"If you say so, cousin," Olivia replied. "I wonder how Mr. Meadows would like my hair arranged."

"You will find better partis than Mr. Meadows. With your dowry and title, you may look as high as you please."

Olivia gave her a sly smile. "Is that your way of saying that you have a tendre for Mr. Meadows yourself, cousin? If so, pray tell me and I shan't be rolling my eyes at him. I have not quite fallen in love with him yet."

Laura felt sure that once Olivia met more dashing gentlemen, she would forget Meadows. "He and I are just friends, and I hope you will not be rolling your eyes at anyone, or you will be taken for a hurly-burly girl."

"Then how am I to let a gentleman know I welcome his advances?"

"There are more subtle ways. You may smile and be pleasant."

"But should I not be pleasant with everyone?"

"Yes, but you may be a little more pleasant with those you favor."

"You mean behave as you behave with Mr. Meadows? I saw you two whispering last night. What did he say?"

"He was just speaking of your berlin.”

"Ah," she smiled, taking this for a compliment to her carriage.

It was time for lunch, and soon time to prepare for the outing to Somerset House to see Lord Hyatt's paintings of beautiful ladies. Mr. Meadows arrived punctually, bearing a gift of bonbons. He had intended them as a compliment for the baroness but found himself, to his consternation, presenting them to Laura, who was the first to greet him. She accepted them shyly, but without demur.

"For the ladies," he said, smiling at Olivia.


* * * *

Olivia was fond of her cousin, but it occurred to her at that instant that Laura was just a tiny bit forward. Mr. Meadows had intended those bonbons for her. His intimate little smile said so.

When they went to the carriage, she noticed that Mr. Meadows chose the seat beside herself. His first conversation was directed to her as well. "This is one of the rigs that I have in mind for you, Baroness. The owner lent it to me for you to try. Let me know what you think."

It was a suitable rig for a lady, but he was soon given to understand that a plain black carriage with no trim to speak of was not what she had in mind. She found it 'rather plain' and soon said bluntly that it was too dull. He frowned in confusion and pointed out that she could have her crest emblazoned on the door.

"I don't want black. It looks like a funeral coach," she said. "Something more colorful, with gilt trim, was what I had in mind. With velvet squabs, not old, black leather. There is no place inside this one for doing anything except sitting. We have a letdown table in our berlin."

Poor Meadows saw that what she wanted was another berlin, as spacious inside as her old, but magically small enough outside to suit London's busy streets.

"I saw Lady Sifton driving a rather nice, dark green barouche with gilt appointments yesterday morning," Laura mentioned. "Perhaps something like that.”

"At least not black," Olivia said firmly.

As they approached Somerset House, such a throng of carriages clogged the street that they decided to descend at the corner and walk the rest of the way.

"Is London always so busy?" Olivia asked, looking around in consternation. "At home we don't get this many people for the Mop Fair."

Meadows smiled at Laura over the baroness's head, to show he took the girl's rusticity in good part. "Londoners will always turn out for something new," he explained. "Lord Hyatt is the rage this year. Last year it was Lord Byron who had the town on its ear."

They finally squeezed their way into the exhibit hall and reached the closest wall to examine the paintings. The greater part of the crowd was at the other end of the room. "That must be where Hyatt is holding court," Meadows explained. "I'll try to wangle an introduction when the crowd disperses."

"We don't want to meet him," Olivia said earnestly. "Mrs. Aubrey told us he is not the thing. We shall just take a quick look and leave, before someone tries to present him to us."

Meadows blinked in surprise to hear his treat disparaged. Every lady in London was dying to meet Lord Hyatt. Meadows had been to school with him, and while the two were not bosom bows, they were on friendly terms.

The group strolled along, admiring the paintings. There were blond ladies and raven-haired ones, each more beautiful than the one before, and each painted in a setting to enhance her particular charms. One languorous blonde reclined on a chaise longue, with flowers twined in her hair. A brunette was dressed for riding. Her proud head was tossed back, as if challenging the world.

"Surely all the women in London cannot be as beautiful as this," Olivia exclaimed. "I see no evidence of these beauties on the street, or even here, at Lord Hyatt's exhibition. I believe he has become the fashion because he makes the ladies look prettier than they are."

"That is part of it, certainly," Meadows agreed. He stopped in front of the loveliest portrait of them all. "Except for Lady Devereau," he said, gazing at a painting of a raven-haired beauty with soulful eyes and a sad smile. She sat in a peacock chair, dressed in blue, and wearing ropes of pearls. The monkey perched on the chair's back provided an incongruous touch and a stunning contrast. "She really does look like this," he sighed.

"No one could be that gorgeous," Laura said.

"Look for yourself. There she is, just coming in."

They all turned to stare at the living likeness of the portrait. It was a marvelous picture, but Lady Devereau did not fall one iota short of perfection either. She was outfitted from head to toe in a soft shade of violet that enhanced her ethereal beauty. A broad-brimmed chapeau dipped flirtatiously over one eye. Her skin was like Devon cream, her eyes two bits of twilight sky, heavily fringed in black velvet lashes. She did, in fact, own a monkey and often went out with it, but on this occasion she had left Mogo at home. Many heads turned to follow her progress toward the throng around Lord Hyatt.

When she had passed, Olivia worried her lip and finally said, "Aunt Traemore said I should have my portrait done while I am here. As Lord Hyatt makes everyone look so pretty, I should like to have him do me, but I daresay it would be considered too fast. If he would come to Charles Street, my aunt and cousins could chaperone me."

Meadows said, "I am afraid Lord Hyatt works nowhere but at his atelier, Baroness. He has had a special building erected behind his own mansion on Park Lane, with the proper lighting and props and so on. He never works anywhere else. At his own place, he can control the crowds."

Laura thought Hyatt sounded a pompous ass, trying to draw attention to himself by these tricks. "I do not believe Sir Thomas Lawrence is so adamant about where he will work," she sniffed.

"He has a studio, I believe," Meadows pointed out.

"I happen to know Lawrence went to Cray's Foot for a week to paint Lady Castlereagh," she said, "and he is the best painter in London." The only reason she knew of his going to Castlereagh's country estate was that she had read it in the social columns.

"Well, there is no point asking Hyatt to paint anywhere else but his atelier," Meadows said. "He even made Prinney sit for him there. He said Carleton House was too hot."

"He painted the Prince Regent!" Olivia exclaimed. "Oh, then I must have him paint me. But auntie will never agree to go to his atelier. The chairs are bound to be too soft for her back."

"I would be happy to chaperone you, if Miss Harwood would come with us," Meadows said promptly.

"You had best speak to your aunt," Laura told her cousin. "It is not for me to make this decision, but if she agrees, I shall accompany you and Mr. Meadows. I hardly think she will agree, however. The man is a rake."

"Hyatt is very busy. He may well be booked up months in advance," Meadows said, and the subject was dropped.

There was a commotion at the far end of the room. Laura was curious to see Lady Devereau with her flirt, and turned to stare, like most of the others at the exhibition. She saw the crowd parting to allow a tall gentleman to leave. Ladies reached out and touched his sleeve as he passed, cooing soft phrases at him. Lady Devereau had got pushed to one side in the melee, but she soon surged forward.

"Hyatt! I say, Hyatt!" she called.

Hyatt turned and leveled a glacial eye at her. "Lady Devereau," he said, with a stiff bow. "Delightful to meet you again. But you have come to see the pictures. You must not let me detain you."

Lady Devereau's lovely lips thinned, sparks shot from her matchless eyes. If she had been within striking distance of Hyatt, she would surely have struck him. But he had already turned his back on her and was striding determinedly toward the door, his progress hampered by hangers-on.

The room gasped. Olivia did not notice. She said to Mr. Meadows, "Who is that wickedly handsome gentleman?"

"That is Lord Hyatt," Meadows announced, as proudly as if he were personally responsible for the phenomenon.

Laura gazed and felt she was seeing a vision. "He looks as if he had painted himself," she said, and smiled at such a strange utterance. What she meant was that he looked better than any man really looked. His painted ladies were all idealized-the lashes made a little longer, the eyes a little larger, the conformation of the face enhanced. The flesh-and-blood Hyatt was an idealization of manhood, with any small imperfections removed.

His well-barbered hair glinted like new straw in the sunlight. Beneath it, dark eyes glowed in a tanned face. She fished around in her mind to describe that face and came a cropper. It was not precisely rugged, yet not at all weak. The chin was firm, the jaw squared, the lips open in a flirtatious smile at one of the ladies clutching him.

It was the smile, she decided, that was the icing on the cake. It was a smile to melt the polar ice caps with its radiance. Lord Hyatt shook off the last clinging hand and escaped out the closest door. Laura remembered Lady Devereau and looked to see if she followed. The lady stood stock still. She no longer looked beautiful. Her features were drawn into a sharp mask of anger, and her eyes were narrowed in a way that promised revenge on Lord Hyatt.

"He's going out the side door. We'll catch him as he comes out," Meadows exclaimed, and hustled the ladies outside by a different door and around the corner.

As they hastened along, a door a little farther down the building opened, the straw-colored head peered out, and looked both ways before exiting. It occurred to Laura that the man was hounded like a hunted animal. If it was attention he had sought, he had succeeded beyond his wishes.

Hyatt spotted Mr. Meadows and smiled impatiently. "Meadows. I didn't see you inside," he said in a pleasant voice. As he spoke, his infamous dark eyes skimmed over the ladies. A pair of provincial misses, he noted. One too young and unlicked to be of interest, the other a shade past the first bloom. Just the sort of ladies he would expect Meadows to be escorting.

"Baroness, Miss Harwood, this is Lord Hyatt, the artist," Meadows said. "Hyatt, I'd like to present Baroness Pilmore, from Cornwall, and her cousin, Miss Harwood."

The ladies curtsied; Hyatt bowed and murmured, "Charmed.”

"I've never seen anything as pretty as your pictures," Olivia said. "Would you paint me?"

"It is a mad temptation." He smiled. "But alas! My calendar is full to overflowing." He tossed up his hands, to show the impossibility of obliging her and his sorrow at that turn of events.

"I made sure it would be, when you make all the ladies look so much prettier than they really are. Except Lady Devereau. She really is stunning. I am surprised you are leaving, when she has just arrived," Olivia said.

Hyatt looked as if he had been dowsed with cold water. His eyes opened wider, his jaw fell, and for a moment he was speechless. He soon recovered and assumed a tight smile. "Rumor to the contrary, we are not joined at the hip, Lady Devereau and I. I am late for an appointment," he said, casting a strange eye on Meadows. Laura, watching closely, discerned a glint of accusation, anger, and amusement in his look.

There was obviously some trouble between Hyatt and his mistress. He had been brutally curt with her, and he was not at all happy at Olivia's blunt question. Outrageous for the girl to have mentioned Hyatt's mistress in that insinuating way!

"Don't let us detain you, Lord Hyatt," Laura said.

They were the first words she had uttered. Hyatt turned his impertinent gaze on her and studied her for a long moment. The provincial miss wore a very ironical smile. There was knowledge in her eyes and amusement at his predicament. Although Hyatt had nothing against debs, he preferred experienced ladies. This quiet one seemed to embody the old saw that still waters run deep. It was a fleeting thought, soon forgotten.