Ten Ways to Ruin

Oliver leaned closer to Bowles. “Think about what that will do to your career. People will stand in line to buy your paintings.”

“Does she have any talent?”

“Her watercolors are beautiful, but she desires to try her hand at oils.”

“Well now.” Bowles rubbed his chin in thought. “She can pay me a fair wage?”

“Yes, I can,” Emma interjected, tired of Oliver speaking for her. “More than fair.”

“Are you certain, Miss Drake?” Oliver whispered, leaning closer to her. “I thought the duchess was paying for you.”

“No, Mr. Lancaster,” Emma replied with a tight smile. “I will compensate Mr. Bowles with my own money. Five shillings for two one-hour sessions a week to start.”

“Five shillings!” Lizzy exclaimed. “Lordy, think of the supplies you can buy with that.”

“Five shillings,” Bowles muttered. “For two hours a week?”

Emma nodded. “That should more than cover the expense, should it not?”

Bowles nodded and slowly smiled. Lifting his glass in salute, he said, “To trying something new!”

They clinked their glasses, and Emma sipped her gin. “Dreadful.”

The rest of the group laughed as they drained their glasses.

“Cheap gin not to your taste, Miss Drake?” Bowles asked, pouring more gin into everyone else’s glass.

“No, but then again, I’m not a brandy enthusiast either.”

Lizzy checked the pot on the stove. “Tea, miss?”

“Yes, please.” Finally feeling slightly warmer, Emma strolled over to the painting leaning against the wall. She had to admit the man had talent.

Lizzy brought over a chipped teacup. “I added milk and sugar.”

“Thank you.” Emma continued to examine the painting while the other sat by the fire, drinking their gin. Ignoring the group as they became more boisterous with each glass they consumed.

“What do you think, miss?” Lizzy asked from the sofa when Emma came to the painting on the easel.

“It’s quite good,” she replied hesitantly.

“Good?” Bowles asked from the sofa. “It’s bloody perfection! Lizzy’s body is perfection. The colors are perfection. The brush strokes are perfection.”

Lizzy giggled. “And the gin?”

“Perfection,” he replied with a gruff laugh as he took a long draught.

Emma placed her teacup on the table and looked over at Oliver. He lounged in the chair with his head back and his eyes closed. “How much gin did he have already?”

“Four glasses,” Oliver mumbled, tilting his head forward. “You should really have some.”

“No, thank you. And I believe you have had enough.”

He waved a hand in dismissal at her. “You’re as bad as my sister. Have a little fun.”

Have a little fun. Wasn’t that what her list was supposed to be all about? Getting out of her tight box and enjoying life. “Very well, then.”

Emma poured more gin in his glass and then reached for her glass. With one long swig, she drank it down, fighting nausea from the taste. The others roared with laughter.