Page 55 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Didn’t they?” She seemed surprised by this news. “Mr. Bailey seemed to think it the correct attire for a maenad.”

“Mr.…?”

“Would you care for a cup of tea, milord?” Effie asked brightly. “Or sumfink a bit stronger ’praps?”

“What about a chair, milord?” Violet suggested. “You want to ’ave a nice sit down. Do you a power of good it would.”

He waved these offers aside, seeing them as the distractions they were. Only Caroline seemed ignorant of the fact he was a little put out.

“Thank you for all my gifts,” she said in a low voice, sounding for the first time a little shy.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “You have not even opened them all.” He nodded toward the pile of brown paper parcels.

“Well, no, but there were ever so many, and I couldn’t really move much.”

“I only ’ope to goodness one of your parcels is a new dressing robe,” Violet piped up. “’Cos that brown one is shockin’. My old mum wouldn’t even wear it, and she’s been dead these past ten years.”

Caroline lifted her eyes to meet his, and he saw the twinkle lurking in their depths. “Did you get me a new dressing robe?” she asked.

“I did, but you’re not to ever wear it down here,” he added direly.

“Oh-ho, like that, is it?” Gracie hooted. “Nuffink to it, I’ll bet.”

Gervaise ignored this ribaldry. “Mr. Bailey was the artist you were looking forward to meeting,” he said slowly as realization set in. “You could not move because you were posing for him.”

“Yes.” Caroline beamed. “He means to paint me with the twins pulling me along in a chariot.”

“A chariot?” Gervaise echoed. “But this sounds nothing like the image Carstairs described.”

“Well, no…” she admitted, biting her lip. “You see, Mr. Bailey did not think I looked much like a Themis. I told him you thought I resembled a maenad, and he sort of took that as his inspiration.”

Gervaise felt a definite twinge of annoyance. Why the hell had she seen fit to repeat that particular piece of information?

“I think the cats decided him personally,” she continued blithely. “Apparently, Dionysus is associated with large cats. He means to make Remus a leopard and Romulus a tiger in the painting.”

“Very fitting.” His eyes scanned hers. Something was different about her, he realized, uneasily. There was a sort of soft glow about her that disquieted him. What was it? “You have…enjoyed yourself today?” he asked.

“Oh yes, very much so,” she enthused, her eyes flitting fondly over the other occupants of the scullery. “It’s been a truly wonderful day.”

Suddenly it struck him what it was. Happiness. Caroline was happy. Perhaps for the first time in her miserable existence. Her hands were cold, but her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling.

He hoped to God it was not the artist who had affected her like this.

He did not quite know what he would do if it was.

23

“Should I put my new robe on?” Caroline suggested tentatively. She watched Gervaise as he poured them both a glass of wine. They were waiting for Reg to fetch their dinner from a French place Gervaise knew which was further afield than Effie’s usual haunts. Reg had been sent with written specifications for the particular dish Gervaise wanted, Sole à la Meunièr.

“Don’t you think you’ve been sat around long enough today scantily clad?” Gervaise asked. His tone was light but something about it made Caroline sit up straighter. “As Gracie would say, ‘you’ll catch your death of cold,’” he added, pulling a face and handing her a glass.

“I’m sure I haven’t caught a chill,” Caroline answered. “I’ve not sneezed once.”

“Well, thank heavens for small mercies,” he replied flippantly. “You will oblige me by moving a little closer to the fire and putting these on.”

He tossed a pair of heavy woolen socks into her lap which Caroline stared down at before moving to pull them on over her stockings. In truth, her toes were a little cold, despite the roaring blaze in the hearth. The cats were stretched out in front of it in an ecstasy of heat worship. They had already eaten their supper which Effie had purchased from a “cat meat” vendor. Caroline had asked what it was, then promptly wished she hadn’t. She had always been fond of horses.

She inched her chair a little closer to the fire and gazed down at the lumpy socks. They were overlarge on her feet and did nothing to enhance her already stodgy appearance. Were they his socks? she wondered, watching him out of the corner of her eye. If so, they must be ones he wore with a tweed suit when he was in the country. He certainly did not wear socks like these in town.