Page 14 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

Mr. and Mrs. Archer laughed. “It’s true,” Mrs. Archer said. “We’re forever singing his praises.”

“Miss Hobhouse is something of an artist as well,” Anne volunteered.

Mr. Hayes’s attention sharpened. “Is that so?”

Stella reflexively demurred. She wasn’t in the habit of boasting about her accomplishments. “I only sketch a little.”

“Beautiful sketches,” Anne said. “As good as anything in a museum.”

“Anne,” Stella murmured, abashed.

“Well, it’s true,” Anne whispered back.

Seeing Stella’s discomfiture, Mr. Archer was chivalrous enough to turn the subject. “Allow us to offer our congratulations on your engagement,” he said to Anne and Mr. Hartford.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Archer agreed. “Such joyful news. We wish you every happiness together.”

As Mr. and Mrs. Archer conveyed their good wishes, and Anne and Mr. Hartford received them, Mr. Hayes continued to command Stella’s gaze.

“I’d like to see your sketches,” he said.

Stella didn’t doubt it. Most men who considered themselves experts in a field took great pleasure in offering unsolicited opinions on a lady’s humble efforts. But Stella’s efforts were far from humble. She may not have studied in Paris, but she was good at sketching. She required no man to validate her skill.

“I’m not inclined to share my work with strangers,” she said.

“I’m not a stranger. We’ve met before, if you recall.” A wry smile edged his mouth. “And not only in the King’s Gallery.”

Her cheeks heated, remembering their scandalous encounter in the anteroom last night. A swift glance in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Archer confirmed they hadn’t overheard. The two of them were still conversing with Anne and Mr. Hartford.

Stella sunk her voice. “That’s hardly a character recommendation.”

Mr. Hayes shrugged. “I’m an artist. An extraordinary one. Character doesn’t come into it.”

She gave an involuntary huff of amusement at his unapologetic air of self-regard. “You were certainly extraordinary last night,” she said. “Extraordinarily impertinent.”

“Is that why you didn’t return to the ballroom? Because of my extraordinary impertinence?”

“I needn’t account to you for my whereabouts.” The retort emerged more tartly than Stella had intended. She felt a twinge of conscience. She was rarely provoked into incivility. Altering her tone, she added, “I was tired.”

“You’d only just arrived,” he said. “You’d yet to dance a single dance.”

“What’s this about dancing?” Mrs. Archer asked as she and the others broke off from their conversation.

“We were speaking about the ball last night,” Stella answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “Such a pity it’s over.”

“Don’t despair just yet,” Mr. Hartford said. “My grandfather has called the village musicians back to Sutton Park for another evening of dancing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Anne’s face lit with delight. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. “I thought the opening ball was the only dance Lord March had planned for the party?”

Mr. Hartford set a hand at Anne’s waist. “That was before the announcement of our engagement. Now the news has been made public, Grandfather means us to celebrate to the fullest. The village musicians are in complete accord. They’ve agreed to forgo the warmth of their hearths on Christmas Eve in favor of the mulled wine and merriment on offer at ours.”

Stella cast a sidelong look at Mr. Hayes as the conversation continued. Her pulse quivered. Another dance? That didn’t trouble her. Dancing was a necessary precursor to meeting eligible gentlemen. She was eager for the opportunity. It was the whole reason she’d come.

No. What troubled her was the prospect of another encounter with Mr. Hayes.

Would he attend the Christmas Eve dance tomorrow just as he’d attended the opening ball? Would he sit in his wheeled chair at the edge of the ballroom, watching her? Judging her? Recognizing her as no better than what she was: a gaudily plumed ladybird soliciting a mate?

Tricking a mate, more like. For unlike the other young ladies in attendance, Stella’s plumage was dyed. And Mr. Hayes knew it.