Page 103 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

The frustration he’d been feeling since leaving his last meeting with the workmen in Maiden Lane built to a fever pitch. Yes, Stella had agreed to let him paint her. And yes, she’d agreed to marry him. But the delay between that agreement and the manifestation of either event was beginning to seem insurmountable.

“How are things coming with your new house?” Julia Blunt asked from her chair on Teddy’s right. “Mrs. Archer said you had been consulting with the estate agent today about renovations?”

The hum of conversation at the table went quiet as the rest of the dinner guests paused to listen to his answer.

“Oh yes,” Jenny said. “You must give us a full report.”

Stella met Teddy’s eyes across the table. She lifted her brows.

He gave an eloquent grimace in response. “Poorly,” he said. “There are more repairs required than I had anticipated.”

“Major repairs?” Alex leveled a frowning look at him. “That doesn’t bode well.”

No, it didn’t. But Teddy didn’t like to admit it. Not when Alex and Laura had only just barely come to terms with Teddy setting up house on his own. “The landlord is taking responsibility for the exterior work,” he said. “Mr. Chakrabarty saw to that. But the interior renovations will be left for me to arrange. I consulted with several workmen in the afternoon, to no success. They all equivocated on costs, and none of them would agree to a starting date.”

Julia commiserated with him. “We have a dreadful time getting people to come to Goldfinch Hall. My husband has been obliged to take on some of the repairs himself.”

“Surely it’s easier to find workers in London?” Captain Blunt asked. Clothed in a severe black suit, he was seated between Jenny and Evelyn. The scar on his face pulled gruesomely as he spoke.

“Finding them isn’t the issue,” Ahmad replied from his place between Jenny and Stella. He’d come straight from his dress shop and was still wearing the plain but elegantly cut coat and trousers he wore when he worked. “It’s persuading them to show up. All the best ones are already employed, and the ones who aren’t are often unreliable. Either that or their craftmanship is shoddy.”

“Worse and worse,” Jenny remarked as she raised a forkful of cake to her mouth.

“Exactly,” Teddy said.

“What does this mean for the house?” Stella asked. “Will it not be ready by summer?”

“The lower rooms will be habitable,” Teddy said. “But as far as restoring the rest…” He shook his head.

He’d learned today that, in addition to painting, plastering, and minor repair to the stonework, there were countless other items in need of replacement. Some of the windows had cracked panes of glass, most of the latches on the doors and windows were broken, and there were no bell pulls or wires installed in any of the rooms. Add to that decaying roof tiles over the scullery, questionable drainage, and the very real possibility of rot in two of the upstairs bedrooms, and it seemed that Teddy and Stella would be lucky to take up residence any time before the new year.

Tom seemed to sense Teddy’s frustration. “You can live in it while you restore it,” he said. The candlelight glinted off the rims of his spectacles. “It’s been done before.”

Captain Blunt nodded. “That’s what we’re doing at Goldfinch Hall.”

“Oh yes,” Julia agreed as she finished her piece of charlotte russe. “And while we wait, we simply close off those parts of the house that are dangerous.”

“Can you not do that in Maiden Lane?” Evelyn asked, sipping her champagne. “Close off the upstairs and live in the lower rooms until you can have the upper ones repaired?”

Teddy frowned. The rooms below were only sufficient for a studio, a parlor, and bedrooms for himself and Jennings. He’d promised Stella the upstairs would be hers. That she could live there, all but separately, if she chose.

A knot formed in his stomach. They’d been engaged fewer than eight-and-forty hours and he was already forced to break his word to her.

He chanced a look at her across the table.

She was raising her champagne glass to her lips. A line of worry etched her brow.

“I shall think of something,” he said. “Have no fear.”

Mr. Jones, Mira’s fiancé, spoke up from his place beside Evelyn. “Must the workers you hire be master craftsmen?”

“Do you have another idea in mind?” Teddy asked.

“A bit of painting, plastering, and woodwork isn’t beyond the skill of a sailor who is home on leave and short of coin.” Mr. Jones was himself a sailor. A half-Bengali midshipman, recently home after a lengthy voyage. “There are plenty of men on the docks who would be grateful for the work. Not all of them Englishmen, though.”

“I doubt Teddy minds it,” Mira said. Dark haired and green eyed, she worked with her cousin, Ahmad, at the dress shop. She was a brilliant seamstress in her own right, as evidenced by the elegant embroidery on her maize-colored dinner dress.

“I don’t,” Teddy said. “Not so long as they know what they’re about with a hammer and trowel.”