Page 16 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“There you are, then.” Teddy felt no rancor about it. It was merely the reality of life now his sister was married.

Laura and Alex had wed for love, but they’d been friends first, and were rather modern in their thinking when it came to the terms of their union. They ran the perfumery together, consulting each other on business matters both large and small. They were equally forthcoming with each other on personal matters.

“I’m not sketching Miss Hobhouse, by the way,” Teddy added.

“Not yet,” Alex returned. He had a flattering level of confidence in Teddy’s abilities.

Teddy usually shared that confidence. But not today. He’d awakened with cramps in his legs—an unfortunate result of the change in weather. His lower limbs may not be strong enough to bear his weight, but the muscles still retained enough strength to cause him pain. They often contracted and twitched in the cold and the damp, sending a bone-deep ache through him that he had no power to alleviate.

Jennings had had to spend half an hour massaging Teddy’s legs with the paralytic liniment that one of Teddy’s doctors had prescribed in France. It was a mixture of beeswax, lard, turpentine, oil of lavender, and herbs, sometimes formulated with ether and laudanum. Teddy had responded well to the treatment, despite Jennings’s excessively rough handling. His cramps had eased within the hour. The pain had nevertheless served to sour his mood.

His precarious spirits had sunk even further when he’d spied from his window several of the guests tramping out across the grounds.

But of course, a Christmas party would devolve into outdoor pursuits. They always did, whether in London, Devon, or France. Why should Hampshire be any different?

“Not ever, the way things are going,” Teddy said. “I made a poor first impression on her.” He examined the nub of an old lead pencil, his brows notching in a frown. “I was too eager.”

“You don’t say,” Alex remarked dryly.

Teddy scowled. “It isn’t a laughing matter. I scared her off. And there’s been no chance to repair the damage. Not when she’s avoiding me. And not when everyone’s out picking blasted mistletoe, and I’m stuck up here.” He threw his pencil onto the bed in a burst of frustration. “I’ll have to wait until the dance tonight. She won’t miss that, I wager.”

“You should have come with us to talk with the earl. He has more to offer than just that strain of tea roses he promised. Had you accompanied us—”

“To discover that the aisles of the greenhouse were too narrow to accommodate my chair? Or to find my wheels stuck in the mud while attempting to cross the grounds to get there?” Teddy uttered a derisive snort. “No, thank you.”

“We would have made it possible for you.”

“No. What you would have done is make me conspicuous.”

It was always the case with outdoor pursuits. The ground was unsuited to Teddy’s wheeled chair. Too uneven at the best times, and too perilous at the worst, with mud, snow, and clumps of grass and weeds barring his way, and no possibility of him rolling over them himself.

Instead, extra servants had to be employed to carry Teddy and his chair, or a special cart engaged to convey him. And all the while, the others would have to stand and wait, watching him with varying levels of pity and impatience as he was lifted here and carried there like a sentient sack of grain, his inability to walk delaying their pleasure.

It was a mortifying experience. One that Teddy had endured too many times before, both in England and while studying in Paris, when he’d made the mistake of joining some of his fellow artists at Atelier Gleyre on a jaunt to the French countryside to paint in the open air.

Teddy was unwilling to suffer the indignity again.

Alex’s expression became unusually stern. “May I remind you that the perfumery is half yours? It would do you good to be more involved, even if you must occasionally draw attention to yourself to do so.”

“I have no interest in the perfumery,” Teddy said. “I never have, except as a source of income.”

Alex picked up the sketchbook from the bed. He idly flipped through the first few pages. “Granted, it can’t compete with art, but now that your time in Paris has come to an end—”

“By my choice.”

“Yes. Because you’re ready to take on more of the business.”

Teddy flashed his brother-in-law a mystified look. “What the devil gave you that idea?”

“Laura mentioned you might have had a change of heart.”

“If she did, it was nothing more than wishful thinking.” Teddy returned to searching the trunk with a sardonic chuckle. “I? Take up an active role in Hayes’s Perfumes? You know me better than that, and so does my sister.”

Alex frowned. “You want to continue to paint, of course.” Closing the sketchbook, he placed it back on the bed. “I gathered you would.”

“Then why would you think—”

“Because you said you were done with Gleyre.”