Page 5 of The Work of Art

They walked on in silence, Miss Satterthwaite matching Arthur’s stride with an effortless grace. She never hurried him, and seemed to know just when to slow down, and when to hold his arm more securely. He found it rather remarkable considering the fact that she appeared to be paying him no attention at all.

When he cast her a cautious glance, he saw that she was more focused on her dogs than on the humorless gentleman on her arm. He also saw the delicate line of her neck and jaw, the voluptuous curve of her lips, and the way the bright sunlight caused her dark hair to glow with warmth.

“Captain Heywood?”

He tensed, much as he had when she’d first taken his arm. “Ma’am?”

She looked up at him. “Would you mind very much escorting me back to the house? The dogs and I have walked enough for today.”

Because she was speaking to him directly, Arthur felt at complete liberty to look at her face and immediately experienced for himself the rather startling effect of her mismatched eyes. One was a deep blue and the other the color of amber. They were large and fringed with thick lashes, set under a pair of dark, arching brows.

Such a striking feature might have overpowered the face of a woman less lovely, but for Miss Satterthwaite, her eyes only complemented and enhanced the whole. From her elegant cheekbones to her generous mouth and daintily rounded chin, the rest of her face bespoke the same soft femininity he’d observed in her profile and her figure. There was no hardness to her, no sharply hewn contours or harsh angles, only an inherent gentleness that manifested itself in every aspect of her person. Arthur had never seen the like of it.

He searched her sweet, rather serious expression for some sign of pity. He didn’t find it. And yet he suspected that her desire to return home had more to do with his infirmity than with her own exhaustion. “If you wish. But perhaps you should first inform your uncle?”

She looked ahead at Townsend, who was deep in conversation with Edgeworth, and then to her two cousins who were still laughing with Darly. “I doubt it’s necessary.”

“Very well,” he said.

Without another word, they turned and headed back to the townhouse. Arthur’s gait was even stiffer, and they walked so slowly it felt as if they made no progress at all. The whole experience was an exercise in humiliation. He cursed himself for being so foolish and so proud as to accept the invitation to walk into the park in the first place. What had he been thinking? His leg was sure to cause him agony for days now.

When they finally reached the stone steps that led to the front door of the townhouse, Miss Satterthwaite tightened her grip on his arm. Arthur took each step with painful deliberation, as conscious of her presence at his side as he was of the pain in his injured leg.

She said nothing except to urge one of her dogs to hurry along into the house when the butler opened the door to admit them. Again, she seemed to take no particular notice of his infirmity, but Arthur leaned on her as they climbed the stairs, and whether she acknowledged him or not, Miss Satterthwaite gave him the full strength of her support.

She kept with him as they walked across the entry hall and into the library. Only then, within an easy distance of the sofa, did she relinquish his arm. “Thank you for escorting me home, Captain Heywood. If you’ll have a seat, I’m sure my uncle will be back directly.” She inclined her head. “Good afternoon.”

“Ma’am.” Arthur made a slight bow. By the time he raised his head, she was already heading toward the door—one small, bedraggled dog under her arm and three larger ones at her heels.

His face settled into a grim frown. He had no interest in society anymore. No interest, he sometimes felt, in life. But his gaze lingered on Phyllida Satterthwaite, his eyes following her graceful figure until she and her dogs were completely out of his sight.

Philly had come to Captain Heywood’s aid just as she would to any creature in distress, and after leaving him in the library, she thought no more about it. The rest of her afternoon was taken up with her dancing lesson and writing letters to some of her friends in Fox Cross.

At dinner that evening, she was surprised when her uncle asked about Captain Heywood quite casually over his soup. Mrs. Vale had retired early with a headache, but both of her cousins immediately perked up, as if they expected Philly to receive the harshest reproof.

“Curious that he walked you home,” Uncle Edgar said. “Rather unexpected.”

“I was tired,” Philly replied. “I told him I’d better return to the house, and he kindly agreed to escort me. Was that not all right, Uncle? I thought it must be preferable to my walking home alone.”

“Hmm.” He ate a few spoonfuls of soup, during which his daughters sat on the edge of their seats awaiting his response. “No harm in it,” he pronounced at last. “Heywood’s not likely to do any damage to your reputation.” And with that enigmatic statement, Uncle Edgar returned to eating his dinner.

Elizabeth and Abigail caught each other’s eyes and giggled. Neither said a word.

However, once they had retired to the drawing room so that Uncle Edgar could enjoy his after-dinner port in peace, her cousins lost no time in remarking on Philly’s interest in the brooding cavalry captain.

“Do you think him handsome, Phyllida?” Abigail asked as she rifled through her playing cards. “He’s nothing to Viscount Carlisle, of course, but he was once considered rather good-looking. He’s tall and dark and all that sort of thing.”

Philly glanced up briefly. “Viscount Carlisle?”

“He’s Captain Heywood’s older brother,” Elizabeth said. “A notorious rake and a drunkard.”

“Yes,” Abigail agreed. “But ever so amiable.”

Philly contemplated her cards with a frown. Unlike her cousins, she had no aptitude for games of chance. Her grandfather hadn’t approved of them. While living at Satterthwaite Court, they’d never played after-dinner piquet, whist, or loo. Instead, she’d passed the time playing the pianoforte or reading aloud to him from one of his favorite books.

The memory of those quiet evenings filled her with an aching sadness.

She was determined to make the best of her new situation, but in her private hours she was terribly homesick and unhappy. Only the companionship of her dogs was able to give her any comfort in her grief.