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"She does take some comfort from poetry. The nurses read to her when they can."
"Perhaps I could read poetry to her?" I volunteer, hoping I don't sound as desperate as I feel. I would do anything to see this girl. "Perhaps she would find some comfort in speaking with a girl of her own age, that is."
Simon's father raises his wine to me. "Our Miss Doyle is a very kind soul."
"She is our angel," Father says.
No, I'm not. I am a wretched girl for deceiving them so, but I must see Nell Hawkins.
"Very well, then,"Tom says grudgingly. "I shall take you tomorrow afternoon."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AFTER DESSERT HAS BEEN CLEARED AWAY, THE MEN are ready to have their brandy and cigars in the study while the women retire to the parlor for tea and talk.
"Mother, I believe Miss Doyle would like to see the portrait of Grandfather," Simon says, catching us on our way in. I've heard no mention of this painting.
"Yes, of course. We shall all go," Lady Denby says.
Simon's smug smile falters. "I should hate to take you away from the fire, Mother. It is a bit drafty in the library, you know."
"Nonsense, we shall bring our shawls and be fine. You really must see dear George--he was painted by a Cotswold portraitist of great renown."
I don't know what has just occurred, but I gather that Simon has lost.
"Here we are." Lady Denby leads us into a spacious room dominated by a painting as large as a door. It is a hideously ornate depiction of a barrel-chested man astride a horse. He wears a red jacket and looks every bit the country gentleman off to the hunt. At his heels sit two obedient dogs.
Simon nods to it. "Miss Doyle, may I present my grandfather, Cornelius George Basil Middleton, Viscount of Denby."
Grandmama makes a spectacle of herself fawning over it, though all she knows of art could fit inside a thimble. Still, it makes Lady Denby proud. She moves on to an objet d'art upon a mantel, forcing a maid who was cleaning a grate to stand waiting, brush in sooty hand.
"What a beautiful painting," I say diplomatically.
Simon raises an eyebrow. "If by beautiful you mean to say silly, overdone, and grotesque, then I accept your compliment."
I stifle a laugh."The dogs are quite distinguished-looking." Simon stands beside me, and I feel that strange current again. He cocks his head, taking in my comment and the painting. "Yes. In fact, perhaps I could claim them as kin instead." His eyes are so blue. And his smile is so warm. We are standing only inches apart. From the corner of my eye, I can see Grandmama and the others touring the room.
"How many of these have you read?" I ask, moving toward the bookshelves, pretending to be interested.
"Not many," Simon says, falling into step. "I've a great many hobbies. They take up much of my time. It's my duty to see after our interest in Denby, the manor and such."
"Yes, of course," I say, continuing my slow promenade.
"Are you attending Admiral and Lady Worthington's Christmas ball, by any chance?"
"Yes, I am," I say, walking to the windows overlooking the street.
"I shall be there as well."He catches up. Here we are, side by side again.
"Oh," I say."How nice."
"Perhaps you will save me a dance?" he asks shyly.
"Yes," I say, smiling."Perhaps I will."
"I see you're not wearing your necklace this evening."
My hand springs to my bare neck."You noticed my jewelry?"
