The Muse (33 page)

“Absolutely, there is.  I cannot be without you.  As it has been made abundantly clear to me in the past four and twenty hours.”

She reflected for a moment.  “When did you decide to come and get me?”

“When it was time to go up to bed and you were not here.  Zuly stopped me on the way up and gave me a look of such disgust I turned on my heel and headed straight to the stables.  Triton and I were flying down the road in minutes.”  He gave a little smile at the remembrance.

“What now?”

“That horse is fast, Imogene.  He is gentle, I know, but I have never owned a horse so fast.  He has been misnamed surely.  He should be Pegasus rather than Triton.  I’ve half a mind to enter him at Newmarket.  I should talk to Gravelle about him.  He is a veritable expert on all things racing and Newmarket.  If Triton were to win, I’d have to settle with Hargreave, though.  He has no idea what he has given up.”

Imogene shook her head in amusement.  “Bathing rooms and racehorses…what a great lot of ideas you’ve got rolling around in your head, my darling.”

“And they all come back to you,
chérie.
”

A sweet disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness…

Do more bewitch me, than when Art

Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick   ~ ‘Delight in Disorder’, 1648

THEIR
money was almost gone after staying at the inn for a week.  Mr. Jacobson was always very kind to Clara, indulging her with sweets from the kitchen and stopping to listen to her childish chatter.  But Agnes was at the end of her rope because she had no connections here.  The will to protect her child went before anything else.  She must find work of some kind right away.  But she knew not what sort of job it could be.

Mr. Jacobson walked through the common room right then, smiling kindly.  She suspected he was cutting the rate of their room for it was far superior to the paltry sum he charged her for it.  She wondered why he would do such a thing, too.  The possibilities bothered her.

“Mr. Jacobson, may I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.”  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and gave her his full attention.

“Sir, I am in need of—” she swallowed hard, “—employment.”  She felt her face flush in embarrassment.  “I can sew.  I have been in service, in the past, as a seamstress.  Do you know if I might find work in the area?  Are there any great houses where I might inquire?”

“No great houses—not close by. No.”

Her hopes dashed, she tried to keep her dignity intact by nodding her thanks for his time to speak with her.  “Well, thank you for your kindness of this past week.  We must be leaving tomorrow to search for a permanent situation.”

Mr. Jacobson frowned at her news and Agnes got the idea that maybe he didn’t like her news very much.  Interesting.

“I do know of an opening for a housekeeping position, though.  It would require management of accounts—are you good with numbers and figuring?”

Agnes felt her immediate future had just brightened considerably.  “Yes.  I did the accounts for my father’s tailoring shop.  It’s been some time, but I
know
I can do it, Mr. Jacobson.  And you definitely know someone in need of such an assistant?”

“Indeed I do.” He smiled genuinely.

“Oh, Mr. Jacobson, that is wonderful.”  She dipped her head at him in deference.  “May I inquire who is this person?”

“’Tis I.”

“I must commission another portrait, Tristan.  It is important and I need the thing completed by his birthday at the end of April.  You can halt on the portrait of Terra and Triton for my chamber if that might help you with your time schedule.  Can you do it for me?”

“Why the urgency I hear in your voice?  Does it have something to do with your little overnight trip?”

Imogene was now a disciplined sitter but at his words she quickly lost her pose.  “This is so very difficult for me to ask of you.  Please bear with me.  Yes, it very much does.  I hurt him deeply and this is a way to make amends.”

“He came here looking for you, nearly out of his mind.”  Tristan put down his brush and regarded her seriously.  “I understand his fear, but he
should
have told you about his mother.  You did not hurt him consciously, Imogene, and should not feel you must make amends.”

Imogene felt physical pain at Tristan’s words.  Imagining Graham in his panic and terror was not something she wanted to relive.  “He does not expect this portrait.  It is something I wish to do for him.  To show him how much I love— This is not easy to put into words, Tristan.  It is not proper or considered acceptable in any part.  I hope you are not offended by me.  I beg your indulgence in hearing of what I ask of you.”

“Now you have piqued my curiosity, Imogene.  What type of portrait do you have in mind?”

“It is something Graham would like to have. He mentioned it…once.  But I told him it was impossible for me to sit for such a thing.  It was before I knew you though.  And now that I do know you, I think I would be able to do it.”  Imogene felt herself flush and swallowed hard.  “Can you—would you be willing to—oh God, Tristan, this is so awkward!”

Tristan did not speak or try to help her along, rather he tilted his head slightly and just waited for her to tell him what she was after.

Imogene took a very deep breath and stiffened her back.  “I want for you to paint me in
dishabille
for him.”  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she slumped and lowered her eyes, afraid to see his reaction.

He surprised her for he didn’t really have a reaction.

“Lounge attire then.”  He looked thoughtful as if his mind was at work already.  “Any particular elements to the scene that you have in mind?”

She nodded.  “There are some items in particular: a tiara, a shawl, a book, a robe.”  Imogene closed her eyes then and felt the tremors start.  “There is one more element, but I don’t know if you can possibly put it in.”  She put her hand to her head and leaned into it.  “I want it to suggest love—intimacy.  Oh God!  I want to hide.”  She was amazed she had actually spoken the words out loud to Tristan.

What must he be thinking of me right now?
  Imogene sat and waited for a response, knowing she was incapable of anything else.

“You must love him very, very much.  I hope he knows what a treasure he has won.”  Tristan gave her a gentle look before he spoke of what it would entail to create such a portrait.  “I can paint you in such a way, and I am willing to do the portrait, but it will be unsigned.  You understand I cannot put my name to it.  It will have to remain private as well.  People of your class do not commission such things, my dear.  At least they do not do so and flaunt it to the world.  I suspect you knew that before, and I know Graham is well aware.”

“Without question, it would be private,” she whispered, barely audible.

“As for the last element you mentioned, it can be included, but is not something I can just paint in as an expression.  You will have to create the intimacy for me, Imogene.  You will have to show me in your face and in your pose what you feel.  You will have to think it in your mind—of what that feeling is like.  Do you think you can do that?  Do you even want to try?”

“For him, I can do it.”

TRISTAN was surprised at her candor.  He could tell it had cost her greatly to ask him.  There was not much that would shock him in reality, though, and he found her mortification innocently charming.

It will be magnificent. 
His mind started spinning with plans.  “There must be a bed.  I cannot very well install one here in this room, though.  That would definitely raise questions.  We will have to use mine.  When Graham is away I can zip up to his chamber and retrieve the camera obscura to get all the details to match his bedroom.”

Imogene seemed to find some courage, enough to enable her to speak once again.  “When do you think you can start?  How do we keep it a secret?  I do not want him to suspect, it must be a surprise.”

“When you come, we’ll split the sitting into two parts.  He might wonder at this formal portrait of you in the emeralds taking longer than it should, but I’ll leave it to you to distract him from the idea.  And further, if he is called away for much of the day, you should send word to me and we will get in a longer sitting on the
dishabille
and that should speed it along.”  Tristan regarded her and watched as she blushed deeply again.  Her expression was hesitant now, as if she was unsure.  “Imogene, are you having second thoughts?  You look uncertain, now.”

She averted her eyes and looked slightly down.  “No.  I am decided.  It’s just, that you said we would have to use your bedchamber for the setting.  How can you—would it not be uncomfortable, or difficult for you to have me—to have me there in your private room?  What would I disclose to the staff?  Wouldn’t they find it terribly improper and scandalous to say the least?  She shivered.  “I cannot believe I am here asking such a thing of you, Tristan.  I feel as if I am out of my body right now.  I could not have possibly just asked you that question!”

Tristan spoke gently but with confidence, “Imogene, be of ease.  It will not be an imposition for me to paint you as such.  You know, I am probably the only painter in England who could execute such a portrait and
not
be tempted by you.” 
Such an innocent you are.  You have no idea about me do you?

“Oh.  That is a good thing then, Tristan.”  She nodded modestly, biting the inside of her bottom lip.  “Please accept my apology for all of this uncomfortable bumbling about.  I am dreadfully embarrassed, but you have been so easy and kind about everything.  You are a true friend.”

“I didn’t say I’d paint it for free, you know.”  He teased away the awkwardness between them. 
I probably would paint it for free, though…just to create it…to see your image in it.

“Right!  And don’t you dare send the bill to him when it is done.  You will give it to
me
,” she commanded.  “I can well afford you all on my own.”

GRAHAM was waiting for her to return as he often did, but not in his usual way.

Today he met her on the path as she walked home from Tristan’s house.  He was all smiles.

“This is a most lovely surprise,” she greeted as she drew up.

“A note has just arrived for you by messenger.  From Harwell House.  I believe it is in John’s hand.”