Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

“Exactly what is the arrangement here?” Agnes asked with her arms folded as Susanna stood by the door, ready to depart. Beyond the door, Peggy was waiting in the carriage for her, and the footman stood impatiently beside the coach.

“What do you mean?” Susanna hoped she sounded innocent as she pulled a shawl around her shoulders and turned her eyes to the reflection in the hall mirror.

Susanna could not deny she had dressed with extra care that morning. She was wearing a bold dress, dark green and quite captivating with the pleats around the bodice. Her hair she had attempted to tame, but still, the wild curls were escaping the normal updo.

“Oh, such the picture of innocence.” Agnes put on a dramatic tone as she came to stand behind Susanna and also looked in the mirror. “You are going to see the Duke of Belbridge, and you wish me to think nothing of it?”

“I frustrate him, Agnes. That is all. He wishes to teach me to be more ladylike.”

“Frustrate him? Hmm.”

“Hmm what?” Susanna paused with her fussing of the shawl, moving her eyes to her aunt in the reflection.

“Few men invite a lady to their house because they are frustrated by them. It is usually because they think something rather different about them.”

“Agnes!”

“Well, I am a woman of the world, and you are now, too. Be careful, Susanna; it is all I ask.”

“You worry too much.” Susanna turned to face her godmother with a smile, relieved to see her words softened Agnes a little. Agnes kissed Susanna on the cheek and wished her good day then waved her out of the door.

“Do not return too late, and keep your chaperone with you!”

As Susanna closed the carriage door and turned to face Peggy beside her, something simmered low in her stomach at the words.

For some reason, the idea of being near the Duke of Belbridge without a chaperone thrills me!

The journey passed swiftly enough, for Susanna was either talking excitedly to Peggy at her side or leaning forward to look out of the window at the life they passed in the street. When the busyness began to calm, and they moved into a quieter end of town, she grew more intrigued. Soon enough, the stacked houses melted away and were replaced by trees. These opened up to reveal a long pebble drive leading to a manor house so large that Susanna was lost for words.

“Is it a palace?” Peggy said in awe from her side.

“It could be, could it not?” Susanna’s eyes darted over the garden and up to the façade of the house. The garden was exquisitely done with parkland and woodland at the edge then a formal knot garden by the house with red roses and purple lupins reaching high into the sky packed so densely they were like dancers at a ball. The house itself was a bold white, designed in the Palladian style with pillars and a door so high, no one would ever fear bumping their head upon the frame.

When the carriage stopped, Susanna was urged out of the carriage by Peggy.

“Is all well, Lady Curtis?”

“Yes, of course,” Susanna lied and swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous. She climbed down from the coach and pulled her shawl tightly around her arms, letting her eyes dart about the house again.

No wonder the Duke is so fond of propriety when he has grown up in a house like this.

The door opened long before Susanna and Peggy climbed the front steps, and a butler bowed, welcoming them.

“Lady Curtis, we have been expecting you.” He welcomed her in with a wave of his arm.

“Thank you.” Susanna offered a smile that did not last long as she stepped into the hall then held froze.

The place was grand. With plinths erected either side of the hallway, each one bearing a white marble bust statue, Susanna was nervous to move in case she collided with one and sent it flying. Peggy seemed to be equally nervous behind her, for she stood very still and did not move an inch.

“Feel out of place?” Susanna whispered for Peggy’s ears only as the butler closed the door.

“Very!” Peggy seconded as a shadow appeared in the hall.

“Ah, you have arrived.” The depth of the voice made Susanna turn her head, eager to see the gentleman who had spoken. The Duke of Belbridge was striding forward to greet her with such a smile on his face that she was reminded of them sharing tea the other day and the ease of speaking with him.

He bowed to her rather deeply, reminding her that she should curtsy. Having made the conscious effort not to trip on her curtsy, she stood straight once more.

“I promised I would come,” she assured him. “Though I will admit, you did not quite explain where I was coming to.”

“What do you mean? I told you my home, did I not?”

“You did, however…” Susanna paused and pointedly looked around the room. “You did not say I would have to walk on eggshells here.”

“You do not have to do any such a thing,” he said quietly and stepped toward her.

“You say that now. Wait until I stumble and knock over one of your statues!”

“Then I best stop it from happening.” The Duke presented his hand to her. A jolt went off deep in Susanna’s stomach as she took the Duke’s hand. Today, she had not worn gloves, and she could feel the warmth of his skin and the expanse of his hand against her own.

Oh, a simple touch should not be such a thrill!

“What lesson do you have for me today then, Your Grace?”

“Paintings,” he said softly and stepped away, drawing her with him then his eyes flicked to Peggy behind her. Susanna felt she knew what the Duke thought without having to ask him.

“My maid,” she said, introducing Peggy once again. “She has come to chaperone, but I am sure, no chaperone will be necessary. After all, we are to merely look at paintings, are we not?”

“Just so.” The corner of the Duke’s lips tilted up into a smile. “Perhaps my butler could show you to the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. They could make you tea.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Peggy curtsied to the Duke then shot Susanna a warning look.

Oh dear, she will tell me this is an error later!

Yet the moment Peggy was gone, Susanna found she could worry no more about it. All she could think of was the Duke’s hand in her own as he led her through the hall, toward a door at the far end of the room.

“I think we shocked your maid,” the Duke whispered, once they were far enough away.

“Perhaps a little,” Susanna agreed with a shrug. “It will pass. I have many friends who are gentlemen, so my friendship with you should hardly raise eyebrows.”

“Friendship,” the Duke repeated the word. Susanna found it a little odd and was about to ask what he meant by it when they entered the painting gallery, and the power of words vanished from her.

The gallery was flooded in sunlight that reflecting brightly off the white walls. Scattered around this maze-like room, the walls turned at angles, offering more spaces for work to be hung with a myriad of golden and gilt frames, each one bearing a fine painting with vivid colors.

Susanna felt her mouth turn dry at the skill before her. Not a face was painted wrong nor a figure at a disproportionate angle.

“What do you think?” the Duke asked, standing closer than she had thought him to be.

“Quite exquisite, Your Grace. Quite exquisite indeed.”

* * *

Anthony found himself watching Lady Curtis, rather than looking at his paintings. He stayed at her side as she stepped toward the nearest picture to admire it.

“Who is this?”

“That is my mother. It is one of my earliest paintings.” Anthony gestured to the frame. “I had to do many versions of it until I could get her face just right.”

“It is all so… neat.” The word made him snap his attention toward the painting, viewing it once more.

“That is the beauty of it,” he said slowly. His mother was sitting primly with her usual lap dog on her knee and her head turned toward him as the painter. Her dark hair was coiffed with not a single wisp out of place, and there were no unwanted creases in her gown.

“Is anyone’s dress ever that perfect?” Lady Curtis’ words made him laugh as she gestured to the gown. “Mine always have creases, no matter how many times I try to flatten them.”

“Blasphemy to my mother’s ears.”

“Ah, I see; does she have rather high expectations?”

You have no idea.

Anthony found his mother’s presence in the conversation upset him. She was still in the country, for she much preferred to live there these days since his father’s passing.

This is not a moment I welcome my mother to be a part of. This time, it should be about Lady Curtis.

“Let us talk of something else.” Anthony returned his focus to Lady Curtis. He briefly caught a crease in her brow, showing that she had noticed his rather quick change of subject. “Here, you wished for proof I am a painter, and I will give it to you.” He motioned her to follow him into the main body of the gallery. She hurried after him, clutching her shawl tightly about her shoulders.

“These are my latest works.” He gestured to a series of paintings on a particular wall that were basked in light. Lady Curtis faltered in front of them, her pink lips parting as her eyes dated across the canvases.

“You have skill, Your Grace. Great skill.”

“It is all in the practice. See these trees…” He pointed to a particular landscape. “I worked for hours at a time to make the trees perfect with their leaves green, and the branches standing tall.” Moving his hand to another painting, he encouraged Lady Curtis to follow him. “Here, see this shepherd at work? The hours it took me to paint the sheep until they looked like clouds. You probably would have despaired at the time I put into it.”

“No, I warrant I would not. Believe me, I can spend hours in my garden, so I know what it is like to lose oneself in a happy pastime.” Lady Curtis took a step toward the painting, to better look at it.

Anthony found he longed for her good opinion, wanting her to like the paintings. “I do wonder though…” she paused, looking between the two works before turning her arched eyebrows in his direction. “Do you ever paint a tree that has lost its leaves or is caught up in a wind?”

“I…” Anthony looked around the room, unable to think of any time he had done so.

“Or perhaps have you painted the shepherd with dirt on his clothes? I do not think I have ever seen a shepherd as clean as this one here.” She laughed and gestured at the painting.

Anthony found himself smiling too.

“Perhaps I have made it an ideal rather than a reality.”

“So I see.” Lady Curtis adopted a somewhat mischievous look that had Anthony enthralled.

She is rather difficult to look away from at times like this.

“Where do you do your painting, Your Grace?”

“Through there.” He pointed to the door to his studio. “Why?”

“Because I think it is perhaps time for another one of your lessons.” Her smile grew wider as she moved toward the door.

“Lady Curtis? Wait.” Anthony had never thought of showing this room to anyone, yet Lady Curtis was too quick for him. She reached for the door and stepped inside before circling it, moving so fast around the room that Anthony felt quite helpless standing in the doorway. “I do not usually show people this room.”

A perfect oval shape with an arched bay window, the room was full of sunlight and featured a view of the garden with lush greens and pops of color on all sides.

“That is a pity.” Lady Curtis stopped by a set of drawings that he had pinned to the wall, to admire them. “Look at these. It shows what a fine artist you are, Your Grace.” The compliment made Anthony stand taller then his eyes flitted to the drawings, realizing just what she was about to see. “Aha, I see you have found yourself a new model.” She reached for one of the drawings and took it off the wall.

“That is private.” Anthony hurried into the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind him. He tried to take the drawing from her, but Lady Curtis turned round, keeping it to herself. She stepped away, putting the easel that stood in the middle of the oval room between them.

“Something tells me this moment rather struck you, Your Grace.” She turned the paper round, revealing exactly who he had drawn.

It is you, Lady Curtis.

It was an image of her from the day they had met with her riding wildly on her horse, and her hair untamed around her ears. The drawing was but a simple sketch with a few lines, all madness with no uniformity at all.

“It was drawn in something of a hurry.”

“Then perhaps you should take the time to paint it now.” Lady Curtis stepped in front of the easel and the blank canvas that rested there. “I could help if you like?”

“Can you paint?” he asked, moving to stand beside her as he too looked at the canvas. Finding there was something rather personal about her seeing the drawing, he took it back from her. He had to practically pry it out of her fingers. “It is proper to give a gentleman back his property, Lady Curtis,” he said playfully, watching as she shot him a playfully angry look.

“That is your lesson to me for the day it seems.” She released the drawing but not before their fingers brushed together. That touch seemed to vibrate deep within Anthony’s body as if he were a tuning fork from a piano forte that had been struck, ringing out. “Now here is your lesson.”

She picked up a paint pot that rested on a table beside her and proffered it to him with a brush.

“Start painting, and I shall show you.”

“As you wish.” Anthony was too intrigued to see where she was going with this to even think of resisting. He placed the drawing beside the easel then shrugged off his tailcoat, laying it neatly over a nearby stool, and rolled up his sleeves. At last, he took one of the brushes she offered and began to paint.

He recreated the horse first, aware how closely Lady Curtis watched him at all times. When he came to painting her though, the brush was taken out of his hands.

“What the –”

“Perhaps some good comes in wildness, Your Grace,” she said then painted a swirl to the hair. “There, that is more like me, is it not?”

“Yes, but… I paint to make things look perfect.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me, Your Grace. Why?” she asked, holding his gaze. He didn’t have an answer, for he could think of no good reason. “Things aren’t perfect. See?” She turned the paint brush on herself and drew a line up her forearm. “We are all streaked with flaws, much like this line of paint.”

“I rather like the metaphor.” He confessed, finding himself reaching for the paint brush and taking it out of her hand. He drew the paint brush further up her arm a little, watching as she trembled.

Please, tell me that is a tremble of delight.

“I should stop,” he whispered.

“Or it is your turn.” She picked up a second brush, dipped it in paint, then turned it on him, drawing a line up his own forearm. It tickled his skin, but what Anthony loved more was how close Lady Curtis had come to paint that line, so near that her mad hair tickled his cheek.

He couldn’t resist turning it into a game. Lifting his paintbrush, he painted a dot to her collarbone that was exposed at the top of her gown.

“Oh! That is bold.” Lady Curtis laughed with the words and lifted her paintbrush higher. When the cold liquid was blobbed onto his cheek, Anthony laughed aloud.

“The last time I was covered in paint, I was a child.”

“It is merely whimsy. One does not need to be a child for that!” Lady Curtis dabbed his other cheek too. Anthony couldn’t resist furthering the game and turned the paintbrush on her again, managing to plaster another drop of paint to her collarbone. Yet this time, it was a large amount that dribbled down her chest and across the bodice of her gown.

Lady Curtis laughed and stepped back then turned her gaze down at her dress.

“Well, this is no good, I cannot carry on like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am with a duke, am I not?” She turned to him with a challenging raise of her eyebrows. “Something tells me a man keen to teach me about propriety would not want me to wear a gown covered in paint in front of him.”

Oh Lord… what is she doing now?