Page 3 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Yes, my sweetling?”
Sidney felt his smile deepen and he looked away. Henry was a dear fellow—chestnut-haired, with a rather fuller face than Sidney had, and dimples that showed when he smiled. Sidney and Henry had met one another at Cambridge, where Sidney had read Classics. They had liked each other a great deal, and Sidney was delighted that Henry and his sister had found such instant warmth.
“I was wondering if we should stand over there?” Amy asked. “You’re sure this is where we go in?” They were standing in front of a door that was resolutely shut.
“It seems to be the only entrance, my dearest,” Henry assured her. He consulted a pocket-watch in an elaborate filigreed case. “It is not quite nine of the clock, my dear. They willopen at any moment now.”
“Oh. Grand,” Amy replied. She gazed smilingly at Sidney. He coughed, feeling awkward, as he always did when anyone gazed at him too long.
“Not too long, old chap,” Henry assured him. His lively, russet-brown eyes lit up. He was one of the few people Sidney had agreed to see following his accident, and he was glad he had. Henry, like his family, ignored the scars utterly. In their presence, it was possible to forget, at least sometimes, that they existed.
He took a deep breath, his stomach tying itself in painful knots. He had no idea what to expect and the tension was making him feel ill.
“It’s nine o’ clock,” Amy murmured, as the church bells began to peal for the hour. Henry looked around.
“I’m certain this is the right place.”
Sidney glanced down, his heart thudding. His hands sweated and his teeth clenched as he made an effort to ignore his pounding heart. He could not do it.
“Ah! Look, my dear. See?” Henry declared, as a man in a liveried uniform came over and unlocked the door. Sidney, who was standing at the front of the group, looked away, trying not to notice the man’s widening gaze.
“Your Grace, my lord? My lady?” the man addressed them, his voice a mixture of surprise and respect. “Do you wish to gainentry?”
“We do,” Amy spoke instantly.
“Well, then. Step inside,” the liveried youth invited them. “The entire gallery is open for viewing.”
They nodded their thanks and Sidney hesitated before stepping in through the door. He swallowed hard, his heart racing. He glanced over at Amy, but she was not even slightly nervous. If anything, her expectant look suggested she was already weary of standing around outside and wished he would hurry up and go indoors.
Sidney stepped in, not letting himself think about it. He felt Amy follow, then Henry, and then it was too late to run, because he was already inside.
His gaze moved around the wide space. The ceiling soared high overhead, many windows letting light pour in. The floor in the art gallery was laid with polished wooden boards, reflecting a refined elegance befitting the gallery and the room was bare except for a few chairs here and there placed opposite the paintings to allow restful viewing. The only other person in the gallery was a man in the same livery, and Sidney guessed he was a servant of some kind, sent to check on the paintings and straighten them. He could hear voices, though, and he guessed that more people were coming up the stairs to the gallery. He gazed around, feeling the desperate need to escape. His legs burned with the need to run, and his heart thumped, ready for action.
“Ah. Look. Landscapes. That’s your interest, eh, Sidney?” Hefollowed Henry’s gaze and they all seemed to share his interest, because, without speaking about it, they all drifted over to the landscapes section.
Sidney tilted his head back, staring up. He could hear the murmur of voices behind them, and he knew that other people had, indeed, followed them into the exhibition. He tried to ignore them, but his ears strained for information.
They are talking about me,he thought, horrified, as the people glanced at him and then said something he could not hope to overhear.They are staring at me.
He looked at his hands, ignoring them. They had, indeed, turned to look at him and he gazed at the paintings on the walls, heat surged within him, as wrath suffused his countenance with a deep crimson hue.
“Look at that!” his sister murmured, sounding impressed. Henry was gazing up with her at one of the paintings higher up on the wall. Sidney tilted his head, staring up at the landscape.
The subject was a seascape, though the shore looked desolate, like a desert. The picture was painted in oils, and there was a lot of technical skill on display—the highlights on the waves were intelligently placed, the rendering of the sand skillful. But somehow the whole thing lacked any sense of atmosphere. It was dull and lifeless, a faithful rendering of what the scene looked like, while capturing nothing of what itfeltlike; or of what the artist felt about it.
I could portray that same scene better,Sidney thought a little crossly. Painting was a hobby of his; one he had always keptlargely secret. His mother knew, and Amy and Henry as well, but nobody else. It was not befitting for a duke to paint. Even Sidney himself suspected that creating anything at all might be out-of-keeping with being a gentleman of leisure, and accepting money for the works would be seen as vulgar.
“It seems very deserted, does it not?” Amy murmured.
“It’s a lifeless scene. It could have been used to capture real desolation, a haunted, haunting atmosphere. But it’s just dust and oil-paint,” Sidney said bitterly.
“Oh?” Amy blinked at him in surprise. Shorter than him by a head, her hazel eyes gazed up confusedly.
“Sorry, sister,” Sidney said in a quiet voice. “I’m just not feeling very generous with my comments today.”
“Oh. Oh, of course,” Amy replied. “Look at this one. This is more like it. Lots of grass and plenty of flowers in this one.” She was looking at a scene in what was most likely England or Scotland. Lush greens filled the canvas, and here and there little flowers showed in the thick green grass. Sidney breathed in, feeling relieved. He preferred this one. He could almost feel the grass under his feet and smell the dew. This one evoked something. It might not be as good, technically, as the scene above it, but it was burgeoning with life and emotion.
He coughed, about to share his opinion on this one, since it was much more favorable than the opinion he had given earlier, but at that moment three new visitors arrived. They all stared at him in unabashed confusion. One of the young women lifted her hand and whispered something to the others in the party.
