Page 111 of Ironvine

“That is truly a blessing,” said Justine, sliding her arm through Georgina’s.

“Your Grace, I must ask you—” Mrs. Whatley came up alongside the Duchess, casting a doleful glance at Georgina. She and the Duchess drifted off into the parlour.

“What a grand house, do you not think so, Georgina?” Justine whispered to her as they crossed the centre court, following the other ladies.

“Insanely grand. And they only come here but once a year, and then for only a handful of weeks. Or is it days? Are we to blame? Is our part of England not fashionable enough?”

Justine let out a laugh. “They must have so many interests and responsibilities that keep them elsewhere. Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such enormous vases before. They dwarf the average person.”

“Their porphyry colour is magnificent and rare.” Georgina stopped in her tracks, her breath cut. Her gaze hung on a larger-than-life-sized portrait of the Duke in his younger days. Regal, as handsome as he was in real life. The commander of all that he surveyed. A leader who inspired reverence.

“What a fine likeness,” murmured Justine. “He is most…impressive. I find that portraits usually give the sitter a false air of majesty and import, but not so with His Grace. In life, he is all that this portrait conveys.”

“Indeed.” Georgina moved closer to the painting, inspecting the bottom of the massive canvas. “Oh Lord,” she murmured to herself. Stepping back, her heart thumping in her chest, a smile lit her face as she took in the entire portrait. “It’s a Gainsborough. I never ever thought I’d see one in real life. If he paints your portrait…”

Justine moved to the large painting on the next wall. “This painting is of the two of them—she’s remarkable.”

The Duke and Duchess stood under a grove of trees, her arm through his, their estate stretched out behind them, Tidesfar towering in the distance. Both of them were younger, at ease with one another, and smiling ever so slightly in the very same way.

Unlike other portraits of husbands and wives she’d seen, this wife was no demure feminine creature. She and her husband were of one spirit, one mind, Her Grace’s countenance was just as straightforward and bold in aspect as her husband’s.

Georgina glanced at the bottom of the canvas. “Joshua Reynolds…” fell from her lips.

“Very good,” came the Duchess’s voice next to her.

Georgina swivelled at her voice. “Your Grace, the two most famous English painters of our time have painted your portraits? I mean, of course they have.”

“You appreciate fine art, do you?”

“I do. These are extraordinary paintings by extraordinary English artists.”

“Georgina is a very talented artist herself, Your Grace,” Justine said.

Georgina’s face heated. “I would not call myself so as we’re standing here before a Reynolds and a Gainsborough.”

“And what do you create, Countess?”

Create. There was a word, there was a notion. Justine and the Duchess waited for her reply. “I enjoy drawing and painting portraits very much.”

“I would like to see your work.”

“I…”

“As you might imagine, we have many social engagements this week, but I could visit you the day after tomorrow?”

Georgina was at a loss for words. Justine smiled at her pointedly.

“You must come to Ironvine, Your Grace. I would be honoured to show you the estate and my sketches.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it. Now, come, ladies, before the men arrive and spoil our time together.”

Georgina’s heartbeat raced wildly. She’d accomplished her task. The Duchess was coming to Ironvine.

ChapterForty-Nine

Charles

The menfinally began to leave the table, yet they lingered in their discussions as they emptied several bottles of port. Matthew quietly excused himself and left the dining room.

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