Page 3 of Drawn to the Duke
Anna nodded sadly. “But Edward is only ever invited to paint these days. No one ever invites us to be their guests.”
Selina wasn’t sure how to respond for what Anna said was true.
And Selina had certainly played a large part in the family’s fall from grace.
But now was not the time to dwell on the mistakes of the past.
Soon she would draw the Duke of Chauncy’s likeness and who knew what other opportunities would arise as a result?
CHAPTER 3
“Sir Edward and Lady Boothe.”
Chauncy rose from his seat, hiding his reservations as he welcomed Sir Edward to his grand ancestral home.
The artist whose ability to render an exceptional likeness underpinned Chauncy’s plan to protect the Prince Regent was not very prepossessing. Though he came here in the capacity of a menial, Chauncy had decided to accord him the status of a guest on account of his birth, despite the family’s fall from grace.
It seemed everyone from the baronet’s father to sister had besmirched the family lineage. As a result, so Chauncy had heard, they were on nobody’s guest lists until word had begun to spread that there was no one to rival Sir Edward for speed and accuracy when it came to a likeness.
But the fact that Sir Edward had brought his wife, when no such invitation had been extended, riled him.
He offered the fellow a frosty smile, lest the young man presume too much, and said, “Sir Edward, your reputation as an artist of exceptional accuracy is the reason you are here, so let me be brief?—”
“You are too kind, Your Grace, but it is indeed true that my skill is without equal, certainly according to the Duchess of Wentworth.”
Chauncy narrowed his eyes. Not only did he like being taken advantage of, he disliked being interrupted.
“But speed is as important as accuracy,” he went on grimly as two footmen carried Sir Edward and Lady Boothe’s trunk upstairs, “and as long as you prove efficient in both departments, that is all I require. So, let us waste no more time in idle chatter when I don’t doubt you are keen to rest after your long journey.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” replied the young man, his pale face flushing at the implied rebuke.
Chauncy inclined his head. When Catherine had said Sir Edward was dull, Chauncy had disregarded her. Most of what came out of Catherine’s mouth were lies but, while he’d not expected a vibrant, energetic young man, Sir Edward’s myopic blue eyes, straw-colored curls in need of barbering, and weak chin seemed just the physical manifestations of a lackluster spirit when what Chauncy needed was acuity and action.
First impressions certainly filled Chauncy with foreboding. In two weeks, he and the nation, would depend upon this Edward Boothe—with his ability to wield his pencil like a saber—to identify three plotters suspected of the recent failed assassination attempt upon the future king George IV.
Hopefully, the identification could be done in time to foil the villains’ next possible outrage.
“And Lady Boothe, I hope you will be comfortable. Please don’t feel the need to stay amongst us if you—er—feel the need to retire at any time.” Chauncy’s frown deepened. What had his cousin Beth told him? That Lady Boothe had not been seen in public for some years due to an affliction that kept her confined to her chambers.
Locked up, Beth had said, her kind-heartedness preventing her from calling the woman a lunatic.
And Boothe had brought his mad wife to Chauncy House when such important work was to be done?
“You are kind, Your Grace,” Lady Boothe murmured. With her head lowered demurely, it was impossible to see her face. Chauncy imagined she was trying to conceal the glint of madness in her eyes and hoped he would not encounter her wandering the corridors at odd times.
He wondered if he should charge one of the servants with keeping her under surveillance.
“When would you like the first sitting, Your Grace?”
“Midday tomorrow.”
Sir Edward nodded. “Where will I set up my easel?”
“In the long saloon. Delves, my butler, will show you.”
“Perhaps the conservatory would offer better light.”
Chauncy jerked his head to the right. The little wife was offering an opinion on a matter that did not concern her? He sent her a quelling look, which was wasted, for she barely raised her head. All he could see was her chin and mouth. Not deformed, by any means, but there must be some reason she would not look at him. He was about to respond when Sir Edward said hurriedly, “The better the light, the better the likeness, Your Grace.”
