Page 34 of Obsession: The Unspoken Sin
Painting naughty scenes of fictional and Greek and Roman figures had long lost its appeal. It was as though she continually created the same piece, just in different shapes.
“What had you far rather be painting?” Addien prodded, showing the first and any real interest in Alice’s work.
Puzzled, she looked on as Addien held over a newspaper.
“Says there Mr. Latimer’s sister wrote that piece.”
Her confusion deepening as well as her curiosity, Alice accepted the pages and proceeded to read.
“The Baroness and Baron of Bolingbrook continue to deepen their commitment to female artists, artisans, and musicians. In addition to young ladies of the ton who wish to pursue artistic endeavors, they’ve since expanded upon their philanthropic efforts. This opportunity will expand so that women, regardless of station, those with limited means and a talent and desire to paint, may attend school or live freely while they create their art. The new venture is only possible through the inception of an unknown sponsor who not only put forward a sizable donation, but purchased and donated the property.”
Alice’s heart stilled, as did her gaze upon that particular sentence. She frantically read the rest of the words there.
The program has already begun enrolling those women interested and in need: widows, women without the benefit of family to look after them and their child or children, and those ladies wishing to live an independent existence without relying on the generosity and goodwill of relatives will now have control of their future…”et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Alice’s arm dropped to her side. Breathless, her heart swelling so big it knocked painfully against her rib cage and the organ threatened to burst from the force of emotions within her, she made her way over to that letter on unsteady legs.
This time, she snatched it up and ripped the pages open.
My dearest Alice,
I wronged you. I owed you complete honesty. Instead, I only gave you partial truth. It has only been you. I have longed for you. That is no lie. I want you in my life, but more, I want you to be happy. I do not presume to know what you want, and I never should have.
However, if you desire a life of your own, one where you are permitted to let your muse dictate your artwork, then know there is a place for you. I hold the deed ofa place that is yours. It is yours and Laurel’s. I leave it in your possession. I entrust it into your hands. There are no expectations on my part. I would just ask your forgiveness.
Ever yours.
Laurence
A sheen of tears filled her eyes and blurred the beloved words written there. He’d done this for her. He would allow her control of her future and freedom from the Devil’s Den, if she wished, without making her reliant upon her family or him.
Addien grunted. “Seems like they’re not all bad,” she muttered.
Alice wiped tears from her cheeks; tears that continued to come.
“No,” she said thickly. “No, they aren’t.”
In fact, Alice knew the best of men, and now? Now, she was determined to have him.
Chapter 14
Standing in the well-lit, since-converted ballroom of his most recently purchased property—an expansive, standalone white stucco townhouse just on the edge of Mayfair—Denbigh rubbed the back of his neck.
He winced.
His muscles ached from having had his head down, positioned in a work posture, for weeks straight. The venture he’d undertaken had been an ambitious one for a team of gentlemen taking on a project. It had been even more of an undertaking for a single gentleman who had kept his ambitions and efforts a secret from society.
He’d not done what he had with the expectation or hope he might win Alice back, or, for that matter, even restore her trust in him,orgain forgiveness.
What the art school had given Denbigh, however, waspurpose. He’d buried himself in a project that had been conceived with her in mind. In so doing, he had quit wallowing and lamenting and writing useless letters. He’d quit drinking.
He’d found purpose from her and because of her.
He’d gone with little sleep and even less food. He spent hours meeting with solicitors and his man of affairs, finalizing and cementing details.
He’d believed his work completely finished—until receiving a note from his man of affairs indicating Denbigh had one more matter of business to see to.
As such, he’d arrived at the requisite time, only to find himself waiting for his prodigiously efficient and usually punctual servant.
