The Artist and the Rake (The Merry Misfits of Bath 4)

Michael turned to her and she swore she saw Eli’s visage. Something must have shown on her face because Michael frowned, then came over to her and hugged her around her legs. She collapsed to the floor and pulled Michael onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around his little body and cried.

She cried for the young boy who was taken by influenza before he even got a chance to grow up. She cried for her life that was ripped out from under her, not once, but twice. She began to rock Michael as the tears continued to fall. He reached around her and patted her on the back with his little hand, which only made her cry harder.

He smelled like a little boy. Sugar cookies, bath soap, chocolate, all the smells Eli carried with him.

The door to her room, which she hadn’t closed all the way, swung open. “Michael? What are you doing here?” Marcus’s soft voice cut through her grief. She let Michael go and wiped her cheeks with her palms.

Marcus walked over to her and picked Michael up, set him on his feet and then extended his hand to Lizbeth. She took his hand and stood.

“What’s wrong? Did Michael do something to upset you? We’ve been looking for him.”

Lizbeth shook her head. “No. All Michael did was be himself.”

“I don’t understand.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at Marcus. “For a moment he reminded me of my youngest brother, Eli, who died from influenza.”

“Ah.” Marcus reached out and enfolded her into his arms. He rocked her gently as she continued to cry. There was no panic now. Marcus was holding her like a friend, with no expected return. He was comfortable and comforting. She clung to him like a beacon in a storm.

“He was so young. He never got a chance to grow up.” She leaned back and looked at him. “It was so unfair. It should have been me, instead of him.”

Marcus squeezed her. “No, sweeting. If Eli had been the only one to survive, he would have been all alone. You, all alone, survived, but he would not have.”

She used the heels of her hands to wipe her eyes. “Yes. I’m afraid that’s true.”

Lizbeth looked down at Michael who stared up at her with a frown. “I think I might have scared the poor boy.”

Marcus lifted Michael in his arms, then made a few motions with his fingers and the boy smiled. Michael turned to Lizbeth and patted her on the shoulder. New tears came, but she fought them this time.

“Do you know sign language?” she asked.

“I’ve learned a little, enough that I can help Michael in a crisis.”

Lizbeth laughed. “And this is a crisis?”

Marcus shifted Michael in his arms and placed his arm around Lizbeth’s shoulders, putting her against him. “It was to you.”

All the tears had brought on a fine headache, along with a loss of interest in the painting she was about to start. What she needed was to get out of the house. A walk, perhaps. “Are you in the mood for a walk?”

“I am always interested in a walk with you. Let me return Michael to his nanny who was about to put him down for a nap when she noticed he was missing. We can walk a few streets to a little tea shop on Milsom Street. If you are hungry, we can take tea.”

“That sounds wonderful. Just let me see what I can do to fix the damage all those tears caused.”

Marcus placed his knuckle under her chin and raised her head. “You look just fine the way you are. Beautiful.”

“I think we already agreed you are a liar.”

Marcus walked toward the door, still carrying Michael. “I will await you downstairs in the drawing room.”

Lizbeth changed from the dress she was wearing which was much more suited to painting than for a stroll about town. She chose a pale green walking suit with black piping, with a matching hat, both items compliments of Lady Berkshire who claimed she would never fit into her clothes after the baby came and would have a great time spending his lordship’s money on a new wardrobe.

Once she rinsed her face and applied a cold cloth to her eyes, she felt much better. The headache was even beginning to recede. She looked in the mirror and her spirits rose. She looked pretty. Almost happy. That frequently happened to her once she had a good cry. It was as if letting out all the bad humors helped.

On a whim, she picked up the parasol that matched the walking suit and made her way downstairs. It was neither raining nor sunny, but the parasol completed the outfit.

Marcus stood as she entered the drawing room. “Miss Davenport, you are truly a vision in loveliness.” He bowed and she made a curtsey. Then they both laughed.

Although she hated to cover up the lovely outfit, it was much too cold for a walk without her cape. Marcus took the garment from Penrose and set it on her shoulders. Then he extended his elbow and they left the house.