Page 21 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

The earl had offered the room to Teddy at the dance last night. It had better light than the morning room where Teddy had sketched yesterday. It was also far more secluded. Located down an isolated corridor in the east wing of the house, the private parlor was set away from the guest rooms and the traffic of the common areas. Here, there would be no chance of Teddy’s work being interrupted.

Unless that interruption was caused by his own bloody servant.

Jennings stopped in front of the window, blocking Teddy’s light. “Did you hear me, sir?”

Teddy glanced up from his canvas with no little irritation. “What have I told you about disrupting my concentration?”

“Beg pardon.” Jennings took hold of the back of Teddy’s chair. “Mrs. Archer said as how I wasn’t to let you forget to eat.”

“Mrs. Archer doesn’t employ you. I do.” Teddy picked up another dab of paint from his light wood palette. “My brother-in-law may have hired you to begin with, but I pay your wages now. I won’t be disturbed when I’m working.” He shot a severe look at the man. “I’ll thank you to let go of my chair.”

“But Mr. Hayes—”

“I’ll be joining the others for tea in the drawing room later.”

“That’s not for hours yet, sir.”

“Then I shall wait,” Teddy said. “If you’re wanting your own tea in the interim, have it, by all means. I’ll do very well on my own for the next hour.”

Jennings reluctantly released his grip. “I shan’t need more than ten minutes.”

“An hour,” Teddy repeated. “Two if you like. I’ll not have you spending the whole of your Christmas waiting on me. I’m not Mr. Scrooge, for God’s sake.”

Jennings didn’t appear to understand the reference. He wasn’t much of a reader. “What if you need help while I’m gone?”

“I have access to the bell pull, don’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then we’re agreed,” Teddy said. “Now take yourself off before you cause me to make another mistake.”

With a grudging grunt of compliance, Jennings retreated from the room. He would undoubtedly be back before the clock struck two. There was no persuading him to forget his duty to Alex and Laura.

As Teddy resumed painting, it occurred to him that he would do well to find himself another manservant when he settled in London. A man of absolute loyalty. One he could choose all on his own. Unfortunately, there was more skill required for assisting him than the average manservant possessed. Any mistakes in selecting the fellow would come to weigh on Teddy and Teddy alone. Who knows but that he might not find himself abandoned in his chair in an upstairs room or left to languish somewhere with no hope of summoning aid?

Teddy’s jaw tightened to think of it. His wheeled chair gave him much-needed mobility, but he still required human assistance. And, in his experience, hired humans came in only two varieties: either painfully intrusive or intrinsically unreliable. Teddy couldn’t risk landing with one of the latter, so—despite the man’s shortcomings—Jennings it was and Jennings it would have to remain.

Returning his attention to his canvas, Teddy spent the next quarter of an hour adding a branch on his tree. He was just beginning the outline of another branch when his stomach uttered a distinct growl of complaint. Perhaps Jennings had been right. Teddy should stop to eat. He often forgot to when working. In the past, he had, at times, been too thin. It wasn’t conducive to the active life he now envisioned for himself. For that, he must keep up his strength.

Setting aside his paintbrush and palette, he reversed his chair from in front of the easel and turned it in the direction of the bellpull across the room. In most circumstances, he could maneuver the wheels himself indoors. Especially now that he’d put on weight and muscle enough for the task. His only limitation lay in the terrain. Stairs were impossible, slick marble was a challenge, and thick carpeting was a bloody nuisance.

He muttered another curse as he laboriously rolled over the lush Aubusson that covered the parlor floor. His frustrated expletive was answered by a feminine gasp.

“Oh!” a soft voice exclaimed. “I thought this room was supposed to be empty.”

Teddy’s head jerked to the doorway. Every molecule in his body leapt to attention. He felt, all at once, as elementally alert as a vibrating tuning fork. He suppressed a smile. Suppressed hope. By God but there would be no eagerness this time. He’d be stoic and disinterested if it killed him.

“Miss Hobhouse,” he said with a creditable degree of calm. “Happy Christmas morning.”

Seven

Stella Hobhouse stood on the threshold, a brilliantly patterned blue-and-ivory cashmere shawl tangled about her arms, and a rather incongruous black crepe-and-lace matron’s cap covering the entirety of her hair. Her pale, silver-blue eyes were wide with surprise. She clearly hadn’t anticipated encountering him here.

But though she could have easily done so, she didn’t run away. She remained, hovering on the threshold, her aura sparking with the same electricity as Teddy’s own.

It took her but an instant to master herself. Her lush mouth compressed; her countenance rapidly composing itself into a ladylike mask. “Happy Christmas, Mr. Hayes,” she said. “But it isn’t morning any longer. It’s past one.”

He looked at the carriage clock as though noticing it for the first time. “Is it? Forgive me. I lose track of the time when I’m working.”