"Yes, dear, but Andrew would have smartened himself up by now. Barry gave him all that money."
"Yes, and so did Lady Margaret. Whatever else he is, he certainly knows how to look out for his own interests."
"Zoie, that is uncharitable! Remember, he is your cousin."
"And you remember he is only your nephew, Mama. Next you will be saying you ought to leave him Hernefield."
"Oh, not the whole thing, Zoie,” she laughed. “Only a stipulation that he can always be assured of a home here."
"Let us wait until we have met him, before taking him on as a tenant for life,” I said. I was beginning to hope Weylin did not succeed in finding the elusive Andrew Jones.
One can sit still, waiting, for only so long. The walls of Hernefield were beginning to weigh down on me. As Borsini was painting Lady Weylin, Lord Weylin was quite at liberty, but he did not bother to drive the few miles to Hernefield. He was out in his reckoning if he thought I was going to sit home all day long waiting for him. After lunch, I drove into Aldershot to call on Mrs. Chawton. She was not at home. I stopped at the art supply shop while I was there, to purchase some pigments and my extra easel. Rafferty let me down at the shop.
It was a busy place, since all the ladies had taken up watercolors. The oil pigments, less in demand, were kept in a special nook at the rear of the shop. I slid past the watercolor ladies, speaking to a few of them whom I recognized, and continued toward the nook. As I approached it, I spotted Borsini, bent over the shelves, selecting paints.
"Borsini, what are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
"Signorina Barron! What a delightful surprise. I have come to buy supplies for my portrait of Lady Weylin. You have heard of my commission?"
"Indeed I have. Congratulations."
"I am sorry to have to postpone your lesson.” As he was not painting this afternoon, I wondered why he had not slipped my lesson in. “Lady Weylin will not want to sit both morning and afternoon,” I said.
"She prefers mornings, when she is rested."
"Then you can come to me one afternoon."
Lord Weylin appeared from behind the rack of pigments. “Miss Barron! I thought I recognized your voice.” He bowed.
I curtsied. As I was “Miss Barron,” Weylin became “Lord Weylin.” “Lord Weylin. I did not realize you were interested in painting."
"Mostly in Mama's portrait,” he replied. “Borsini has kindly agreed to stay with us for the two weeks of the sitting. I drove him to town as he will require a larger carriage to transport his clothing and supplies."
Borsini moving into Parham for two weeks? This was condescension of a high order. Even stranger was that Weylin should turn his carriage into a tranter's wagon, and become Borsini's servant.
Bereft of a sensible reply, I said, “I see."
"I have been to Borsini's studio,” Weylin continued. “He showed me some of your work. Very nice.” The only work of mine Borsini had was a couple of sketches of myself.
Borsini said, “Lord Weylin particularly liked a seascape I painted at Brighton. You know the one, Miss Barron, with the bathing houses."
Borsini had painted several scenes of Brighton, which he sold to tourists as a souvenir of their visit to the seaside. He dashed these potboilers off quickly to make money. They were pretty, but not what a connoisseur would purchase.
I exchanged a secret smile with Borsini. “Oh yes, I recall the seascapes. Lord Weylin has chosen well."
Borsini feared I would say more, and rushed in to ask how my studio was coming along.
"The color you chose is excellent. The painters are just finishing up. I have come to buy oils and another easel. Like you, I shall have more than one work going at a time."
"I want to show you some new brushes they have just got in,” Borsini said. “Fine badger-hair brushes. I cannot like those cheap pig-bristle ones you still use from time to time, Miss Barron. They leave their mark in the pigment. They are too hard."
Weylin followed along as we examined the brushes. When Borsini had talked me into three of the expensive sort, the talk turned to easels. Weylin's nose was out of joint at being ignored.
When my selections were made, he said, “You had best pick out your pigments, Borsini. I shall bear Miss Barron company while her purchases are being wrapped."
Borsini bowed and said, “I look forward to resuming our lessons soon, signorina. Buongiorno."
As soon as we were alone, Weylin said, “You had my note?"
"Yes. I am surprised to see you dawdling about the shops. I thought you would be looking for Andrew. Mama is very eager to meet him."
"I have hired a man to trace Jones. I am no sleuth. The job requires an expert."
"That leaves you free to chaperon Borsini."
"I happened to be free for an hour,” he said with a shrug.
"It did not occur to you to call at Hernefield?” I snipped. “Mama was very upset at your note. It would have made it easier if you had come in person."
"You showed her the letter, then? I was not sure you would want to worry her with the details."
"Of course I showed it to her. She has a right to know."
"I have not told Mama yet. I was waiting for a reply to my note before calling on you."
Why had I not thought of that! I should have answered his note. “Do you not plan to acknowledge Andrew, then?"
"That must depend on what sort of fellow he is. I shan't introduce a scoundrel into the house as a relation and friend."
"I wish you will tell Mama so! She is refurbishing a guest room for him. She speaks of buying him a mount."
Weylin stared in dismay. “Good God!"
"Oh yes. She even speaks of allowing him a right to reside at Hernefield in her will. I half hope he is a recognizable scoundrel, or she will disinherit me entirely."
He laughed lightly. “In that case, you must come to stay at Parham, Zoie. You will be home this evening?"
"Yes. Mama is having her crones in for cards, but I only play when Mrs. Vale cannot come. She is coming this evening. Shall I expect you to call?"
"That was my intention."
Borsini rejoined us as the clerk brought out my parcel. “Let me carry that to the carriage for you,” Borsini offered.
"You finish up your purchase, Borsini,” Weylin said. “I shall escort Miss Barron."
I looked for a hint of jealousy in Weylin's manner, but could find only impatience. Weylin carried the oils, the clerk carried the easel, and we three went out to the carriage. I was happy to know Weylin would call that evening, but still mystified by his dancing such assiduous attention on Borsini.
Only a few days ago he had scoffed at Borsini's claim of having been commissioned to paint the Prince Regent. He had spurned his artistic talent and questioned his title. Now suddenly he had not only commissioned Borsini to paint his mother, he had actually moved him into his house. And he had done it before going to the studio to judge the merit of his painting, too. I could only conclude Weylin had satisfied himself as to Borsini's right to his title. Or as this was so unlikely, I thought perhaps Lady Weylin had taken an unaccountable liking to the artist. She now had two pets to occupy her-Bubbums and Borsini.
Chapter Eighteen
My foolish pride enjoyed the idea of entertaining Lord Weylin in one corner of the saloon while Mama's friends played whist in the other. The old cats had begun teasing me about still being single. Last week, when I had been mending my stockings by the lamp table, Mrs. Monroe, whose tongue is sharp as a bodkin, had jokingly asked if I was making myself a cap. Whatever Weylin's real motive in coming, the ladies would be in a frenzy to know if it was a courting call.
I took pains with my toilette. The Grecian gown was set aside for a more conservative gold lutestring, which cast a warm glow on my cheeks, and contrasted nicely with my black hair. I took a book of poetry to my usual chair beside the lamp, mentally admiring the artful picture I would present to Weylin when he was shown in.