Chapter 6

six

E DITH’S HEAD FELT light after last night’s debaucheries and a morning spent cataloguing bottles of drugs in the hospital’s dispensary.

She’d been up all night, dancing, drinking champagne, and singing out of tune with other people. Then they’d played cricket at midnight in someone’s garden while wearing only their undergarments until a couple of police constables arrived, and she and her companions had to flee, barely escaping capture. What a shame…the fact that they had to flee, not the narrowly accomplished escape; that had been exhilarating. For a brief second. Her work at the dispensary instead sucked all the excitement out of her.

That was why she was out again with her friend, Daphne. She needed a new thrill.

That afternoon, the rocking of the carriage didn’t help her stomach still upset from the champagne, or her headache throbbing from the lack of sleep.

There was another reason for her to be upset. Perry had returned to London and had sent her a message inviting her to his home. She hadn’t answered yet. She didn’t have the courage to. Just thinking about seeing him again made her want to cast up her accounts.

“Where are we going?” she asked, hoping her friend wasn’t dragging her to another party.

“Bloomsbury. An atelier. I’m so excited to introduce you to Mr. Carter,” Daphne said, applying a generous layer of rouge to her full lips.

“The famous painter?” That caught her interest.

“The very same. We became friends recently, but we grew close in a short time. He’s the most delightfully intriguing man you’ll ever know.”

No, Edith doubted that. Perry was the most intriguing man she’d ever known, so intriguing that she didn’t have the courage to disappoint him and confess she’d told him a huge, stinking pile of lies in her letters. She wasn’t a doctor nor had she studied at the London School of Medicine for Women.

She hadn’t touched an anatomy book in years, or any other book. The only activity remotely close to medicine was her voluntary job at the dispensary. Far from being a surgeon. She was a fraud, and lying in a letter was too easy.

Perhaps the only reason she was so restless that day was because a meeting with Perry was unavoidable. Sooner or later, he’d learn the truth, and she’d face the consequences of her lies.

Daphne leant closer and whispered, “Valentine wants you to pose for him, for a painting.”

“What?”

Despite the headache, that news got Edith’s attention. One of the most acclaimed painters of the moment wanted to paint her. For what possible reason?

“You probably don’t remember him, but Valentine saw you last night when we were playing cricket. He was so impressed by your fierce character that he wants you for his next painting.”

If by ‘fierce character’ Valentine meant running away from the police in her undergarments, then she had plenty. “Is that why we’re going to see him now?”

“It is. Please, say yes. He’s such a wonderful gentleman and a great painter.”

“Oh.” Posing for the most admired painter of the moment. Being painted into an immortal masterpiece.

The painting could be the change and the new beginning she needed. Something that marked her turning over a new leaf, and she would have a beautiful painting to remind her of that. How powerful and extraordinary that would be.

Ten minutes later, they were in Bloomsbury, and Edith’s focus was all on the paintings. She had to admit that Mr. Valentine Carter’s face was a piece of art itself. His perfect features defined the face of an angel. His piercing eyes changed colour every time he moved, catching the light. The wicked smile ruined the heavenly illusion, but in a good way; it made him more human.

His atelier in Bloomsbury was a chaos of half-finished canvases, cloths stained with a dozen different types of paint, and mismatched sofas and armchairs. Discarded shirts were scattered everywhere. The smell of turpentine teased her nostrils and her sensibility, shocking her back to reality.

Perhaps this whole idea was a mistake. The more she chased pleasure, the more difficult it became for her to understand what was right and what was wrong. The more lost she became.

She shouldn’t be in a painter’s atelier. Daphne was with her, but having a companion wasn’t the point. The point was that she couldn’t stop thinking about Perry’s invitation.

“Edith, my new muse.” Valentine kissed her hands with just enough passion to be polite. “I was desperate to see you again. That quick, fleeting encounter wasn’t enough.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember it.”

“Never mind.” He kissed her hands again and tilted his head right and left while staring at her. “The colour of your eyes is extraordinary in the sunlight. It’ll be a challenge to get it exactly right.”

“Actually, I’m not sure I want to pose,” Edith said, but Daphne nudged her with her elbow.

“Wait before making a decision,” Daphne said. “He truly wants you to pose for him.”

“Edith, I think you’re lovely.” He cupped her face gently, but she wasn’t sure she enjoyed the contact or the fact he addressed her in such a familiar manner. Although since he’d seen her playing cricket half-naked, he’d feel allowed to use her Christian name. “Your face is exquisite, and your lips…” He pressed a thumb against her bottom lip, and she jolted, stepping away from his reach.

Daphne laughed. “Heavens, stay calm. No need to be so jittery.” She strolled around the messy room with ease, avoiding the scattered items without looking. “Valentine is an artist and a professional. Everything he does has a purely artistic reason.”

“Will you pose for me?” Valentine studied her face with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. “Please say yes. I can’t pay you a proper salary, but I’ll give you two sovereigns for the trouble.”

“What sort of painting do you have in mind?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

“Please, Valentine, paint Edith as one of your goddesses.” Daphne winked at her. “You won’t regret it.”

“I’ll show you.” Valentine took Edith’s hand and led her to the next room.

A series of paintings lined a wall. Nude paintings. Well, not exactly nude. The models wore very flimsy, transparent tunics that added an ethereal touch to their well-portrayed curves.

She swallowed past the knot in her throat. Goodness.

Scandalous poses aside, the paintings were extraordinary. The combination of beautiful lines, colours, shadows, and light created a dramatic effect, enhancing the beauty of the models. Even their expressions held an otherworldly quality that mesmerised her.

There were Hera, holding a sceptre, Artemis, surrounded by moonlight, and Calypso, sitting by the sea. The sea… not her favourite view. Just the sight of the sea, lakes, rivers, and streams turned her belly cold.

She paused at Athena’s painting. In the painting, the woman was standing with her hand wrapped around a long spear. The veil of fine muslin that covered her body—or rather, uncovered it—truly made her look like a goddess, powerful and striking. Her hair flowed down to her waist in luscious curls, and her expression was a daring one. A true goddess of war.

“What do you think?” Daphne said.

“They’re stunning but revealing.” She hoped she didn’t sound like a prude.

The paintings were undeniably pieces of art, not at all vulgar or brash. They depicted the human body as the ultimate work of art, exalted by Valentine’s expert hand. But to be one of Valentine’s goddesses was another matter. They were still nude paintings.

“This is about expressing yourself,” Valentine said, turning her towards another painting. “About finding who you really are. These paintings are the mirrors of the models’ souls. Look. This is Aphrodite.”

Edith’s face flamed. Heavens. Surrounded by red petals and the colours of dawn, Aphrodite reclined on a red Chesterfield sofa, her auburn hair reaching past her waist. One hand was squeezed between her thighs, and her droopy eyes didn’t leave doubt on what she was doing, unashamedly so. Still, it was likely one of the most beautiful paintings Edith had ever seen.

“Which goddess would I be?” she asked.

“Astrea.” Valentine showed her a drawing of a beautiful blue-haired goddess shining with starlight. “She was known as the Star Maiden or the Star Goddess. Your delicate lines and wide eyes inspire me to paint you as my Astrea.”

“You’d be perfect,” Daphne said.

Edith was tempted. Of course she was. Being portrayed in one of these extraordinary paintings would be an honour.

“But I’m not sure I want to get undressed.”

Daphne smiled. “I posed for him as well. Not for one of his goddesses, but it was a nude painting. You can’t imagine the freedom and confidence the experience gave me.”

“These paintings never leave my atelier.” Valentine gestured around. “I don’t sell them. They’re for me only. I show them to a very restricted number of friends, but the goddesses never, ever leave this room. You won’t be seen by anyone but me.”

“This isn’t about propriety.” Daphne put a hand on her shoulder. “This is about freedom, happiness, about expressing yourself, about fighting your fears.”

“Fears?” That piqued her interest.

“Yes. Posing for a painting so daring is liberating, empowering. All your fears will be gone forever.”

Well, that was intriguing. She glanced at the confident Aphrodite again. The goddess stared at the viewer as if to say, ‘ I don’t give a toss about what you think of me. I don’t think of you at all .’

“I’ll do it.”