he could not see the colours that made her landscapes come alive. He would never know the true appearance of a scene. He’d never comprehend her passion.
Marcus had watched his brother at the birthday celebration and noticed Nathaniel could not keep from observing Emilie. He could read the ideas in his brother’s mind as clearly as if they were spoken. He wanted to shove Nathaniel into the wall.
With a brief goodbye, he set out on foot, leaving the carriage for his brother.
He strode to Lady Semple’s address, letting the exertion calm him.
The butler let him in.
She sat in her chair by the fireplace and didn’t burn coal, but had a few twigs which wafted a warm comforting scent into the room.
‘So many young beauties in London, yet you have time for a moment with me.’ Her turban had a fringe of white hair escaping from it.
‘Youth has its allure, but there is much beauty to be found in the mature appearance as well.’ He bowed to her.
Her visage reminded him of a sage and the sharpness of her wit and her astute observations drew him to her. For that reason, he always spoke with Lady Semple when he saw her and he always found her conversation enlightening. Sometimes too enlightening, as she could speak about anything without a stammer or a blush, and she made him uneasy if she got carried away.
‘But I fear one must search harder for beauty in the older countenance.’ She reached to adjust her turban and her hair moved in such a way he wondered if the locks were connected to the wrap.
‘Not with you, Lady Semple.’
‘I do not have to search for your flattery, which is always appreciated and shared with my friends.’ She batted away the words. ‘Will you be joining us again this Thursday for cards?’
‘Lady Semple, that is first in my calendar.’ He moved closer.
She got to her feet, and put a hand to the small of her back. ‘Weather is changing. I’d best move or soon I won’t be able to.’
She appraised him. ‘So what brings you here? All flattery aside, as I know that you are deeply devoted to me, particularly when I am losing funds to you in a game of cards.’
‘You know my brother, Nathaniel. The one who refused to let you win the money back.’
‘Without spectacles, I can scarce tell you apart from a distance.’ She stopped him, reaching out. She tucked away a piece of his neckcloth which had escaped his waistcoat. ‘But, I doubt I’ve spoken to Mr Westbrook in years.’
‘Occasionally people mistake me for my brother and he for me. If I am in the act of doing something well, I correct them.’ They moved into an alcove. ‘If I am not so sure of my actions, I thank them for their greeting. He said he is the same.’
‘I am sure you must always correct them.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, putting innocence into his words and following them with an exaggerated leer. Her laugh would have fitted a tavern woman.
‘And what of Miss Emilie Catesby? Are you well acquainted with her family?’ He kept his voice bland, but her reaction told him she read the direction of his reasoning.
‘Miss Catesby. I’ve heard her mentioned.’ She straightened the turban, again moving the silver fringe. ‘You’ve not asked me in the past if I know of any female. You tend to know much more about the young women of the ton than I do.’
‘I suspect she has been brought to London to find out if any of the men might suit her as a husband.’
‘That is what I’ve heard also. I’ve also been told she’s had no beau because it would limit her time at a canvas. Her mother has brought her to search among the rakes of the ton for a suitable husband. A shame. With the exception of yourself, many men in this town might blind her to their follies so they could make an offer for her. I know from experience that can happen.’
‘Do you predict I might not be able to do that?’ he asked, smiling.
‘I assumed you had no follies to blind her to.’ She touched her ear.
‘I would hope not.’
‘I am sure.’ She paused. ‘How well do you know her?’
‘Hardly at all. She’s got some connection to Wilson, the Duke of Kinsale—and the Duchess has seen that Miss Catesby has many events to attend. Perhaps in search of a romance.’
‘Sad to have a parent pushing offspring to do such a thing. Your father is still pressing you to marry, isn’t he?’
Marcus remained silent.
She laughed. ‘Do not let him give you that old rubbish about dying without holding a grandchild. He will likely outlive us all. By many years.’ She smiled. ‘Remember, whom the gods love dies young.’ Her lids dropped. ‘Please pass that information along to him from me. He is so forgetful. The type who might forget a secret betrothal.’
‘You and I both know he has never truly forgotten it.’
Elbows tucked at her side, she shrugged. ‘Good. But we both ended up the better for it. Except…’
Except his mother. ‘She is not thrilled with him. Perhaps, they share a bond that is between them. They occasionally share a few civil words. Much more recently than they have in many years.’
‘I do feel better for your telling me that. He didn’t treat either her or me fairly.’
‘Mother has also mentioned a grandchild and how she feels inferior to the others who natter on and on about the accomplishments of their cherubs.’
Lady Semple sighed. ‘That is a first, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But the volume of my parents’ discussions hasn’t lessened. It’s best if they communicate by message or letter. Mother has her discreet lady’s maid read Father’s letters aloud and the woman omits irritating references. It is the best for everyone and Father doesn’t know.’
‘If it works for them.’
‘Once the lady’s maid read three pages, gave her an awkward cough and said, He judges you are in good health. Then Mother pointed to the fire and the maid tossed the letter in.’
Marcus had reasoned that moving out of the family home would distance himself from two things: the rows his parents had on the rare occasions they spoke and the opinions of his father. Nathaniel hadn’t even asked Marcus if he could move in, just followed with his belongings a few days later. Now their father showed up on a whim, questioning them about their pursuits and chiding them on their responsibilities.
‘And now your mother has joined in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your
