The Muse (51 page)

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.  No more sad feelings or thoughts.  You must relax and enjoy this time before the baby comes for you will be very busy once she is here.”

“Now you think it a girl?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I go back and forth.  Some days I see a little girl and other days a boy.  But either way, get ready to be interrupted in your work.”  She grinned and nodded.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember your vision?  You said you could see a little blonde angel stamping her foot, demanding her Papa stop whatever he is doing and take her for a ride on her pony.”

“I remember.” He smiled.  “I cannot wait for that.”

“I like to imagine her with long, straight, dark hair and green eyes.”  She held his face and made him look at her until she could see the worry had left him.

“All right,
chérie
.  You have cheered me.  I am fine now.  Sorry for my little fit of the blue devils.”  He kissed her several times, pressing his lips to her cheeks, eyes and nose.  “Would you like your tea now?  It probably won’t be very hot though.”

“Lukewarm tea, a fairy ring in the shape of a giant compass rose, bluebells blooming about me, a handsome husband—
my
compass—beside me.  Yes, I believe I’ll take the whole lot.”

“Right, then.  Allow me to serve you, my lady.”  He got up to retrieve the travelling pack from Triton so he could lay out their tea.  “Why don’t you search for your cloud shapes while I set this out,” he called over his shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” she remarked boldly.  “I’d much rather watch you prepare our tea.  It is a far superior view than any old cloud shape could ever be.”  Her eyes tracked him.

“Watch yourself,
chérie
.  Looking at me like that and I doubt either of us will get any tea today.”

“WELCOME to Gavandon.”  Graham greeted James Trenton warmly.  “How excellent you are here, Trenton.  Thank you for considering us.”

“It is my pleasure, Lord Rothvale.  Thank you for the invitation.”

“Please, just Rothvale.”  He offered a seat.  “Surely you know why you are here, so I’ll get right to the point.  You impressed me when we met in Town last winter, and I was struck by your sensible manner in approaching your calling.”

Trenton tilted his head in acceptance of the compliment.  “When it comes to God’s work, I am not a fervent.  I would describe myself as much more pragmatic.  Other options are open—but this is the path I have chosen.  I am a third son and have the support of my good father, yet I need to do something worthwhile with my life.”

“Very noble, Trenton.  We have a fine rectory here called Swandon, vacant for five years now.  The house is lovely.  As rector you would be entitled to tenant tithes as well as the living, which is substantial, for your lifetime.  The chapel, The Church of Saint Clare, has been empty for far too long.  I need someone to take it on and see to the needs of the people of the parish.  Have you other prospects you are considering?”

Trenton shook his head.  “To be honest, Rothvale, I haven’t pursued it.  My ordination is complete, but my family has had need of me recently.  There were some troubles…” he trailed off.

Gravelle said there was a problem brother.  I’ve been in your boots.
“I understand.  Family comes first.  But what are you looking for, Trenton?”

“A place with good people where I can help those in need without a great deal of emphasis on sermonizing.  I intend to make mine short; you’ll not get long-winded moral lessons out of me for it is not my way.  I do not seek to chastise persons for their mistakes.  Rather I see myself as avowing to live a good life and to be a help to others in their pursuit of the same.  I can foresee there are those who will not approve of me for that.”

Graham grinned at him.  “Well, I would approve for we are of a very like mind, Trenton, and that is exactly why I’ve asked you to come.  You suit me.  I would be honored to have you serve Gavandon Parish.  This is a good thing.  Since we have been vacant for so long, everyone has forgotten the old rector and you’ll not be compared against anyone and found lacking.”

“I must say, it all sounds very appealing, Rothvale.  Having a patron who is of a like mind would be a relief.  I have doubted one such as you would exist at all.”  He looked pleased.  “I couldn’t get into too much trouble for the short sermons if that is what my patron prefers.”

“Exactly.  And I must confess that the fact you fence is another mark in your favour.  When I am in need of spiritual counsel I know how it can be attended to.”  Graham’s eyes lit up.  “Would you like to see my fencing studio?”

“Rothvale, I would be delighted.”

A fortnight later they gave their goodbyes to Lord James Trenton on the steps of Gavandon.  Graham and Imogene remained until his coach was beyond the main gate.  “Do you think he’ll accept your offer?” Imogene asked him.

“I greatly hope so,
chérie,
I really, really do.”  Graham was optimistic though.  “James Trenton is the perfect man for the job.  After two weeks in his company, I have no doubts about that.  I knew it really, the night I met him in London at the fencing academy.  That’s how sure I am.  He has asked for time to consider our offer and I am happy to oblige him for I don’t want any other.”

“What if he declines?”  Imogene put her hand into his.

Graham reflected before answering her.  “I’ll be very disappointed,
chérie
.  We must have faith, yes?”  He took up her hand and kissed it.

“He will accept.  I believe he will, Graham.  I have good feelings about him and I can see how important he is to you.”  She touched his cheek.  “So it must be so.”

He nodded perfunctorily.  “What are you going to do for the rest of the day,
chérie
?”

“You know, I feel quite lazy, I believe I’ll sit in the solarium and write in my journal for a bit.”

“What of Elle and Cariss?  Where have they got to?”

“Riding.  I don’t think I am up for the kind of ride they had in mind.  John said, ‘nothing too vigorous.’”

“He’s right, you know.”  Pulling her close, touching her belly, he caressed the swell.  “You do an awful lot and are always so busy around here.  Writing in the solarium sounds like an excellent plan to me.” Neatly avoiding the appearance of fussing over her, he was learning, and feeling a trifle smug as he kissed the top of her head.  “I’ll come find you in a while, and if you like we’ll take an easy walk.”

“Sounds perfect.”  She looked him over carefully, probably not fooled at all by his veiled attempt to impel her.  “My darling.”  She winked and blew him a kiss before gliding away.

Graham really looked forward to Trenton taking the rectory as it had been unfilled for so long. In truth, he felt guilty for neglecting to appoint someone but couldn’t bear the thought of a pompous windbag up in the pulpit each Sunday, torturing him with moral fanaticism.  He could picture the waving hands and pious chastisement with too clear of a vision for his liking.  A sycophant was just as dreaded.  The bowing and scraping some clerics performed for their patrons made him ill.  He’d be unable to tolerate such behaviours.  Trenton was nothing of the sort.  Graham realized he was unique among the clergy.  He also genuinely liked him, and knew had they met sooner, James Trenton would have been a friend anyway.  His family troubles seemed to be monopolizing his time for the present but Trenton had agreed to give his answer by the end of summer.  All they could do was wait.

Graham would always be grateful he entered the solarium quietly when he went to find Imogene an hour later.

For the sight that met his eyes nearly brought him down to the floor.

He was a painter in his heart and in his training.  He knew that what he saw was significant.  If there was ever a moment in his artistic life that moved him, this was it.  He knew what must be done.  Nothing could have stopped him.

Her image must be captured, preserved, as she looked in the moment.  At all costs, this impression must be rendered in paint and canvas.

Forcing his body to calm, Graham made a mental picture of her form, sweeping slowly over each part, to record her in his mind.  That done, he stepped quietly out into the hall.

And then he ran.

Ben was dispatched as quickly as he could be located.  “Ben, go to Mallerton’s and bring him back here.  Tell him he needs a canvas and supplies to sketch.  Quickly!  As fast as you can.  Tell him it is most urgent!”

“Yes, my lord.”  Ben nodded perfunctorily.

“When you bring him, he’s to go to the solarium, but tell him to enter very quietly.  Lady Rothvale is sleeping and I do not want her disturbed.”

Graham raced to his studio to get the camera obscura.

Imogene was still asleep when he re-entered the solarium, and gratefully, in the same position.  The first step was to close the shutters to darken the room.  Next, he lit the candle opposite the lens inside the box.  The paper was moved slowly, incrementally, until her form appeared…in all its stunning glory.  He barely breathed as he copied out her image, the draping of her gown, and the shadows.  Graham was aware Tristan entered the room at some point, but they did not speak.  Tristan set up his canvas, drawing right alongside his friend.  They worked that way for an hour, until she awakened.

Both men blew out sighs of relief, understanding that enough of her pose has been copied, to recreate it faithfully for another sitting.  “Graham?”  Imogene was mildly surprised as she stretched out her limbs.  “Tristan, what brings you in here?”

“Summoned to capture your image as you slept in the chair, my dear.”  Tristan eyed her thoughtfully.  “I may do the painting, Imogene, but Graham is the master when it comes to contriving a scene.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “We’ve been frantically tracing you while you slept so we might recreate the scene.  It is like nothing I have ever painted before.”

“Tell me,” she implored.

“I’ll let your husband do the honors.”  Tristan bowed and quitted the room.

Graham tried to explain but knew it was pointless.  “
Chérie
, I hardly have the words…”

JUNE was swallowed up as the warm, idyllic days floated along.  Imogene wore her jonquil day gown and sat for the sleeping portrait.  It didn’t even seem to be much of an imposition for her either.  Many times, she simply fell asleep anyway, providing ample opportunities for Tristan to get it completed.