Page 32 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

Stella couldn’t absent herself from the very activities that had been arranged with her in mind. “The afternoon would be better,” she said. “If that’s convenient.”

“The entire afternoon? Or only another hour?”

“I can’t promise the whole afternoon. Lady Anne may have need of me.”

“May she, indeed. In that case, we’d better begin.” Opening his sketchbook, he selected a pencil from the row of supplies beside him as solemnly as a Roman gladiator choosing a weapon for the arena. “If you would be so good as to look in the direction of the clock,” he said. “And lift your chin a fraction.”

Stella obeyed his directions. She could no longer easily see what he was doing, except for a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. The whisper of his pencil grazing softly over the paper tickled her ears. “Must I be silent?”

“On the contrary. You must tell me about your horse.”

She smiled. “You wish me to glow again, I perceive.”

“That’s the idea.”

It was easier said than done. She was unused to making meaningful conversation on command. It was one thing to engage in mindless small talk. That she could do in her sleep. But to expound on the subject she loved best, wholly to produce some ephemeral change in her countenance, was quite another matter.

“Well?” he prompted. The question was punctuated by another scrape of his pencil.

“I’m deciding what to say,” she answered. “I confess, I feel a bit foolish. Is there anything particular you wish to know about Locket?”

“Where do you keep her?”

“In London, when I’m there.”

“And the remainder of the time?”

“At home in Derbyshire. My brother and I have a cottage near his church. There’s an old barn and paddock attached to it. Locket is there now, waiting for me to return. My groom’s old gelding, Crab, keeps her company. They’re the only horses at present.”

“You keep no carriage horses?”

“We keep no carriage. My brother feels it would be unseemly for a clergyman in his position.”

“Yet he escorts you to London for two consecutive seasons?”

“He hasn’t a choice.” Stella stared fixedly at the clock. She was already prone to speaking too freely when in company with Teddy Hayes. The steady scraping of his pencil loosened her tongue still further. “My father left a small portion for me in his will. Part of it is mine absolutely. The remainder was held in reserve, designated specifically for my launch into society. My brother could either carry out the duty of chaperoning me himself or hire a companion to do so, with funds from his own pocket.”

“So, it’s a matter of economy,” Teddy observed.

“Something like that,” Stella said.

Exactly that, in fact.

Daniel was an excessively frugal man. If it were up to him, Stella would have voluntarily relinquished her portion long ago. Even now, more than ten years after the unfortunate loss of their father, he still made occasional remarks about how her meager funds would be better spent in helping the poor.

Or in helping to support Daniel’s own hobby.

Though her brother would never admit to it being such. It was a calling, he said. A long-winded treatise he was writing on the modern manifestations of original sin. He’d been working on it for more than seven years. Stella had often played secretary for him during his endeavors, transcribing his notes and assisting with his research.

“Is it economical to keep two horses?” Teddy asked as he worked.

“It would be cruel not to. Horses are herd animals. They do best with other horses nearby. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with my brother.”

Teddy flashed her an interested glance.

Stella felt the inquiring look as much as saw it. “I subsidize her stabling expenses myself,” she explained. “The income from my inheritance isn’t very large, but it’s enough to keep Locket in relative comfort, and to afford the expenses of her groom and his mount. That’s all I require.”

“She means that much to you?”