Read Online The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde - Free Book Online Page A

was opened by a small, round-faced, white-haired woman in a neat black dress and ruffled cap.
    â€œYes?” She squinted up at them. “What is it you want?”
    â€œMiss Valmeyer to see Lord Benedict Pelham,” announced Adele.
    â€œOh yes!” The old woman nodded vigorously. “His lordship told me to be expecting you. If you’ll be pleased to just step inside.”
    They stepped into a dim but neat entrance hall, and the landlady took their cloaks and bonnets and proceeded to lead them up two flights of stairs to the attic landing. She knocked on the door, and a voice called out in answer.
    Is it you?
Benedict’s words echoed in her mind, and Madelene’s heart skipped a beat as the landlady pushed the door open and stood aside so the girls could walk in.
    Benedict’s studio was a long, low room, but it was airy and far more clean and spacious than she would have thought. Madelene had conceived a notion that an artist, even a successful artist, must live in isolation surrounded by careless disorder. The room in front of her looked as if it had been freshly cleaned.
    It was also immediately apparent why he’d chosen this attic and this house. The northern wall held a series of large diamond-paned windows, as well as a pair of French doors that led onto the sort of tiny balcony commonly known as a widow’s walk. All the rest of the walls had been recently whitewashed, and the waiting shelves were filled with jars of liquids and oils and boxes, neatly labeled in grease pencil. Prepared canvases leaned against the wall in one place, empty frames in another, and what she assumed were finished canvases had been wrapped in oilcloth in another. There were trunks and boxes and worktables. The tang of turpentine filled the air. The place held an atmosphere of industry and expectation.
    Lord Benedict himself was arranging an easel in front of a small dais. He turned around, and Madelene felt her heart stutter, stop, and start again.
    â€œLady Adele. Miss Valmeyer. Thank you for coming.”
    He bowed politely. He wore a plain, old shirt and breeches and his black cravat. An artist’s long gray smock would protect his clothing from the worst of the paint. His hair was pulled back in its queue. He did nothing extraordinary. He did not look extraordinary, and yet Madelene felt a shivering and a tingling all down her spine. She was here, this was happening. Benedict was smiling at her, only politely to be sure, but that didn’t matter.
    â€œThank you for agreeing to take our commission. My brother says you’re very busy,” Adele said, a little too loudly. Madelene realized she should have been the one to speak, and she blushed.
    Lord Benedict made a polite gesture. “I only hope I may create something that will suit.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure you will,” Adele told him breezily. She faced Madelene and took her hand. And she winked. Merciful Heavens! What was she thinking? Lord Benedict would see!
    Why didn’t I bring Helene?
    â€œNow, Madelene,” Adele said. “I’m so sorry to do this, but I have an urgent summons to the modiste about our new gowns. I know, Lord Benedict, that since you are a friend of my family that Madelene will be quite safe with you for the next hour.” She leveled a long look at the artist that rivaled one of her brother’s for its intensity. “One hour, no longer,” she said, sounding for all the world like a nanny with potentially rebellious charges.
    Lord Benedict bowed again. “Then we’d best get started as soon as possible. If you don’t mind, Lady Adele, Mrs. Cottswold will show you to the door.”
    Adele agreed, of course, and said farewell and turned to follow the landlady back downstairs. Madelene wanted nothing in the world so much as to run after her friend and beg her to stay.
    No
, she told herself as firmly as she could.
It’s only one hour. You can manage for one hour.