Chapter Eleven
“Be still, Princess! For the sake of my own peace and quiet, I have decided to let you out of the cave during the day, with me as your protector. But stray you not from my side! These hills are full of danger. A red pall hangs over the valley, sending tendrils our way. You will do as I say, and I will keep you from harm.”
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
“Warburton, how good of you to come.” Thea, Duchess of Osborne, clasped Dex’s hands warmly, then turned to Miss Crewe. “And this must be your ward?”
Dex nodded. “Allow me to present Miss Analise Crewe. Miss Crewe, this is Her Grace, the Duchess of Osborne.”
“Pish. You know we’re not formal at my art salon. You may call me Thea.” She smiled engagingly at Miss Crewe.
“Then you must call me Ana. It was the name my father used, short for Analise.”
“Very well, then, I shall use it with honor. And we shall be friends, Ana. I can feel it. You have the most inquisitive expression and those green eyes of yours fairly sparkle with high spirits and humor.”
Dex regarded the two ladies beaming at each other.
He’d suspected they would feel an immediate kinship, both being creative souls who foolishly loved to see the good in people.
“Be warned, Thea, she’s writing a novel and everything she experiences in society may end up in her pages.
Watch what you say, else you might find yourself prominently featured. ”
“I’ll be on my guard.”
“She probably has a pencil concealed somewhere in that knot of curls,” Dex couldn’t help saying, eyeing her gold-red hair with trepidation. “To take notes with.”
“Whatever makes you say that, Your Grace?” Miss Crewe countered with an air of innocence, contradicted by a quick pat to the part of her coiffure that did, indeed, hold such an implement.
Thea regarded them quizzically.
“When I first met my ward, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. She found the sight of me terrifying and attacked me with a pencil she had hidden in her coiffure,” Dex explained. “I still have the scar.” He touched the place on his cheek. The mark she’d left on him. The visible one, at least.
“I wasn’t terrified of your appearance. I thought you had been sent by a brothel keeper.”
“Truly?” Thea’s eyes widened. “There’s a very interesting story here, I feel certain.”
“One that must never be spoken aloud,” Dex reminded Miss Crewe with a frown. She was free with her mentions of brothels in public.
“Ana.” Thea took her arm. “Is there, perchance, a brooding duke in your novel who gives stern commands?”
Miss Crewe’s cheeks flushed a fetching shade of pink. “The villain is rather ill-tempered and given to expressing himself with grunts and growls.”
Thea giggled. “And the hero?”
“He converses most eloquently and with ease on topics ranging from his childhood to his taste in poetry. He’s always complimenting the heroine and acquiescing to her every whim.”
Dex snorted. “Sounds like a right ninny.”
He ignored the pang that struck his chest when she’d all but described him as a villain.
Was that truly how she saw him? He’d try to be more agreeable this evening.
After all, it was her first foray into society.
Observing her obvious delight in making new acquaintances was, dare he think it, heartwarming.
The pale pink of the simple gown she wore matched the roses in her cheeks.
Her hair caught the candlelight and matched its flame, and she gazed about her with bright eyes eager for new sights.
“Your salon is beautiful, Thea. Who are the artists represented this evening?”
“I specialize in displaying new works by female artists. And here’s one of them right now! Lulu, my dear, come join us and meet Analise Crewe, Warburton’s ward.”
Lulu, the younger sister of Charlene, Duchess of Harland, approached them with a wide smile. With her red-tinged hair and wide hazel eyes, she could have been Miss Crewe’s sister. She stared at his ward with astonishment writ across her face.
“Why, we’re already acquainted,” Miss Crewe said wonderingly. “You painted my portrait several years past.”
Lulu clapped her hands with genuine joy. “It’s you! My first real commission! My art instructress, Mrs. Hendricks, was taken suddenly ill and I stepped in and completed the work. You were a pleasure to paint. Do you still have the miniature portrait?”
“My father took it with him to war, and it was lost for several years.” Miss Crewe’s expressive face registered a momentary sadness, then brightened with effort. “That is, until Warburton returned it to me.”
“It was Lieutenant Crewe’s most treasured possession and a beautiful piece of work,” said Dex. “I was extremely gratified to be able to reunite the painting with its subject.”
“Then your father . . . ?” Lulu asked with a somber expression.
“He went missing after a terrible battle.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry. He was such a kind gentleman. Did you know that he insisted on paying me twice the fee?”
“That doesn’t surprise me, although I like to speak of him in the present tense, if you don’t mind? He’s missing, not confirmed to be dead.”
“Ah, of course. An important distinction. He’s a congenial man and I was so lucky to paint you. Such a rewarding experience—my first real earnings as an artist! You and your father gave me the confidence to continue with my art.”
“I should love to display the portrait,” Thea spoke decisively, obviously enchanted with the conversation. “Your first work should be hung with your other portraits. Would you mind parting with it for a short period, Ana?”
“I’d be honored. Lulu, how wonderful that you continued painting. I’ve often wondered about how you were getting on.”
“She’s unstoppable,” Thea enthused. “First the portraits, then the landscapes, and now . . . well, you’ll just have to wander the rooms and see where Lulu’s boundless imagination has led her.”
“I want to speak with you more, Ana, but I see one of my patronesses.” Lulu curtsied to Dex and waved at Miss Crewe. “I’ll be back soon!”
Dex offered Miss Crewe his arm. The portraiture lining the first room was lovely, even Dex could admit that. Lulu painted each subject honestly, without the fawning embellishments sometimes favored by portrait artists, and yet, that honesty made each person glow with unique personality and beauty.
Miss Crewe approached a larger portrait of a good-looking fair-haired man.
“This one is extraordinary. See how the subject is garbed all in simple black and standing in a sparsely furnished room at dusk, but the austerity of his surroundings serves only to enhance the gentleman’s beauty. Who is he?”
“Patrick Fellowes. Thea’s brother-in-law. Shall we?” Dex attempted to steer her to the next portrait but she continued staring at Fellowes.
“He’s really quite extraordinarily handsome, don’t you think?”
Dex had never considered whether the lawyer and occasional business partner was handsome. “He’s passably attractive, I suppose.”
“‘Passably?’ ‘Attractive’? I’ve never heard fainter praise. He’s a positive Adonis! Look at those golden locks, and his excellent proportions. Why, the ladies must break their fans flirting with him—if he’s a bachelor, that is.”
He stirred uncomfortably, wishing they were conversing on any other topic. “He’s a widower with a young son.”
“I thought I detected a note of sadness in those fine blue eyes.” She seemed to savor the thought, like a cat satisfied by a saucer of cream.
“It must make him even more appealing to the ladies. He looks precisely how I envision Lord Fortescue in my novel. Perhaps I should make my hero a widower. It could spark sympathy in the readers, give him a poignant dimension. Make their cheers even lustier when he wins Adora’s hand and vanquishes the avaricious Sir Archer. ”
In other words, Patrick was a handsome widower, a perfect candidate to play the hero in her novel, while Dex was the scarred, taciturn villain unfit to win the sweet, intrepid heroine’s hand.
Right. That was the way of it, the truth.
Then why did the truth sting? And why did he want to change her thinking on the subject?
He was conscious of a need to diminish the annoyingly attractive young man in her wide green eyes.
“Mr. Fellowes is a scholarly man, a lawyer and historian. Even though he’s brother to a duke, he eschews all titles and privileges, preferring an ascetic life. It’s his brother, the Duke of Osborne, that does the dirty work of vanquishing villains.”
“He wields the pen over the sword,” she said dreamily. “I’m beginning to think I may need to rewrite my hero.”
“For heaven’s sake, you’re putting the man on a pedestal before you even make his acquaintance. He spends his evenings with a thick lawyerly tome and his days in court. He’s rebuffed all attempts at matchmaking.”
“Why, Your Grace.” Miss Crewe smiled widely and tapped his arm with her ivory fan. “You’re not jealous of a painting, are you?” She searched his face. “You are!”
“Am not,” he grumbled. “Let’s move along.”
“Enjoying my portrait?” a voice inquired from behind them.
They both turned. Dex nearly groaned aloud. “Patrick. Speak of the devil.”
“It’s you!” Miss Crewe said, her face lighting up. “In the flesh.”
Patrick bowed. “Indeed. Warburton, will you introduce us?”
“Patrick, this is my ward, Miss Crewe. Miss Crewe, Patrick Fellowes.”
“I apologize, Mr. Fellowes, but I might just call you Lord Fortescue! You see, you’re the very image I have in mind while writing a character in my novel.”
“Is that right? And how did you describe me?”
“Broad of shoulder, a noble nose, hair the color of wheat stalks on a summer’s day. A peaceful expression, a serene smile, an obliging personality.”