Page 18 of Oddity of the Ton
Lavinia opened the book at the latest sketch, and Lord Marlow gazed at it. His eyes widened, and a smile curled his lips.
“Beautiful,” he said. “You’ve a rare talent, Miss Howard. This isn’t just a likeness—you’ve captured Lavinia’s soul. Look at those lines! The boldness with which you’ve drawn her features—the detail around the eyes…” He closed the sketchbook and handed it to Eleanor. “I can tell that you know the difference.”
“The difference?”
“Between seeing andlooking.”
“Oh!” Eleanor cried, unable to contain her delight. “You understand!” Then, overcome with shame at her unladylike outburst, she shrank back.
“I do, Miss Howard. It’s what separates the proficient from the masterful. Any fool can draw a passable likeness after a lesson or two on proportions—but to capture the soul of the subject requires a different quality altogether.”
The door opened again, and a maid scuttled in carrying a tray with a teapot and a cup. After furnishing the company with fresh tea, she curtseyed and exited the room as quietly as she came.
Marlow drained his teacup in a single gulp. “I was in sore need of that. The brandy at White’s isn’t getting any better.”
“Brandy, at this hour!” Lavinia said.
“I know, my dear, but it would have been uncivil to refuse. And”—he winked at Eleanor again—“I needed it as respite from social niceties.”
“I’m sure gentlemen have more interesting conversations in their clubs than ladies endure in their parlors,” Lavinia said. She glanced toward Eleanor. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“You’re right, my love,” Marlow said. “I was subjected to yet another tale of Whitcombe and his determinationnotto seek a wife.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened at the mention of…him. She curled her fingers around the handle of her teacup, willing her heartbeat to subside.
“We’ve placed ten guineas on which of the two—Sawbridge or Whitcombe—will marry first. Thorpe’s for Whitcombe, but my money’s on Sawbridge.”
“How foolish!” Lavinia said. “That’s ten guineas you’ll never see again.”
“I’ve every chance of success, Lavinia. Not even the brightest jewels of Society can tempt Whitcombe. Lady Irma Fairchild is too dull, Lady Arabella Ponsford too much of a harpy, and while Juliette Howard is the most beautiful, she has a reputation for breaking men’s hearts, having led Reid on a merry dance before casting him aside.”
Eleanor’s teacup slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, shattering on impact. Hot tea splashed onto her skirts, and she leaped from her seat with a shriek.
“Peregrine!” Lavinia admonished her husband. “Look what you’ve done—you’ve discomposed my friend.”
“Oh, forgive me, Miss Howard,” he said. “I often speak freely to my wife, but that’s no justification for making a disparaging comment about your sister. In my defense, I often forget you’re sisters—you are her opposite in every way imaginable.”
Meaning that she’s the most beautiful creature in the world—and I’m the least.
“That’s enough!” Lavinia cried. “Did you come here to insult my friend?”
Tears stung Eleanor’s eyes.
“I meant it as a compliment, Miss Howard,” Marlow said. “Yourcharacterscouldn’t be more different.”
“Perhaps you should go, before you insult my friend further,” Lavinia said.
He rose and offered Eleanor his hand. She took it, and he lifted her hand to his lips.
“Forgive me, Miss Howard,” he said. “I’ll do better next time.”
He crouched down and collected the shards of porcelain at Eleanor’s feet. Then he exited the parlor.
“Would you like a fresh cup?” Lavinia asked.
Eleanor shook her head.
“It wasn’t what Peregrine said aboutJuliettethat distressed you, was it?”
