Page 52 of Portrait of a Lady
Her eyes began to sting again, and she cursed herself for being so weak. She’d thought she was finished crying, yet here she stood ready to dissolve into a weeping puddle.
All around her, voices clamored, people wanting a word with the artist and murmuring about the piece amongst themselves.
“It’s quite the most divine thing I’ve ever seen!”
“How has the artist gone so long without us knowing about him? Quite the gift, he has.”
“Did you know he is the Earl of Perth’s youngest son?”
“I wonder who the woman is.”
“Whoever it is, when her name is revealed she’ll become the most talked-about chit in all of London!”
As Patience stood looking at her as if afraid she might collapse at any moment, Evelyn pressed a hand to her throat and fought to breathe. She closed her eyes and struggled to get her bearings, and when she opened them, the crowd around her had shifted to admit a new person. That person was Hugh. He stood at her side with his hands clasped before him, his gaze lifted to the painting. As people clamored around him, she dared a glance in his direction, her pulse leaping at the sight he made. She hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to look at him, an effect only heightened when he turned his head to meet her gaze, a soft smile curving his lips.
“Do you like it?”
She would cry if she held his gaze, so she fixed it back on the portrait. “I...it’s beautiful.”
He leaned slightly closer, just enough so that she could hear his lowered voice. “I never got the chance to tell you that I intended to display this one instead ofVirtue and Vice.”
Shaking her head, she swallowed past the lump in her throat, her voice coming out hoarse when she replied. “Why?”
He moved, and his hand brushed hers, lightly. The touch lasted less than a second, but she felt it to the very depths of her soul.
“Because, I could not put something so beautiful on a canvas and then fail to show it to the world. And now...everyone looking at this painting can see you the way I do. They can see you through my eyes...through the eyes of the man who loves you.”
“Hugh,” she whispered, lowering her head so no one could see how overwhelmed she was.
“I apologize if you were caught off guard,” he murmured. “But I said I couldn’t have done it without you, and I meant it.”
She parted her lips to reply, when he pressed a thick envelope into her hand, then wandered away to speak with yet another person wanting to discuss his painting.
The envelope held the seal of the Marquis of Cantrell. She broke it to find an invitation inside for a ball that evening at the home of the marquis and marchioness to celebrate the launch of the exhibition. Her gaze went back to Hugh as she realized he’d mentioned that his youngest sister was newly wed to a marquis. This ball must have been thrown in his honor. Did that mean Hugh’s family had taken him back into the fold?
“I say, Radcliffe, how long do you intend to keep us all in suspense?” asked an elderly lord staring up at the painting through a quizzing glass. “All anyone wants to know is the identity of the woman in the painting.”
“I feel certain I have seen her somewhere before,” chimed in the woman at his side. “Thought I cannot quite remember where.”
Hugh offered them a genial smile before his gaze found her in the crowd once again. “That will be revealed this evening at my sister’s ball. You see, the woman in the painting is very special to me.”
A young debutante sighed, pressing a gloved hand to her bosom. “Oh, how romantic.”
Hugh’s smile widened. “Indeed. This woman is the love of my life...and I intend to marry her.”
Evelyn felt as if her legs were made of water, and her heart beat so hard and fast she feared it might leap right out of her chest.
“So, we ought to anticipate the announcement of your betrothal tonight?” asked the older woman, her eyes going wide. “What a marvelous way to end an exciting Season!”
“Yes,” Hugh replied. “You will know who she is when the dancing begins. She will be the one I lead onto the floor for the first waltz.”
By the time the words had finished coming out of his mouth, the debutante had turned to her friend to relate the news. Within seconds it was sweeping through the great room, and by the time the ball began tonight all of thetonwould know. She lost control of her body, and would have collapsed on the spot if not for Patience, who took hold of her arm and all but propped her up.
What on Earth was he doing? He knew she hated attention and that she was still angry with him over the things she’d heard.
Glancing down at the invitation, then back up at him, she realized with stunning force that he was declaring himself. By doing it publicly and with such flair, he ensured she had no choice but to take notice and acknowledge that perhaps he really did love her. Behind closed doors, she could stew in her doubts and the nuances of every moment they’d ever spent together. Here and now, there was only the truth, which he’d just proclaimed to a room filled with people who would be waiting to learn who she was at tonight’s ball.
“Dear God, Miss,” Patience whispered as the crowd swallowed him up until he was out of sight. “He really does love you.”
