Chapter 18
Eighteen
“They are truly marvelous,” said Caroline softly. “It will be a stunning success, of that I have no doubt.”
Her companion made a coughing sound. When he turned his head, his eyes were clouded with doubt.
“Do you really think so?” He let out his breath in an uncertain sigh. “I have no idea what to expect. If you must know the truth, my knees are quaking so badly it is a wonder I can stand upright.” Another sigh. “What if everyone hates them?”
Caroline smiled and gave him a reassuring pat. “Most unlikely.” Then her expression turned more pensive. “Are artists always so afraid of what the critics might say?”
They came to a halt after viewing the last of the paintings, and Jeremy Leighton mulled over the question at length.
“It’s difficult to explain,” he finally answered.
“I mean, if you believe in yourself, that’s all that really matters.
But one can’t help feeling terribly—pardon the expression—naked with one’s soul hanging up there for all to see. ”
“That is a frightening thought,” Caroline agreed. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. But still, I am quite sure you have no need to be worried. What you show of yourself is a strength, compassion and lyricism that would do anyone credit.”
Jeremy colored nearly as bright as one of the deftly rendered sunsets that hung on the wall behind him. He dropped his head to mask his embarrassment at the compliment as well as his lingering apprehension as to the reception of his work.
“I cannot thank you enough, Lady Caroline, for arranging all of this.” He gestured at the impressive exhibition space. “Without your influence and—”
She cut off what promised to be a lengthy—and effusive—speech.
“My influence would have meant nothing had you not had the talent to impress the Academy. Not for all the peers of the realm would they hang a show they didn’t feel was worthy of such a display.
You shall see for yourself at the opening later today, and at the ball we are giving in your honor tonight. ”
She smiled. “No doubt you shall be the toast of the Town.”
Jeremy’s face became even more scarlet as he dug for something in his pocket.
“I have a…token of my thanks,” he mumbled, pressing a small package wrapped carefully in patterned paper into her hands.
“May I open it now?”
He nodded.
Caroline tore away the gold-and-indigo covering to reveal an oval miniature framed in polished ebony.
“It is a…very good likeness,” she faltered as she stared down at the familiar features. Her voice sounded strained, tentative, even to her own ears. There was a long silence as she searched for something appropriate to say. Then, at last, her eyes rose to meet his.
“He looks very unhappy.”
“He is.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “He invited me to stay with him for a while after he returned from London, so I am well aware of his current state of mind.”
“Have things not been going well at Highwood?” she asked quickly. “I thought that with the additional funds, his most pressing problems would at least be lessened.”
“I don’t think it’s solely estate matters that are preying on his mind.”
Caroline turned slightly, as if suddenly taking a great interest in the expansive landscape that was hanging to her left.
There was another long silence. The conversation was heading into dangerous waters…
But tempting as it was to steer clear of discussing anything to do with the earl, she decided such a course would be cowardly.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset His Lordship with all the trouble he has endured on my account. Are his wounds…”
“His injuries have nothing to do with it either,” interrupted Jeremy.
To her dismay, she felt herself blush. “I can’t, that is, I…”
Why was she reduced to stammering like a girl scarcely out of the schoolroom?
she wondered. Giving herself a mental shake, she composed her emotions enough to continue in a more coherent manner.
“I can’t imagine that I should have any effect on the earl’s mood now.
I assure you, he was only too glad to rid himself of my presence when last I saw him. ”
She drew in a steadying breath. “I can’t say that I blame him. After all, he was either cutting up something fierce at me or having to risk his neck to pull my irons out of the fire. I guess all I ever seemed to do was turn his world upside down.”
There was a glimmer of a smile from Jeremy. “Indeed. That you certainly did.”
At a loss for words, Caroline bit her lip and stole another look at the painting in her hands.
The gesture seemed to encourage Jeremy to screw up his courage and speak more forthrightly than he normally would have dared.
“You know, it seems to me that Julian is so used to taking care of other people’s welfare that he has little experience in seeing to his own.
Perhaps what has him at sixes and sevens these days is the realization that he is not as immune to the need for someone to truly care for him as he wants to think.
” A hesitation. “And perhaps he doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. ”
Caroline made a strangled sound at the back of her throat.
“Forgive me if I overstep myself.” Jeremy dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “It’s just that I wish to see two people I care about…”
She was saved from having to make a reply by the sudden appearance of her cousin.
His boots rapped out a staccato measure of impatience as he crossed the polished marble floor.
“Have you two lost all track of time?” he called.
“I have been walking my grays outside for more than a quarter hour!” He made a show of consulting his pocket watch.
“We shall barely have time to return home and dress for the opening.”
“Perhaps I shall leave the two of you to attend it. You can tell me all about it later,” said Jeremy faintly.
“Ha!” Lucien took his friend firmly by the arm and began marching him toward the door.
Caroline followed close behind, grateful for the chance to elude the sharp gaze of her cousin for a moment—and to mask her utter confusion caused by Jeremy’s words.
“Buck up your courage,” continued Lucien. “It can’t be as bad as you think.”
Jeremy cast him a baleful look.
“You will have your good friends to lend moral support,” added Lucien.
“I—wonder if Julian will be able to attend…” wondered Jeremy.
“Count on it, he will be here,” assured the viscount.
“I sent my own carriage to fetch him, along with two of our largest footmen, who had orders to see he arrived today, even if they had to truss him up like a sow to accomplish the feat. He’ll be staying with us, of course. Uncle wouldn’t hear of anything else.”
Caroline’s stomach gave a little lurch. She hurriedly stuffed the miniature into her reticule as Lucien turned to hand her into the waiting coach.
Jeremy had every reason to feel weak in the knees.
So what was her excuse?
* * *
Davenport stared out at the increasing number of vehicles that were clogging the road.
The carriage in which he was riding had finally been forced to slacken its breakneck pace on reaching the outskirts of London.
Still, they would arrive at their destination in more than enough time.
He shifted against the soft leather squabs, his scowl only deepening on taking in the sights and sounds that signaled the change from country to city.
He was in a sour mood, and the long hours alone with his thoughts during the journey had merely served to exacerbate it.
It had been damnably unfair of Lucien to force him into this, he fumed as he stared down at his boots, though a slight prick of conscience made him admit that he wouldn’t have missed the opening of Jeremy’s art exhibit for any reason.
The sight of the worn and cracked leather made his mood turn even darker.
As if he needed any reminder of his financial straits. At least he had a halfway decent set of evening clothes, so he wouldn’t be totally humiliated at the reception—or the duke’s ball.
In truth, it was the contemplation of the upcoming evening, not the opening of Jeremy’s exhibition, that had him so out of sorts, admitted Davenport. Given his druthers, it was an event he would have avoided like the plague, but the viscount had given him little choice in the matter.
Short of punching the deadlights out of the two burly footmen sent to fetch him—a task he was by no means sure that he could accomplish in his present condition—he was now in thrall to the duke’s hospitality.
And that meant dutifully taking part in the gala festivities, regardless of his feelings on the matter.
His fingers drummed on his frayed breeches. He had no choice but to make an appearance…
But nobody could force him to like it.
And nobody could force him to pay any attention to a certain other person who was sure to be in attendance.
A vision of Caroline’s willowy form gowned in the height of fashion, hair dressed becomingly in a soft, feminine style, danced unbidden into his head.
With an audible growl, he tried to banish it from his thoughts.
However, he had learned over the course of more than a few long, empty nights that mere words had little effect—it took at least a bottle or two of brandy to chase away the memory of the exact tilt of her head, the curves of her body, the radiance of her smile.
An oath escaped his lips. Then he chuffed an ironic laugh. The lady had him literally talking to himself. Next, they would soon be hauling him off to Bedlam, which would no doubt be an appropriate fate if this torment continued.
At Highwood, he had been able to use physical exhaustion stirred with a liberal dose of spirits to keep his mind occupied. But as the carriage rolled closer to its final destination, Davenport realized that he could no longer avoid facing his real feelings.