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He had allowed himself to be swept up in the moment, in a passion the likes of which he had not enjoyed for longer than he cared to think about. Questions, mysteries, the secrets Hetty Smith hid from him...it had not mattered. Had it not been for the footsteps just outside their hiding spot, he might have done away with any considerations of propriety as well.
A dull heat flooded his face at the memory. While his reputation was his own to make or ruin, he was a guest in Jackson’s home, and as such, he should consider the risks to his friend’s reputation as well as his own. A fine thing it would be for his first appearance in society since his ascension to Marquess—to be found in the corridors of his friend’s estate engaged in debauchery with an unknown maid of uncertain status.
He would be assumed something of a rake at best, but his friend would be considered complicit in facilitating his access to an impressionable young woman and that would tarnish Jackson’s reputation as well. It had been foolish to allow himself to be entangled in such circumstances, to let his passion cloud his good sense.
He sighed and settled back on his bed. After everything, he had not been willing to remain, though Jackson had urged him to avail himself of their hospitality for as long as he liked. Prior to the night’s encounter, he had considered it, considered sending a message to his home to tell Hetty that he would be remaining in London some days to enjoy the company of his friends. But after his encounter with Hetty, he had known he wanted to return. He would find no answers by remaining in town, and he had no desire for the mystery to continue.
Maiden of the ton masquerading as a poor girl for her own amusement? Or struggling maid who had managed to find a way into society? He intended to know one way or another. If there was to be any sort of relationship possible between them, he would have honesty.
So, he had returned to his country home, and despite the lateness of the hour and his weariness when he’d arrived, he’d found himself unable to sleep, consumed by his thoughts about Hetty and the lingering feelings she’d brought forth in him.
With a tired huff, he rose and changed into a set of his working clothes. If he could not sleep, he might as well work on his sculpting. He considered ringing Danvers to inform him, then discarded the idea. Danvers would find him when he rose, having already become somewhat accustomed to his habits and irregular sleeping patterns. He finished donning the old soft shirt and breeches that were his preference when sculpting, and he made his way to his studio.
It was the work of a few moments to light all the lamps around the room, kept for when he wished to work beyond daylight hours. But once they were all lit, he found himself unable to reach for his chisel, or even one of the finer planes to begin his work.
Hetty’s face, shaped and polished, with all but the finest of details displayed, stared back at him from the center of the studio. Lamplight caught on the marble, giving it a golden hue rather like sun-kissed flesh. Making it look a little more life-like, though in truth Hetty’s pale skin was closer to alabaster than it was the golden tones cast by lamplight.
As an artist, he could see the details where there was still work to be done. The lower portion of the body to be finished, the final polish and detailing to be seen to, the smoothing out of the marble so that it flowed in gentle lines reminiscent of cloth, rather than the somewhat uneven look it now possessed. There were still many days of work ahead.
And yet, he could find no energy to continue his labor. No desire to pick up his tools. Looking at the statue only reminded him of the enigma that had supplied his inspiration and continued to confuse and bedevil his mind with the questions she now represented.
He took up a plane and began to work, only to set it aside with a discontented sigh a few minutes later. Working usually brought him peace of mind, allowed him to lose himself in the task at hand, but tonight it brought him no such peace.
Instead, he found himself unable to concentrate, and so unfocused by his thought that he feared he might damage the statue with his inattention. He set aside his tools and extinguished the lamps, except for the one he took with him to his office.
If he could not rest, and he could not become engaged with his art, then he could at least take the time to ensure that his accounts were in order and his estate was in good condition. He had not attended to his businesses in the days since Hetty’s arrival, and it would not do to let them falter, no matter how good his estate managers were and how well he trusted them.
Besides, it would at least be something to pass the time until Hetty arrived for their next session. And then, he would see about getting the answers he sought.
* * *
Henrietta watched the trees pass as the carriage traveled the now familiar route to the Salisbury country estate. For all that she had longed to return the day before, she could not help feeling nervous now as the long drive came into view.
Daniel knew she had been at the Duchess of Merriweather’s masquerade ball, that she had been dressed as one of the guests, rather than a servant. He would surely have questions, and she was not at all certain what she should tell him.
He would surely be displeased if she were to disclose the truth. After all, she had heard him speak on more than one occasion of the women who had invaded his land and his privacy with ill-thought schemes. She could not for the life of her determine whether her little idea to match him with another might be construed as better or worse than a common attempt at entanglement, but he would most certainly not appreciate the deception in any case.
Only, what could she say to him if she did not reveal the truth? She had no desire to be ensnared in further lies. And if he and the Duke of Merriweather were indeed friends and longtime companions upon the battlefield, the wrong story might do harm not only to the relationship between herself and Daniel, but to the relationship between himself and the Duke as well. And she had no wish to elicit further grief by causing discord between him and his friend.
As the carriage came around the last bend, she was still no closer to a solution than she had been at the start of the drive. She was still considering the matter when John pulled the carriage to a halt and stepped down to help her out.
Tell the truth, or lie? Perhaps he would be too engrossed in his work, after a day of being unable to pursue his art, to ask any questions. He might be too concerned with making up for lost time to worry his mind over the riddle of Hetty Smith at a society event. She should be so lucky.
There was no more time to consider the matter, not if she wished to arrive without delay. With a final sigh, she resolved to measure Daniel’s mood and hope that a solution to her dilemma would present itself in consequence.
Daniel was waiting at the door as usual when she arrived on the front steps. He was already dressed in working clothes, and he appeared to have been occupied with something just before her arrival, to judge from the state of his sleeves, though the lack of leather apron and marble dust on his clothing suggested he had not been working on his art.
As she came closer, she could see the shadows under his eyes, like faint bruises, and the sterner than usual press of his lips. His hair was in greater disarray than was normal for him. All put together, he had the look of a man who had spent a thoroughly restless night, or else a particularly trying morning.
He greeted her perfunctorily, barely waiting for Danvers to take her riding cloak before he was striding away toward the workroom. Concerned now for his state of mind, Henrietta followed him. He was either very impatient to get back to his sculpting, or the events of the previous night were as much on his mind as they had been on hers.
They entered the workroom, and she began to move over to the screen to change, removing her shoes first as was normal. She was brought to a stop by one sharply uttered word. “Wait.”
She turned. Daniel regarded her through eyes darkened to shadowed green pools in a face set like stone. He stood silent for some moments, then very carefully and deliberately turned the key in the lock so that no one could enter. Henrietta felt a tingling sensation pass down her spine. He was generally meticulous about keeping the door unlocked, so that no one might claim impropriety.
After a moment of silence, she ventured a question. “Did you have some specific instruction for me today? In regard to the posing or my costume?”
“Specific instruction...? No.” He shook his head slowly. “I have none.”
