Jessamine’s eyes and mouth rounded. Elise’s face barely moved, yet she still managed to give a very strong impression of a cat about to hack up a hairball, and who could blame her. Gideon’s expression was blank in the very specific way he had when his opinions would be a sackable offence.
“I dare say you might paint Jessamine, if she cares to be painted,” Wynn said.
“Within the bounds of decency, I trust,” Dash added. “No wish to offend you, Hawley, but I read the reviews of your exhibition. Sounded rather too modern for me.”
“The human form has been considered a suitable subject for art for centuries,” Hawley observed, still smiling. “I hope you will judge my work on its merits, not on the sneers of those false moralists who conceal their own rottenness with a facade of outrage at others.”
Bram swelled with fury. “To judge your work on its merits, Hawley—”
“Let’s not talk about art,” Zeb said loudly.
“Don’t interrupt! You have been told a hundred times—”
“Let’snottalk about art,” Elise said. “It’s hardly a subject inwhich Jessamine can join. Have you ever been to an exhibition, my dear?”
Jessamine flushed. “No.”
“Oh, so many pleasures await you in London. The galleries, the theatres, the fashions. You really must let me take you shopping.”
“Are you going to London?” Zeb asked.
“We have suggested she come and stay with us,” Elise said as Jessamine opened her mouth to reply. “There is so much for her to learn. New experiences, new friends—why, she has a whole new world awaiting her. There is nothing so delightful as to be a pretty girl in London, and I should love to have a little cousin to spoil.” She glittered at Jessamine. “When you are dressed, you will be very much in demand.”
By a lot of men who weren’t Hawley, Zeb, or Dash. Zeb tipped his mental hat to Elise’s strategy. Hawley’s expression soured like milk.
“We can discuss that after the end of this month,” Wynn said. “After all, her fiancé might wish to take her to London.”
“I trust he will,” Elise said, eyes flicking between Zeb and Hawley. “I trust she will demand to see all the sights and meet all the best people. Have you ever been to the theatre, my dear?”
“The pantomime. And Shakespeare,” Jessamine admitted, with downcast gaze.
Elise laughed musically. “We can do rather better than that. Modern plays are so marvellous.”
“‘Modern plays’,” Hawley repeated mockingly. “What do youhave in mind, George Bernard Shaw? I dare sayCandidawill still be playing next year. Personally, I preferredHow He Lied to Her Husband. Didn’t you, Bram?”
That froze the entire company, as well it might. Bram’s face went an ugly shade of crimson. Elise’s expression didn’t alter but her eyes were lethal.
“I prefer musical comedy,” Zeb announced loudly, since nobody else was going to save them. “I must have seenThe Toreadorthree times.”
“You would,” Bram spat, turning his ire on the easier target. “The amount of childish rubbish spewed onto the London stage to exploit the lowest common denominators of human nature—”
“You mean, things people like,” Zeb said, knowing he was being drawn in even as he said it, but unable to help himself.
“Facile pap and nonsense, consumed uncritically by the mob.”
“What’s facile is judging a musical revue by the same criteria you use for an Ibsen drama. It makes as much sense as condemning an iced bun for not being a chateaubriand.”
“That is to say, one is a different and lesser object,” Bram said triumphantly.
“What about ghost stories?” Hawley put in, with his astonishing knack for making things worse. “I suppose you include those in your condemnation of popular entertainment? Mere childish rubbish?”
“Ghost stories are not rubbishy,” Jessamine said clearly. “They are true. I told you they are true. This house is haunted.”
“Jessamine,” Wynn said. “I asked you—”
“But we should talk of it. Cousin, we must. You know I have seen it. So has Mr. Grey. Tell them.”
Everyone looked at Gideon, whose mouth tightened. “I don’t wish to speak of this, Miss Jessamine.”
