Page 9 of Things We Do for Love and Science
She lifted her skirts and teetered to the indicated spot. “By the way, can I take off my high heels? They’re killing me.”
“Absolutely. Get rid of them.” A smile lit his features. “Your feet will be hidden by the dress anyway.”
“Thank goodness.” She pulled off her shoes and lobbed them across the room. They landed near her handbag. “I’m ready.”
He stepped behind the easel and peered past the canvas. “Would you mind turning your face a little toward me? Could you lean on the side table with your right hand and put the other on the windowsill? Yes, exactly. Perfect. Could you hold it, just like that?”
She muttered her assent and tried to relax into the pose, her one hand on some ornate-but-rickety side table, the other resting on the marble sill of a tall crossbar window.
What a weird situation. Wrapped in masses of shot silk, she was as rigid as a waxwork at Madame Tussaud’s. Well, whatever floated his boat. He seemed happy, painting away behind a massive oblong canvas. All she had to do was stand still.
“I’m going to take a few reference photographs if you don’t mind.” He fumbled with an SLR camera on a tripod.
“Work away,” she mumbled, while concentrating on being immobile.
“Done, thank you. By the way, you don’t have to be frozen. I’m focusing on the overall figure first. I’ll let you know when I reach your face.”
“Oh, okay.” What was she supposed to talk about?
“How’s your work going? I hope my ancestor’s teeth aren’t disappointing in any way?”
Painting made him chatty; good. “I’m still in the middle of sequencing. Haven’t gathered all the data yet, let alone analyzed it, but I’m sure there’ll be something interesting deep in the third earl’s DNA.”
“Good old Edwin, he had quite the vibrant personality. His wife, Emmerentia, called Emmy, was a Hessian princess. Family lore has it, she was the intended bride for a minor member of the Royal family but had chosen to elope with my great-great-great-great grandfather instead.” He broke off, concentrating on his brushwork.
“Wow. She had guts, your how-ever-many-greats grandmother.”
He chuckled. “A bit of a scandal at the time. Caused some diplomatic trouble, but it was early enough in the game for the Royals to deny ever having had plans of the sort. The incident was hushed up, and they were able to live happily and in obscurity here in Renwood for the rest of their lives.”
A Hessian princess. Would Delia manage to get her hands on some royal Hessian teeth? “I can understand Emmy preferring Edwin. If his portrait is anything to go by, he was very handsome. And the house of Hannover was never famed for the beauty of its men.”
Her face heated the minute she finished the sentence. Gabriel was so much like the third earl, she might as well have told him he was a total stunner. She chanced a glance at him, but he was absorbed in painting. Her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed.
“Ah, you know, it could also be a tall tale some ancestors cooked up to make our family sound interesting. Just because the Royal family included the odd German princes doesn’t mean the Hessian Countess of Renwood was earmarked to be one of them,” he said, focusing on the canvas.
“It’s a good story though.”
He glanced at her. “Yes, I imagine so.”
After a promising start, conversation flagged, the silence only broken by the faint scraping of brushstrokes on canvas. It was a thrilling novelty to be kitted out head-to-toe like a veritable countess, but beyond that, she didn’t much care.
Titles, medals, and fancy frocks all seemed a bit Disney. The only titles she cared for were those of the academic kind. She’d rather be Dr. Cordelia Wright than a lady of any sort. One day, hopefully, Professor Cordelia Wright.
Her upper body ached with tension. This modelling gig was harder than it looked. She suppressed the impulse to move.
“Gabriel, do you mind if we take a short break? I don’t think I can hold this pose for much longer.”
“Sure, yeah, of course, sorry I should have offered.” He watched her with concern. “I got a bit lost in the work.”
“Oh, no, I disturbed your flow. But I can’t stand still any longer. My arms and shoulders ache. My neck isn’t doing too great either.”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize. I’m neglecting the comfort of my model. Bad form, indeed.” His mouth curved. “Please take a seat. Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits?”
“Yes, I mean, no I don’t want to risk staining this precious dress.” She gave the rickety table a wide berth and sank into an armchair upholstered in lime green brocade.
“I’ll wrap you in a sheet. You’ll be fine.” He cleaned his brush before sauntering off, presumably to the kitchen.
She massaged her strained neck muscles and surveyed the grand room she found herself in. Heavy velvet drapes in lime green, partly bleached by decades of sunlight, flowed from ceiling to floor. An open fireplace, so large she’d have no problem parking her Fiat Riva snugly between the two marble slabs of the mantel, dominated the room. Gilt candelabras and assorted porcelain knick-knacks gathered dust on the mantelpiece. Above it, a massive mirror in a gilt frame reflected the room.
