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“She is a distant relation visiting from the Continent,” Eva supplied.
“If it please you, miss, I don’t think I could manage that. I haven’t— I mean, I’ve never been abroad. If someone should ask me something…” Sarah hesitated.
“Oh, bother. I had not thought of that.” Eva looked faintly put out at that. “And of course, you haven’t a Continental accent either.”
“Since you brought it to our attention, have you an idea then?” Henrietta studied her maid. “You couldn’t pass for a servant in that attire, not even a governess—not that such a thing would be at all suitable for someone Eva’s age.”
“I know, my lady.” Sarah ducked her head. “But I overheard your ladyship talking about that Lord Salisbury being a distant cousin to thepreviousMarquess of Salisbury. And there are lots of country cousins that come up during the Season to try and better their fortunes. I did that myself a few years prior.”
“A North Country cousin come up to further her prospects under the patronage of an established lady of society.” Eva tapped her fan to her lips in thought.
Henrietta clasped her hands together. “That does have some merit. It is the sort of thing that happens from time to time. And there is a bit of elegance to the idea, and it is not so far from what I had originally thought to do…” She smiled. “Yes, should anyone inquire, you shall be Eva’s third cousin twice removed—Maryfrom near the Scottish border, who unexpectedly approached Miss Darnell in London for an introduction.”
“Excellent,” Eva smiled.
“Wish me luck, Eva darling. And if anyone should ask, I trust you will find an appropriate excuse to explain my absence. It wouldn’t do, after all, to have people learning of this little ruse of mine and carrying tales back to my father.”
“No, indeed. But never you mind, Henrietta. I doubt I shall have any trouble in that regard. We shall see you in a few hours.” With a final farewell, the girls separated, Eva and Sarah turning toward London town in their walking dresses, and Henrietta herself bustling into the carriage John Thistle had waiting for her.
The drive out to the Marquess’ estate was nerve-wracking. She had not thought to bring a timepiece with her, as it was not part of a young lady’s wardrobe. Even so, she knew quite well that time was passing, and far faster than she would like.
By the time the carriage pulled up to the gates of the estate, she was more flustered than she expected to be. She alighted from the carriage at the gates. They were open, and the carriage could certainly have gone further, but she wasn’t about to chance having someone see the mark of her father’s house, which was emblazoned along the side. “What is the time?”
“Tis about ten minutes after ten o’clock, my…miss.” John nodded to her.
“Oh dear.”
“You’d best go, miss. I’ll return for you after luncheon, or thereabouts.”
“Thank you, John.” She turned and raced up the drive, moving as quickly as she could. The brisk wind that has sprung up at some point teased her hair, pulling it loose of its original arrangement to blow across her eyes.
Someone must have seen her hurried approach, for by the time she reached the doors, they were open, and the Marquess himself was standing in the doorway, a severe look upon his handsome face.
She stopped, trying to get both her breathing and her hair under control, as well as her thoughts.
The Marquess studied her with a stern expression. She guessed that he was unhappy at her tardiness. She nearly flinched when he addressed her. “Miss Smith.” His tone was cold, leaving no doubt as to his irritation.
She dipped into a curtsy, feeling a renewed flush rise on her cheeks, this one from embarrassment rather than exertion. “Lord Salisbury! I—”
“I believe I told you to be punctual. In fact, I specifically commanded you not to be late.”
Henrietta stared at the Marquess. She knew she did not appear at her best, no doubt flustered and windblown from her run up from the front gates. But she hadn’t meant to be late. Surely, he could see that she had done her best to be on time.
She tried to ignore the warmth that sparked beneath her skin at those smooth, deep, commanding tones, and concentrated on attempting to utter a proper response.
Hetty Smith would never be so bold as to protest the reprimand, nor did she have grounds to do so. “My lord, I do apologize, but I…” She paused, trying to think of a reason that would be suitable for Hetty Smith, absentmindedly pushing her hair back once more in an effort to tame it.
“Never mind. It is of no matter, so long as you do not permit it to happen again.” The Marquess turned and extended an arm toward the interior of the house. “Come. We have much work to do, and as we are already delayed, it is best to begin immediately.”
Henrietta nodded, looking up into his face for some sign of his mood. He was displeased with her lateness, that much was certain, but the nuances of his tone...she could almost believe she detected traces of repressed humor, perhaps even a smirk, hovering about his countenance.
In the morning light, his eyes showed to be the deep moss green of the stones at the bottom of her favorite garden pool.
She realized she was staring again and looked away, an unaccustomed shyness coming over her. Quietly, without another word, she followed him into his house, past the doorway to the parlor they had spoken in the night before, and onward to a room near the back of the house. She was quite curious as to what she would find, not having seen any sort of artisan’s workplace before. By the time he opened a door and waved her inside, she was almost quivering with eagerness.
The room he showed her into had most likely been a lady’s solar room once upon a time. Now it was full of tools and marble. Plain canvas cloths covered much of the floor, some of them dusted with marble shards. In the center of the room stood a larger block of marble, this one rough-cut, as though a sculpture had begun to take shape but was nowhere near finished. His current project no doubt.
The Marquess had followed her inside and shut the door, leaving them alone in the room. Henrietta watched him warily, wondering what he intended. When he did not speak, she ventured another look around. There were plenty of tools, but she could see no space that seemed dedicated to a model. “My lord, if you could perhaps tell me where you would like me to sit, and what pose you would like me to take—”
