A Figure of Love Read online

  Miles nodded. “And he wishes to commission sculptures in addition to the gardening.” It was not a question. “All jesting about the man himself aside, I do not see how you could turn down such an opportunity, Serena—or why you would want to. You might have work for years to come even after the gardens are finished.”

  “I know. He has told me I can either do the work myself or choose artists whose work I approve of. It is a great opportunity for me to forge some much needed alliances in the London sculpting community.”

  They all knew what she meant—with such patronage power she could enter the ranks of sculptors who had excluded her, both because she was a woman and a foreigner.

  Serena looked at Freddie, who had taken up her tambor and was plying her needle. Freddie hated to be idle and her flawless needlework was yet another way she made her money—although nobody was supposed to know she sold her work.

  “Am I foolish to be dithering about this, Freddie?”

  “It is never foolish to consider all the angles. As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Miles.” She looked up from her stitching, her fawn-colored eyes serious. “I believe this is an opportunity you cannot pass up. You will uproot Oliver, but to good purpose. I also think it will be excellent for the two of you to be together in the country. I will miss him—and you—terribly, but it will be such a pleasant holiday away from the filth and noise of London.” She hesitated and then asked, “And you say Mr. Lockheart will not spend much time there?”

  “He does not care for the country and spends a great deal of time running around Britain, meeting his business partner in various places to assess investments. No, I do not think we will see him often.”

  “Mr. Lockheart contacted me, you know,” Freddie said.

  “He did?” Serena and Miles spoke at the same time.

  Freddie nodded, but did not look up from her work. “I was engaged with the Wandsworth girl at the time and had yet another engagement after that. I told him I was not available just then but I sent him a letter indicating when I might be free. He did not respond.”

  Miles raised his eyebrows. “When was this, Freddie?”

  “Not long after the school closed.”

  “We never let you finish telling us what you knew of him,” Miles prodded.

  “I told you all I know. He appears to have come from nowhere perhaps fifteen years ago. Other than the fact that he emerged from London, nothing else is known. He belongs to several clubs but almost never steps foot in them. His friend Declan McElroy, by all accounts a far more gregarious man, seems to be his only point of contact with society.” Freddie gave them a wry look. “I suppose he wrote to me in the hope I could simply deliver a bride to him, the way he probably orders everything else. Since I’ve heard nothing about him moving in society I can only assume he’s put the matter aside.”

  Serena wondered if it was significant that he’d told her about the orphanage and decided it was not. It was probably that nobody knew about him because he was a man of so few words rather than a man intent on obscuring his past. After all, he had told her of his origins and they were not well-acquainted. No, he seemed the sort to rarely engage in small talk. She must count herself lucky at having lured him into such an indiscretion.

  Miles leaned forward, his face suddenly eager. “I understand he utilizes mathematical formulas to determine his investments.”

  “I cannot speak to that, but it would not surprise me. He was reading mathematical journals for pleasure while I was there. They were quite. . . incomprehensible. He is a very clever man whose greatest priority is leaving the mundane demands of day-to-day life in the hands of somebody else.” She turned to Freddie. “You knew he hired away Remington’s butler?”

  Freddie chuckled. “Yes, it was quite a scandal, wasn’t it? The inestimable Jessup. And you saw him there?”

  “He appeared quite contented. He also hired Sandy Featherstone—I saw him there.”

  Freddie’s head jerked up and Miles frowned. It was Miles who spoke, “What was he doing there?”

  “He claims to be helping Lockheart play the country gentleman. But I think he is playing some game with Landy, his cousin. I’m afraid they are engaged in fleecing Mr. Lockheart.”

  Miles shook his head. “The infamous duo—Sandy and Landy Featherstone. Landy was at Eton, a year below me. He was a weasel even then. I am surprised a man as astute as Lockheart would allow himself to be the victim of such obvious schemers.”

  “Mr. Lockheart, I think, does not wish to be bothered with trifles. I daresay he engaged Sandy on somebody’s recommendation—much as he is engaging me on Beech’s—and put the matter out of his mind. Unfortunately, Sandy has taken the opportunity of such trust and unlimited latitude to bring Landy into the picture.”

  Serena had thought about whatever Sandy was up to almost as much as she’d pondered accepting this unusual employment from an unusual employer.

  “Are you going to say anything to Lockheart?” Miles asked.

  “I will speak to Sandy first, and warn him to cease whatever chicanery he and Landy are up to. If he does not, I will tell Lockheart, when I go to work for him.”

  Freddie looked up at her words and Miles grinned. “So, that’s settled.”

  She smiled at her two friends. “Yes, that is settled.

  ***

  Serena took three days to work on her proposal after making her decision. She would provide him with a more comprehensive plan once she was settled at Rushton Park, but for now, she wished to comply with their agreement and send him word of her acceptance within the week.

  She could have simply sent the plans and proposal to Mr. Lockheart’s secretary by messenger, but she had a curiosity to see his London residence, which apparently also served as his place of business. The distance was too long to walk so she made the journey from Albermarle Street to Russell Square in a hackney.

  Mr. Lockheart lived in one of the newish houses built on the grounds of the Duke of Bedford’s old London house. The residences were quite elegant and Russell Square had been landscaped by Humphry Repton, a man many considered the successor to Capability Brown. Serena had visited Repton, a few years back, when she had commenced her interest in landscape gardening. He had been generous and had shown her several of his famous “red books,” the extensive illustrated plans he made for most commissions.

  A housekeeper greeted Serena and took her rather rough “red book” and the proposal she had prepared.

  “I will take these to Mr. Partridge, ma’am, who will wish to see you. Will you be so kind as to wait a moment in the sitting room?”

  Serena declined an offer of tea and the woman left her in a second floor room with a pleasant view over the square. The furnishings bore no resemblance to those of Rushton Park, but were simple, tasteful, and almost stark. As at the country house, no pictures hung on the walls, the occasional tables held no knick-knacks on their highly polished surfaces, and the attractive mantelpiece held only one item, an unusual clock with its workings exposed.

  Serena was examining it more closely and thinking how much Oliver would enjoy it—he had taken apart the schoolroom clock without permission, but had been clever enough to reassemble it—when the door opened and a tiny man entered.

  He swept her a gracious, courtly bow. “What an honor to meet you, Mrs. Lombard, I am Richard Partridge.” When he stood, he came no higher than her nose, his clothing that of at least a half century past.

  “I am sorry to come without notice, but Mr. Lockheart indicated he wished to proceed as soon as possible.”

  Partridge chortled, taking the smaller of two chairs across from her. “Yes, he is a man who does not let the dust settle. He left strict instructions regarding the matter. I merely glanced at your proposal before coming to let you know it is acceptable.”

  Serena blinked. “But. . . won’t Mr. Lockheart wish to look at it?”

  “Oh no. He was most specific in his instructions. I was
to accept any proposal you presented.”

  Serena was stunned. The amount she had requested was scandalous—thanks mainly to Miles’s urgings. He’d advised her to come up with a shocking amount, and then double it for good measure. When Serena had demurred he had, for once, been quite serious.

  “Don’t undervalue your work, Serena. He is expecting you to uproot yourself and your son and to manage the entire, huge project. Humphry Repton himself does not handle such matters. This is going to take up your life for a long time to come. In fact triple the amount—he is said to be among the five wealthiest men in the entire country.”

  So Serena had, against the qualms of her conscience, tripled her original amount. And Lockheart had not even looked at it before approving it. She realized Mr. Partridge was still waiting.

  She gave him a somewhat embarrassed smile. “I beg your pardon. I was just a little . . . surprised.”

  “Oh, no need to apologize. I quite understand. I had the same reaction myself when I first came to work for him.” Partridge removed a folded rectangle of paper from his coat. “Mr. Lockheart instructed me to issue the first quarter in advance, I have just written out a bank draft for you.”

  Serena looked down at the amount on the draft and swallowed. This was now real.

  “Mr. Lockheart has also left his coach and the servants of this house at your disposal if you should need assistance with your packing or moving.”

  She nodded, dazed. “Thank you, that is very kind.”

  “I am also at your disposal, Mrs. Lombard. Please direct any bills or requests to me and I will see they are handled promptly.”

  She stood and he made his way to the door to open it.

  “Mrs. Hazelton indicated you came by hackney, ma’am. I took the liberty of having Mr. Lockehart’s town carriage brought around to take you home.”

  Serena soon found herself ensconced in yet another of Lockheart’s luxurious carriages, clutching a check for more money than she had ever had in her entire life, her head in a whirl.

  ***

  Only Mrs. Brinkley, their housekeeper, was home when Serena arrived. “My lady is out shopping with her newest young girl and Oliver and Madam have gone to the park.”

  Serena nodded, disappointed she had nobody to share her news with.

  Well, she might as well begin packing.

  “I will be out in the carriage house, Mrs. Brinkley.”

  Serena changed into older work clothes before making her way to the mews beside the house. As they kept no carriage or horses she used the big empty space as her workshop.

  There was no piece in progress just now but she was a messy worker—much to her chagrin—and she had to spend a good deal of time cleaning up the room before she could locate the tools she would take with her to Rushton Park.

  She’d just put the last of her chisels in her battered wooden tool box when a voice behind her made her jump.

  “Packing for a trip, are you?”

  Serena turned to find Sandy leaning against one of the double doors, the sun behind him hiding his face.

  “Sandy!” She raised a hand and lowered it over her pounding heart. “You startled me.”

  He sauntered toward her, his gait unsteady. She gasped when she could finally make out his face. One eye was blackened shut, his lip swollen, and purple bruising up and down his jaw.

  She took a step toward him. “What happened?”

  His hideous face turned even uglier with a sneer. “You happened, my dear cousin.”

  She flinched back. “What do you mean?”

  “You know damned well what I mean!” He stalked toward her, the menace in his slim form shocking. Serena took several steps back, but he kept advancing. “You said something to him, didn’t you?”

  She shook her head, her feet stumbling over something on the cluttered floor. She reached out to steady herself against the splintered wood of a horse stall. “If you mean Mr. Lockheart, no, I did not say a word.”

  “You are a liar!” His screech was high-pitched and piercing.

  Serena stopped, refusing to move back another step. He pushed against her, needing to look up to meet her eyes. Revulsion, fear, and anger surged through her at the feel of his body against hers, but she stood her ground.

  “Only an idiot would not have seen through your scheme with Landy.” She let all the distaste she felt for him show on her face. “Your behavior was disgusting. Lockheart is foolishly generous with his pay, but that was not enough, you had to cheat him.”

  “And who are you to act so high and mighty? You and your cousin and whatever it is you are hiding between you.”

  Fear froze her in place. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she lied, her voice hoarse.

  “You’re a bloody liar. If Bardot is your cousin, then I’m your grandmother. He is your lover or conspirator or both and the two of you are up to something.” He grinned, the act exposing an empty tooth socket and bleeding gums. “I am going to find out what exactly that is, and I am going to wipe that sanctimonious expression right off your face with it.”

  A shadow appeared in the open doorway and Featherstone turned.

  “Featherstone, what a surprise seeing you here,” an amused, cultured voice cut across the space. Miles’s large, powerful frame filled the doorway.

  Serena felt weak with relief.

  Sandy sneered, but he stepped away. “Why, if it isn’t Viscount Ingram,” he said the courtesy title—which Miles never used—in a tone that dripped with loathing and gave a nasty laugh. “Come for a little afternoon tussle with the widow, have you?”

  Miles stopped a few steps away, his eyes flickering to Serena to check that she was all right before moving back to the other man. He wore the same charming smile that always graced his beautiful face, but Serena knew him well enough to know he was angered by Sandy’s crass question.

  “It looks like you’ve fallen from your horse and landed on your face, Featherstone.” His lips quirked. “Or perhaps you asked rude, disrespectful questions of the wrong person?” His sky blue eyes were as hard as glass.

  Featherstone swallowed at the unspoken threat and turned to her. “I apologize for my disrespectful comment, Serena.”

  She nodded. “You should go, Sandy.” Serena couldn’t look away from Miles, whose smile could not hide the danger that rolled off him like waves of heat.

  Sandy limped from the carriage house without another word.

  Serena heaved a sigh. “I am always happy to see you Miles, but never quite as much as I am today.”

  His lazy, amused look was back on his face, a mask he took off and put on so quickly she hadn’t even seen the switch. “I’m hoping it was you who did that to his face?”

  Serena gave a weak chuckle.

  Miles took her arm, “Come on, darling, I came by to scrounge some tea and a few of those lemon biscuits Mrs. Brinkley makes just for me. I had no idea I’d have to rid the place of rats first. I’m parched.”

  She laughed and they went inside, but Sandy’s threats about Bardot continued to ring in her ears. He might have left today, but he was not gone for good.

  Chapter Five

  Oliver slept on the seat across from Serena, his curly brown head on Nounou’s lap, the old Frenchwoman’s head against the squabs, her jaw sagging as she snored. Although Oliver was too old to require a nurse Serena had kept the older woman on because she had nowhere else to go. Besides, she also served as a chaperone for Serena to those sticklers who thought such things necessary.

  It had taken her son a good hour and a half to stop bouncing on the well-sprung, soft leather seat and pelting her with questions. Even three weeks had not been long enough for him to become jaded by the notion of a new home.

  He had lived most of his ten years at the house on Albermarle Street, no matter how much the duke and duchess had tried to convince Serena to move into one of their houses, or, barring that, to let them raise their grandson. No, Oliv
er was hers. In spite of what her relations seemed to believe, she was not raising him in squalor, but with love in a perfectly stable home—albeit a bit more unconventional than most children of his class. He spent late summer every year and Christmas with his grandparents and family at Keeting Hall. But the rest of the year he lived with his mother. He was growing up too fast and she enjoyed his company too much to yield to their wishes to send him away to some barbaric English boarding school, where the other boys would taunt and torment him for his plebeian mother, a woman who actually worked for her living. No, he would stay with her until they, together, decided how he wished to spend his life.

  Serena opened the sketchbook she was never without. It contained both the sketches she had made of Rushton Park as well as, for some reason, one she had made of its odd owner. It was Gareth Lockheart as he had looked that morning at breakfast—when he had described the appeal of numbers and symbols. In her sketch his hair was wilder, his cravat untied and his coat loose and flapping, as if he were in a cyclone. The drawing made her smile and she shook her head. Oh, she was such a predictable female, attracted to his handsome face and body and intrigued by his remote, untouchable manner. In her saner moments she told herself numbers were the only thing that would bring such a cold man to life. But in the night, when she was alone and remembering the hours they had spent together planning and creating beauty for the grounds around his house, she pictured herself as the key that would unlock him. Like a princess kissing a frozen prince.

  She closed the book and her eyes with it, laying her head back against the plush upholstery. She would not have believed such romance remained in her after so many years alone. When was the last time she had looked at a man as a man? Her friend Miles’s face flickered into her mind. It was true Serena could hardly look at anything else when her handsome friend was in the same room, but that was true for most women. But Serena’s initial infatuation with the beautiful man had quickly grown into warm, sisterly affection. It was lucky for Serena that Miles was not the type of man to excite her romantic interest. Oh, he had his share of deep, dark secrets, but he was—by and large—open, social, and sunny. For whatever reason—most likely just sheer stubbornness—Serena had always gravitated toward the shy, inscrutable, or wounded men. Freddie said it was a strong mothering instinct.