can buy with that.”
“Five shillings,” Bowles muttered. “For two hours a week?”
Emma nodded. “That should more than cover the expense, should it not?”
Bowles nodded and slowly smiled. Lifting his glass in salute, he said, “To trying something new!”
They clinked their glasses, and Emma sipped her gin. “Dreadful.”
The rest of the group laughed as they drained their glasses.
“Cheap gin not to your taste, Miss Drake?” Bowles asked, pouring more gin into everyone else’s glass.
“No, but then again, I’m not a brandy enthusiast either.”
Lizzy checked the pot on the stove. “Tea, miss?”
“Yes, please.” Finally feeling slightly warmer, Emma strolled over to the painting leaning against the wall. She had to admit the man had talent.
Lizzy brought over a chipped teacup. “I added milk and sugar.”
“Thank you.” Emma continued to examine the painting while the other sat by the fire, drinking their gin. Ignoring the group as they became more boisterous with each glass they consumed.
“What do you think, miss?” Lizzy asked from the sofa when Emma came to the painting on the easel.
“It’s quite good,” she replied hesitantly.
“Good?” Bowles asked from the sofa. “It’s bloody perfection! Lizzy’s body is perfection. The colors are perfection. The brush strokes are perfection.”
Lizzy giggled. “And the gin?”
“Perfection,” he replied with a gruff laugh as he took a long draught.
Emma placed her teacup on the table and looked over at Oliver. He lounged in the chair with his head back and his eyes closed. “How much gin did he have already?”
“Four glasses,” Oliver mumbled, tilting his head forward. “You should really have some.”
“No, thank you. And I believe you have had enough.”
He waved a hand in dismissal at her. “You’re as bad as my sister. Have a little fun.”
Have a little fun. Wasn’t that what her list was supposed to be all about? Getting out of her tight box and enjoying life. “Very well, then.”
Emma poured more gin in his glass and then reached for her glass. With one long swig, she drank it down, fighting nausea from the taste. The others roared with laughter.
“’ Bout damned time,” Bowles commented before adding more to his glass.
Emma felt a warming sensation radiate from her belly.
“Have more,” Oliver mumbled and then drank his glass of gin.
“I think I’ve had enough.” Glancing up at the clock, she gasped. How had she lost the last two hours? “Oliver, we really must leave. My mother will be expecting me home. If I don’t arrive soon, she will send a footman to your father’s home asking for me.”
“I’m in no position to drive a carriage at the moment,” he replied, pouring more gin into his glass. “Besides, we’re having fun here.”
“Here, here,” Bowles added.
Emma glanced over at Lizzy, who had fallen asleep with her head on Bowles’ shoulder. “I must leave, Oliver. Now. I will drive the phaeton.”
“Ladies don’t drive carriages,” he said with a laugh.
“I can manage.” And it would be good practice for the carriage race.
“Stop talking about leaving,” Bowles said. “Tell me what you want to paint. Shall I bring Lizzy to model for you?”
“No!” She couldn’t imagine Louisa’s horror if Lizzy accompanied Bowles. At this moment, Emma wasn’t positive Bowles was the right art instructor. “I would like to paint portraits. I have some lovely sketches that I could work on.”
“Sounds dreadfully boring.” Bowles sipped at his gin as Oliver’s eyes closed again.
Emma scowled at the tiresome man. Surely, she could find a better instructor than Mr. Bowles. “Tell me, Mr. Bowles, how many paintings have you sold?”
“Enough to live here,” he retorted with a glassy glare before finishing his drink. “How many have you sold?”
Hearing the condescension in his voice, she smiled over at him. “Two.”
Perhaps George and Jane's small watercolor portraits should not count, but her sisters had insisted on paying her for them.
Lizzy giggled. “He ain’t never sold a thing, miss. His teaching brings in the blunt.”
Precisely as Emma had thought. “Oliver, come along.”
Oliver grunted and then mumbled, “Not now. I need to sleep this off.”
Emma glanced over at Lizzy and Bowles, desperately trying to determine how to extradite herself from the situation. The look of contempt in Bowles’ brown eyes gave her a start. “I shall be going, then.”
Bowles nudged Lizzy to get up and see her out. “When do I start?”
Emma felt a wave of shock at his gall. “You do not start, sir. I will find another instructor. Good day.”
“But miss, it’s still damp,” Lizzy said, picking up the cloak from the chair near the fire.
“And it’s still raining, so I don’t believe