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“Friends are equals. We can never be that. With the great difference in our circumstances.” Her life was calm and settled. He would turn it upside down. No, he already had. And she must fight her way back to safety.
“You would find much in common with Miss Julia Grandison,” he said.
Teresa blinked at this unexpected reply. She was nothing like the towering woman who had looked down her nose at everyone at the play. Was this some sort of insult?
“Tom and I are friends,” Lord Macklin added.
How much longer would she be shut in this carriage, her leg inches from his? His gaze was much too acute. Teresa looked out to see where they were. The outskirts of her neighborhood streamed by. “The cases are entirely different,” she said. This was true whether or not she believed in their friendship. Tom was a boy, and she was a woman on her own.
“Ah,” said the earl.
Now he would argue with her, explain where she was wrong and why she really should do just as he wished. Whatever that was. What was it?
“Well, we can maintain a fiction of friendship while we pursue our inquiries,” Lord Macklin continued.
“A fiction?” Teresa stared at him. Was this some English expression?
“A simple…pact. That was your idea after all, wasn’t it?”
“Mine?”
“When you…claimed ownership yesterday?” Something glinted in his blue-gray eyes. Did he dare tease her about that? This man was unprecedented in her experience. Tom was watching them as if fascinated. It seemed his aristocratic friend’s sly manner wasn’t familiar to him either.
“No obligations implied,” Lord Macklin added.
“I owe you none,” she snapped.
“Precisely. So, we are in agreement?”
If this was the sort ofdiscussionhe’d had with his wife, he didn’t know the meaning of the word, Teresa thought.
“We’ll have to be out and about looking for Odile and Sonia and Maria,” said Tom.
And a lord could go where they couldn’t. Tom had made that point. Still, it felt as if he was siding with Lord Macklin against her. No obligations, Teresa told herself. He could expect nothing. “Yes,” she said.
“What harm can it do?” the earl asked.
She didn’t know, but she suspected.
An hour later, Teresa sat in her small parlor with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits at her side and her mind in turmoil. Two sides of her were engaged in a rancorous inner battle. One was bemoaning all that she had lost. It felt constricted and sad in this limited English life. The other was grateful and happy to be in a cozy haven and wished never to venture out again. The two seemed equally strong, and each was quite disdainful of the other’s point of view.
Seven
Two days later the theater workshop was enlivened by a sudden influx of fashionable ladies. A ripple of greetings and buzz of reaction made Teresa turn from her painting to see the four young “investigators” come in. This bevy of well-dressed females flowed in among the craftsmen, their dresses and bonnets and wraps a swirl of moving color in the middle of the space.
Tom went over to welcome them and offer introductions, which they happily accepted, and he took them around to explain the various tasks that were being performed. The ladies asked questions and complimented the artisans, seeming fascinated by this peek behind the scenes of theater production.
When they reached Teresa, she wondered if they would think less of her because she worked here. She was also conscious that her old muslin gown, quite suitable for painting, was shabby compared with what they’d seen her wear before. Not to mention the streaks of midnight blue and crimson down her long apron.
“How lovely,” said sandy-haired Miss Moran when the newcomers clustered around the flat that Teresa had been painting. “I feel as if I could walk right into the scene and climb up the hill to that castle.”
“Your use of perspective is excellent,” said Miss Deeping.
“How did you capture the feeling of moonlight?” asked Miss Finch. “I have tried to paint that and made a muddle of it.”
Teresa could see no sign of mockery in their faces. She relaxed a bit and explained some of her techniques. Miss Finch in particular seemed interested.
“My goodness, can you paint from the top of a ladder?” asked Miss Moran. She was gazing at the upper part of the landscape. “That must be fifteen feet high.”
