Page 45 of Portrait of a Lady
Crosby began removing his jacket, moving toward the coat tree where Hugh hung his smocks. “I am here and have no plans for the evening. Whatever I can do to help you finish, I will. Think of me as your apprentice for now.”
Hugh gave his mentor an appreciative smile. “The esteemed Hector Crosby apprenticing for a nobody like me? My classmates at the Academy would never believe it.”
“Which is exactly why I have no problem doing it,” Crosby quipped while removing his waistcoat.
Within minutes, he was garbed in a smock, following Hugh’s directives on which pigments to mix for his palette. Settling before his canvas, Hugh experienced an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time while setting about his work. If Crosby believed so strongly that this painting was the one that needed submitting to the Exhibition, Hugh would do everything within his power to have it finished in time.
Chapter 10
“It is my opinion that the male sex must be the single most oblivious creatures on the planet. Whatever would they do without the wisdom of women to guide them?”
-The London Gossip,8April 1819
Hugh pulled his brush away from the canvas with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he stood back to take in his finished work. For six days he had worked tirelessly to completePortrait of a Lady, pushing himself through his fatigue and only taking meager meals when his hunger became too great to ignore. He knew he must look a fright, his hair a tousled mess, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles.
But, he’d done it. With Crosby stopping in to assist him whenever he could, and Evelyn sitting for him an hour each day, he had finished the painting. Gazing upon it now, he could not help but agree with his mentor that it was the best thing he’d ever created. Evelyn sat upon the pillar turned coyly away from the viewer, presenting her body from the curve of one smooth shoulder to the fall of her legs hanging over the edge of the pedestal. He was even proud of the execution of her hands, one of them hanging at her side, the other rested at the curve of her waist. He’d taken hours to shape them perfectly, wanting to get the set of her slender fingers just right. From every strand of sable hair, to the smooth porcelain of her complexion and the mystery of one brown eye gazing off into the distance, she seemed as whole and as real on the canvas as she did when sitting right before him.
The bright blue slash of her shawl hung from her arms, falling in silken folds to the ground, while the moon overhead bathed the entire scene with a luminescent glow.
Setting his brush aside, he sank down onto his stool and allowed relief to wash over him. Last week, he had been uncertain that choosing to finish this painting for the Exhibition was the right thing to do. Now that he’d finished, he could clearly see that it was the superior work. He could not, in good conscience, submitVirtue and VicewithPortrait of a Ladybefore him, completed as a testament to his hard work as well as the beauty of his subject.
She did not know yet that he’d decided to submit her portrait instead of his original piece for the Exhibition, having sat for him all week thinking that he was simply anxious to finish it. He planned to surprise her with the finished piece in the morning, then tell her his intentions. While he expected her to be a bit resistant to the idea at first, he would strive to make her see that the painting simply must be displayed. That she wouldn’t be recognizable to those who did not know her ought to sooth any anxiety she might have, and perhaps she might even come to feel excitement over it. More than anything, he wanted her to be there to witness the stir her image would cause so that she could finally fathom what he’d been trying to make her understand. Perhaps she would finally see herself the way he saw her.
He glanced up at the ceiling, his mind carrying him upstairs to where Evelyn lay sleeping in the bedchamber above him. After she’d sat with him for the final session, he’d whisked her upstairs and straight to bed. He’d taken his time, leisurely undressing her while kissing every bared inch of skin before laying between her legs and joining their bodies. She’d clung to him, her own fervor a match for his desperation. Their time was almost at an end. Neither spoke of it, and because he was loathe to cast a dark shadow over the sweet perfection of having her in his arms, he had actively avoided bringing it up. His mind accused him of denial, while his heart urged him to cling to these last weeks with everything he had. There was no reason to dwell on it, not now while he could still call Evelyn his.
His damned stubborn heart had also begun to make him believe that perhaps there could be more—if he made his true feelings known to her they could be more than just courtesan and keeper. Without his income as a paramour, he had no means of supporting a wife, but the Exhibition could change all of that. He could earn himself the sort of living that made room for a wife and children, and when he allowed himself to think of such a future it came far too easy for him to think of Evelyn as that wife, as the mother of his children.
But, she had not come to him looking for a husband. She’d come to him looking for a lover, and that was what he’d become. She’d never expressed a desire to marry, and because of her inheritance had the means of supporting herself. Hugh had nothing to offer her other than the things he’d already given...and she’d never indicated she wanted anything more than that. The fantasy playing out in his mind regarding any sort of future was just that...a fantasy.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, making him realize he’d sat here daydreaming for some time.
“Come,” he called out, rising to his feet and removing his smock.
The door opened to reveal a footman, who informed him that Benedict and Aubrey had arrived for a visit. The hour was late, but his friends knew him to be prone to stay awake late into the night in his studio. As they were ushered inside, he went about cleaning up behind himself, finding a bowl of water with which to wash his brushes. He wanted nothing more than to join Evelyn in bed and indulge in his first good night’s sleep in an entire week. But, he hadn’t seen anyone but Evelyn and Crosby in days, and isolation had made him crave the company of others. He was actually glad to see them.
“You’ve arrived just in time,” he murmured as Benedict took a seat in an armchair while Aubrey leaned against the closed door. “I only just completed my painting for the Exhibition.”
“I thought you’d finished that weeks ago,” Benedict remarked.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said, pointing a handful of clean brushes at Evelyn’s portrait. “This is the piece I’ve decided to submit.”
Aubrey rounded the canvas, his eyebrows shooting upward as he observed the piece. “Well...now I know why we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in days. You’ve been creating a masterpiece.”
Benedict came to his feet and joined Aubrey, one hand at his chin while he looked the painting over. “He’s right...it’s a beautiful piece. I’ve always believed you to be talented, but this...it’s your best work yet, Hugh.”
“That’s what Crosby said,” he replied, neatly arranging his brushes on the table to dry. “He’s the one who convinced me to finish and submit it instead ofVirtue and Vice.”
“This is the year, I can feel it,” Benedict said. “The committee will not be able to pass this one over. Congratulations are in order, I say.”
Hugh pressed a hand to the small of his aching back as he stretched and yawned. “Let’s not be hasty. I haven’t gotten inyet.”
“You will,” Benedict insisted. “And I suppose the Gentleman Courtesans can now say good-bye to you. You always said you’d only do it until you could make a name for yourself as an artist.”
“That’s right,” he replied, going to work on cleaning his palette. “I suppose you lot will have to figure out how to get on without me.”
“What about Evelyn?” Aubrey asked, his assessing gaze resting on Hugh without wavering.
Hugh stiffened, the reminder of what he stood to lose once he’d finally gained his greatest wish dropping inside him with the weight of a frozen boulder.
