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earl.
    Still, the young ladies in the room had used every artifice designed to ensnare him. Pauline too had asked her mother to procure an introduction, but he had hardly given her a second glance. That had been her one and only dart into the realm of love. She had decided soon after Mr. Livingston was shipped off to the Peninsula that her sculptures provided far more entertainment and less emotional turmoil.
    Now, he was an earl. His ascension to the title had been quite a surprise, as the late earl had both a wife and a legitimate son and heir. However, a tragic carriage accident had wiped out the whole family last fall, making Mr. Livingston, the new Earl of Ashford.
    Her father had said that even after having heard the news, the new earl refused to give up his commission and leave Spain. Only after being wounded in the knee during a skirmish did Ashford’s commanding officer order his lordship to return home.
    “A regular right one,” Pauline’s cousin called him. A month after the earl returned home, news arrived that his brother had been killed. ****
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    To Capture Love

    While her maid waited outside the open door, Pauline went into the curator’s office for a private consultation. It took much convincing before he believed her tale that she was the commissioned artist, P. Black.
    He sat abruptly in his chair, his eyes widening like that of a startled mouse.
    “What will the earl do to me when he finds out?” The curator grew smaller in his chair, almost shrinking within himself. “He will hold me at fault and I shall lose my position. How will I pay my rent at my lodging house?
    And I shall have to sell my box at Haymarket Theatre.”
    “Sir,” Pauline said, upset that she had placed this poor man in such a vulnerable situation. “Do not worry so.
    I’m sure I shall be able to make his lordship understand.”
    “Understand?” the curator asked in an appalled tone.
    “His lordship will not understand. He will be furious.” The man shuffled the papers covering every inch of his desk as if hoping to somehow find a solution in the surfeit of sheets.
    Pauline paused, considering the curator’s words. She too wondered at his lordship’s tolerance. Recalling his disinterest at the Queen’s reception and the contempt he’d shown during their meeting on the museum steps, she had a sudden urge to complete this commission. She wanted the earl to notice her, even if only with a modicum admiration for her work on this commission. Yet, if he knew she was P. Black, he might dismiss her out of hand.
    A consequence she must avoid at all costs.
    “You’re right, sir. Best, if his lordship never finds out that I’m not the ‘man’ he thinks he has employed.”
    “Exactly, Miss Black,” the curator said. His frightened gaze grew thoughtful. “Perhaps we can find another artist and convince him to pretend to be P.
    Black?”
    Pauline shook her head. “If you do, the earl will not be as satisfied with the statue. I recall you saying he particularly liked my style of carving.”
    The curator spread his arms wide. “Oh, it’s hopeless.
    He will pauper me as just punishment. I shall not have sixpence to scratch with by the end of the Season.”
    “Calm yourself, sir, for I’ve an idea.” If the curator had known her as well as her family, this statement 5

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    would have sent him immediately into doldrums.
    However, to her favor, the poor man had no such knowledge of Pauline’s mad schemes. “We shall simply tell his lordship that the artist is a recluse.” She shrugged. “He already believes this and we shall convince him that not even to meet the man who intends to pay the vast sum his lordship has proposed, would she, or ‘he’ be willing to come out of hiding.”
    The first sign of hope flashed across the curator’s face. “Could this work?”
    “Why should it not?” Pauline asked. “I’ve already displeased him once by missing our appointment. Yet, he still wants me to do the