Page 46 of The Lady Makes Her Mark

Chapter 15

The next morning, after a solitary breakfast of tea and toast, Constantia set out to make the improvised studio ready for the day’s instruction. At every table, she stopped and studied the results of yesterday’s efforts. The assignment had been to draw a chair—specifically, the straight-backed wooden chair from her bedchamber, which she had dragged out and positioned at the front of the schoolroom. Dull as ditchwater, perhaps, but more challenging than most beginning artists were willing to acknowledge, because of the varying angles involved.

Edwina had drawn it almost as it appeared in life. Somewhat bereft of detail, but precise. Careful. Unassuming. Like the young woman herself.

Frederica’s and Georgiana’s she expected to find similar to one another, for the two girls were themselves difficult to tell apart, close in age and temperament, as well as appearance. But here, Constantia was surprised. Frederica had drawn the chair—not well, but there was nonetheless something interesting in the flattened perspective she had employed. An error, some teachers would have called it. Constantia wasn’t so sure. One day, the world might be ready to call that unusual collection of shapes and lines art. But not yet.

Georgiana, who had rolled her eyes and yawned through the lesson on light and shadow, had sketched a rather childish daisy in place of the chair. Constantia leaned over and jotted on the edge of the paper: I asked for an ordinary chair. How clever of you to give me a seat for a fairy instead.

Last of all came Harriet, whose rendition was extraordinary for someone untrained. Far more interesting than the chair itself. The rough wood leaped from the page. Constantia could have sworn she would risk a splinter if she touched it.

And there, she thought, scanning over the whole room, were the Haythorne sisters in essence: A rule-follower. A rule-breaker. A troublemaker. And an artist—as Alistair had predicted.

But it was up to her to tease out the greater potential in each of them, with whatever limited tools she could find and in whatever time she had left.

Absently she wound her hair into a knot and secured it with a pencil. Her injured wrist still ached a bit, especially at the end of the day, but it was no longer useless. As she stood staring across the room without really seeing it, weighing the subject of the next lesson, she heard voices and the clamber of footsteps in the stairwell that heralded the arrival of her pupils, fully half an hour ahead of their time.

“You’re here early,” she said, as the door to the schoolroom swung open.

To her surprise, Georgiana was the first to enter. “Oh, miss, you’re not going to believe it.”

“Take your seats,” she urged when they persisted in clustering together at the back. It took a full minute for her to realize there were five dark-haired young women now, instead of four. But of course, the carriage yesterday must have brought the last of the unmarried sisters home.

“This is Danny,” said Edwina, bringing her forward. She was nearer to Constantia’s age than the rest, a year or two younger than Alistair perhaps, with the same dark brown hair, almost black, and eyes extraordinarily like her brother’s.

“Lady Danielle,” Constantia said and curtsied.

“Only Aunt Josephine insists on our proper names,” Frederica told her, not for the first time.

“And right now especially,” said Georgiana, propping one hip on the corner of an empty table, “you do not want to encourage any comparison to our Aunt Josephine.”

“I don’t see how this is her fault, Georgie,” insisted Edwina. “He asked.”

“But to give her of all people the power over such a choice. She’ll try to make him miserable, I just know it.”

“Danny, can’t you talk sense into him?”

“Stop it! Just stop it!” That was Harry, who had all but thrown herself into her usual seat and was covering her ears. “Can’t we have an hour to think about something else?”

“Lady Harriet is right,” Constantia said, glancing from face to face as each young woman slid into a spot. “I would be remiss in my duties if we wasted a lesson. But you also need to be in the proper frame of mind to create. So, at the risk of encouraging gossip, I’ll ask the question you all seem to be dying to answer: Did—did something happen last night?”

Five voices answered her at once, and the phrases she could catch refused to sort themselves into sense. She must have misunderstood.

“Forgive me, but it sounded—it sounded as if you said something about someone getting married . . .”

They all would have spoken at once again, but Edwina held up a hand. Once something like silence fell, she explained, “Our brother has asked our aunt to find him a wife.”

Constantia sucked in a sharp breath and sat down abruptly on her chair.

Not, of course, that Lord Ryland’s decision to marry had any bearing on her life. In fact, she could hardly think of any matter that concerned her less.

It was only this strange . . . fluttering in her chest, like . . . like butterflies.

If butterflies had fangs.

And claws.

Fortunately, the sisters were too distracted to notice anything odd about her behavior. Harry crossed her arms and scowled at Eddie. Freddie added, in a sardonic voice, “A rich wife. You forgot the most important part.”