The Incomparable Countess. Mary Nichols

aware of my meaning.’

      ‘I have no interest in the Duke of Loscoe, except as a client,’ she said, turning back towards the Stanhope Gate. ‘He is paying me well.’

      He laughed. ‘And you so poor you cannot afford to turn him down!’

      ‘No, I can’t. I put the money I earn to very good use.’

      ‘Now, I never had you down as a pinchcommons.’ He sighed. ‘It just shows how wrong a fellow can be.’

      She laughed. ‘You know me better than anyone, Percy, and you know I am not at all interested in money for its own sake.’

      ‘Do I?’

      ‘Naturally, you do.’

      ‘But you know the latest on dit is that his Grace is looking for a second wife.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘Will he go back unmarried, I ask myself?’

      ‘What has that to do with me?’

      ‘He is rich as Golden Ball, if it is money you want. Not that you would have much of a bargain. The gabble-grinders have it that his marriage was far from content and the consensus of opinion seems to be that it was his fault. He is too stiff and overweening to make any woman happy and only his enormous wealth will make the ladies overlook his failings.’

      ‘Percy, I do believe you are a little jealous.’

      ‘Not at all.’ They passed through the gate into Park Lane. ‘But do not say I did not warn you.’

      They rode on in silence while she mused on what he had said and arrived at Corringham House, just as the phaeton containing the Duke and his daughter turned into the road. This was beginning to become a habit, she thought, this meeting on the doorstep. She must remember that the Duke was a stickler for punctuality and not to be late in future. They stopped and Sir Percival sprang down to help her dismount as the carriage containing the Duke and his daughter came to a halt.

      She was magnificent, Marcus decided, standing at her door in a green velvet habit that nipped her waist, and the most amazing riding hat, like a man’s top hat, but with a sweeping feather and a wisp of veil to make it more feminine. He jumped down and made his bow. ‘My lady.’

      She inclined her head, almost haughty, except that her smile belied it. ‘Your Grace, am I late or are you early?’

      ‘I am punctual, my lady. It is the politeness of kings, so they say, and who am I to be less polite than a king?’

      ‘I will remember that, my lord. Will you please come in? Sir Percival, will you join us?’

      ‘No, don’t think so, m’dear,’ he murmured, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. ‘Things to do, don’t you know?’

      ‘Of course. Thank you for your escort.’

      ‘My pleasure, dear lady.’ He turned to the Duke. ‘Good day, Loscoe. Lady Lavinia.’ And with that he remounted and set off at a trot towards Brook Street.

      ‘I do not intend to stay long,’ Marcus said to the groom who came round from the side of the house to lead the horses away. ‘Just keep a watch on the horses for me.’

      Relieved by that, Frances conducted them indoors and, once his Grace had been relieved of his hat and Lady Lavinia had been divested of her pelisse and bonnet, led the way up to her studio, where she left them to go and change out of her habit.

      It took her no more than five minutes and she returned to find Lavinia standing at the window with her back to the room and the Duke prowling round looking at the pictures displayed on the wall. He had his hands clasped under the tail of his brown frockcoat.

      ‘These are good,’ he said. ‘A deal better than that fribble you did of Lady Willoughby.’

      ‘Thank you. They are the ones I have painted for my own pleasure.’

      ‘You should share that pleasure, not hide them away.’

      ‘They are not hidden,’ she said, thinking of those she had painted of him seventeen years before and was glad she had put them on the floor with their faces to the wall. She did not want him to know that she had kept them. ‘Anyone who comes into this room can see them.’

      ‘But you have not exhibited them?’

      ‘No, they are not fashionable.’

      ‘I can readily see that. There is too much stark realism, the brushstrokes are too bold but, in my humble opinion, the execution is top of the trees. I am sure a more discerning public would see their merit at once.’

      She laughed. ‘You think someone would like to hang a picture of a dead fox on their drawing-room wall?’

      ‘No, perhaps not that one. Why did you do it?’

      ‘The barbarity appalled me.’

      Lady Lavinia turned towards her. ‘You think so too, my lady? I hate it. Papa persuaded me to join in the hunt last autumn and, though I enjoyed the ride, it was awful when the dogs caught the fox. They cut off its brush and wiped my face with it. I was dreadfully sick. I’ll never go again.’ It was the longest speech Frances had heard her make.

      ‘I told you, Vinny,’ the Duke put in with a smile, ‘you only have to be blooded once. It will not happen again.’

      ‘I am sure that is a great comfort to the fox,’ she retorted. ‘It only has to die once. Well, I tell you this: when I marry, I shall not let my husband hunt.’

      He grinned. ‘You think you will have the ordering of your husband, do you? Oh, Vinny, you have a great deal to learn if you believe that.’

      ‘I shall have it written in the marriage contract or there will be no marriage.’

      He laughed aloud, which made the girl colour angrily and Frances decided to intervene. ‘You are evidently very fond of animals, Lady Lavinia.’

      ‘Yes. I have a menagerie at home at Loscoe Court, but of course I could not bring them with me. Tom, the stable boy, is looking after them for me.’

      ‘Have you tried to draw them?’

      ‘No. Why should I? They are there to be seen and touched—why would I want to commit them to paper?’

      ‘Now, there is an interesting question.’

      ‘What is?’

      ‘Why commit anything to paper or canvas? Or plaster and bronze, come to that? Shall we sit down and discuss it? We could do that while I make some preliminary sketches of you.’

      ‘I would rather be out of doors.’

      ‘Then let us go into the garden.’ She rose and collected up two sketchbooks and a few pieces of charcoal. Then she turned to Marcus. ‘You may safely leave Lady Lavinia with me, my lord. I am sure you have other calls on your time.’ It was as near a dismissal as she could make without being unpardonably rude. She wanted him to leave; his presence, even when he was not speaking, was unnerving. She needed to be calm and in control, if she were going to teach her pupil anything at all.

      He rose and smiled. ‘I will return for her in an hour.’

      They went down to the front hall together, where he retrieved his hat, bade Lavinia behave herself, and took his leave.

      ‘Well, he did not need to say that,’ Lavinia said, peevishly. ‘I am not a child. Anyone would think I was going to demolish the place.’

      ‘Oh, I do hope not,’ Frances said with a laugh. ‘I have only just got it looking the way I want it.’

      Lavinia looked sideways at her and then, realising she was joking, smiled. Her smile, like her father’s, lit her eyes, making Frances wonder why she did not do so more often. There was the promise of great beauty and a telling charm, which should be nurtured. Was that what Marcus had meant about polish?