Page 74 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

A spark of satisfaction glittered in Amanda’s eyes. This was her doing. All the weeks of syrupy comments and helpfully expressed concern, every one of them designed to pit Daniel against his sister. And here at last was the result of it. The culmination of her malicious campaign.

Julia drew Stella closer, as though she might protect her. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, Mr. Hobhouse.”

“Oh, but I do,” Daniel replied acidly. “I have reached the limits of my patience.”

“Be reasonable, Daniel,” Stella said, making one last attempt to appeal to her brother’s better nature. “It’s only a fortnight. And you couldn’t wish for a better chaperone for me.”

Amanda snorted.

Julia glared at her with ill-disguised indignation before returning her attention to Stella’s brother. “The two of us are to be in Lady Anne’s wedding,” she explained to him as though he was a petulant child. “Our bridesmaids dresses have already been made. The whole of fashionable London will be in attendance.”

“What care I for fashion when my duty and honor as a clergyman are at stake? No.” Daniel shook his head. “My mind is made up, Stella. If you defy me to go with your friends now, you must go your own way entirely. My house isn’t a stopping ground between your revelries. This is a home—a sober, quiet home—and going forward the ladies in it will behave accordingly.”

Julia flashed her husband a look of dismay. Stern and silent, he, in turn, looked to Stella, waiting for her to render her judgment on the situation.

The final grains of sand in the hourglass of Stella’s fate fell to the bottom. She understood that this moment, standing here in the vicarage hall, was to decide the course of the rest of her life.

She gathered her courage. Her future loomed ahead of her, empty as one of the blank pages in her sketchbook, both frightening and exciting by turns. She didn’t know what it held. Perhaps she would impose on her friends for a time. Perhaps she would seek genteel employment.

Perhaps—just perhaps—she might pose for a portrait or two.

“Very well, Daniel,” she said at last. “If that is what you wish, then so be it. Henceforward, I shall go my own way.”

Nineteen

London, England

March 1863

The first step in Teddy’s journey toward independence was one of mobility. For that, he didn’t just require his wheeled chair. He required a suitable conveyance.

It was Tom Finchley who helped him to procure one. Deceptively innocuous in appearance, with a slim build and a bookish demeanor, Tom was, as Teddy had written to Stella, a solicitor of infinite resources. He was acquainted with people in every corner of London, including the odd horse trader, wheelwright, and carriage maker. Many of them owed him favors for having helped them out of a spot of legal bother. Others were in his debt for more sinister reasons.

“I haven’t always been the decent, upright citizen you see before you now,” Tom said wryly as they exited the Finchleys’ elegantly appointed house in Half Moon Street.

Teddy had been staying there for the past two days, along with his sister and brother-in-law. It was their regular stopping place when visiting London. The Finchleys would have it no other way.

“Are any solicitors decent and upright?” Teddy asked, wheeling his chair through the door.

Tom’s eyes twinkled behind his silver-framed spectacles. “You may well wonder.”

Outside, three stone steps led to the street below. With Tom’s help, Jennings eased Teddy’s chair down them without first removing Teddy. The wooden wheels clattered with bone-jarring sharpness, prompting Teddy to grit his teeth. It was rough going. He nevertheless preferred it to being carried down separately. It was less bother for only a few steps, and far less spectacle.

Half Moon Street was moderately busy this afternoon. Fashionable carriages passed with regularity, and several people were out walking, taking advantage of the fine weather. It was the first day of spring, a day that had dawned rather inauspiciously with a heavy downpour. Fortunately, the foul weather hadn’t lasted. By breakfast, the dark clouds had dissipated, burned away by a brilliant blaze of sunshine.

It boded well for Teddy’s meeting with Stella tomorrow in Rotten Row.

Assuming she’d be there.

He didn’t yet know if she’d managed to find her way to London. He fervently hoped she had. Stella’s arrival was as much a part of his plan as his search for lodgings and his purchase of a carriage.

The Finchleys’ groom awaited them in the street. He stood at the head of a sturdy, liver chestnut gelding. Samuel, as the placid horse was called, was hitched up to a gleaming black and vermillion lacquered wagonette.

Teddy had bought the smart-looking vehicle only yesterday. Larger than a tilbury, it had four wheels instead of two, with a front-facing bench for the driver, and two rear benches arranged so that passengers could sit facing each other. It wasn’t as dashing as a sporting gig, but the back area was large enough to accommodate Teddy’s wheeled chair while he was driving.

“I don’t expect you’ll need to worry about your horse bolting,” Tom remarked. “He appears a quiet sort.”

“ ‘Unflappable’ is what the seller said,” Teddy replied. “And easy to keep, whatever that means.”