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Signor Arnotti slipped his thumbs in his pockets. “I will paint these dogs,” he said nodding his head. “But only at the feet of their mistress.”

“Me?” boomed Bess. “Not likely!”

“That is my condition,” answered he firmly.

“Is that so? Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Fen fancied she could hear a grudging respect in Bess’s tone.

Signor Arnotti nodded sagely.

Bess gave an amused snort. “Very well,” she conceded. “As you wish. But I wish I you joy of turning this physog into a work of art!” She pointed at her face.

Someone nearby tittered, but they all ignored it.

“Excellent,” enthused Eden. “We will leave you to arrange the details.” She turned determinedly to Hester. “And now you, my dear Lady Schaeffer,” she said brightly. “I seem to remember you were in need of a poet to add to your collection of artists?”

“Was I?” asked Hester looking diverted. “Well if you say I do, then it must be so, my dear.”

“Superb,” Eden clapped her hands. “Mr Leadbetter,” summoned Eden. “Approach please.”

Fenella listened as Eden ran through Mr Leadbetter’s body of work, sharing excerpts from his most recent sonnet. Hester professed herself charmed and agreed to be his patroness without much pressing from her young friend.

“Your cousin Lenora does not join us this morning?” said Hester. “A great pity. It would put those Cecil girls in their place to see the reigning court beauty shine.”

“No,” replied Eden, her lips pursing. “I had hoped she would, but…” her words trailed off.

“She had a more enticing offer?” Hester ventured.

“Lord Loughridge asked her to join him hawking this morning,” admitted Eden with disapproval.

“Young Loughridge?” repeated Hester. “Has he joined the ranks of her beaux now?”

“So it seems,” said Eden. “She did say she would try to join us later, but she is a little disillusioned with artists of late. Her last three portraits have scarcely done her justice.”

Fen could tell she really did not want to discuss her cousin’s conquests. “I wonder,” she said clearing her throat. “That is, my husband did say…”

Eden looked up keenly. “Yes? You are interested in sponsoring an artist, Lady Vawdrey?”

“I thought, maybe a poet?” said Fenella uncertainly. “I mean, I don’t really know anything about poetry but…”

“Do you have a favorite kind?” asked Eden.

“I prefer it when they tell a story,” shrugged Fen. “Like a ballad maybe?

“A story,” repeated Eden thoughtfully. “How about a playwright? I have one that might suit you admirably. A Mr John Entner.” She took a step closer to Fenella and lowered her voice. “I’m afraid the unfortunate man is in rather straitened circumstances of late. He used to write in his spare time and maintain his family of five children by working as a clerk, but sadly his clerking position was lost. He is finding his muse elusive, with creditors hammering on the door.”

“Oh, the poor man! No wonder his inspiration has abandoned him.”

“But perhaps a new patron will bolster him?” suggested Eden hopefully.

Fen turned to look at the crowd of artists. “Tell me, which one is Mr Entner?” she asked, already knowing deep down that it would be the thin, soulful looking fellow, who stood on the edge of the crowd, clutching the brim of his hat and looking deeply sorrowful.

Eden gave a swift smile that lit up her face, “Allow me to fetch him, Lady Vawdrey.” With a rustle of black fabric she took off across the room with her light, quick steps and Fen found that becoming a patron of the arts was not so difficult after all.

**

“I might have known you would be taken in by a sob story,” tutted Hester as they walked back to their rooms together arm in arm.