Page 38 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“An expense you subsidize out of your own inheritance,” Anne retorted indignantly.

“Exactly. She’d rather I let my brother have my income for good works than waste it on my own selfish pleasures.”

Anne snorted. “Good works, my eye. What she really means is that if your brother had your money, he might keep a carriage and hire more servants. She could then swan about the village like the lady of the manor.”

Stella suspected Anne was right. “One can’t blame her for looking out for her own interests.”

“She could at least be honest about it,” Anne said. “Instead, she cloaks her self-interest in a shroud of piety and virtue, which she then uses as an excuse to lecture you on your behavior. You! The dearest and sweetest among us! As far as I’m concerned, your brother is well shot of her.”

Stella pressed Anne’s arm in wordless acknowledgment of her praise. “I’m just relieved I no longer have to worry over having her as my sister-in-law. She’ll have returned to Exeter by now. With luck, my brother’s affections will cool in her absence, and he’ll never mention her more.”

“One can hope,” Anne said. They passed beneath the snow-laden branches of a tree. “I only wish you could have had a better time while you were here. It seems to have been one catastrophe after another, hasn’t it?”

“It hasn’t been all bad. I’ve had great fun riding and visiting the ruins. And today’s sledding is sure to be one of the highlights of my stay.”

“There will be sleighing tonight, too, if the snow is deep enough for it.”

Stella brightened. There were few things more enjoyable than flying across the snow in a horse-drawn sleigh, the moon shining bright above. “How wonderful!”

“It is. Still…It’s not a romance.” Anne exchanged a meaningful look with Stella. “You’d hoped to meet someone during your stay.”

“As to that—”

“Though, I don’t suppose there was anyone here to spark your interest,” Anne went on. “Not unless you count Mr. Hayes.”

Stella tensed. “What about Mr. Hayes?”

“He’s an interesting fellow.”

“Yes, but…not in a romantic way.” Not unless Stella thought about his hands. Or the intensity in his eyes. Or the broadness in his shoulders. Not unless she recalled the compliments he’d lavished on her.

“I only meant that he’s rather amusing,” Anne said. “Charming, in fact, if one can dismiss his youth and chronic insolence.”

Stella laughed. Teddy was insolent. And young. And arrogant. He was also clever, and talented, and entirely self-assured.

He knew how to be quiet, too. Something Stella appreciated, as much in a friend as she did in a gentleman. Much of the time Teddy had spent sketching her had been in silence. A silence punctuated by the sound of his pencil scraping, and the steadiness of his breath. She’d been still, too. Never mind that the regular weight of his gaze on her had raised her temperature by several degrees.

If Teddy had experienced a similar disruption in body heat, he hadn’t betrayed it. They’d parted yesterday with no more compliments on his part, nor even any particular sense of warmth. No. His warmth had been reserved for his sketch. He was still toiling over it with that same fever-bright intensity when she left him. He’d looked up just once as she’d walked out the door of the parlor, and only to remind her of her promise to return the following day.

Stella had reminded herself, then, just as she reminded herself now, that he wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d made that fact abundantly plain during their session yesterday. Almost too plain. It was as though he’d wanted to put her on her guard.

Did he fear that, in her desperation to make a match, she’d set her cap for him? He was, after all, a gentleman of means. A handsome one, too. He must have had many admirers during his years on the continent.

“He was invited to come with us today,” Anne said. “He’s been invited on all our outings, and has consistently refused.”

“Has he?”

“Mr. Hayes prefers to paint. It’s why he accompanied the Archers in the first place, apparently, for Sutton Park’s artistic inspiration. Lord March has given him use of a private parlor to serve as his studio for the remainder of his visit.”

Stella briefly averted her gaze. Anne didn’t need to know that Stella was intimately familiar with that private parlor, or that she—not Sutton Park—was currently serving as Mr. Hayes’s inspiration.

“I expect he’s one of those artistic people who prefer living in their own head to living in the greater world around them,” Anne said. “Though it hasn’t prevented him from joining us for every other entertainment. He’s been in the drawing room each evening, and attended both dances in the ballroom.” She gave Stella a regretful look. “I wish you could have danced during your stay, instead of having to hide yourself away upstairs.”

“So do I,” Stella said feelingly. “I’d have loved waltzing, even if it was only with an altruistic neighbor gentleman that Mr. Hartford had conscripted as my partner.”

“It’s not your last chance for romance. You shall be in London again in the spring.”

Stella’s smile turned quizzical. “Shall I?”