastoral scene of Sicily flowed effortlessly from her hand. It felt good to paint with ease; more than that, it felt right.
In the harem, painting had been her salvation, the only thing which brought her through those dark times, especially before Sophia’s arrival. Now, painting had become a joy again. As much as she hated to admit it, she had Madame Vigée-Le Brun to thank.
“We don’t need to do anything elaborate,” said Laura. Wallis looked even more downcast. “I haven’t worn my pearl hairpins in the longest time. You can do something with those.”
The girl brightened up considerably and Laura was reminded of a similar lift to Samuel’s countenance when she told him that she would attend the soiree. How little it took to make some people happy.
“You’ll be wearing the pink gown tonight, miss?” the maid asked.
“Yes. Why don’t you choose suitable shoes and jewelry while I bathe?”
By the time Laura entered her bedroom, a copper tub waited by the fire. Also waiting was a small stack of envelopes. On the first one she recognized Sophia’s handwriting. They were in Liverpool where Kit had commissioned the building of a second ship. Vincenzo Florio’s negotiation with Samuel to supply tin can making machinery was well underway, while Morwena and Jonathan had traveled to Manchester to sign a new agreement to import bolts of cotton fabric to Sicily.
She quickly flipped through the rest of the mail, hoping for a letter from Elias amongst the invitations to renew acquaintances and to attend upcoming parties. Victoria really had gone to extraordinary lengths to improve her social life.
There was no letter from Elias. And no word about Benjamin.
Perhaps that was the only news she needed to know.
Countess Hortence’s home was everything Laura imagined it would be – elegant, tastefully appointed, and very, very expensive.
Along with Samuel and Victoria, Laura was introduced by the majordomo and swept along with a series of greetings with people she half-remembered from before.
She woke long-dormant social graces and listened to breathless gossip about people she did not know and could care less about. Laura tut-tutted in all the appropriate places, but could muster little interest in their misfortunes.
It almost seemed a relief when a man approached. He was almost prettily handsome, the type of polite young man that would charm an ingénue and win over her mother but somehow he seemed lacking. Why should that be?
Laura hid a grimace. She knew exactly why that would be. Every man she met would be measured against Elias’ yardstick, and so very few would measure up.
Walter Pearson gave a courtly bow. “Samuel gives me to understand you’re a painter, Miss Cappleman.”
“You seem remarkably well informed,” she replied with an upturn to her lips. “Some would say I’m a very good artist.”
Laura watched the changing expression on Walter’s face – surprise and delight, but perhaps a little artfulness. Flirting with such a man was effortless. In fact, too easy.
“I’d like to take the liberty of introducing you to my father,” he said. “Did you know he happens to be good friends with John Yenn, the architect?”
He left the question dangling and offered a knowing smile. Laura had never met Walter’s father but she did know of John Yenn – an Academician, current Royal Academy treasurer, and the man responsible for the delightful Greek-inspired summer houses at Blenheim Palace.
The expression on her face must have pleased him, because he continued.
“I have a growing interest in architecture, too, Miss Cappleman. Perhaps, being an artist, you share my interest.”
Walter proffered his arm. Laura took it and allowed him to lead her on a stroll around the ballroom. She caught the eyes of Samuel and Victoria. Her sister-in-law’s head lifted in approval, an expression of satisfaction that had Laura wondering whether the woman had already applied for the banns to be read.
A discreet cough from Walter directed Laura’s attention.
“Father, might I introduce you to Miss Laura Cappleman, sister of my dear friend, Samuel?”
Laura curtsied.
“I’ve been telling Father about your paintings,” said Walter.
There was no subtlety here. Laura suppressed a grin.
“You’re too kind,” she replied.
The viscount, thick and gouty looking, rose to his feet.
“So many women dabble in such things, but they will never be as good as a man; they don’t have the temperament to create great art.”
“Do they not?” Laura queried, aware of the edge creeping into her voice.
“Of course not,” he proclaimed. “What do women know about life? They lead such a sheltered existence, and they’re always going on about inanities like hem lengths and hair-dos. They’ve never had a broader view of the world than beyond the drawing room and gossip. They don’t go out to work, they’ve never gone out to fight, and they never travel any further than Surrey.”
Laura raised her chin. “I would suggest it is never wise to be sure of such things, my lord, assumptions and arrogance–”
“Father,” interrupted Walter, with an amused wink to Laura, “Miss Cappleman has recently returned to England after three years abroad.”
Walter’s patronizing indulgence of his father’s comments reduced her boiling temper to a simmer.
Viscount Thorburn looked over his eyeglasses at her.
“Has she now? Well, that’s a little different.”
“And when speaking about silly, unserious women, surely you weren’t including Maman among the ladies you so disdain?” Walter made a poor show of hiding his amusement, which was the only thing that kept Laura from storming away.
“Of course not. Don’t be foolish, boy. Your mother is a paragon among women, an exemplary creature.”
“Then perhaps you might afford Miss Cappleman the same consideration.”
The viscount turned to his son and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.
“I think you and I need to have a serious discussion, my boy.”
A friend of the Viscount Thorburn’s tapped the old man on the shoulder, drawing his attention. At once, the ogre became a gentleman once more. He bowed once, excused himself and then departed.
For the first time in weeks, Laura felt renewed disappointment.
“Your father doesn’t seem to like me much.”
“He doesn’t like anyone much,” Walter dismissed. “Shall we dance?”
Laura shook her head. “I need some fresh air. I find it suddenly claustrophobic.”
Walter directed her toward an empty courtyard where several braziers kept the chill at bay.
Was the viscount’s insult some kind of test? If so, she would not stand for it. She had spent all her life being dismissed and underestimated by everyone who knew her – yes, even by her beloved cousin, Sophia. No! No more. She had earned her right to be regarded on her own merits. She had not survived two years in a harem to come all this way to be dismissed by that old curmudgeon who—
Walter interrupted Laura’s private musings.
“I think I know how you can impress my father.”
“How? By growing testicles?”
Walter stared at her, mouth agape. His face blanched then grew red.
Ah yes. A well-brought up lady shouldn’t know such a word, and even if she did, it would never, ever be uttered aloud, let alone in anger.
But she had. And she had not one scintilla of regret. Enough of the pretense. There could be no more hiding her past. It was as much a part of her as the color of her eyes.
“How much has my brother told you about my time abroad?” Laura asked.
Laura watched him swallow and carefully consider his words.
“He told me you went with your cousin and uncle, but while you were there, you were seriously ill and couldn’t return home for a number of months.”
She laughed. “I will have to give Samuel credit. He certainly has stuck to the tale.”
Poor thing. He still looked so terribly shocked.
Laura wondered how appalled he would be to know she could describe the male anatomy in great deal in more than one language. She let out sigh.
“Do you still like me, Walter?”
The man gave a hesitant nod.
“If you really do like me, you won’t be afraid of the truth, will you?”
“Now you’re making me nervous.”
Laura took a step toward him. “Perhaps you should be.”
Might well she start to joke about things – she had lived them and emerged to tell the tale. So, too, had Sophia. In fact, everyone from the Calliope knew and they didn’t judge her wanting because of it. And Elias… perhaps it wasn’t wise to think of him.
Without thinking of what urged her to so, she stood, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. She sensed his surprise – no, shock – and deepened the kiss. Walter hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her and warmed to it.
She stepped back. It was a nice kiss, not exciting, or as full of fresh wonder as… as Elias’ had been.
Oh, Elias! How tainted was his memory of her? Did he only recall she had used him as she had been used? Would he only remember a marriage proposal made in shame and pity for her, made out of guilt because he had succumbed to her seduction?
Walter Pearson closed back in. “I hadn’t dared hope my affection for you would be returned quite so… enthusiastically,” he breathed in her ear.
“Would you fight pirates for me, Walter?” she whispered as he ardently kissed her neck. “Would you slit a man’s throat to save me?”
The young man pulled back. “I… I… ah, don’t know.”
Poor, gentle-born Walter had never seen such things as she had seen, never done the things Kit, Elias and Jonathan had done.
Laura knew with a certainty that Walter would never do those things.
And for the first time since leaving Palermo, the future was strikingly clear.