Page 45 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

Teddy saved her the trouble. “I have something for you, by the way.” Reaching into his supply case, he withdrew a small, tissue-wrapped bundle. He extended it to her.

Stella took it with an uncertain frown. An unmarried young lady wasn’t supposed to accept gifts from a gentleman. Not unless that gentleman was courting her. And then, the gifts could be only something small and transitory, such as flowers or candy. Anything more would be unseemly.

“What—?”

“It’s not a gift,” Teddy said, seeming to read her mind. “It’s only something I borrowed from my sister.”

Stella cautiously opened the rose-colored, tissue-paper wrappings. A scrap of finely wrought blonde lace lay within. It was, she realized in some surprise, an elegantly crafted matron’s cap. Possibly the most fashionable one she’d ever beheld.

She lifted her gaze to Teddy’s. “I don’t understand.”

He resumed putting away his supplies. “You’ve been absent from dinner nearly every night this week because of your hair. I thought, if you had something better to wear than that dreadful black cap, you might come down this evening. It seems a shame for you to spend the last night of the house party alone.”

A sudden prickle of moisture stung at Stella’s eyes. “How thoughtful of you.”

“It wasn’t thoughtfulness. It was artistic revulsion. I’ve taken an aversion to that cap of Lady Arundell’s. My sister’s cap will be a marked improvement.”

“It’s beautiful.” Stella fingered the delicate lace. It was entirely opaque, and in combination with the elaborate ribbon ties, might very well succeed in covering her hair as thoroughly as Lady Arundell’s black crepe monstrosity. “Surely your sister will mind my borrowing it?”

“She won’t,” he said. “Laura has dozens of the things, all of them made in Paris. My brother-in-law keeps her outfitted in splendid style. She was happy to spare it for you.”

Stella’s stomach sank. “Do you mean that she knows about—”

“She knows that your hair is gray. I told her about you after you and I met at the British Museum. But no. She doesn’t realize it’s gone gray again. I wouldn’t betray your confidence.” He glanced at her. “Can you use it this evening?”

“I believe so,” Stella said. “Thank you. You’re…That was excessively kind.” She gathered her courage. “Teddy…”

He stilled.

It was the first time she’d used his given name unprompted. He must have registered it in the same moment that she did. Must have known that it preceded a new level of intimacy between them. An intimacy that had nothing to do with art.

A dull red flush appeared high on his neck, just above the line of his collar. It was the only thing that betrayed the imperviousness of his manner. That, and the unexpected scrape of gruffness in his voice. “Yes, Stella?”

“We’re all going sleighing tonight, if the snow will support it.”

It was plainly not what Teddy had been expecting her to say.

He returned to putting away his supplies. “Oh?”

“Will you come with us?”

“No, thank you.”

“Because you don’t like the out of doors?” she asked. “Or because you’d rather paint?”

He didn’t reply.

She pressed on, despite the tickle of warning in her brain that told her to hold her tongue. “Or is it because you don’t want people making a fuss over your chair?”

His lips compressed in a hard line as he put the last pencil back into his case. “All of the above.”

“I think you should come.”

“Do you.” It wasn’t a question.

She answered it anyway. “Yes. I know why you’re reluctant. I understand better than anyone. But—”

“You don’t understand.”