He did not flinch; he did not look away. He answered with a steady voice. “Two pounds to you every week you deliver me four sketches. I will even put it in writing if you wish.”
That was eight pounds a month and almost one hundred pounds a year. “Is the... circular business truly that lucrative, Mr. Ripley?”
“It is,” he affirmed with a wink. “In fact, I’ll pay you here and now for two sketches.”
Victoria fell back against the bench. What would it be like to have her own income? She could put aside some of the money to add to her measly dowry. It wouldn’t be a fortune, but it would be something. Or she could buy her own gowns. Gowns that fit. Gowns that flattered. Gowns that might help her land a husband. If not, she could save as much as possible and perhaps live a quiet life somewhere without a husband. Without Louisa.
Before she could think too much and talk herself out of all that money, she answered Mr. Ripley. “Choose the two you want.”
A satisfying grin stretched across his face as he held out his hand. “Fantastic. I am pleased to do business with you, Miss...”
Victoria didn’t hesitate to lie as she shook hands with him. “Sarah Arthur.”
It was doubtful Mr. Ripley would ever cross paths with her socially and she must do whatever she could to keep her own name far away from this scheme.
“May I, Miss Arthur?” He held out his hand toward her sketchbook.
Still awkwardly clutching His Grace of Taviston to her bodice, she handed over the sketches he’d helped retrieve.
He accepted them, nodded at the one she withheld, and asked, “Is that one of any importance?”
“This one? Oh no, it’s just an attempt at a landscape. I’m really not very good at those.”
Too absorbed in rifling through the other sketches, he had no reply to this. Victoria breathed a little freer.
“I’ll take these two.” Mr. Ripley held up the one of Lady Maplethorpe he’d been interested in from the beginning, plus one of two young men Victoria did not know. He passed the others back and then slipped a guinea from his pocket and dropped them into her hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. Shall we meet every Monday? Would you like to come to Ripley and Sons?”
Victoria blinked and swallowed a misgiving. She’d accepted his money. There was no going back now. She stood and he quickly followed. “Mondays at one o’clock would be fine and I would prefer to meet here in the park, if that’s all right with you.”
He nodded and tipped his hat. “As you wish, Miss Arthur. I bid you good day.”
As he strode off, Victoria squeezed the gold coin in her hand and finally peeled the duke’s portrait from her chest. She scowled at his judgmental stare. “No one asked your opinion, Your Grace. Some of us have very few choices.”
Chapter Six
“You really should thank me for securing this invitation, Victoria,” Louisa declared from her side of the carriage, flipping her blonde hair smugly. “You will not often have the chance to mingle with the likes of the Marquess and Marchioness of Northfield.”
“I give you my sincerest thanks, Louisa.” Victoria offered the sugary smile she reserved only for her cousin, but inside she cringed. Only this morning she had fervently prayed that Louisa hadn’t climbed high enough on the social ladder to rub shoulders with the likes of the Duke of Taviston. Prayer denied. Apparently, Louisa’s social ambitions were coming to fruition; the Northfields were high in the instep indeed.
“Do try not to be as crass as you were the other evening. I do not want your behavior reflecting badly upon Mr. Browne and myself.” Louisa looked at her in reproof.
Victoria stared back innocently, though she knew how untoward and desperate her behavior toward Mr. Beckersley had been. “I shall do my utmost to live up to your lofty standards, dear cousin.”
Yesterday morning’s debacle notwithstanding, she would most definitely act with all circumspection this evening. She could not, would not, be seen by the duke.
Louisa’s shrill voice cut across Victoria’s wayward thoughts. “Mr. Browne, you will use this opportunity to talk to the marquess about your latest venture, won’t you?”
He slid his sharp brown eyes away from the window and glanced briefly at his wife before turning back to the view outside. “Of course I will. As soon as you ascertain whether any other potential investors are present, let me know.”
“You may count on me.” And that ended their discussion.
While his attention was elsewhere, Victoria distracted herself by studying Barrett Browne. Nearing forty, he might once have been more handsome than not, but his walnut-colored hair now lay across his head in thin strips and due to his predilection for any kind of pastry whatsoever, he tended toward portly. Victoria assumed he was intelligent, at least in business matters, since he had acquired his wealth through investments in shipping. However, he rarely deigned to talk to her, so she didn’t know much else about his personality.
The marriage of Barrett and Louisa Browne didn’t make much sense to her. On a superficial level she could understand it—he didn’t seem to relate well to people and Louisa considered herself a first-rate charmer. So, Louisa assisted him in making business connections at social functions. But Victoria had heard some wicked rumors about Barrett Browne while living on hi
s estate and she often wondered if he possessed any feelings at all for his wife. It didn’t appear so, as they rarely spent any time together and never seemed to speak of anything other than investments. A brief pang of sympathy for her cousin struck her, but then she dismissed the thought. Louisa seemed more than happy with her marriage, odd though it was.
“Here we are then. Come along, gel.”