Chapter Four #2
“Sticky Hentrose?” Rebecca repeated, lifting both eyebrows.
“That could have been humiliating for me. You should tell me if someone gives you a silly nickname.” She dipped a grand curtsy.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Lady Becks, accomplished portraitist and daughter of Sticky Hentrose.
” Then she giggled. “I don’t think you would have let me come to London if people called you that. ”
“You are absolutely correct, Cricket.” Grinning, he bent down to offer Edmund a hand and help him to his feet. “Now collect your wooden birds and find some paint, you two.”
“Oh! We finally get to paint them? I’ve been asking for ages!”
“Yes, I recall.”
Arms laden with a dozen wooden birds, they scampered out of the morning room, leaving him alone with Iris. “Is that how you’ve remembered me after all this time?” he asked. “Sticky Hentrose?”
She smiled, the expression making her hazel eyes dance. “I didn’t remember you until the moment I walked into your house yesterday. You might have told the children that you found it funny at the time, as well, and that’s why no one attempted to give you that nickname.”
Shrugging, he grinned back at her. “I may have exaggerated the episode a little.”
“I recognize the strategy. In fact, I sometimes wonder if Edmund thinks I’ve had as many absurd encounters as I’ve claimed, or if he knows I just like to see him laugh.”
“Rebecca’s middle name has become ‘You’re Bamming Me,’ so I know what you mean.”
She stood up, and he climbed to his feet, as well.
“I should be going,” she said. “Aunt Margaret has a shopping excursion and requires someone to push her. If you tire of Edmund, please see him back to Grove House. His tutor, Mr. Fredericks, has several mathematics and history lessons prepared for him.”
“I’ll keep him until after luncheon, if you’re amenable to that. Rebecca and I are dining with a … new friend, and she asked if Edmund might attend, as well.”
“You’re certain you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I believe in testing someone’s resolve at the very beginning of an acquaintance. It keeps me from wasting time on people who lack spleen.”
Iris walked into the foyer, where Butler opened the door for her. “Evidently I do the same, Sticky.”
Beckett laughed as she left Raines House and turned left.
Iris Flexing. He didn’t know if he would have recognized her without her prompting, but he did recall that at the time she’d been one of the half dozen young ladies he’d been considering for marriage before he’d met Lady Lydia Langford of the many Ls and the adoring smile.
And though he’d made the wrong choice eleven years ago, he wasn’t certain if the strawberry cream chit would otherwise have been his choice.
Or if she’d ever regarded him with an eye toward more than sharing her dessert.
Rebecca had never spent a more magnificent morning.
Eddie pointed out that they needed paint and brushes, which turned into a trip in the barouche to the Pantheon Bazaar where they went to a colorman’s shop and bought oil paints, and then to a sweets shop where Brubbie gave them each a shilling to purchase whatever they wished.
After that, they found the most marvelous pet shop where Brubbie did not let her buy a monkey, even though it was darling and wore a hat and trousers.
“I’m going to ask Papa about that monkey,” Rebecca said, sitting back in the barouche as the vehicle rolled toward Grosvenor Street. “It liked me very much.”
Brubbie, on the opposite seat, nodded. “Ask to your heart’s content, Lady Becks. Your papa will say you’re monkey enough for one house.”
That did sound like something Papa would say. “What about a parrot, then? I could teach it to talk. The red ones were lovely.”
“Lord Hentrose would say you already do enough chatting for any five people.”
That sounded like Papa, too. Beside her, Edward was poking a finger at the pig bladder holding a quantity of red paint. “If you break that,” Rebecca warned him, “you’ll get red on everything.”
“I won’t break it. It just feels odd. Poke it. But be gentle.”
Reaching over, she poked it with the tip of one finger. It felt soft and solid all at the same time. “It feels like a thing just waiting to cause trouble,” she commented, giggling.
“Definitely,” he returned. “I can’t believe they allow children to purchase these.”
“They generally don’t,” Mrs. Brubbins said, holding out her hand for the blob of paint. “You’re being trusted not to cause a mess. In exchange for a bit of caution, you have permission to paint twelve wooden birds. A fair trade, don’t you think?”
Eddie handed her the bladder, a bit smaller than a chicken egg. “Yes, it’s fair, Mrs. Brubbins. We’ll be careful.”
Rebecca nodded her own agreement. “But do we have to stop painting when that lady comes for luncheon? I think we should be able to finish the birds before the paint dries.”
“His lordship wants you to meet Lady Pauline,” Brubbie said, putting the red paint gingerly back into the box with the other six colors they’d chosen.
“But why does he need to get married? He’s been a widower since I was born, less one hour. I like us this way.”
“My mother says people always want widows and widowers to get married because they make everyone else feel awkward.”
“I don’t feel awkward,” Rebecca countered. “Will you have luncheon with us? Papa said I could invite you.”
“I am not going to a luncheon where everyone’s talking about getting married and kissing and flowers.” Eddie made a face. “No, thank you.”
“That’s disappointing. I don’t want to go, either.”
“Well, you have to go. I’ll keep painting.”
“No! We’re painting together. If you won’t have luncheon with me, you have to go home.”
For a minute she thought Eddie would argue more with her, but he shrugged. “I’ll go home, then, if I can come back after your luncheon so we can finish painting.”
“I agree to that. Go out to your garden, and I’ll give you a signal when we’re finished.”
Mrs. Brubbins sighed. “Or you could send over a note, as is proper.”
“We’re fighting against time here, Brubbie. We can’t waste minutes writing notes.”
“Very well. Do as you will—on this one occasion. But you are not to spend the luncheon thinking about painting birds. You’re meeting someone who could become a very significant part of your life.
” The governess tapped her on the knee with her forefinger.
“Pay attention and be polite. What you want and what your father needs may well be two different things.”
She couldn’t imagine why her father needed someone else tromping about the house when he already complained that by herself she made more noise than an elephant, but adults were frequently odd.
Her father less so than most, but even he was old, one-and-thirty now.
If he needed someone to help take care of him and Hentrose Park, Rebecca supposed she could understand that.
As long as Lady Pauline Grenedy didn’t try to keep her from getting a pony.
Once they returned to the schoolroom they set about mixing dabs of paint with each other, making some glorious oranges and greens and purples, and even if most of those weren’t strictly the colors of the English birds the wood-carver had made, the colors were too pretty to go to the trouble of making and then not using.
Eddie’s birds looked more real, but hers were more lovely.
A knock sounded on the open schoolroom door. “Lady Becks,” Bradley said, “your father has requested you go upstairs and dress for luncheon. It’s half twelve, nearly.”
“Oh, goodness.” Mrs. Brubbins stood up. “Let’s go, Lady Becks. Master Edmund, Bradley will see you home.”
“It’s just next…” Eddie shook his head. “Never mind. I know you won’t listen. I’ll see you after, Becks. Don’t forget to signal me.”
“I won’t.”
Upstairs Brubbie thought she should wear her green muslin with the little birds embroidered on the skirt, but Rebecca wanted to wear her pink muslin with the yellow daisies along the sleeves and hem. Because there wasn’t time for a good argument she won, but it felt a little like cheating.
“I’ll wear the green one tomorrow,” she said, turning so Brubbie could tie the bow at the back of the gown. “But pink is my prettiest color, don’t you think?”
“Pink is your favorite color. And you would look pretty and proper in either gown. Thank you for listening to my advice, even if you chose not to follow it.”
Rebecca groaned. “You don’t have to make everything into a lesson, Brubbie.”
The governess grinned. “Everything is a lesson, my dear. Now, downstairs with you. Be on your best behavior, and make your father proud he asked you to be present for a very big moment in your lives.”
Now this luncheon seemed almost too important.
If her father liked this lady, she supposed she would have to try to like her, as well, even though she still didn’t understand why he wanted to change things.
He was a far more interesting papa than any of her friends had, and he spent far more time with her than any other fathers she knew of spent with their own daughters.
In the foyer Butler nodded at her. “Ready, Lady Becks?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll announce you, then.”
She walked beside him to the small dining room, then stopped as he knocked and opened the door. “Lord Hentrose, Lady Pauline, Lady Rebecca Raines.” He stepped sideways, and she walked gracefully into the room to curtsy.
“Good afternoon, Papa, Lady Pauline,” she said, straightening again.
Her father had stood up when she came into the room, which meant they were being proper today. “Thank you for joining us, Rebecca,” he said. “I’ve been telling Lady Pauline about you.”
Bradley pulled out her chair, and she sat opposite their visitor so she could finally take a good look at her. “Oh, you’re wearing pink!” she exclaimed. “That’s my favorite color. I’m wearing pink, too.”