MARIAH LOVINGLY STROKED THE IVORY keys of the grand piano, then placed her fingers in position and began to play a few scales. It was as if her hands remembered a language that her mind did not.
“Up again early after a party. It would seem that nothing exhausts you.”
Mariah smiled, turning to look at Charles. “You’re up rather early as well, especially considering your condition.”
Charles scowled. “I’m recovering from yellow fever, I’m not an invalid.”
“Of course,” Maria replied. “Your skin is no longer that odd shade of grayish green and your face doesn’t hang off your bones quite as much as it did.”
“Are you saying that I’m putting on weight?”
“Indeed,” Mariah said. “You’re looking less and less like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster by the hour.”
Charles’s lips twitched—his reluctant smile that Mariah found all too charming. “Would you consider joining me for my morning walk?”
Mariah assented, and they left the house arm in arm.
“What business did you have in New York?” she asked.
Mariah thought she saw a little color steal into his cheeks. She liked the strong line of his jaw and the smell of his blackcurrant soap.
“My maternal grandfather has many business interests, and he wanted me to learn about all aspects of his holdings, including his offices in New York.”
“Did you like it there before you became ill?”
Charles smiled slightly. “Well enough. The Americans were very kind to me.”
“Tell me about them.”
“It was probably because of my title, but all the Americans seemed terribly impressed by it and invited me to the most splendid parties. And some of the more daring ladies advocated women’s dress reform and even wore trousers called bloomers under knee-length skirts.”
“No crinolines?” Mariah asked with a smile.
“Not that I saw,” Charles said. “And if you were to wear bloomers, Sophie, you would be able to walk through doorways without getting stuck.”
“And be able to bend over and pick up my own books?”
“Yes.”
“Their ladies’ trousers sound infinitely more reasonable than our enormous skirts.”
Charles bit his lip. “I think you would look very pretty in trousers,” he said quietly.
Mariah felt a blush travel up from her neck to the roots of her hair. She couldn’t look at him, so she kept her eyes focused on her boots.
Charles must have noticed her embarrassment, because he quickly changed the subject. “And I saw a circus where they rode elephants. I was even able to give it a try.”
“You rode an elephant?!”
“Yes. I paid a handsome fee for the experience, but it was worth it.”
“Was it very difficult?”
“Not really,” Charles explained. “There was a seat on the elephant, so it didn’t require any great skill on my part.”
They walked across the street and into Hyde Park.
“I recall you told Aunt Bentley that you planned on returning to America when you were well,” Mariah said. “Is that still your plan?”
“Grandfather Miller doesn’t think it necessary, but I want to prove to him that I can accomplish the task he set forth,” he said. “I’ve already booked passage for New York in a month.”
He was looking at her with such intensity that Mariah turned her head away. “I’ll miss you. Will your business take you away for a long time?”
“Ethan stayed for two years to learn about our trade in New York, and I intend to stay that long as well,” Charles said.
Mariah touched his arm. “None of us are the same, and we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. Our comparisons are invariably false when we compare their strengths to our weaknesses.”
“Grandfather Miller has measured me against my cousin my entire life, and I’ve always been found wanting,” Charles said bitterly. “Even you preferred dancing with him over me at the ball.”
Sophie had clearly left out several details about last night. “Dance with me now,” Mariah said, offering her hand to him.
“In the middle of the park?”
“We’re the only ones out at this early hour,” Mariah said. “Except the birds and squirrels. Surely you don’t care what they think?”
“There’s no music…”
“I’ll make some,” Mariah replied, and began to hum the tune of a waltz.
Charles took her into his arms and Mariah felt every sense in her body tingle in delight. He led her through the waltz with turns and dips. Unlike her sister, Mariah was a natural dancer with grace and rhythm. She twirled and added extra spins to make their dance more intricate, more intimate. Charles twirled her out and then pulled her back into his arms, holding her against him. Mariah could feel his chest rising rapidly and heard her own heartbeat thundering against his.
“Sophie, I—”
“Release the young lady or I’ll write you up on charges of public indecency!”
Charles and Mariah separated instantly. Strolling toward them was a bullish constable with a black mustache.
“I don’t want none of that carryin’ on in the park no more,” the constable barked, waving his wooden truncheon.
“We were only dancing,” Charles said.
“Looked like a bit more than dancing to me,” the constable insisted, separating them further with his baton. “And don’t get no ideas about doing that sort of thing on the sidewalk or street, neither. This is a respectable neighborhood, it is.”
“Constable,” Charles said with a curt nod and led Mariah by the arm out of the park.
Once they had crossed the street, Mariah couldn’t hold in her mirth any longer. She laughed so hard that she cried and had to wipe the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. Charles looked at her incredulously before laughing with her.
“I feel ridiculous,” Charles said as he opened the door to his house for her.
Mariah turned to him. “I feel disappointed … that we didn’t finish our dance.”
Then before he could speak, she ran up the stairs two at a time.
Sophie was not in their room, so Mariah went to Sir Thomas’s house to find her. She walked into the art studio and found a man looking at her sketches. He had dark brown hair and thick sideburns that ran all the way down his face to his jaw, and his black clothes were excellently tailored.
The stranger looked up at the sound of her entrance.
“Forgive me for intruding,” Mariah said. “My sister Sophie poses for Sir Thomas, and he allows me to watch. I was looking for her.”
“You must be the young lady responsible for these,” the man said, holding up the sketches.
Mariah blushed.
“No need to be modest,” the man said. “They’re quite good. But your technique needs work.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never been formally taught.”
“That would explain it,” the man mused, more to himself than to her. “The wildness, and yet a natural eye for shadows and contrast in your pencil tip.”
Mariah turned to see Sophie, Sir Thomas, and Mrs. Spooner come into the art studio. Mrs. Spooner smiled warmly at Mariah. “I take it that you have lost no time in becoming acquainted with Mr. Ruskin.”
“We have not yet been introduced,” Mariah said primly.
“Then allow me the honor,” Mrs. Spooner said. “Miss Carter, this is the famous Mr. John Ruskin: art critic, author, and lecturer. Sir Thomas wrote to Mr. Ruskin about your sketches and asked him to come take a look at them.”
“You were correct to write to me, Sir Thomas,” Mr. Ruskin said. “She has a natural skill that should be encouraged and developed.”
Mariah flushed with pleasure.
“She can’t speak,” Sophie said with a saucy smile. “She’s too overcome.”
Mariah was entirely overcome, but managed to find her voice and say, “Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Ruskin handed Mariah back her drawings. “I wish I had time to tutor you, but my work, The Stones of Venice, is all-consuming. Perhaps I could give you drawing lessons via letter?”
“Before I can consent,” Mariah said, “I must ask how much these lessons would cost. My sister and I don’t have much money—”
“I won’t charge you a penny,” Mr. Ruskin replied. “It pleases me to assist artists in their works.”
“Oh! Thank you!” Mariah said, clasping her hands together. “Thank you. That would mean so much to me.”
Mr. Ruskin picked up his black hat from the table and placed it on his head.
“I must go,” he said. “Watergate, this will be the most triumphant painting of your career. Mrs. Spooner, Miss Carter, Miss Carter.”
Mrs. Spooner followed him out and Mariah heard her say, “Please give Sir Thomas’s best to Mrs. Ruskin.”
Mariah covered her mouth with her hands. She still couldn’t quite believe it—a real professional had offered to teach her. For the first time in her life, her dreams were within the grasp of her pencil.