Page 13 of Portrait of a Lady
No, she wouldn’t think of it that way. ‘Ruined’ implied that she held delusions of marriage and going to a husband untouched. She’d long ago come to terms with the fact that she’d never marry, as one had to engage in courtship in order to gain a husband. And Evelyn could hardly manage conversation with a stranger without feeling ill, nor did she like the sort of attention that was danced upon the most popular debutantes.
This wouldn’t be ruination; it would be an awakening, something decadent and exciting. The sort of thing no one would ever expect her to engage in, which was exactly why it was a good idea. She would never be truly ‘ruined’, because no one would ever know.
“I suppose you are right, Patience. I’m merely a bit nervous, and that’s sure to pass once I’ve met him. And perhaps the mystery of a masquerade can only enhance the occasion.”
Patience leaped to her feet. “That’s the spirit! How are things going withThe Mad Baron?”
Evelyn dove between Patience and her desk, blocking the other woman’s view of the passage she’d just been working on. “It’s going well, barring a few interruptions here and there.”
Patience craned her neck, trying to see the pages past the barrier of Evelyn’s body. “Oh, please, just a peek.”
Evelyn placed one hand on the page and shook her head. “Absolutely not. You know the rule, Patience. You aren’t allowed to read until it’s finished and perfect.”
Patience backed away but gave Evelyn a pouty frown. “Well, all right. But, do hurry! I so enjoyedThe Villainous Viscount.”
That brought a little smile to Evelyn’s face. She was secretive about her work—partly out of fear that it wasn’t very good, and partly out of worry that someone would find her hobby vulgar. But, she’d written five novels thus far, and Patience had adored every one of them. But then, Patience loved most things and was ridiculously easy to please. Evelyn would be horribly embarrassed for anyone else to read her work.
“For a woman whose name is Patience, you display a shocking lack of that quality,” she quipped.
Patience laughed. “My mother used to say the same thing. Oh, but enough standing about. We must put together some sort of ensemble for the masquerade.”
Evelyn drew in a sharp breath, realization washing over her in a rush. “God, I hadn’t thought of that! It’ll be impossible to have something made on such short notice, and I own absolutely nothing that would be appropriate for such an event. Oh, and thecostumiershaveprobably been stripped of all but the worst possible selections.”
Patience took her arm and began propelling her toward the drawing room doors. “Then we’ve no time to waste. Don’t worry, Miss, we’ll have you looking like a goddess by tomorrow evening, I’ll settle for nothing less.”
Meanwhile, Evelyn would happily settle for not looking like a perfect idiot the first time she came face to face with Hugh.
She allowed Patience to pull her into the entrance hall, while she waited for John to send for the carriage and fetch their wraps and hats. Despite her nervousness, a bit of the excitement emanating from Patience seemed to catch Evelyn in its grasp. For twenty-five years, she’d been prim and proper, behaving sowell the people of thetonbarely knew she existed. The daughter of a baron with two elder sisters, she’d already stood a bit low on the social ladder upon her coming out. Making matters worse was that it was so easy to be overshadowed by her sisters who, while not traditionally beautiful, excelled at being charming and witty enough to earn themselves successful marriages. Meanwhile, she could hardly string words together when in social settings, which seemed to tie her tongue into knots.
But this...she could do this. Without having to operate under the strictures of theton, this could be done her way, on her own terms. She could meet Hugh and have a wonderful time. She could allow him to take her to bed at the end of the night and dispose of her maidenhead. She could indulge in an illicit affair and enjoy every improper moment in a way she’d never enjoyed anything in her life.
As she and Patience set out with Joseph for an escort, Evelyn did her best to push her reservations aside. The contract was signed, and Hugh was now hers for as long as she wished. There was no going back now.
“Hmmm,”Crosby murmured, arms crossed over his chest, one hand lifting to tug at his silver sideburns. He studied the canvas resting on the easel before him, surrounded by the messy interior of Hugh’s studio. The noxious odor of pigments and turpentine surrounded them, a smell that only artists seemed to appreciate.
Trepidation gripped him as he watched his mentor inspect the painting, his lips pursed. Hugh held his breath, not daring to disturb the man’s assessment. Crosby would speak when he had something to say, and not before. Forcing his gaze away from the other man, he studied the canvas and tried to see it as his mentor must see it.
He’d named the pieceVirtue and Vice, and it represented a tableau of a pleasure garden masquerade—much like the one he’d just invited Evelyn to. He had gotten the idea while attending such an event last spring, watching the debauchery taking place all around him. Costumed devils and goblins promenaded through the scene interspersed with opulently costumed lords and ladies. It was dark and decadent, portrayingle bon tonin its true form, the scandal hiding just beneath a thin veil of politeness and propriety.
“Hmmm,” Crosby hummed once more tilting his head.
Hugh’s palms broke into a sweat, the other man’s face giving not a hint to his thoughts. He had been slaving away for weeks at the canvas, taking his time and paying heed to even the slightest details—the flounces in a lady’s skirts, the meticulously arranged curls of a lord, the shadows and light that both revealed and concealed to set the proper mood. If it turned out that Crosby hated the painting, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to take it. With less than two months left until the Exhibition, Hugh was not certain he’d be able to start over. This idea had inspired him, and he’d thought it perfectly fitting for the summer showcase.
Finally, Crosby dropped his arms and stood straighter, clearing his throat. Hugh tensed, waiting with damp palms and a constricted throat to hear what the man he respected above all others thought of his latest work.
“True to form, you’ve displayed a keen sense of color, shadow and light, and movement. The piece almost seems to be in motion, as if its subjects are ready to leap off the canvas.”
The praise would have made him happy, if not for the gravity of Crosby’s voice. Hugh knew that tone well. It meant the man was offering a compliment before delivering an ego-crushing blow of criticism. He prayed it would turn out to be something he could fix, as opposed to something that would make him want to hurl the entire canvas through the window and out into the street.
“But?” he prodded.
With a sigh, Crosby turned to face him. “There is nothing fundamentally wrong with it. It displays your talent as well as your command of technical principles. It is fit to hang in any gallery in Europe.”
Hugh fought down his impatience without success. “But?”
“But...it feels detached,” Crosby finally said. “You, the viewer of this tableau, are removed from it...you are a spectator.”
Hugh looked back at the canvas and frowned. He hadn’t thought of the piece as lacking any sort of attachment on his part. In truth, it spoke to his disdain for hypocrisy, for the way the members of thebeau mondecould act in all manner of unseemly ways without being cast from within its ranks. But, God forbid a man have aspirations that were deemed ‘badton’, such as wanting to become an artist or go into trade, or do something useful with his privileged life. That, apparently, was a good enough reason to cast him out. No, he was not part of such a world anymore, and in truth didn’t want to be.
