Page 4 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
Sidney shut his eyes, feeling shame swamp him. If he had not been there with his sister, if he had not promised to spend an hour at the exhibition with Henry and her—against his will, more or less—then he would have run away by then. Shame like the biting of a hundred tiny ants, crawled across his skin. He looked down.
“Ah! Behold these delightful still-lives! They possess a charm that is decidedly more jolly.
I like them,” Henry said warmly, seeming to notice his discomfort and trying to distract him.
Sidney glanced over at the still-lives. It was a genre he disliked—something about a scene in which action was implied but failed to take place, worried him. It was dead, like an image of death. Like his father’s desk, filled with the familiar objects that ought to be used and moved and yet were not anymore. It made his stomach knot with pain.
“I think I’ll go over there,” he suggested. “There are portraits and also some studies of animals.” He went over to the other wall, where a few portraits of various people were hung. One of them struck him at once—a young woman looked out, her big dark eyes wide, her lips set in a slightly uplifted line that seemed as though she had been caught in the instant before she grinned. It was a beautiful painting, one that evoked a sense of joy in him. Portraiture was a genre that he found interesting. Capturing the likeness of a person was, in his mind at least, not too different from the likeness of a scene. In both cases, it was what the subject evoked in the artist that was actually painting.
Nothing is truly seen,he thought distantly as he gazed atthe beautiful painting of the woman.It is only perceived. Does anything really, objectively, exist at all?
He was so deep in thought that he did not notice someone standing beside him until he had taken a step and heard a sharp yell. He jumped back, alarmed, realizing that he had bumped right into someone. He let out a small, shocked sound and turned in alarm.
A young woman stood there. She was average height, with blonde hair and big, startled blue eyes that gazed up at him.
“Pray excuse me,” he said with haste. “I did not perceive your presence.”
***
His heart stopped as she gazed up at him. She was a little taller than Amy and he stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. Where Amy’s face was rounded and dimpled, this woman had a slim face, with delicate bones; a long oval in shape. Her brows were pale and arched and her skin was like porcelain. He noticed all that, but what he noticed the most was her eyes. Wide, framed with pale lashes, they were the exact blue of the morning skyline. They were bright and sparkled and they called to his weary, saddened soul.
“It’s all well,” she murmured. She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting in a brief, amused grin. “I understand being deep in thought at an exhibition.”
“I...” Sidney stammered. Her smile, those pale lips parting just briefly to show white teeth in a gentle grin, was the most mesmerizing thing he’d seen ever. “Yes. It is understandable.”
“Are you fond of portraits?” the young woman asked him.
“Yes,” Sidney managed to say. He blushed red. He felt foolish. He had walked into her, and now he could barely speak without stammering. The heat of the blush spread down into his neck.
“Me, too,” she agreed.
They stood side by side as he gazed up at the paintings. She was wearing a pale cream-colored gown in muslin, the sleeves delicate puffs of gauze, her hair arranged in ringlets about her face and drawn back in a chignon. The low neck of the gown was filled in with a chemisette and she appeared, quite frankly, exquisite.
Sidney stared at the canvases hung high overhead. His pulse raced. He was standing close to her and the strangest thing of all was that she wasn’t frightened of how he looked—or if she was, she had not run away, not yet at any rate.
Sidney gazed around the room. He wished that he could see a mirror somewhere. Her complete lack of response to his scars made him think, just for a second, that they had somehow been rendered invisible.
Mayhap she currently hasn’t noticed,he thought quickly.Mayhap she will notice in a moment and then she’ll run away and call the town Watchmen.
He gazed up at the portraits, holding his breath lest she take fright and run. He did not want to hurry away. He had been afraid to confront the other visitors and preferred to weave his way as swiftly as possible around the exhibition. After all, he was only doing it for Amy, and she could not ask that he do more. With this woman standing close his fear disappeared, and he felt curious instead.
Why is it that she cannot see the scars? Perhaps her eyesight is bad.
He looked up at the portraits, heart thudding as he tried to decide whether or not to risk saying something to her.
“What think you of this?” he asked, his voice harsh in the silence of the room. The woman turned and looked up at the painting he was staring at.
“That one is very impressive. It seems as though it radiates something; a sense of warmth,” she murmured.
“Yes!” Sidney exclaimed, amazed that she noticed exactly what he did. He lifted his hand to his mouth, a flush creeping into his cheeks. He need not bring any more attention to himself than the cruel stares he was already receiving. “It does. That was my exact thought.”
The young woman smiled. The effect was breathtaking, making his heart leap. Her cheeks flushed prettily with rose pink and those pale lips were drawn up at the corners, transforming her face. She was beautiful before, but even more when she smiled.
“You are evidently in possession of a good eye for art,” she told him.
Sidney blushed. Normally, he would have dismissed a comment like that as being flattery. But what reason did she have to flatter him? He was not known to her. She could have no idea he was a duke, since he was sure he’d never seen her in his life before. And there seemed no other reason she might flatter him.
“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “I am pleased you think so. I have always been fond of the pursuit.”
