Page 20 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Oh, did you all hear about the new exhibition at the Royal Academy? They are displaying works from various artists. Though I must say, some of them are quite pedestrian. I much prefer the grandiose portraits and landscapes that truly capture one’s attention,” the young widow prattled on.
Lady Bernmere and the Dowager Duchess politely engaged with her, nodding and making noises of agreement.
“The Royal Academy always has such diverse selections,” Lady Bernmere said diplomatically. “It is wonderful to see the range of talent on display.”
“Indeed,” the Dowager Duchess agreed with a gracious smile. “Art comes in many forms, and it’s always fascinating to see different interpretations and styles.” With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she leaned forward. “Lady Featherwell, do tell us moreabout which pieces you found pedestrian. I am always keen to understand different perspectives on art.”
Lady Featherwell hesitated, clearly unprepared for such a direct question. “Well, um, some of the landscapes lacked… a certain grandeur. They were… too simple, you see.”
The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow, her expression both amused and inquisitive. “Too simple? In what way, dear?”
Lady Featherwell’s smile faltered slightly. “Oh, you know, just… not as detailed as one would expect. The colors were rather muted, and the compositions somewhat… uninspiring.”
The Dowager Duchess nodded thoughtfully. “I see. And what did you think of the brushwork? Did it convey the same lack of detail?”
Lady Featherwell’s eyes darted around the table, searching for support. “Yes, the brushwork was… quite rudimentary. Not at all what one would hope for in a prestigious exhibition.”
Lady Bernmere stifled a smile, clearly enjoying the Dowager Duchess’s gentle interrogation. “How interesting. I suppose it’s true that not every artist can capture the complexity and vibrancy of life in their work.”
“Exactly,” Lady Featherwell replied, seizing the lifeline. “That’s precisely what I meant.”
Kenneth hid a smile behind his hand, impressed by the Dowager Duchess’s subtle maneuvering. He glanced at Beatrice, who had also noticed the exchange and was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
The Dowager Duchess continued, her tone sweetly inquisitive, “And what about the modern portraits, Lady Featherwell? Did you find any of those to your liking?”
Lady Featherwell’s discomfort grew more apparent. “Well, some were… decent, I suppose. But they lacked the… the refinement of the old masters.”
“Ah, yes,” the Dowager Duchess said, nodding sagely. “The old masters do set a high standard. I recall there was a splendid exhibition at the Royal Academy just last month, however, featuring some modern portraits that truly captured the essence of contemporary life.”
Lady Featherwell’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, yes, of course. Those were quite… remarkable.”
The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow, her expression one of feigned confusion. “Oh, my mistake. That exhibition ended years ago. I must have been thinking of something else. Silly me! It’s so easy to lose track of time with all the events at the Academy.”
Lady Featherwell blushed, realizing she had been caught in her ignorance. “Ah, well, yes. Time does fly, doesn’t it?”
The Dowager Duchess nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Indeed. It’s always wonderful to meet someone who appreciates art as much as I do.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Lady Bernmere, both women clearly satisfied with the outcome of their gentle prodding.
Lady Featherwell continued, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone. “I do believe that the quality of art lies in its ability to capture reality perfectly. I have always said that if a painting does not look exactly like the subject, then it is a failure. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?” She turned to Kenneth with a saccharine smile.
Kenneth raised an eyebrow, his disinterest evident.
“Art is more than just a replication of reality, Lady Featherwell. It is about evoking emotion and thought, capturing the essence rather than the exact likeness.”
Lady Featherwell, undeterred, continued to prattle on, “I remember when I purchased my first painting. It was a grand landscape, so detailed that you could see every leaf on the trees. That, to me, is true artistry.”
Kenneth tuned her out, his eyes drifting back to Beatrice. She was listening, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying a hint of frustration. He could see the effort it took for her to maintain her composure and not rise to Lady Featherwell’s bait.
Beatrice glanced up, catching his eye for a brief moment.
In that silent exchange, Kenneth felt a connection, a shared understanding of the charade they were both playing.
Lady Featherwell’s voice faded into the background as Kenneth found himself drawn to the memory of the night Beatrice had walked into his chambers.
The image of her standing there, the color rising to her cheeks, haunted him. He recalled the way her gown had hugged her curves, the soft candlelight casting a warm glow on her skin. The scent of roses mingled with her unique fragrance had enveloped him, stirring a desire he had not felt in a long time.
His thoughts became more heated, imagining how it would have felt to pull her into his arms, to feel her softness against him, and to taste her lips. The desire that surged through him was potent, and he had to fight to maintain his composure.
Her way of debating, her stubbornness, her refusal to back down—they all infuriated him, yet they also fascinated him. Kenneth enjoyed her spirit, her intellect, and the way her eyes sparkled with determination. It was a stark contrast to the simpering women who usually sought his favor, and he found himself increasingly captivated by her.
