Portrait of My Heart (13 page)
It was for that reason, she was prepared to explain, that she had named her dog after him. Because he was a good,
old friend. It certainly hadn’t been because thoughts of him rarely, if ever, left her. It certainly wasn’t because he had, that day five years earlier, seared an image into her memory that she’d been unable to shake ever since. It wasn’t because Jeremy Rawlings had become her definition of the ideal man, and no man, not even her own fiance, could ever match—
old friend. It certainly hadn’t been because thoughts of him rarely, if ever, left her. It certainly wasn’t because he had, that day five years earlier, seared an image into her memory that she’d been unable to shake ever since. It wasn’t because Jeremy Rawlings had become her definition of the ideal man, and no man, not even her own fiance, could ever match—
It was at that moment, sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for Jeremy to put in an appearance, that Maggie remembered Augustin.
Good God! Her fiancé! She had forgotten her fiance!
Well, that cinched it. Maggie was deranged. Reserve a room in Bedlam, because Maggie was on her way. She had sat in the wee hours of the morning, chatting with a man who had once proposed to her, and she had completely forgotten the fact that she was engaged to someone else. Not just forgotten the fact that she was engaged, but forgotten all about the man himself! Oh, Lord. She was the most ungrateful, unappreciative girl in the entire world. What could she have been thinking, sitting there with Jeremy in her nightdress while Augustin, the man to whom she was engaged, was sleeping just a few city blocks away?
But the fact that she was undeserving of Augustin’s attentions wasn’t quite as important as the fact that she had completely forgotten to mention his existence to Jeremy. Not that she fancied Jeremy would care. Certainly not! Why, he had the Star of Jaipur! But she ought to have said
something … .
something … .
Well, it was a dilemma easily remedied. She’d simply casually announce it over breakfast, along with her explanation of her dog’s name. Yes, that was it. Jeremy, I named my dog after you because you’re a dear old friend, and by the way, did you know I’m engaged to be married? Pass the butter, will you?
But when Jeremy did not appear at the breakfast table by ten o’clock, a half hour before Maggie’s first appointment of the day, she became irritated. She wanted to tell him about Augustin while her courage was still high. Where was he? A consultation with Evers proved highly unsatisfactory. According to the butler, His Grace was still sleeping. Subtle
questioning as to the whereabouts of the Star of Jaipur were equally unsatisfactory. According to Evers, only one bedroom besides her own was currently being utilized. Since she felt sure Jeremy wouldn’t put the Star of Jaipur up in a hotel, she could only assume he was sharing his own bedroom with her. Well, that might explain, she supposed, why Jeremy was sleeping so late. Had he gone straight from her room to …
questioning as to the whereabouts of the Star of Jaipur were equally unsatisfactory. According to Evers, only one bedroom besides her own was currently being utilized. Since she felt sure Jeremy wouldn’t put the Star of Jaipur up in a hotel, she could only assume he was sharing his own bedroom with her. Well, that might explain, she supposed, why Jeremy was sleeping so late. Had he gone straight from her room to …
She felt nauseous just thinking about it.
So instead of thinking about it, she gathered her things and took the omnibus to her first appointment, a consultation with Lord and Lady Chettenhouse, who wanted to commission a portrait of their eldest daughter, a rather spoiled little society miss. A gown, pose, and sum were agreed upon within an hour, and Maggie was back at the house on Park Lane by noon … only to learn that the duke was still sleeping.
Biting back a resentful remark, Maggie had a long lunch, dallied as long as she could in her room before finally admitting she was acting like a fool, then took another omnibus to her studio. There she put in five solid hours of painting, hardly once thinking about her nocturnal visitor. It was only after she laid down her paintbrush and flexed her sore arm that she wondered if Jeremy was finally awake. Shutting up her studio for the night, Maggie returned to the house on Park Lane, preparing herself the entire way for an unpleasant interview with its owner. She was wearing a blue tartan day dress, with a long ruffled train and a tight bodice that ended in a point just over her abdomen. She didn’t, she knew, look particularly smart, but then, she didn’t look dowdy, either. At least her hair was up. It would be the first time Jeremy had ever seen her with her hair up. If it would just
stay
up during the course of their interview, all would be well.
stay
up during the course of their interview, all would be well.
What she hadn’t thought to prepare herself for was an interview with the duke’s mistress. But that’s exactly who she found standing in the foyer when she threw open the front door.
The Star of Jaipur, Maggie saw at once, was everything that she had most feared: petite, exotic, and beautiful. In fact, standing next to her, Maggie felt like an ungainly cow.
It wasn’t just that the Indian princess had the largest, darkest eyes Maggie had ever seen. It wasn’t just that, even swathed in a cloak of ermine and velvet, she looked dainty enough to sit in the palm of Maggie’s hand. It wasn’t just that her feet, peeping out from beneath the hem of her pink silk sari, were shod in jeweled slippers, or that the fingers she slipped out of her furred muff were heavy with rubies and emeralds.
Oh, no, the Star of Jaipur had to
smile
at her as she came blowing in from outside. A sweet, gentle smile that caused Maggie to stumble over her own train and nearly upset a vase of half-blown roses that rested on a tiny marble-topped table just inside the door.
smile
at her as she came blowing in from outside. A sweet, gentle smile that caused Maggie to stumble over her own train and nearly upset a vase of half-blown roses that rested on a tiny marble-topped table just inside the door.
Lord, Maggie thought miserably, as she held on to the table for support. Did she have to be beautiful and nice, too?
“Excuse me,” said a soft, masculine voice from behind her. The English was accented, but quite good, nonetheless. “But are you unwell?”
Maggie took a deep breath. She was going to live through this, she told herself. This was not going to kill her. All she needed to do was utter a few pleasantries, go up those stairs, and then …
Start packing. Because she could not live in this house a second longer.
Maggie turned, slowly, and found herself looking up at a slim, but very tall, brown-skinned man, who wore on his head a scarlet little hat with a tassel in the crown. He was smooth-shaven, with an intelligent face, that, though not handsome, was nevertheless pleasing. Though Maggie could not have begun to guess his age, she suspected he was younger than he seemed.
Somehow, Maggie managed to smile at him. “I’m quite well,” she said. “You merely startled me.”
“Ah!” The man smiled and nodded, then turned to say something incomprehensible to the Star of Jaipur. The language he spoke was lilting and melodic, with no guttural sounds whatsoever. Hearing it put Maggie in mind of the games she and Jeremy had played as children, of the way the wind had sounded in summertime, as it rustled through the treetops on the Rawlings estate.
When the Star of Jaipur responded in the same language, something in her soft, fluty voice caused the hairs on Maggie’s arms to stand up beneath her sleeves. When she was through speaking, the Indian man turned to Maggie and said kindly, “Allow me to make introductions, please. This is the Princess Usha Rajput of Rajasthan. I am her interpreter, Sanjay. The princess wishes you to know that you are welcome in her home. She wonders if you have come to see herself, or the colonel.”
“In her …” Maggie’s voice trailed off. Good God. This was worse than she’d ever imagined. Jeremy actually intended to
marry
this … this …
woman.
It had been one thing when they’d all assumed he’d merely keep her, like a pet. But evidently, he intended to marry her. Or at least that was the impression the princess herself seemed to be under. Unless … unless they were married already!
marry
this … this …
woman.
It had been one thing when they’d all assumed he’d merely keep her, like a pet. But evidently, he intended to marry her. Or at least that was the impression the princess herself seemed to be under. Unless … unless they were married already!
“Um,” Maggie stammered. “Actually, neither. You see, I’ve been staying here—”
“Ah,” the little man cried. “You are a servant? Very good! We need someone to take our wraps.” He indicated the princess’s heavy, ermine-trimmed cloak, and his own
cape, of the same scarlet as his cap. “The man who opened the door to us was very rude. He told us, wait here, and then he disappeared. We have not seen him for some minutes. The princess grows tired of waiting and wishes to sit down.”
cape, of the same scarlet as his cap. “The man who opened the door to us was very rude. He told us, wait here, and then he disappeared. We have not seen him for some minutes. The princess grows tired of waiting and wishes to sit down.”
Maggie nodded, feeling as if there were a bee buzzing inside of her skull, trying to get out. She could not, in her wildest imaginings, have ever envisioned quite so awkward a situation. She supposed that Evers, opening the door to this couple, had felt the same. Otherwise, why would he have simply left them there in the foyer? A well-trained butler simply did not leave guests waiting in the foyer. He saw them either comfortably seated, or he turned them away. He did not, however, leave them standing in the hallway.
But Maggie could not blame Evers. She quite understood his feelings. It was all simply too much for an ordinary Englishman—or woman—to bear. For the maharajah of Rajasthan, the supreme power of that province—outside of Her Majesty, of course—to have presented his own niece as a reward for heroism—And for Jeremy to have accepted that reward!—was beyond all comprehension.
Maggie was glad it had been so long since luncheon. Otherwise, she might have lost what she’d eaten right then and there.
Instead, however, she did what any decent British citizen ought to have done: She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and said, as graciously as possible, “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to the drawing room. And of course, I’ll be happy to take your wraps.”
The Indian man beamed at her. “Thank you,” Sanjay said. “Thank you very much. We have traveled a long way, and are very tired. And I am afraid the cold here is not what we are used to. It is quite wearing.”
Maggie smiled—though she feared that smile was terribly sickly. “I’ll see that someone brings you some tea straightaway, then.”
And then she turned, and threw open the doors to the drawing room.
It took her only a few minutes to see that the princess and her translator were settled comfortably. When it appeared
that all their needs—save the tea, which Maggie rang for—had been attended to, she took her leave. It was only as Maggie was leaving that the princess reached out and seized her hand.
that all their needs—save the tea, which Maggie rang for—had been attended to, she took her leave. It was only as Maggie was leaving that the princess reached out and seized her hand.
Looking down at the lovely, upturned face, Maggie could see, with perfect clarity, why Jeremy had not said no to the maharajah’s offer. The Star of Jaipur was aptly named. Besides her large, hypnotic eyes, the princess had been blessed with a perfectly bow-shaped mouth, skin the color of hazelnuts, long ebony hair, and a figure as lithe and as fine-boned as a dancer’s. Two of her would have fit easily into Maggie’s corset. Though his aunt would object, of course—Pegeen had been very vocal in her disapproval of the maharajah’s beneficence, calling him, perhaps not incorrectly, a peddler of human flesh—Jeremy had surely found a perfect duchess for Rawlings, one who would not shame the heavy diamond tiara that came with the title.
The princess hung on to Maggie’s gloved hand for a few moments, while she spoke rapidly in what Maggie assumed was Hindustani. When she finished her little speech, Sanjay translated: “The Princess Usha wishes you to know that your kindness will not go unrewarded. For the generosity you have shown us this evening, you will always be a valued member of Her Highness’s personal staff. She wishes to know the extent of your experience as a lady’s maid, and whether or not you can read.”
It took Maggie a full minute before she could summon up a reply. When she did, she was pleased she managed to do so without laughing … or vomiting.
“I’m extremely flattered,” Maggie said slowly, “however, I am not a servant, merely a guest in this house. I do hope you have a pleasant evening, but now I really must retire to my own room.”
Without waiting for the princess’s reply, she turned and hurried away. All she wanted was to flee to the sanctuary of her own room. But of course, no sooner had she reached it, than her maid, Hill, bustled out from the dressing room, a white satin evening gown in her hands.
“There you are,” she said, just as Maggie threw herself
dramatically across the bed, preparing to burst into a storm of tears. “You’re late. You’ve only a few minutes to get changed.”
dramatically across the bed, preparing to burst into a storm of tears. “You’re late. You’ve only a few minutes to get changed.”
“Changed?” Maggie echoed dejectedly. “Changed for what?”
“Lord and Lady Althorpe’s cotillion.” Hill shook her head. “Really, Miss Margaret. Is that skull of yours forever in the clouds?”
Maggie gasped. “Oh, Lord, no! I’d completely forgotten!”
The cotillion! What an idiot she was! She had fussed at Augustin for weeks, fearful that Lady Althorpe would forget to issue her an invitation to this all-important society event. Every matron in town would be in attendance, along with their unmarried daughters, and they’d all of them get a glance at the portrait Maggie had just completed of Cordelia Althorpe, in whose honor her parents were hosting the cotillion. Maggie would never have a better chance to gain introductions to the sort of people who’d be most likely to commission portraits from a painter like herself. If she could win over Lord and Lady Althorpe’s rich, influential friends, she might never want for money again!
“Oh!” she cried, rolling over, and heading straight for her dressing table. How in the world was she going to cry out her troubles when she had to prepare for a ball? “Oh, Hill,” she cried, to her maid’s reflection in the large gilt-framed mirror that hung above the dressing table. “I’d completely forgotten!”
“Well, fortunately, Mr. de Veygoux didn’t. He’ll be here in half an hour to pick you up. Least, that’s the message he left earlier this afternoon. Come on, now, and get out of those things. We’ve got a lot of work to do, if we’re to make you presentable by the time he gets here.”
Heaving a sigh, Maggie slumped forward, burying her head in her arms. “Oh, Hill,” she said. “You can’t even begin to imagine the day I’ve had.”
“The day you’ve had!” Hill tugged on her mistress’s hat. “I like that! Well, prepare yourself, miss. I’m about to make it a good deal worse.”
“Oh, no,” Maggie exclaimed, looking up. A sudden tightness appeared in her chest. “You haven’t received bad news from Herbert Park, have you, Hill?”
“Oh, Lord, no, miss,” Hill said, plucking pins out of Maggie’s hair. “No, nothing like that. It’s only just … Well, it’s just that—”
The only other time Maggie had ever seen Hill look so perturbed was the night Maggie had tried to dismiss her, shortly after her father had cut her off, and Maggie had finally had to confess to her maid that she didn’t have the money to pay her salary. Hill had only lifted her nose at this information, and said gravely, “Your good mother put me in charge of you when you was sixteen, miss. She’d be rollin’ over in her grave if she heard I was leavin’ you now, when you’re needin’ me most. You never mind about my wages. We’ll muddle through somehow. We always have.”
Maggie, curious over what could possibly have upset the usually phlegmatic Hill so much, asked, “Whatever can be the matter, Hill? Has Evers done something to upset you? I know he’s a bit of a trial, but do try to get along with him. We are guests here, you know.”
“No, miss, it isn’t Mr. Evers what’s botherin’ me this time.” Hill picked up the hairbrush from the dressing table and began raking it through Maggie’s thick, tangled tresses. “It’s
him
.”
him
.”
Maggie knit her dark eyebrows, both in confusion and pain from her maid’s brutal brushing technique. “
Him?
Him who?”
Him?
Him who?”
“Miss Margaret—” The maid paused for dramatic effect. “He’s back. The duke, I mean. From India.”
“Oh,” Maggie said.
Seeing that her mistress had not fainted from the news, Hill stooped to look her in the eye. “You knew!” she exclaimed, after she’d studied the younger woman’s reflection for a few seconds. “You knew all along he was back!”
“Well,” Maggie began slowly.
Hill straightened up, and launched another vicious attack on Maggie’s hair. “I can’t believe you knew he was back, miss, an’ you din’t have the goodness to tell me!”
“Ow!” Maggie cried, as Hill twisted her hair so tightly, she flinched. “Hill, I swear to you, I only just found out myself.”
Hill was not showing any mercy, however. She jerked Maggie’s head this way and that as she attacked the snarls in her hair. “Shame on you, Miss Margaret! What would your good mother say, if she knew you were staying in a house alone with an unmarried gentleman? And not just any unmarried gentleman, but the Duke of Rawlings! She wouldn’t like it, and you know it!”
Maggie sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I know, Hill. You’re right.”
“I’m more’n right,” Hill declared. “I’m
dead
right.” Hill stopped brushing, and started braiding. “We can’t stay here, Miss Margaret. Not with a man who consorts with a
heathen.”
dead
right.” Hill stopped brushing, and started braiding. “We can’t stay here, Miss Margaret. Not with a man who consorts with a
heathen.”
Maggie, startled, glanced at her maid’s reflection in the large mirror over her dressing table. “Heathen? Whatever do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Hill said darkly. “That so-called star. Star!” Hill snorted. “I’ll show
her
a star or two!”
her
a star or two!”
“Oh,” Maggie said, in a small voice. “I see. Only, Hill …”
“Only what?” Hill had hairpins in her mouth, so her next sentence came out sounding garbled. “There ain’t no only about it. It’s a good thing Lord and Lady Edward are expected back this evening. Because if they weren’t, well, I’d make you clear out this instant. We can’t stay here with
him
in the house.”
him
in the house.”
“Yes, only where would we go?” Maggie looked up at her maid. “You know I haven’t the money yet to rent a flat … a
decent
flat, anyway, in a neighborhood where we needn’t be afraid to walk Jerry at night. I suppose I could ask Berangère—”
decent
flat, anyway, in a neighborhood where we needn’t be afraid to walk Jerry at night. I suppose I could ask Berangère—”
Hill looked horrified. “That Frenchwoman who rents the paintin’ studio across the hall from yours?” she cried.
Maggie glanced up at her maid apprehensively. “Really, Hill. She’s a good friend. I’m sure if she has the room, she’ll let us stay with her for as long as—”
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