Page 14 of Courting Claudia
“I’m going to stay home. Perhaps paint here in the garden. It’s so beautiful today.”
“Yes, beautiful,” he said absently. “Just be sure you stay out of trouble. I don’t like all the time you spend with that Poppy. She puts wrong ideas in your head.”
“Poppy is a wonderful friend. She’s from a good family. Even you can’t deny that.”
He snorted. “The Livingston name was tarnished when that brother of hers lost all their money. And the whole lot of them are too liberal. This country will be destroyed with all that reform.”
He puffed out a breath and stood. “I’ll see you for supper.” He turned to go, then stopped. “I nearly forgot. I received a bill for pencils from some shop on Bond Street. Do you know anything about that?”
She had wondered what had happened with that bill. Next time, she would just pay instead of trying to set up an account. “Yes, Father, I ordered those. I tried to pay for them myself; they must have set up the account incorrectly. You can take the money out of my allowance.”
“I’m not worried about the money. What concerns me is your need for pencils. As I recall, I’ve instructed you on more than one occasion that you are not to be drawing. I’m assuming that this will be our last conversation about it. Unless you’re ready to relocate out of London.”
“No, sir.”
“You paint, that is all, Claudia. Do you understand me? There is no place for a woman in the art world—it is dirty and dangerous and full of…Frenchmen. Watercolors is the only acceptable art for ladies of good breeding. I will not have my daughter fancying herself an artist.” He straightened his coat. “Remember: everything you do reflects on me. We will not discuss this again. Is that understood?”
She nodded, and he turned and left her alone in the garden.
The butler looked surprised to see him. The skin on the servant’s too tall, too thin frame stretched taut, barely covering his old bones. “May I help you?” he asked in a severe tone.
“I’m here to call on Miss Prattley. Is she available?”
“May I have your card, please, sir?”
Derrick handed him his card, and the butler eyed it cautiously, then turned on his heel. “Please wait here,” he said as he retreated down the hall.
Derrick did not have a long wait before the butler reappeared.
“She’s out in the garden, Mr. Middleton. This way, please.”
Derrick followed the hollow-looking man down a long hallway, around a corner, and then out double doors into the small garden.
“Miss Prattley, a Mr. Middleton to see you.”
She stood at an easel, paintbrush in hand, her eyes wide. “Mr. Middleton.”
Derrick nodded at the butler.
“Jacobs, has my father left for his club?” she asked.
“Yes, madam.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “You may leave us.”
Jacobs stood for a moment as if unsure if he actually could leave them, then he nodded and returned inside.
Today she wore no hat, so her honey-blond curls glistened in the sunlight. With her eyes wide and her smile bright, she looked surprised to see him. Pleasantly so. He took a step forward.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to see you.”
“I apologize, that must have sounded rude. It’s a surprise to see you.” Her brow furrowed. “Is there a change in the assignment?”
“No.”
Her simple lilac gown was devoid of any ruffles, bows, or other ornamentation. The clean lines of the bodice cupped her breasts, then hugged the rest of her torso, hinting at a narrow waist and nice round hips.