A Prince for Aunt Hetty (20 page)

He remained stiff in her arms, clearly surprised by her kiss. He must not feel for her the way she felt for him. This was it. It was over. All the romantic notions she'd harbored about a grand love story were gone. She would say goodbye and be done with all of it. She would go back to her life of society parties and friends and forget that Rupert Henderson had ever painted – or half-painted – a beautiful portrait of her.

Hetty let go of his lapels and put her foot behind her to step away. But as she did so, something changed. His arms came around her and he pulled her back into him. His mouth opened on hers in a hot and wet kiss like none she had experienced before.

That thing that had lodged in her heart and wouldn't let go began to uncurl itself and wind throughout her body. If she had been flushed before, she was positively burning now. And Rupert was answering it with his own heat as he pressed himself against every part of her. Hetty stopped breathing altogether when one of his hands moved to her neck and pressed her even closer. It was madness and she wanted so much more of it.

Hetty lost all track of time and herself. It didn't matter anyway. Fifty years of life had passed her without a moment as exquisite as this. The kisses she thought she'd had as a young woman she now knew were not truly kisses at all. Those had been mere exercises of distant affection. But what she was sharing with Rupert was a hunger, a desire. And it was, indeed, shared, which made Hetty's blood boil even higher, her anger now turned into something much more potent.

Finally the tinkle of young and brilliant laughter reached their ears and they broke apart. Hetty was breathing heavily, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to keep her balance. Rupert appeared to be doing the same. For a moment, they only looked at each other, both mostly shadows in the dark night.

And then the absurdity of the scene struck Hetty. Trysts in the garden were for young lovers. She began to laugh, a deep, throaty sound that shook her body. Rupert was unable to resist and began laughing, too. They stood there laughing at each other. Each time one would stop, the other would start again until they were both gasping and panting out the word “stop” over and over again.

When the hilarity had settled, the mood grew more serious.

“Hetty,” Rupert spoke her name again. It thrilled down her spine.

“Yes, Rupert?” she finally spoke.

He hesitated, but Hetty waited this time, anxious to see what he would say. “I'm so sorry.”

“I am, too.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Rupert was confused.

“I was angry with you.”

“I think you had a right to be.”

“Maybe. But not to the extent that I was. I fully intended to hit you just now.”

“Well, I'm very glad you decided to kiss me instead.”

“Hmmm... I think I am, too,” she mused.

“But Hetty? My apology... I need to speak it to you so that you know.” He paused. “You saw the note this afternoon...”

“I did, though I am still not sure what it means. Who
are
you, Rupert Henderson?”

“Well, now I am an artist. But for most of my life I have been Serjeant-Painter to the King.”

“And what is that?”

“Basically I do all the work and get none of the glory,” he laughed. “My friend Sir Thomas Lawrence is the portrait painter. He gets all the recognition for our work. And rightly so, he is a marvelous artist and, I think, a genius. We met in the Royal Academy of Arts and when he was appointed to his post, he brought me along with him. I'd worked hard my entire life and a post at court was the highest any untitled young man could aspire to. So I did all the jobs Thomas didn't want to do. I undertook the business of decorating the palaces and homes of the King. I copied portraits and restored paintings. I helped put on all the spectacle that attends court functions. I traveled with the King and made his processions the best in the world. I gilded his carriages. I did whatever was needed. A knave-of-all-work, you might call me.”

“I'd never thought about those jobs needing to be done before.”

“Most people don't. They believe the King, like God, can speak things into existence. And I have spent my life making that happen.”

“Until you moved to Armstrong house?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you give up court life for that?” Hetty asked. Rupert took her hand and held it to his heart. She felt its rapid beating even through the layers of fabric.

“I know it might seem strange to someone who has not been at someone else's beck and call for her entire life. But I grew weary of it. And I wanted to do my own work for a change. Catering to the King's every whim has been a lifelong round of sleepless nights and frantic hours. I had no time to pursue my own drawing and painting.”

“So you just left? That seems very brave.”

“I expressed my desires to the King and he agreed. He even helped me purchase Armstrong house as a present for all of my years of service.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. The soft touch made her blood boil.

“I see. But you still came back to London those times while I was staying at Hayes house?”

“Yes. I received urgent notes that my presence was required. After the generosity of the King, I couldn't abandon him if he needed me. It does take some time to train a new person to do the job I had done for so many years.”

“So you rode to the rescue?” Hetty laughed.

Rupert laughed, too. “I suppose I did, in a way.”

“And why didn't you ever tell me this?” Hetty moved close enough to feel his breath on her face.

“I was afraid.” He brought his lips near hers.

“Afraid?”

“Yes. In case it was not yet obvious to you, I adore you. But in my experience, things change once someone knows that I work so closely with the King. Suddenly, I disappear and all they see is a man they can use for his connections. I get too much attention when people know what it is that I do and where I live. They only see the 'court' and I get lost in that.”

Hetty was silent, pondering this. “I can see how that would happen. I'm not sure how I would have reacted to you if I'd known that right away.”

“That is why I enjoy the country. No one there, not even the staff in my household, know my past. And they seem quite content not to ask questions of me, either. I was happy doing my work and visiting with my kind neighbors, like your sister and Jonathan and, of course, the children.”

“But I could have kept your secret,” Hetty said.

“And I did want to tell you, very much so. But the fear stopped me. I didn't want you to look through me. I wanted you to see me and to spend time with me as a plain man.”

“I don't think I ever saw a 'plain man' in you, but I understand what you mean.”

“So you feel something for me, too, Hetty?” She heard the anxiety in his voice. It thrilled her just a little. She kissed him gently.

“I do. Just in case my first kiss didn't give it away,” she teased and then turned serious again. “But I'm not sure I can forgive you for not writing to me, especially knowing that you felt this way the whole time.”

She heard him sigh heavily. “That I
sincerely
regret. First, there was no time to do it. And then I began to think that you might be upset with me for leaving you. And then I began to doubt that I could ever write the correct words to tell you what had happened and why I'd left so suddenly. It seemed like something that would have taken too many words to explain.”

“I would have liked to hear anything at all from you.”

“I'm sorry.” He grazed her lips with his. “It's all I can say. I did think about you all the time, though.”

“I could see that from the painting.”

“Oh? You saw that in the gallery?” Rupert gave a sigh of realization. “Oh... that's the painting you were looking at when I surprised you this afternoon.”

“Yes, it was. I was startled by your appearance and, as you could tell, somewhat discomposed.”

“I couldn't tell at all,” Rupert said.

Hetty laughed. “Don't tease me!”

“No, I mean it. I was startled as well. I did not know what to do. It was Thomas who pushed me out the door.”

“Well, I think I am glad that he did.”

“I think I am glad of it, too.”

Rupert kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that tugged at every nerve in her body.

“I think I painted that portrait in the hopes that you would see it and know a little bit of what I felt toward you.”

“And you called it 'Home'. Why?”

“Do you remember that afternoon when I was sketching the children?”

“Yes, of course.”

“After I positioned them, I turned back to the table and there you were, seated comfortably in your chair and reading a fairy tale to a bunch of young children. The light spilled in on you in just the right way. It made my heart nearly burst. It was such a scene as I've been trying to find my entire life. It was a gift.”

“I like that. A gift...”

“
You
are a gift, Hetty Masters.” He kissed her again and then wrapped her in an embrace.

“If I recall, that afternoon I read a number of stories featuring handsome princes and noble quests.”

Hetty felt the rumble of laughter in his chest. “I believe that was probably the gist of it.”

“I always thought I was waiting for a prince.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And I think I might have found one.”

They stood in the darkness of midnight together and laughed.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

H
ETTY HAD LEARNED
to block out the hustle and bustle of the world outside of Rupert's busy London studio. She sat now absorbed in the latest novel making its way through all the hands of the ladies in town. It was a salacious thing and she was thoroughly enjoying it. Every now and again she would read a passage aloud just to appreciate the ridiculous prose.

Rupert sat a few feet away, dabbing at a canvas with his brush. It had become their afternoon routine now that he was back from his trip to Scotland with King George. Rupert's part had been successful, executed with aplomb, though the King was being ridiculed in the papers for the spectacle he had made of the whole thing.

Still, between that and the exhibition of his art, Rupert's name and reputation were growing every day. He already had a list of people waiting for him to paint their portraits.

He was working on one now.

“Harriet?”

“Hmm?” She didn't look up from her book.

“It's finished.”

Harriet looked at him and smiled. He smiled back. They both understood. Hetty stepped toward him and examined the work.

“Hmm... I'm not sure...” she began.

“Oh, hush,” he scolded, and grabbed her around the waist. He tucked his head under her arm and squeezed her tight. “I finally got you just right.”

They both looked at the portrait in front of them. It was the one he had started all those months ago before he had even really known her.

“Hetty?”

“Yes, Rupert?” She placed her hand on his head, running the soft, short graying hairs through her fingers.

“Marry me.”

Hetty paused. Marriage would change her whole life. People would talk. They might laugh. They might say she did it for the connections. But she knew the truth. And Rupert knew the truth.

And so she gave the only answer she could.

“Of course.”

THE
END

Historical Note

The history nerd in me is terribly excited that I got to use real people and history in this book. Of course, I used them freely in line with my story and did not necessarily always stick to the historical record. All changes are my own. So here are some fun things to know:

Serjeant-Painter
was a real job in the King's court and did the things that I described Rupert Henderson doing. The last known record of a Serjeant-Painter being employed by the court is from 1782, but that doesn't mean the job no longer existed. After all, the King still needed his carriages gilded!

Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830)
was a reputed genius who was drafted at an early age to be the King's Painter, a job he remained in for most of his life. He attended the Royal Academy of Arts, which is where I have him meeting and befriending Rupert Henderson. He was reportedly a
bon vivant
, but I have slightly exaggerated his frivolity for my own purposes.

Dulwich Picture Gallery
is just as I described it here. The main gallery building was opened to students in the Royal Academy of Arts in 1815 and opened to the public in 1817, just a few years before
A Prince for Aunt Hetty
is set. At the time, the gallery housed one of the largest collections of European art. The building itself was one of the first to employ mostly natural lighting to display the art and quickly became the model for many other exhibition spaces. Fun note: The gallery still operates and there is really a portrait of a woman named Lucy Ebberton at the gallery!