Page 10 of His Duchess of Scandal
More scandalized whispers rippled through the crowd, and somebody cried out. The painting was not explicit, and he had painted the mysterious, stunning woman from memory, for she had not posed at all.
Not in this way, only beneath him, in the throes of pleasure.
Yet Levi had been right; brandy loosened his tongue at times, and his hand, and he’d worked endlessly to capture her beauty.
But that painting was not for the eyes of the ton, nor had it ever been meant to be sold or seen outside of his studio.
Yet there was his signature. Not Christian Dawson, for that was reserved for the paintings he showcased to the public, but his own name, clear as day.
Swirling gold cursive announced that Charles Thorne, the Duke of Branmere, had painted such an astounding piece.
Charles cursed under his breath.
Chapter Two
“You do not understand! All you ever do is chide me, just like Mama does.”
Hermia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose at her youngest sister’s protests. “Alicia, of course I’d?—”
“No, you do not. You stand here, your voiceever so gentle, as if you think you may coax understanding from me. I will not stand for it. I may only be five-and-ten, and you think you are far greater for being almost ten years older than me, but your age only makes you more naïve.”
“Alicia!” Hermia admonished.
But her sister wasn’t listening. Heavens, she could be trying at times.
Alicia rose with a groan from the armchair she had sunk into and moved to the window of the library as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
In her pale gray gown—the gray she always wore, for Alicia insisted it was the color of intelligence, which their mother hated—and with her wavy dark hair, she did look older than her age. Her chin lifted stubbornly, her profile illuminated by the early afternoon sun.
She sighed, turning to Hermia. “All right,yes, you do understand,” she relented. “But you must not scold me for standing up for myself. I cannot be like—like Isabella, who would simply sigh and laugh at Mr. Maudley’s comments. She would brush him off, know her worth, and while I know my own, I cannot let his ignorance go without being called out.”
“Yes, but it is more proper?—”
“I do not care what is proper.” Her young voice sounded ever so weary. “I care about being right. He called me small-brained, Sister, but I was right! What does he know of Angelica Schuyler’s mind?Iknow; I have read her works. I know what she stood for. He cannot hope to know.”
“Alicia, the thing is that being right does not excuse bad behavior. You called Mr. Maudley pompous.”
“That is because he is,” she muttered. “He deserved it.”
Hermia let out a long breath.
It was not the first time her scholarly sister had butted heads with her tutor. Only this time, she had not cursed him in French, so that was an improvement at least. But one more offense, and Hermia feared Mr. Maudley would storm out of Wickleby Hall, leave the estate, where her parents had let him reside in a cottage, and return to London.
“Alicia, you cannot lose your tutor. We cannot hire another one. Mr. Maudley tutored all of us, and Mother and Father do not wish to lose their connection with him. He is well-educated and intelligent.”
“He is aman,” Alicia stressed, scowling at her. “And quite frankly, it is clear that he does not care for women’s history, rights, or ability to speak for themselves. He expects everybody to be like you and Isabella.”
“Me?” Hermia echoed, frowning. “What have I got to do with it?”
“You and Isabella are the same! You do not like to think so, but tell me you would not stay silent if Mr. Maudley calledyousmall-brained and called your passions insignificant. Would you stand up for yourself?”
Without giving her sister a chance to answer, Alicia rambled on.
“No, you would not, for that is not what Mama has taught you. Isabella learned such silence from you, but Heaven forbid sheattend a ball, or else she will never shut up. But that is the way, is it not? A lady must be charming and flirtatious in a ball gown, but silent everywhere else once her ball gown has done its job—to entice a husband. Loud until forced into silence.”
“Alicia,” Hermia hissed. “That is enough. Please go and apologize to Mr. Maudley.”
“I will,” Alicia said, and Hermia’s shoulders sagged in relief. “After he apologizes and admits that he cannot even name three women who accomplished things independently.”
