CHAPTER 4
“Are you interested in portraits or landscapes, Lord Langsdene?”
Langsdene glanced at his smartly dressed companion on the high front seat of his phaeton. Instead of her previously dowdy self, Miss Carsten had transformed into an attractive, stylish woman. Although her features were inclined to the classical and her nose did not have a fashionable up-tilt, on the whole, she looked elegant. He had noticed when she had walked into her mother’s morning room that she wore an unusual shade of pink which set off the color of eyes he would have said were muddy brown. Then again, he hadn’t really taken note. Now that he had, he could say she had eyes of an interesting grayish-green. “I don’t have a preference.”
She appeared to absorb his answer. “Who, then, do you wish to meet?”
As a matter of fact, he didn’t wish to meet anyone. “I have abducted you under false pretences, though if I must buy a painting, I would prefer a landscape.”
“Should I be flattered that you have abducted me? If you want my views on landscapes, they would be no better than yours. Anyone who wants to buy a painting should choose whatever they would enjoy. I would choose for you something that may not match the style you prefer.”
“More than buying a painting, I want to find an artist.”
Her forehead creased. “In that case, you will need to peruse many paintings until you find a painter you admire.”
He nodded. “I thought I could save time if you gave me the names of artists who are skilled in caricature.”
Her questioning gaze blanked and she turned her focus to the busy street. In this frowzy weather, pedestrians rugged up in winter brown or black coats and hats, scurried along the footpaths like ants preparing for a storm. Wagons creaked and groaned, the iron of their wheels protesting the rough surface of the street. “Are we are expecting rain?” she asked in what sounded like a hopeful voice.
“Dust, more likely. Rain would settle some of the smoke.”
“It’s nicer in the country. I rarely leave, but this year Rose and Della prevailed upon me to come to town. Then my aunt irresponsibly took ill. Instead of all the treats promised me by Rose and Della, I’m chaperoning my cousin Ann.”
“Could your mother not have managed her niece instead?”
“She said not. Perhaps Aunt will be well soon. I long to go back home.”
“Do you still live in Kent?”
She nodded. “I love the sea air. I can paint there without interruption.”
“I own a small property in Kent. Currently, it is being used by my second cousin. I was living there when I met you.”
She turned to him, a strange expression on her face. “I often used to visit Rose at her family’s country house.”
He heard an accusation in her tone. “I remember, but you can’t blame me for not recognizing you at first. You almost wore a disguise last night in that brown gown and with your hair ...” He trailed off. He had never seen such an abundance of ringlets in his life as she had worn last night. Today, her heavy brown hair had been lightly drawn back, which emphasized the stark precision of her cheekbones. He couldn’t help thinking that, when she clearly had taste, she had deliberately made herself appear unattractive last night, and he couldn’t imagine why.
She drew a deep breath, clearly putting his answer behind her and returning to the main purpose of the trip to the Tate British. “I suspect any artist could make a caricature. I can’t narrow down any particular one. What would you wish to have drawn?”
He maneuvered the phaeton between a brewer’s wagon and a load of coal, and turned the corner into Vauxhall Bridge Road. The next quick turn took them up Milbank Street to the imposing entrance of the gallery. An urchin standing near the steps rushed out to hold the horses. Langsdene’s groom leaped from the back seat. When the restive team calmed, Langsdene stepped down, flipped the lad a coin, and awaited Miss Carsten’s hand. Once on steady ground, she straightened her pelisse, raised her chin, stared at him, and finally took his proffered arm.
Together they walked up the majestic stone steps and into a large bright room with vaulted ceilings, parquet floors, and doorways decorated with marble columns. Fortunately some twenty people had the same idea today and he wasn’t left with her in a vast silence, though most of the viewers spoke in hushed tones.
She cast a questioning gaze at him. “I suppose we should look at the portraits first, but few of those exhibited are by living artists.”
“I would prefer to find the one I want alive, so that I can throttle him myself.”
She shot him a glance of wry humor. “If I am following our conversation correctly, you want me to find a certain caricaturist so that you can kill him. I can’t be party to this, my lord. I would be taken up by the authorities as an accomplice in your evil plan.”
“Do you read the newspapers, Miss Carsten?”
“Occasionally.” Her tone was careful.
“You would be aware that political comments appear in the papers regularly. For reasons unknown to me, I am drawn as a comic background for the Prince Regent, or for the prime minister, though I am a crony of neither. I am, in fact, the target for light entertainment. At first I was puzzled. At times, I have been amused, but now I think it may be the turn of someone else to be used in this way.”
“So the real purpose for this visit to the Tate is to find out who is doing this to you? Can you not find out from the newspaper’s editor?”
“No, Miss Carsten. Apparently the artist wishes to remain anonymous. I am willing to pay him to stop lampooning me.”
“Are you in some way disadvantaged by being used as light entertainment?”
“Since most of it is ill-informed as to my doings, I can’t say I am. But last year, this wit cost me the price of a diamond necklace.”
Her face relaxed and her mouth curved. “Would the reason be suitable for me to hear?”
“Possibly not.” He smiled. Was this woman never at a loss? When he had been courting Rose all those years ago, he had not appreciated any of her friends. None would leave him alone with the woman he adored. Winsome always seemed to be watching him and waiting for him to make a fool of himself. Fortunately, today she appeared to be taking him seriously. “I was disgruntled at the time, but as it happened, it was all for the best. Helped me make a decision I should have made some time before.”
She mulled his words before she spoke. “Do you want to see the paintings or should you return me home?”
“That would be your choice, Miss Carsten. I have dragged you out on a cold morning for my own ends. Although you know more about the art world than I, I shouldn’t have expected you to know a thing about the more minor of artistic pursuits.”
“Caricaturists are not lesser beings, my lord.” Her noble nose tilted up a little.
“No doubt, but you are an artist of some merit.”
“You are flattering me without knowing the quality of my art, sir.”
“I recall some very fine pencil drawings of yours. Rose showed me a few that flattered her.”
“She needed little flattering. She is, and was, a very beautiful woman.”
“More so because of her sweet nature.” He drew a long considering breath. “Not that I understood that at the time. I was desperate to have her for my wife. Now, I realize I would have been bored with too much sweetness. I find I prefer a little spice.”
Her lashes lowered slightly, and her mouth curled with mischief. “In that case, I’ll drag you through the room devoted to paintings of a romantic nature. You’re sure to find a little spice there.”
Although he would have liked to spend more time with her, the art gallery contained more spice than he thought fitting for maiden lady. The maiden lady seemed not to share his qualms. Rather than suffering boredom while she raved about the meaning of the bared breasts of a mermaid or the entwining of a satyr with a sweet young shepherdess, he enjoyed her wit and her knowledge. When he took her home later, he realized that he had been entertained for almost two hours, without ever being given a hint as to whether she could help him with the information he was seeking.
Likely, she didn’t know any more than he did, but if he kept pursuing the subject, she might recall a face or a name. Even though he hadn’t learned a thing, he had found himself drawn to her. No one would look askance at a friendship with her when the only alternate amusement, while he resided in town, was to be introduced day after day to the newest beauties that various friends or relatives thought he should consider for the role of the Countess of Langsdene. As a contrast, Miss Carsten was an unconscionable flirt who clearly didn’t take herself seriously, a rare and novel concept.
Apparently she meant to attend the musical evening tonight. Although, until Rose had hinted she expected him, he had planned to visit Lady Bellingham’s establishment for a night of card games. Better a musical evening with old friends and neighbors than being forced to win money from his cronies.