Chapter Five #2
“She said that?” Edmund whispered, his brush full of white paint poised in midair. “That you were making your papa sad?”
“That I was sucking out his happiness like a leech sucking out blood.” Rebecca continued painting her sparrow, and he noticed that the colors were much plainer than the bright yellows and greens and purples she’d been using before luncheon. “And she said I murdered my mama.”
“Becks, your papa smiles when he talks to you and about you. You make him happy. Not sad.”
She nodded, a tear running down one cheek. “I know he loves me. But Lady Pauline said he’s an adult and needs a wife to be happy. In my entire life she’s the only one he’s had over for luncheon, so I know he’s choosing her.”
“Her?” Edward jabbed the air with his brush. “She nearly killed you.”
“What she said made me choke. The magistrate would call it an unfortunate accident. I just … I really don’t like her, Eddie.”
“Tell your papa.” He turned his bird so he could paint its chest white. It looked like a long-tailed tit to him, brown and black and white. Perhaps not fancy, but even in wood it looked almost real. “If they get married, you have to live with her, too.”
“I can’t tell him. If he doesn’t marry her because of me, I’ll be ruining the rest of his life.” She dabbed a bit of tan onto her own bird. “What about your mama? Is she going to get married again?”
“Never. She says she’s been a wife, and now she’s a mother. She says she’s happy. I know Papa made her cry sometimes, so I think she’ll stay a widow.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mrs. Brubbins, Becks’s governess, asked, carrying in a stack of cloths and some turpentine for cleaning off the paintbrushes. “And I thought that was going to be a yellow-headed, green-winged dove, Lady Becks.”
“There aren’t any doves that color,” Becks answered. “Or purple ones, either.”
“There are peacocks and parrots with those colors. We saw them with our own eyes just this morning. I thought you were going to paint them into your birds.”
“These birds don’t look like parrots, Brubbie. Don’t be silly.”
The governess frowned for a second, then put on a smile again. “I do try not to be silly. Perhaps, though, we could purchase you another canvas, and then you can make any bird you’d like.”
“I’m a portraitist, Brubbie; you know that.
I could use a new canvas, though, because I would like to paint Eddie.
I have to sketch him first, though, so there’s no hurry.
” She twisted to face her governess. “Do I need to go to Europe and study art before I do any more portraits? Because I’d like to go to Paris eventually, but that’s a long time to wait. ”
“No, my dear. It’s practice that makes perfect; not sitting on your hands.”
Her shoulders lifted. “Oh, good.”
“Master Edmund, you should ask Lady Becks to show you some of her portraits. She’s an original,” Mrs. Brubbins said, setting down her things and taking the chair opposite them.
“I asked her already,” he responded, “but she says I have to know her better first because they’re very complex. And I can’t visit tomorrow, because I promised Mr. Fredericks I would do my lessons.”
“Is he your tutor?” the governess asked.
“Yes. But he’s mad.”
Her mouth twitched. “Truly? How so?”
“He makes everything rhyme. He says it’s to improve my mind and my vocabulary and to encourage me to think creatively, but he does it all the time. Silly things, like ‘Do you have some bread? I mean to eat ten pounds of it before I’m dead.’”
Becks laughed. “No, he doesn’t say that.”
“Maybe not that one exactly, but just like that. All the time.” All the time.
“I want to meet him. I’m good at rhyming.”
“Do you want me to ask if you can attend lessons with me tomorrow?” That would be fun; no one ever wanted to sit in on his lessons with Mr. Fredericks. Even his mother suddenly had things to do when lesson time came around.
“Yes, please.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Brubbins put in, “I believe your papa is planning an outing for tomorrow morning. For both of you.”
Well, even an outing to look at a brick wall would be better than lessons with Mr. Fredericks. “I hope so,” he said, returning to his long-tailed tit. “But I’ll ask Mama, anyway.”
“Do you think Papa could be taking us to the menagerie?” Becks asked, putting a little bit of yellow onto her brush. “Or the museum? Or to Hyde Park?”
“I don’t know, dove. I was only told there would be an outing. And you know he wants to show you London. Now finish up the bird in front of you. I’ve found some jars we can put the paint in to keep it usable for another few days.”
“Oh, good. I was worried we would have to rush the last few birds, and they would look shabby.” A bit of red appeared on Becks’s bird’s head.
Edmund smiled, glad she was happy again.
He liked Becks Raines. She got the same silly questions from adults that he did, and she didn’t look at him like he had the plague just because his papa was dead.
Now Lady Pauline had been mean to her. The next time that woman came over to Raines House for luncheon, he would be there.
Let her try saying horrible things with him there, listening.
“You have a note, my lord.” Butler stepped into the breakfast room with his salver. “And a quartet of invitations.”
Beckett sighed, scooping the correspondence off the tray and dropping it beside his plate. “That is what happens when one attends a social event, Butler; everyone expects you to attend theirs next.”
“There’s already been more mail here this Season than I think we saw all of last year,” the butler commented, nodding. “The perils of remaining full time in London.”
“I suppose I’ll need to discover which events Pauline is attending, so I can coordinate with her.”
“She seems a fine lady, my lord, though of course you don’t require my opinion.”
Smiling, Beckett lifted his cup of tea. “I am not so lofty that I refuse to listen to opinions, Butler. Thank you.”
The letter helpfully turned out to be from Lady Pauline, and she’d thought to list all the invitations she’d accepted for the next three weeks.
Good God, there were a lot of them. That was what an unmarried lady did during the Season though, he supposed; socialize. And she was clearly very good at it.
Three of the four invitations that accompanied the missive were for parties she’d put on her list, so he wrote his acceptance to them, had Bradley fetch his calendar, and added them to his own schedule.
At least she was making this easy for him, though if he attended everything she did, he wouldn’t be home for the next fortnight except on next Tuesday night.
Together with sessions of the House of Lords and the reading he needed to do on proposed laws, it would leave him almost no time at all to spend with Rebecca.
He wrote a note back to Pauline thanking her for her missive, explaining that he would attend where he could, and citing the need to spend time with his daughter as his reason for avoiding the others.
“Need” wasn’t the correct word, though; he enjoyed the time he spent with Rebecca, and her sharp, imaginative mind, her very unique portraits, her love of reading, and even her madness for horses.
When he’d finished, he went to find Rebecca picking flowers in the garden with Mrs. Brubbins. “I’ve an errand to run this morning,” he said, bending to allow her to put a daisy-chain necklace over his head. “Care to join me?”
“Yes! Might Eddie come, too? Brubbie said you were going to take us somewhere. Is it the menagerie?”
“Why would I have an errand at the Royal Menagerie?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “And yes, you and Mrs. Brubbins may go inquire if Edmund is available. I asked Mrs. Silbern if she wished to join us, so wait for her response, as well.”
“Come on, Brubbie,” Rebecca exclaimed, setting down her basket and galloping toward the door. “We’ve no time to waste!”
“Do you wish me to accompany you on your errand, my lord?” Mrs. Brubbins asked as she collected scissors and scattered blossoms. “Lady Becks has decided she wants to spend more of her literature time learning rhymes—I believe because Master Edmund’s tutor uses them a great deal.
I’d like to be ahead of the game and write her some practices. ”
Beckett grinned. “If Mrs. Silbern is joining us, then I leave you to compose rhymes. If she isn’t, though, I would like another set of eyes on the two of them. The idea of being outnumbered gives me the shivers.”
With a bob and a smile the governess walked past him into the house.
“I admire the way children become bosom friends so easily. I suppose it’s because they don’t care about politics or property.
It’s enough if they both enjoy painting birds and talking about horses.
And in this instance, each has but one parent. Perhaps that’s what it is.”
“Whatever it is, it’s come at a good time for both of them.” He followed her into the house.
Iris had mentioned that there were days she’d made weak soup for dinner.
She’d done the cooking, then, or at least some of it.
Her husband had been a second son, with no title or properties that he knew of.
As challenging as raising Rebecca could be, he couldn’t imagine doing so while worried over their next meal.
And yet Edmund was good-natured and well-mannered, if a bit over-serious.
Iris Silbern, on the other hand, was a tempest. One with every right to be defensive, short-tempered, and sharp-tongued.
Remarkable that her circumstances hadn’t beaten her down, really.
“Brubbie, we must go!” Rebecca yelled from the front of the house.
“Oh dear.” The governess handed the flowers and detritus over to a junior footman and gathered her skirts. “Thank you, George. On my way, Lady Becks.”