Page 6 of Aurelia

Even from three miles away, Castle Crewe dominated the horizon, perched as it was on the highest point of the Isle of Crewe.

The guidebook Aurelia had consulted said the castle had been the stronghold of the Lairds of Crewe for over seven hundred years. It was an imposing fortification that was made even more daunting by its black walls. The black color was the result of a particular variant of lichen. Legend had it that the black edifice had so daunted several waves of invaders that they had changed their minds about assaulting the island. And so the lichen had been allowed to proliferate even though it slowly eroded the stone. Still, with walls that were several feet thick, the intimidation value had been considered well worth the gradual erosion.

And that was where she would be living for the next year.

With the infamous Earl of Crewe.

Although she had been secretly illustrating for scientists all over Britain for five years, this trip to the Isle of Crewe was the first time she had ever traveled to a client’s estate to do the work. Indeed, in the past her clients had believed her to be Albert Burton rather than Aurelia Bellamy. So, this was also her first job under her real name. Well, half her real name. To spare her family any shame, she had given the Earl of Crewe the fictitious surname Burton.

Not that taking such an alias had been enough to appease her mother.

“If you leave now to work for the Earl of Crewe you will no longer have a mother, a family, or a home, Aurelia. I will tell people that you died and I only have five children.”

The Countess of Addiscombe’s words were still ringing in Aurelia’s head even a week after her mother had flung them at her.

Although the countess had never been warm or affectionate, Aurelia hadn’t believed she was cold enough to disown one of her children merely for trying to earn a living—especially given that everyone in their family, the countess included, might soon be bereft of a hearth and home thanks to the earl’s reckless gambling.

She sighed, shook away the unpleasant thought, and took a sip of tea, turning her thoughts to the job that was awaiting her.

Lord Crewe had engaged her to paint flora and fauna from Las Floridas, the Spanish colony that bordered the English settlements in America. He was the first Englishman to explore the interior of the Spanish possession and it was said that the specimens he’d brought back were unlike any ever seen.

He was selling subscriptions for a two-volume work that would be published the following year, and Aurelia’s paintings would be the basis for many of the plates. It was truly the opportunity of a lifetime and she had traveled six long, hellish days in a public coach to get there. And yet it seemed the last three miles—from the village of Balcrewe to the Isle of Crewe—might be the hardest, thanks to the weather.

“Miss Burton?”

She turned to find the publican, Mr. Anderson, smiling at her.

“Have you found somebody to row me across?” she asked, laying her napkin down beside her empty teacup and saucer.

“Me son will take ye, but the billows be too rough just yet,” he said, gesturing to the window.

Aurelia assumed he meant the whitecaps on the water between the mainland and the island.

“How long will I have to wait?” she asked.

“If they get worse, mayhap until tomorrow. But don’t ye worry, Lord Crewe has already instructed me to have a room for you.”

Aurelia digested that unwelcome piece of information.

“Would ye care to go up to yer room and rest a while?” he offered.

She had just spent six days crammed into a carriage, the last thing she wanted was to stay indoors.

“I believe I will take a walk—not too far, so I will be at hand if the crossing becomes possible,” she assured him.

“Aye, there be a nice path that runs just north to Andrew’s Cove. Right pretty it be.” He glanced out the window again. “I reckon the wind might be dyin’ down. Come back in an hour and we’ll see.”

As Aurelia strode toward the path he had indicated, she pondered what she had learned thus far about Lord Crewe from Mr. Anderson and his wife as the two had lingered after serving Aurelia her tea.

Mrs. Anderson had been visibly delighted to be the first person in Balcrewe to meet Aurelia and assured her that the entire village was agog to see the lady artist.

While neither of the Andersons had been openly critical of the earl—whom they’d said owned not only the Isle of Crewe but also most of Balcrewe, including the land their pub sat on—they had not hesitated to pass along scandalous tidbits about their laird.

They had made numerous unsubtle references to the earl’s popularity among neighborhood widows and passed along observations about how Lord Crewe’s distinctive features could be seen on more than a few children in the area, both those born in and out of wedlock.

And then they had moved on to the earl’s wives…

“Mind you, the master isnae the only one that gets up to mischief,” Mrs. Anderson had murmured.