A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,91
I was wrong to trust him with your education.”
And good God, what if Alexander hadn’t had Oak Dorning to confide in?
“You were wrong, Mama?”
“Yes, I was wrong, and I am sorry. Mr. Forester is no longer your tutor. You will help me select his successor when we are in London.”
Alexander’s smile was painfully hesitant. “We are going to London? Will Catherine come, too, and Bracken and Mr. Dorning?”
“Mr. Dorning is making his home in London, and he and his brothers will escort us there for a visit. We shall leave tomorrow.”
Oak’s smile was subtle. “Will we, now?”
“We shall, and Mr. Forester will take himself off elsewhere at first light.”
Alexander looked from one adult to the other. “Do I have to go back to the schoolroom now?”
“No,” Vera said, rising. “I must have a discussion with Mr. Forester, and you and Mr. Dorning will take your art lesson.”
Oak touched her arm. “I would rather be with you when you talk to Forester.”
Vera would rather not be alone with Jeremy Forester either, but after tomorrow, she’d be back to fighting her domestic battles without Oak at her side.
“How hard can sacking one arrogant puppy be?” she asked. “His pride will be less affronted if I speak with him privately.” The dread Vera felt at that prospect was probably nothing compared to the dread Alexander had hidden every day for months.
She would rage and sob about that later.
“Not hard, but not pleasant,” Oak said. “Forester will be easier to deal with if his disgrace has no audience, you’re right about that, but make him heed your summons, Vera. Don’t accost him in the schoolroom. Let Bracken and your biggest footman know what’s afoot and station them right outside the door. Have a bank draft for the total sum of his wages and severance in hand when you confront him.”
“Carry the birch rod too, Mama. Swing it around right near him before you actually swat him on the arse with it.”
Oak ruffled Alexander’s hair. “Language, lad.”
“Should I have said on the bum?”
“Better,” Vera said, though tears were threatening. “Away with you both. Enjoy the lovely day, and please don’t say anything to Catherine about London. I want to tell her myself.”
“Yes, Mama. Come along, Mr. Dorning. We can sketch Charlie.”
They left the room, though Oak paused long enough to toss Vera a wink and a salute. Her son did not offer her a stiff little bow, and that—that—finally inspired Vera to tears.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you mean, you’re leaving Town?” Oak asked. “Longacre gave me to understand we were to share these quarters.”
A pair of porters brought Oak’s trunk in from the baggage coach and continued up the steps. Endymion De Beauharnais waited until they were out of earshot to reply.
“I’m leaving London at the end of the week for home,” he said. “I’ve missed my family. You’re here to keep an eye on the place. Don’t fret about the rent. I’ve paid my share through the end of the quarter.”
De Beauharnais was something of a dandy, always dressed with a touch of flamboyance, as if he feared that his impressive talent and great good looks weren’t enough to get him noticed. His penchant for style was not merely a matter of public display, though. If he lounged by the fire in the evening, he did so wearing a pair of fantastically embroidered slippers. At the breakfast table, he wore a silk banyan of the richest, most vivid blue.
He was a splendid specimen with an eye for beauty, but today he was attired from head to toe in chocolate brown, and even his waistcoat was a subdued creation of beige with mere dashes of red and gold embroidery.
“But why leave now?” Oak asked as the porters trooped back down the stairs and out the door.
“You have a nose,” de Beauharnais replied. “Town in summer is an assault upon the olfactory senses. Most anybody who can has decamped for the shires, and I haven’t seen my parents for months. They write the most plaintive letters, as if I’m off to war rather than kicking my heels in Town.”
The porters returned with the last of the trunks, this one holding Oak’s easels and supplies.
“To the top floor with that one,” Oak said, for the jewel in the crown of these bachelor quarters was a garret with north-facing windows that did excellent service as a studio.
“What of Lady Montclair’s reception?” Oak asked. “Will you miss the summer’s premier gathering of patrons and artists just as your star is