The Muse (27 page)

“Oh Agnes, are such dramatics really necessary?  You’re a clever woman, you’ll find some way to make a living…I just know you will.”

The carriage was pulling to a stop.

“What is this place?  We have no money.  Please have some mercy!”

He rolled his eyes at her in boredom.

“I think it is called Stapenhill,” he drawled, tossing some coins onto the floor of the carriage.  “There.  I have addressed both of your concerns.”  He eyed her valise.  “At least I had your maid pack you a bag.  Now get out.”

She stared at him unbelievingly, thinking she must be trapped inside a nightmare that would end at any moment, restoring her life to normalcy.  Numbly she picked up the money and her valise and got out of the carriage.

He peered out at her, the evil devil that he was, stabbing her with cold eyes.  “And, Agnes, remember what I said.  Don’t you go squealing to him.  It will do you no good—he doesn’t want to be reminded.  If you force his hand, we might have to get rid of the evidence…” He looked knowingly at Clara asleep in her arms.  “You have my promise on that.”  He slammed the door, and she heard his rap on the roof.  At his signal, the carriage pulled away and down the road.

Agnes stayed there watching until it was out of sight. Standing on the side of the road, her sleeping child resting on her shoulder, she looked up into the beautiful blue sky and tried to find something to hold onto.  Something good and happy.  Some kind of hope.

But there was none to be had.

The only thing she felt was ruined, and wronged.

For the second time in her life, Agnes cursed the fact that she had been born a woman.

When I play with my cat, who knows whether she isn’t

amusing herself with me more than I am with her?

Montaigne   ~ Essais, 1580

TODAY
was the fifth sitting.  Sitting in the elegant chair, she wore a pearl coloured gown, hands absent gloves, per Graham’s request, her jewels in place.  This portrait would be full length, her pose a three-quarter profile, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other in her lap.  Her head was turned slightly as if she were about to stand and go to someone off-canvas and out of view.

Imogene was pleased to find Mr. Mallerton was quite chatty while he painted.  They had quickly fallen into easiness and had no trouble discussing all manner of topics.  As long as she remained mostly still in her pose, the conversation greatly helped to pass the time.

Breaking through the sounds of his brush on the canvas, Imogene asked, “How did you know you wanted to be a painter?”

“My father was a draper at York.  There were just the two of us, as my mother died when I was young.  He took me along with him all the time.  I always liked to draw even as a very young child, quite the novelty for I could sketch out a profile in minutes and was a source of amusement at gatherings.  Visiting the stately homes and manor houses with my father as he went about his business, was my inspiration.  I was in awe of the paintings that were displayed.  The more I saw, the surer I was of my path.”

“Did your father support you in your wish to become an artist?”

“He did.  Very early, providing the materials and lessons for me to paint at home and later when I was sent to Harrow for my formal schooling.  Graham and I met there.  My father wanted me to continue on to university, but that was not what I needed.  I knew I had to go to Europe and paint.  It was a struggle at first.  The starving artist lifestyle is not easy or conventional, which worried my father.  For me, that life was part of the education.  At the time I knew it was necessary for me to live and to learn in that way.”

“Is your father still a draper?  I have need of a good one.”

“My father passed a year after I left England.  His legacy allowed me to continue in that life for several more years, enough to improve my skills that I might make a living.”

They were quiet as Imogene absorbed his story.  She could feel pain in it but also acceptance.  There was a lonely quality about him.  Something that set him apart from others.  He was guarded, but there was kindness too.  She was finding that she enjoyed the sittings.  It was calming, and the inoperative time allowed her to reflect upon her new life with Graham.

“Why do you have need of a draper?” he asked after some minutes.

“I have been charged to have the lady’s chamber redone in the style of my choosing, but I’ve not started in on the project as of yet.”

“Do you know what you would like?”

“Hardly.  I really do not know where to start.  Other than the colours I prefer, I fear I am no expert in decorating.”

“I am sure Mrs. Griffin can put you in contact with a draper.  What are your preferred colours?”

“Greens and blues with some browns put in.”

“Ah, the cool colours.  Cool, the green and the blue, but very calming.  The brown is a warm colour, but earthy.  They are excellent complements of each other.  You have good taste.”

Accepting his praise, Imogene explained, “They remind me of the outdoors, the grass and the sky and the earth.  I should like to try to bring the feel of the outdoors to the inside.  Those colours have always been my favourites.”

“I have knowledge of fabrics and textures from my father and would be happy to give opinion on your choices if you wish, or if you want some guidance.”

“Very kind of you, Mr. Mallerton.  I may just take you up on that offer, not wishing to step wrong in my selections.”

Returning to painting, he concentrated on his work for a time.  “You know, Lady Rothvale, I do more than portraits of people.  I could paint a landscape, or your horse, even.  If you would like a portrait for your new rooms, I would be pleased to do something personal for you.”  He offered so easily, as if they had known each other their whole lives.

Imogene was touched by his proposition.  “Oh yes, I would love that.  A portrait of Terra and Triton together would be dearly cherished.  I would have them standing at the front of the house with the fountain in view.  Having such a portrait would be a treasure, and perfect for my rooms, I think.  If you would do that for me, I would be most obliged.”

“Of course, my lady.  And since I am paid for my work, you do not have to be obliged to me in any way.  I’ll make sure your husband gets the bill, and I know he’ll happily pay my exorbitant price just to keep you smiling and pleased.”  His eyes twinkling wickedly made her laugh out loud.

“Mr. Mallerton, would you oblige me further and join us for dinner tonight?  The Burleighs are coming this evening and I would like it if you would join our party.”

He gave her an odd look and then erased it just as quickly.  “I will be there, my lady.” He bowed.

He has already received his invitation to dinner and Graham did not tell me.

GRAHAM watched Imogene as she came up the drive with Zuly, having a clear view of her through the library window.  Gleaming in her portrait finery, he was unable to do anything really but stare at her.  Her face flushed with a joyful glow.  She was absolutely radiant. He saw her say something to the dog and Zuly looked up at her.  Their exchange, so full of affection and trust, he felt like a voyeur once again, remembering the time he had watched her reunite with Terra at Kenilbrooke.

Mine.  She is mine.

He was lying in wait for her.  Graham found he craved her return from the portrait sittings at Tristan’s with illogical intensity, supposing it was simple instinct, male possessiveness of his woman.  Tristan was trustworthy.  Graham
knew
absolutel
y
, that nothing improper would ever happen between them, but nevertheless waited anxiously for her whenever she was at a sitting.

Standing in the library doorway, he called to her as she would have passed through the foyer, held out his hand and motioned for her to come to him.

Flashing a lovely smile, she greeted him.  “Are you waiting on me again, my darling?”

He wondered if his desperation for her when she returned from a sitting had caught her notice.  Probably had.  Imogene possessed a sharp mind.

She glided over to him as if she was well aware he needed a little soothing, and wondered where it might lead.  He wouldn’t mind a little soothing right here in the library.  The door did possess a sturdy lock, after all.

Pulling her to him, he took in her heavenly scent.  “Guilty as charged,
chéri.
  But I am fine now you are returned to me.” He gazed at her in all of her mystery.  “Give us a kiss,” he said to her, feeling a little of his tension let go now that she was in his arms again.

Imogene put her hand on his face and tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear.  “I love you.  I love that you wait here for me to come home.  What have you been up to while I was away?”  Her words, gentle and sweet, tumbled off lips he wanted to kiss.

He shrugged. “Nothing much.  The post arrived and we have letters from Jules and Mina at Everfell, Wilton Court, and from your friend Jocelyn, I think.”  He paused for a moment before asking, “Why did you look so happy when you came in just now?”

“That is easy.  I am happy because I am returning to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Very good diplomatic answer,
chérie
.  Now try again,” he scolded with mock sternness.

She grinned at him as if she was sharing an exciting secret.  “Mr. Mallerton is going to paint a portrait for me.  A portrait of my own choosing, for my rooms.  I wish it to be of Terra and Triton in front of the fountain.  It’s a lovely vision and it pleases me.  That is probably why you see me as happy today.  Oh, and I invited him to join us for dinner with the Burleighs.”

“What was his reaction to your invitation?” he asked with a grimace, remembering he’d forgotten to mention it to her.

“Well, he looked at me oddly now that you ask.  He said, ‘I will be there’ when he accepted.  Why would he say it like that, Graham, unless you had already invited him?  No wonder he looked at me so strangely.”  She pushed at his chest.  “Why do you not tell me things?  Secrets, secrets, all the time.  You make me appear an idiot.”  Her eyes sparkly with irritation, she folded her arms as she waited for his response.

Graham closed his eyes for a moment.  “I apologize.  It was my mistake, not a secret, I promise you.  The invitation was last minute, sent over this morning. I forgot to tell you.  I get so damn distracted with all of…everything,” he sputtered, feeling very exasperated.  “Being a bachelor for such a long time, I am not used to thinking about how I might get you into trouble,
chérie.
  I am so sorry.  I promise I’ll get better.”  Leaning into her neck, he whispered, “I am at your mercy.”

“Well, you do look remorseful,” she said wryly, “and pathetic.  And what is so distracting for you anyway?”

He gaped at her.

“Are you inferring that
I
am the source of your great distraction, my darling?  How is that possible?”

Graham gave her a thorough, salacious sweep with his eyes before saying, “It is very possible, I assure you.”

“Hmmph,” she sniffed.  “I’m going to go up and change out of this gown now.”

“I will help you.” He took her arm to go with her.

“Oh no, no.  I don’t think so, not today,” she said, imperiously, removing her arm from his hold.  “You will stay here and get yourself…
undistracted
. ’Tis your punishment, Graham.  When I return, you can tell me how you intend to solve your little problem.”  Her lip curled up on one side; and he could tell she was enjoying this exchange with him immensely.

He felt his eye start to twitch, and began tapping his hand on his leg.

Inclining his head slightly, he said, “Do as you wish,
chérie
.”

He watched Imogene leave the library, a disobedient smirk on his face, and a quickly hardening cock in his breeches.

Both he and Imogene realized he had agreed to nothing.

Moving his hands up to his throat, he began to unknot his cravat.