Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,10

was certainly true.

Mrs. Thorpe waited. That was her gift, a serene stillness.

“I wanted to ask about a lady you might know,” he said.

“A lady?” His hostess raised chiseled brows and smiled. In another the expression might have been mocking. Yet there was something warm and engaging in her face. It was impossible to take offense.

“Her name is Teresa Alvarez de Granada,” Arthur said. He wasn’t surprised that she found his awkwardness amusing.

“Ah.”

“She paints backdrops for Drury Lane, so I thought perhaps you had…encountered her.”

“Yes, I am acquainted with Señora Alvarez.”

Arthur felt a rush of eager curiosity.

“What is your interest in her?” Mrs. Thorpe asked.

“I met her when I was visiting Tom.”

“Ah?”

The single word was weighted with implication. Chiefly, it pointed out that he hadn’t answered her question. And what was the answer? “I was struck by her manner. Surely she must be a Spanish noblewoman?”

Mrs. Thorpe examined him. Arthur had seen her evaluate other people, but he’d never been the subject of such careful scrutiny. “I do not know her lineage,” she said. “She has not chosen to confide it, and of course I would not pry.”

Arthur’s disappointment was sharp.

“Obviously that is not her position now,” Mrs. Thorpe added.

“She lives near Tom’s rooms, I understand. He said she has a house there.”

“Yes.”

“An odd choice of neighborhood for a woman of her…”

“I’m not sure you could comprehend her choices,” interrupted Mrs. Thorpe. Her tone was quietly inflexible.

It was a subtle reprimand, but Arthur heard it and fell silent in surprise. He was not accustomed to being addressed so. He and Mrs. Thorpe had an established, cordial acquaintance. They had even schemed together on more than one occasion. He felt a spark of irritation. She knew he was to be trusted. He was only seeking information. “I believe I am quite capable of doing so,” he replied.

He endured another searching gaze. “I like and respect you, Lord Macklin, but I don’t think you can imagine what it is like to be a woman on her own, with limited means, in a foreign country. Your interest could cause difficulties for Señora Alvarez.”

“My interest is simple curiosity about a friend of Tom’s,” Arthur protested.

Mrs. Thorpe’s sharp eyes seemed to see right through him, down to the reaction he’d felt when he first met the señora.

Arthur felt himself flush. “I would never do anything to inconvenience or embarrass a lady,” he added. Of course not. “You know I wouldn’t.”

His hostess’s gaze remained steady for another few moments, then she sighed. “It’s never any use offering advice. So few want to hear it. I will hold you to that statement as a promise, Lord Macklin, because I like and admire Señora Alvarez.”

“You may certainly do so,” he answered. His voice sounded stiff, but he rather thought she deserved it. What had he ever done that she should doubt him?

Mrs. Thorpe nodded. “You are an honorable man.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I met Señora Alvarez one day when I’d gone to visit Tom. We fell into conversation after repelling the advances of a bumptious fellow in the street.”

“Dilch?” Arthur wondered.

“You have met him?”

“Observed only. An unattractive individual.”

“As Tom would now say, a churlish canker-blossom.”

They exchanged a smile, which heartened Arthur. He valued his friendship with Mrs. Thorpe.

“I enjoyed our conversation,” she continued. “And found other occasions to talk with Señora Alvarez. When I discovered that she was looking for occupation and that she was a talented watercolorist, I put in a word at the workshop. For several months now, she has been painting exquisite scenery there.”

Arthur nodded.

“Then recently, she was even more helpful. She stepped in to mediate a dispute among the opera dancers.” She cast him a look. “Many of them are émigrées, you know, and Señora Alvarez speaks Spanish, of course, but also French and some Portuguese and Italian.”

“She’s well educated then,” said Arthur. He’d known she must be.

“She also has sympathy for the girls’ troubles, which many do not.”

“Troubles?” Arthur had never thought much about opera dancers. Beyond appreciating their performances now and then.

Mrs. Thorpe looked disappointed in him, another unaccustomed experience. “They have quite a hard time of it, Lord Macklin. Low pay, and if they’re just five minutes late to rehearsal, they’re fined out of that small wage. They’re expected to pay for their shoes and costumes out of it, too. Many live on the verge of starvation and dangerously close to illness.” She frowned as if this could somehow be his fault. “And of course there are the