Page 7 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“A riveting subject.”

“He seemed to be enjoying himself.”

“I’ll bet he is.” Teddy’s brother-in-law was in his element when he was gaining people’s confidence. By the end of the evening, he’d no doubt possess all the botanical secrets of the realm. “What about you?” Teddy scanned his sister’s face. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Unlike her husband, Laura was accustomed to a quieter life. Before her marriage, she and Teddy had lived together in a smallish cottage in Surrey, all but isolated, under the questionable care of their aged aunt Charlotte. Even now, at their perfumery in Grasse, Laura and Alex kept much to themselves, enjoying their own company far better than they enjoyed the glamour and excitement of their regular jaunts to Paris and London.

Teddy was the one who craved excitement, to his constant frustration. Every adventure was an obstacle. And not all of the obstacles arose from the greater world around him. Some were created by his family—the people who loved him best. He felt their constraints as much as he felt the limitations of his chair. Worse, even, for those constraints had lately been more difficult to overcome.

“I’m longing for home,” Laura said frankly. “Which is foolish, really. We’ll be back soon enough, in the spring, when everything is blooming.”

“You could return early,” he suggested.

“And cut short our visit with Tom and Jenny in London? Or our trip to Devon after Christmas to see Justin and Helena, and Neville and Clara? Not to mention, this business with the roses for the perfumery.” She shook her head. “No. We must remain in England through March. I’m resolved to be happy about it.”

Teddy was acquainted with all his brother-in-law’s childhood friends and their wives. Tom and Jenny Finchley, Justin and Helena Thornhill, and Neville and Clara Cross were as good as family to Alex and Laura. As good as family to Teddy, too. He’d been accepted into their ranks as easily as Laura had. It was a fact that Teddy meant to use to his advantage when the time came for Alex and Laura to return to France.

His sister didn’t know it yet, but Teddy had no intention of returning home with them.

“You make it sound as though it takes an effort,” he said.

“Not at all. I love dancing with Alex wherever we are.”

“Dancing, yes.” Teddy pulled a face. “A bit awkward with my chair.”

His sister’s blue-gray eyes lit with ready sympathy. She didn’t pity him, but she comprehended the difficulties he experienced in making his way in the world. “You needn’t have come to the ball. Lord March wouldn’t have minded.”

“I would have minded. I may not be equipped to dance, but they can very well make space for me in the ballroom. And if anyone is unsettled by the sight of me—”

“Indeed, they aren’t,” Laura protested, appalled by the suggestion.

Teddy suppressed a stab of irritation. His sister may want to sugarcoat his situation, but he saw no point in fooling himself. It was better to view his disability as pragmatically as possible. That meant acknowledging how others perceived him.

His chair was obtrusive, both physically and visually. Custom built for him in France, it sat upon a carriage axel, boasting a high-backed seat of well-padded wood, with two large, spoked wheels on either side, and a smaller wheel at the rear, which aided in turning. It was a decided improvement on the traditional Bath chair, which could only be pulled by a horse or pushed by an attendant, but there was no mistaking it for anything other than what it was: an invalid’s chair. A cumbersome appliance for a man without the use of his lower limbs.

“Some are,” he said. “People don’t appreciate being reminded of their own mortality. It makes them uncomfortable.”

“Silly of them.”

“Yes. Quite.” He forced a smile. “Fortunately, I don’t exist to make anyone comfortable, excepting myself. And I like hearing the music and seeing the dancers. Besides, Miss Hobhouse has likely returned to the ballroom. She’ll be dancing, too.”

Laura gave him a doubtful frown. “You’ll be content to watch her?”

Teddy shrugged. “It’s enough,” he said. “For now.”

It would have to be.

Three

Stella didn’t go back to the ballroom. She was too flustered by her encounter with Mr. Hayes. The thought of him returning to sit on the edge of the dance floor, watching her in that all-too-perceptive way of his, made her insides melt into a puddle of warm treacle.

She was too used to being invisible. That was the problem. Her new auburn hair had already brought her some degree of attention—the comfortable kind of admiration she’d aspired to provoke as a girl. But to suddenly be seen in her entirety…

It made her feel naked. Wholly exposed.

When Mr. Hayes looked at her, it wasn’t with simple masculine admiration. It was with something else. A sort of elemental recognition that Stella felt all the way to her core. She’d as soon parade through the ballroom in her altogether than go back now. No doubt the sensation would be the same.

I must paint you, he’d said. I shall run mad if I don’t.