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“Not clever enough to elude the parson’s trap, eh Lady Vawdrey?” joked Bess nudging Fen in the ribs.

Fen gave a weak-sounding laugh. “I suppose not.” She felt winded, and not just from Bess’ elbow. Once again it was being brought home to her just how little she knew about her new husband. It never failed to give her a deep feeling of unease.

“Ah, here comes Eden now,” said Hester approvingly as a young woman marched into the room, followed by a trail of miserable looking supplicants clutching papers and hats.

“Why do artists always look so oppressed?” wondered Lady Bess. “Miserable-looking bunch.”

“It can’t be easy to come along with the begging bowl,” said Hester sympathetically.

“The first one to crack a smile is mine,” said Bess decisively.

Fen was studying Lady Eden Montmayne with interest. She had black hair and dark eyes and wore a black dress with only one brooch to alleviate the head to toe black. Certainly it was an unusual look for one so young. She somehow projected the fact she had a forceful personality into the air around her which seemed to ripple with her energy. She was casting a quick, appraising look around the room and seemed to focus on their little group at once. She turned back to her gaggle of artists and made a few brief gestures with her hands. Three stepped forwarded as she bore down on them determinedly.

“Oh Lord,” said Lady Bess. “She’s going to organize us first.”

“Such a redoubtable girl,” said Hester in a murmured aside to Fen.

“She certainly exudes a great deal of confidence,” agreed Fenella.

Eden’s face formed a quick business-like smile as she sunk into a graceful curtsey.

They all bobbed back. This time Fen was convinced that Bess bowed.

“My dear Lady Schaeffer,” Eden greeted her friend. “I am so pleased to see you here this morning. It has been a few weeks since you last attended.”

“Allow me to introduce my new friend, Lady Fenella, Countess Vawdrey.”

Fen bobbed again and was pleasantly surprised to find Eden Montmayne had no comment to make about her marital status.

“How do you do?” she asked gravely instead. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

“And I, you.”

“And I am sure,” continued Hester. “That you must be already acquainted with Lady Bess Hartleby.”

“By sight only,” answered Eden. “I am glad you have brought along new members to our society, for we have need of new blood.”

“And new pockets, I’ll be bound!” joked Lady Bess with a loud guffaw at her own joke.

Lady Eden squared her shoulders, but inclined her head agreeably enough. “Indeed, Lady Bess. You speak the truth,” she acknowledged. “Have you a mind to become a patron, may I ask?”

“You may,” agreed Lady Bess. “And I do. But I want none of these milk and water artists,” she boomed. “Give me a fellow of conviction. Not some poultry rhymer, reed-voiced singer or mere dabbler of paints.”

Fen became aware that around them was the sound of inward breaths being drawn. Their little group was undoubtedly the center of attention.

“Of course not,” Eden Montmayne answered, not looking remotely embarrassed by the fact they clearly had an audience. “I would never do you such a disservice.” She looked back over her shoulder and signaled to a rough-hewn looking man with bushy eyebrows and a shock of curly brown hair. “Signor Arnotti is a great painter who studied at the Ottoline school in Holbrahns,” she said grandly.

Lady Bess gazed at him looking unimpressed, as he shambled forward.

“D’ye paint dogs, sir?” she asked at length.

The artist’s eyebrows waggled furiously. “Dogs?” he asked suspiciously.

“Hounds,” she clarified. “I’ve a fancy to see mine on canvas, you see.”

“How many do you own, Lady Bess?” asked Fen with interest.

“Six of the devils,” answered Bess promptly.