Page 21 of Memories Made At Midnight

It brought her pleasure to observe Lord Cassius, and sitting still these past hours gave her ample opportunity. Soon enough, she’d have a chance to cause an accidental mishap.

A stab of guilt speared her.

She almost felt remorse for her plan to destroy his work. Almost. However, self-preservation allowed her to push her guilt into a corner of her mind and slam the door on any regret.

She skimmed her attention over the other paintings on display.

Uncle had been correct.

Though she was no expert, even she could see that Cassius Westbrook possessed talent—exceptional talent.

In her cozy corner, Millborn softly snored, having fallen asleep as Beatrice had predicted, but only after consuming every single biscuit. Uncle rarely permitted Cook to bake sweet treats, claiming they would ruin his figure.

He fussed more over his appearance than any woman Beatrice had ever met. She vowed he plucked his eyebrows too.

“I think we are done for today.” Cassius took one last glance at the easel and set the pencil aside.

As if on cue, Millborn snorted and startled herself awake. She yawned and blinked. “Did I hear you say we are finished for today, Lord Cassius?”

Nodding, he spared a quick glance to her corner. “We are.”

Millborn stood, her movements stiff and slow.

She really ought to retire, but she had no family either. Uncle Cedric—the inconsiderate miser—had never mentioned pensioning the elderly woman. Therefore, necessity compelled her to continue to work.

Another reason Beatrice must have control over her inheritance. She could set Millborn up in a cozy cottage with a monthly stipend. Or even allow the dear to travel with her if she so wished. Since Mama’s death—from a broken heart and shame, Beatrice was convinced⁠—

Millborn had been the closest thing to a mother Beatrice had known.

Beatrice unfolded from the chair, almost grimacing as her muscles objected to the movement. She gave the back of the easel a pointed look. “May I see?”

“No.” Lord Cassius gave her a sideways smile, even as he draped a cloth over the easel. “You may not. I never permit a patron to see my work in progress.”

There was a finality to his answer, and she didn’t press him.

As he unbuttoned his paint-stained smock, he crossed the room. After he’d hung it on a hook and shrugged into his jacket, he faced her. “I should like you to return in three days for another four hours.”

“As you wish.” Beatrice collected her silk cloak. “Are you certain I should bring Nala and Teddy?”

If Uncle Cedric hadn’t directed Millborn to chaperone her, Beatrice could simply walk to the studio with her dogs. That wouldn’t raise suspicion, for she walked about Brighton all the time with her pets. She would have simply worn a morning gown and changed when she arrived for the sitting.

After sliding the cloak over her pretty new blue gown, she tied the ribbon at her throat.

“Yes, bring them.” Lord Cassius nodded. “You have a different demeanor about you with your pets nearby. I’d like to capture that in your likeness. Once your uncle sees the portrait, he’ll understand.

“The master won’t like it,” Millborn said, crossing to them, unable to hide a slight limp, no doubt caused by stiff knee or hip joints. “Not a bit.”

“Leave the matter to me.” Unlike most people who encountered Uncle Cedric, the earl did not intimidate Lord Cassius. “I shall take full responsibility.”

Once again, his confidence impressed Beatrice.

It probably infuriated Uncle.

In truth, it wasn’t just Lord Cassius’s confidence or self-assurance that raised him in her estimation. Uncle Cedric was confident to the point of arrogance and mulishness. No, it was Lord Cassius’s fearlessness combined with diplomacy and compassion.

Uncle lacked the latter qualities.

Beatrice didn’t try to dissuade Lord Cassius from including Nala and Teddy in her portrait. The worst that could happen was Uncle would demand a second go at the painting.