The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(6)
Maggie squeezed the other woman’s fingers. “Thank you. Your loyalty means everything to me.”
“It’s me who’ll be giving thanks. If not for your ladyship, I’d still be in Little Walsingham, suffering beatings from that devil I married. I owe everything to you for giving me a bit of money and artwork to set up my shop. And I shan’t be forgetting it.”
“We saved each other, then. Without your friendship, I wouldn’t have survived.” The other women in the village had only wanted to gawk at the scandalous woman who’d married their old, wealthy baron. Friends had not come easily.
Mrs. McGinnis chuckled and pulled back to wipe her eyes. “Aren’t we a pair, then? Well, those days are behind us now. And look at you—the talk of London!”
Simon’s words came back to her. You are all anyone talks about these days. She wondered what stories he’d heard. No doubt whatever he’d been told only confirmed the intelligence of his actions ten years ago. “Well, I’m proud of the work all the same. Speaking of work, why did Lord Winchester buy the birds, do you suppose?”
The shopkeeper shrugged. “Could not say, my lady. His lordship’s friend, Lord Quint, talked him into it. They retreated to the corner for a private conversation. After that, Lord Winchester agreed to buy the pictures without even seeing them, and the lot’s being shipped to Lord Quint’s address.”
Maggie frowned. Bought them without looking at them? Sending them on to Lord Quint? The whole business struck her as odd, plus she hated not knowing why someone did something. An annoying quality but one that made her a keen observer of human nature, which in turn produced sharper and more provocative drawings. Her sister had told her time and time again to let things be, despite her stubbornness to reason things out. But Maggie simply couldn’t.
“Care to tell me what the earl did to your ladyship to be featured in so many of Lemarc’s drawings?”
Maggie waved her hand. “He hasn’t been in that many. Prinny’s been in far more, and I’ve never even met the Regent.”
“You cannot fool me. I know your ladyship only too well. You’ve made a mockery of Lord Winchester, and there’s a good reason why.”
Oh, yes. She had a good reason.
Mrs. McGinnis studied her carefully, so Maggie said, “I remember him from my debut, and those are days I’d much rather forget. I trust you are charging him a handsome sum for the watercolors.”
“I will, indeed. Your ladyship will earn a small fortune off the Earl of Winchester. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit today?”
“I wanted to let you know I finished the architectural drawings as well as a new cartoon for the window. We’ll use the usual delivery procedure. How’s the day after next?”
“Excellent!” The shopkeeper clapped her hands. “The tourists will love the architectural prints. There is another matter we should discuss as well. I’ve received a letter from Ackermann. He’s compiling a travel book on Scotland and Wales and wishes to hire your ladyship—er, Lemarc—for the illustrations.”
Rudolph Ackermann, owner of The Repository of the Arts, produced highly successful books on travel, architecture, and gardening. Mrs. McGinnis had been showing him Maggie’s work for months now, begging him to allow Lemarc to illustrate an upcoming book. The work would be tedious, but it would pay well and provide excellent exposure. More importantly, Ackermann’s approval would go a long way; the man never worked with fly-by-night or avant-garde artists. This would put her work alongside notable current artists such as Rowlandson and Gillray.
“He requires almost one hundred aquatints,” Mrs. McGinnis continued into Maggie’s stunned silence. “Shall I tell him yes?”
“Yes! By all means, what wonderful news,” she blurted and reached forward to squeeze Mrs. McGinnis’s hands. “Thank you for working so hard on my behalf.”
“The arrangement will do us both good, my lady. Between Ackermann’s job and your friend from Paris, we’ll soon have all of London buzzing. Perhaps by summer, we’ll be able to afford a larger shop over on the Strand.”
“Oh, excellent. You’ve heard from Lucien.”
Lucien Barreau was one of Maggie’s dearest friends. She met him while studying in Paris a few years before Hawkins passed on. He’d served as her mentor, teaching her about the business of being an artist as well as helping her hone her craft. His talent was limitless, but he refused to show his work in Paris, the fear of rejection keeping him from acclaim. After a long battle, however, Maggie had finally convinced him to sell his work in London with Mrs. McGinnis.
“Indeed. He wrote earlier in the week, saying he’s got upwards of two hundred etchings to send us. The sample he sent, it was remarkable. Would your ladyship care to see it?”
“No need. I know his work well. The public will lap up his elegant style of drawing like sweet cream.”
“I certainly hope so. Shall the new cartoon go up immediately, or did your ladyship want to keep this one up a bit longer?”
“Keep this one up another week. No use giving Lord Winchester the impression his visit swayed you into taking it down. No, let him stew a few more days.”
The bell above the door tinkled as three young ladies entered the shop. They were young, apple-cheeked English blossoms, dressed in clothing that bespoke wealth, their maids dutifully waiting outside. Clutching each other’s arms, the girls laughed and smiled gaily. Maggie felt a hundred years old merely observing them. Had she ever been so carefree, even before the scandal?