Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emmaline wiped her moist palms nervously on her dress as she waited for Lord Seton in his study.

The painting was finally finished, and Hutchins had assisted with setting it up for the formal unveiling in the centre of the room.

Her father was notably absent, but he had come by two days ago to approve the final touches. He had seemed pleased with her efforts but distracted, and Emmaline was vaguely worried that there was something he was keeping from her.

No matter, she would have to do the presentation without him. And then she could go home.

An intense feeling of loneliness and disappointment flared at the thought, even though Emmaline knew it was for the best.

She had stopped thinking of Lord Seton as Benedict by pure will over the last few days. Since the day after their interlude in the middle of the night, he had been nothing but polite to her.

And nothing more. That is what stung her heart so.

He had called Emmaline beautiful that morning, then put up a wall between them that never cracked, even a little bit. Yes, he was friendly in manner, always enquiring after her day and talking to her during the session as they had in the past weeks, but it was not the same.

Thank goodness Lady Honora had been to visit many times over the last week to distract Emmaline from her misery.

Lady Honora was slowly becoming a true friend, and surprisingly, Emmaline’s first Patron. In fact, Emmaline had taken Lady Honora to the house to see her portfolio, as she had asked to see more of her work. Together they were planning a salon to show the works, since Lady Honora was an avid collector and she supported many artists this way, showing them off to her high society friends to great success.

Emmaline had no idea how she would tell her father, but she would cross that bridge when she got there.

First, she needed to finish her business with Lord Seton.

The man himself chose that moment to stride through the door, flashing her a charmingly warm smile as he saw her standing in the middle of the room.

What a confusing contradiction he was.

Emmaline dipped into a habitual curtsy, closing her eyes on an exhale as she bowed her head, gathering her strength to get through this one last meeting.

He came forward and took her hand, encouraging her to rise and turn towards the painting.

Emmaline looked down, he still held her hand in his. Why?

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “My Lord, your painting is finished. I hope that it pleases you.” With those uninspired words, she pulled back the velvet curtain, revealing the finished canvas.

It still needed to dry completely, and then a layer of varnish, but it was done.

Emmaline stared at the painting. They always looked different away from the easel, as if they had been hiding their true selves from her all those hours she worked.

Now, she could look at the work not as the artist, but as a viewer, and she was pleased to say it was good. In fact, this might be one of the finest portraits she had ever completed.

“It is magnificent,” said Lord Seton, leaning close to examine the details and squeezing her hand in his. “You have captured my likeness completely.”

He glanced down at her with a smirk. “Although, are you quite sure my nose is that big?”

Emmaline blinked, her mouth already forming a response, and then she realised he was teasing her.

Really? Perhaps big-headed was a more apt description.

She couldn’t resist a hint of mischief in response. “It is a noble nose, My Lord. It commands the room for sure.”

Lord Seton chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips and brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. “You have my measure, sweet Emmaline. I will think of that every time I look at the painting.”

He stepped back, crossing his arms to examine the artwork from a distance, nodding appreciatively.

She frowned, confused. “I thought the painting was to be sent to the Albany Club?”

He took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose as he turned to her with a considering look.

“That was the plan, but I find I cannot part with it. I will hang it in the gallery next to my parents. The Albany Club will have to wait.”

He cocked his head, gaze growing distant. “I think they would have liked you, my parents.”

Emmaline felt her stomach dip, confusion buzzing along her nerves. She sensed something had changed, but the fear of hope made her step away, towards the door.

“Well, if that is all, Lord Seton, I will leave you. Thank you for your hospitality during my stay.”

“No, Miss Winters, that is not all.”

His voice was different. Sure and commanding now. Her feet halted mid-step.

“Excuse me?”

Lord Seton extended a hand towards her, motioning towards the settee in front of the fire.

“Please, sit with me. I want to discuss something with you.”

Emmaline hardened her heart and raised her chin, determined to listen as long as was polite before she made her escape. She needed to be away from this man, she needed to forget him.

Perching herself on the far end of the couch, she waited for him to join her. Keeping her face impassive.

He sat down far too close, and a frisson of excitement flashed through her, despite her determination.

Drat the man.

“Emmaline,” he took her hand in his, drawing it into his lap. “Your work here is finished. You are no longer employed in this household.”

“Yes, that is correct,” she murmured, with no clue where this line of conversation was going.

Lord Seton stared down at their hands, his fingers tracing along the length of hers, testing the calloused tips and drawing circles along her palms, while Emmaline fought the urge to curl her hand, to hide herself from him.

“It’s been so hard to keep my distance, but I hope you can understand, it was the right thing to do.”

“I… What are you saying, My Lord?” Emmaline felt her heart stutter.

“Benedict, remember?” he said, leaning close and brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his breath ghosting along her neck as her pulse thrummed with agitation.

“ Mi sono innamorata. I have fallen for you, Emmaline, my heart is yours.”

Her heart stopped, her mind spinning as the words slowly formed meaning.