Free Silver Splendor by Olivia Drake Page B

strokes.
    “Quite astute, Miss Hastings.”
    “You see what I told you?” Cicely said, plopping onto a brocaded Queen Anne sofa. “The men always inherit the good looks in this family. And if ever you’re bored, Nick can entertain you for hours with the history of every piece in this house.”
    His jaw tightened, accentuating the perfection of his cheekbones. “It would do you well to learn your heritage.”
    “Oh, pooh. I’ve no interest in dusty relics.”
    Her casual attitude disturbed Elizabeth. Didn’t Cicely appreciate the fortune of birth that had given her such an extravagant home? Even Owen seemed to have put aside enmity long enough to be fascinated by the surroundings; his head was tilted in a study of the titles inside a glass fronted bookcase.
    The tap of footsteps drew her attention to the doorway. Elizabeth stared, dazzled by the woman who swept into the room. With her noble beauty, she might have stepped straight off a Gainsborough canvas. She wore an evening gown of ice blue silk that suited her porcelain skin to perfection. Her rich russet hair, beribboned and drawn into a chignon, made her look as stately as Britannia on a ship’s prow. Like the earl, this woman had high cheekbones and a straight nose, cool gray eyes, and a haughty bearing. As she drew nearer, Elizabeth detected the fine age lines around the eyes and mouth.
    “Cicely, you wicked child,” she scolded. “What a fright you gave us! Imagine, abandoning poor Miss Eversham like that. And then going off alone, staying out after dark, like a common shopgirl! I pray no one of consequence saw you. Were my dear sister alive, she’d be appalled to witness her daughter’s behavior —”
    Her thin eyebrows arched at Elizabeth. Pinned by that cool scrutiny, Elizabeth repressed an amused smile.
    Swiveling toward the earl, the woman demanded, “What is the meaning of this, Nicholas? What mischief has Cicely wrought now?” In a lowered voice, she added, “And why have you brought this… street woman into our home?”
    “Mind your tongue,” Owen snapped. “Fancy lady or not, I won’t hear you speak ill of my daughter.
    Gasping, she whirled toward him. “How dare you address me in that tone.”
    “My daughter is your equal. The Book of Proverbs says, A good name is rather to be chosen than riches.’“
    “Enough.” The earl’s frosty voice ended the exchange. “May I present my aunt, the Lady Beatrice Fairfield. Aunt Beatrice, this is Miss Elizabeth Hastings and her father, Owen. I’ve engaged Miss Hastings to instruct Cicely in sculpting.”
    Elizabeth gave Lady Beatrice a sunny smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    Lady Beatrice’s fine features drew into a deeper grimace. “Nicholas, have you gone mad? A lesson or two in drawing is one thing, but sculpting! All that mud and plaster. Ugh.” She shuddered. “We’ll be outcast if anyone hears of this. No proper lady would interest herself in such a common profession.”
    “It’s hardly common,” Elizabeth said. “The museums are crowded with aristocrats enjoying the artwork.”
    “We may admire,” Lady Beatrice enunciated, “but we do not create.”
    Cicely sat straight on the sofa. “I don’t want to be a lady if it means I can’t study art.”
    Lady Beatrice turned disapproving eyes toward her nephew. “This is insanity! Why, she’ll never find a suitable husband if you continue to succumb to her outrageous whims. Not even the temptation of her marriage portion will —”
    “That’s quite enough,” the earl broke in testily. He strode across the room and pulled the gold bell cord. “As Cicely’s guardian, I shall decide what’s best for her.”
    “His mind is made up, Aunt Beatrice,” Cicely said archly. “There’s simply no purpose in arguing about it any longer. We’re lucky Elizabeth has consented to be my mentor.”
    “That’s quite enough from you, too, young lady,” Lord Nicholas stated. “I haven’t forgotten your