La Petite Four Read Online Free

over the fire, The Battle of Hastings was against the far wall, and The Battle of the Nile was to her right. It had been one of her first, when she hadn’t quite mastered perspective. The British and French ships were all jumbled. He could not be much of a thief if he thought it fine art.
    “What do you know of art?” she challenged.
    He glanced out the open door. Then, as if satisfied that no one would approach them, he looked up to The Battle of Salamanca . She’d chosen a scene well-described in the papers. General Wellington had the French forces in the crossfire, with heavy casualties on both sides. His charger rearing, he held his saber aloft to order a charge. She’d never met the great man, but she fancied he’d be rather pleased with the piece.
    “I don’t know all that much about art,” the young man before her admitted. “But I’d say this fellow never experienced war.”
    Emily stiffened. “Why? What did I . . . he get wrong?”
    “Oh, the details are fine enough,” he said. “I’ve known a few lads who served under Wellington on the Peninsula. This picture matches their tales, but it doesn’t show their heart.”
    She frowned, moving closer. “What do you mean?”
    He pointed to a fallen soldier. “Look here at this lad. He’s gone down. Very likely he’ll never see home or family again. He knows that by morning, crows will be picking at him. That’s enough to give a man cause for thought, cause for fear. Does he look as if he’s thinking about meeting his Maker?”
    She had to own that he did not. While he was painted in exquisite detail, his perfect face showed no emotion whatsoever.
    And was that so very bad? Not everyone had to cry!
    “The purpose of the painting is not to show the individual soldier’s feelings,” she said, fingers tightening on her locket. “The purpose of the painting is to depict history.”
    He shrugged again. “There are books enough for that. Why bother painting it?”
    “Why bother?” Emily sputtered, hand falling. “Sir, you have no sensibilities!”
    Instead of taking offense, he merely laughed. Then he paused and nodded toward the door. “I’ve picked a poor time to visit, I see. You’ll want to speak to your father. He’s just come in.”
    “He has?” Emily hurried to the door and glanced out. His Grace had indeed entered the front door and was handing his top hat and walking stick to Warburton. He saw her peering out and smiled as he approached.
    He was the perfect duke in her mind—not too tall, with sandy hair and knowing brown eyes. Every movement in his fine blue coat said confidence and privilege and power. Oh, but the gentleman in the sitting room was in trouble now. Emily turned with great pleasure to tell him so, only to find that he was gone, like smoke up a chimney, leaving the connecting door to the library ajar. Even as she stared in surprise, her father reached her.
    “What a delightful homecoming,” he said. “Not even presented to society and already engaged to be married.”
    Emily turned her stare on him, feeling as if the corridor had dipped beneath her feet. “What?”
    He smiled fondly. “Lord Robert was so eager to tell me, he came to find me in Whitehall this afternoon. It seems he plans to marry immediately in Devonshire and sweep you off for a honeymoon. I am persuaded that he has grown into a fine young fellow. Congratulations, my dear. He’s exactly the sort of man your mother and I always dreamed you’d marry.”

3
    A Handsome Devil
    “No, no, no!” Priscilla cried the moment she heard the news. “You cannot run away to Devonshire. I cannot have the ball without you!”
    La Petite Four had assembled in the Southwell withdrawing room late the next morning, their gowns draped softly across the blue upholstery of the chairs. Warburton had brought in sweets and tea for their enjoyment, but no one seemed particularly interested in enjoying themselves.
    “We must have the ball,” Ariadne was insisting, curls