Page 64 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

Chapter 7

“Wherein a house in the country.”

14th December 1820. London.

They returned home and began packing at once as Ludo was beside himself with excitement. He gave his landlady notice on his rooms and arranged for a carriage to collect them and their luggage at nine the following morning. Packing didn’t take long. Besides a wardrobe that certainly rivalled Bunty’s for quantity, and most certainly for style, Ludo had few belongings. Bunty had not yet had the belongings which were a part of her dowry sent over, as Ludo’s rooms simply had not the space for them. She was cross, in fact, that her parents had still not visited once since her marriage. The only word she’d had were a few tearful letters from her mother and a rather sternly worded note from her father, which gruffly reminded her she could return home at any time, should she come to realise the gravity of the mistake she’d made. Bunty could not blame them for their fears, but she could blame them for being ashamed and not coming to visit her.

She therefore took great delight in writing and telling them both how blissfully happy she was, how Ludo’s business had the makings of a terrific success, and how they were about to move into their new home in the country, where Ludo would keep her in fine style, thank you very much. The letter included a pointed reminder that Papa had not announced their marriage, and a firm suggestion that he do so, at once. She did not invite them for Christmas. She would invite them soon, naturally, but not yet. Perhaps Easter, but only if they swore to be polite to her husband.

Bunty looked around to see if there was anything left to pack, finding only the two lovely paintings on the wall. Smiling, she moved towards them and took the one of the elegant house off the wall. She looked up as Ludo came in from outside, bringing the scent of cold air with him and brushing snow from his hair. He ran to her and swept her up, kissing her hard and making her squeal with the press of his cold lips and icy hands upon her warm skin.

“Warm me up, wife. I’m chilled to the marrow.”

“Eek! Get off me, you’re freezing,” she complained, though half-heartedly.

He stilled, looking at the picture she had clung to valiantly during his boisterous entrance.

“That’s it,” he said, smiling at her. “That’s home.”

Bunty nodded, thrilled that she’d been correct.

“It’s so beautiful, Ludo. I can’t wait to live there, with you and… and you painted it, didn’t you? And all the pictures for the puzzles. Why ever didn’t you tell me?” she exclaimed crossly as he gave a sheepish nod. “I’m so proud of you. Imagine having an artist for a husband!”

“You don’t mind?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and looking awkward.

Bunty stared at him, perplexed. “Why would I mind?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not very… manly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, whoever…?” She sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. Darling, if ever something as stupid as that thought crosses your mind again, would you just investigate the source of it before you believe it? I feel confident supposing it was something Farringdon, or one of your ghastly brothers told you. Am I correct?”

Ludo frowned, considering this and then his face cleared. “Yes, by God. How―”

Bunty pressed a finger to his lips. “Did it never cross your mind that all the great artists are men? Women don’t get a look in.”

Ludo huffed. “Well, obviously, but that’s hardly what this is. This is dabbling with watercolours, which is exactly what young ladies do, and your Great-Aunt Mary.”

“I don’t have a Great-Aunt Mary.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes. I do, and you’re wrong. Ludo, you’re not dabbling. I may be biased, but I do have an eye for a good painting. I met Henry Barbour once and he told me so. What’s more, I believe these are more than good. I think they’re excellent, and I know you ought to take it seriously.”

“You met Henry Barbour?” Ludo’s eyes had lit with awe, and he appeared to have completely disregarded everything else she’d said.

“I did, yes. Father is a distant cousin of the Marquess of Winterbourne, who is one of Mr Barbour’s closest friends. We were there one summer, and he introduced me.”

“He’s not the slightest bit mad, is he?”

Bunty shook her head at once.

“Goodness, no. Very shy, rather, and somewhat eccentric, to be sure. He dislikes people on the whole, but he was charming and spoke to me at length about his work, and about some of the others I’d seen at the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition. Indeed, I think I should show him some of yours. Perhaps I shall send one to him,” she mused.

All the colour drained from Ludo’s face. “Oh, no. Not on your life. He’s… he’s a genius. You’ll not go sending my paltry offerings to show him.”

Bunty sighed and set his painting aside with care before moving back to him. She wrapped her arms about his waist and stared up at him.

“I’m fat,” she said baldly. “I’m fat and ungainly, and too tall.”