Page 30 of Debtor’s Daughter

Gideon snorted. “All right, Westie.”

“I am so looking forward to meeting Lady Montagu again,” Aunt Connie said, smiling in her serene way. “I felt we made a connection. I believe we are kindred spirits. Though I do wish you had let me explain about Cecil, Maggie. You were very rude last time, keeping interrupting me as you did. I know you were nervous, but really…! She is just like the rest of us, you know, even if she is a marchioness.”

Larkin watched, amused, as Mrs Finchley coloured a little. “I beg your pardon, Auntie, I shall endeavour to do so, but—but do you think you ought to mention Cecil? You know how funny people can be about ghosts and… and things of that nature.”

“Oh, people, certainly, but not Lady Montagu. She is a woman of sensibility, like myself and I feel she is certainly in touch with the spirit world as I am,” Connie said with utter conviction.

Larkin watched as Mrs Finchley bit her lip in consternation, obviously wracking her brain for a different tack to take.

“Yes, but, isn’t the er… your relationship with Cecil a rather private story?”

Mrs Finchley cast him a worried glance, and he wondered what the story was. Had Aunt Connie been a naughty girl? Not that he cared if she had. Propriety and the rules of society were ridiculous, in his opinion, certainly where females were concerned. Their standards would have labelled both his mother and his sister as outcasts and fallen women. Not that he was about to volunteer this information, but he certainly would not judge Miss Merrivale, or any woman, for such indiscretions.

“Well, of course it is private, but Lady Montagu is not the kind to tattle. You read that novel that was written about her and Montagu, The Eagle and the Lamb, just as I did. Such a romantic story,” Connie said with a wistful sigh, one hand pressed to her enormous bosom. “And it shows the kind of woman Lady Montagu is, passionate and determined, no matter the circumstances. She would do anything for the man she loved, as I would have done if I’d had the chance.”

She trailed off, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Oh, Auntie.” Miss Caroline took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “We know that, and I’m sure Cecil did, too.”

Her aunt summoned a smile and nodded, covering her niece’s hand with her own. “I know, dearest Caro, and you and Maggie and darling Gideon are such a comfort to me. I am very blessed and ought not to repine, but sometimes I miss him so dreadfully. I know we will be reunited one day, though. Once I pass through the veil between this world and the next.”

“There, there,” Gideon said, reaching over and giving his aunt a gentle pat on the shoulder. “All better?” he said, looking a little anxious.

“Yes, all better, you sweet creature,” Aunt Connie said with a chuckle, apparently restored to her usual humour.

Larkin regarded their aunt with renewed interest. He must paint her, he decided, once he’d finished Caro. Whilst, like all artists, he had to take commissions to increase his status in the art world by being seen to paint the great and the good, Larkin was independently wealthy thanks to his interest in the gaming club he ran with his friends. He had long since told his father he no longer needed his financial support, a matter of no little pride to him. This also meant he could pick and choose his subjects, however. Whilst he might paint some subjects because they would get him noticed, others he chose because they interested him. Caro, with her stunning beauty, was one, Aunt Connie was another. Whilst he knew most men would not consider her a beauty, for she was too old and too large for such conventional judgements, to Larkin’s eye, she was truly lovely. All the Merrivale family seemed to have been blessed with skin that glowed with some inner light, and then there were their eyes. Startling green for the two Misses Merrivale, and Mrs Finchley’s were even more intriguing to him, for they changed with the light, sometimes an unusual aquamarine, other times green or blue. He wished to paint her too, he realised, but that was not a good idea.

Unbidden, the images from his dream rose in his mind and he shoved them away, down into some mental cupboard where they ought not to bother him. Yet they did, because he knew they were there.

“Are we there yet?”

Gideon wriggled on Larkin’s lap, twisting to look up at him. Relieved to be taken from his own troubling thoughts, Larkin glanced out of the window.

“We are indeed, Master Gideon,” he said, as the carriage slowed and came to a halt.

“Now, Gideon, remember what I told you,” his mother fretted as they all climbed out of the carriage and went up the stairs to the grand front door. “Say please and thank you and do try not to get into mischief.”

“Yes, Mama,” Gideon said with a sigh.

Larkin gave the boy a sympathetic smile and Gideon took his hand, looking suddenly a little intimidated as they were taken into a grand entrance hall.

The butler greeted them as before and footmen took their coats and hats, but before he could lead them through the magnificent house, light footsteps sounded on the polished marble floor and Tilly appeared, fair ringlets bouncing.

“Good morning, Mr Weston. Good morning, ladies. I’m Miss Ottilie Barrington. I’ve come to meet Master Gideon.”

Gideon sidled closer to Larkin, his eyes very wide as he stared in awe at the beautiful girl before him. Larkin smiled, understanding the boy’s sudden shyness. Tilly had inherited her looks from her grandfather, with her white-blonde hair and strange silver eyes. One day she would cause as much of a sensation among the ton as her Aunt Catherine had, that much he was certain of.

“Master Finchley, this is Miss Barrington, say how do you do to her like a gentleman,” Larkin prompted him.

Gideon glanced at his mother, who returned an encouraging smile and a nod. “Go on, dear.”

“How you do?” Gideon said, looking a little flustered.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Tilly said. “Would you like to have tea with me and my governess? Mrs Harris is very nice, and we have cake.”

“Cake?” Gideon repeated eagerly, perking up.

“Oh, yes. Three kinds,” Tilly said, grinning at him. “A fruitcake, a strawberry jam sponge, and a whole plate of little queen cakes. They’re my favourite,” she added confidingly.