Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1

by Victoria Vale

  Flipping through the book, she moved with her companion past depictions of Greek gods and goddesses, lovers in chaste embraces, and even a few tasteful nudes. It all seemed to pass her by in a blur, voices raised and echoing throughout the great room as the artists stood by to speak with viewers about their work. A few instructors dotted the crowd as well, introducing their students to prospective clients as well as other, more established artists.

  Craning her neck, she attempted to spot Hugh in the room. A few dark-haired men caught her eye, but upon closer inspection turned out not to be him.

  She’d nearly given up, when at last they turned along the north wall, where the congestion had built up due to spectators trying to get a closer look at the best and most popular paintings.

  It was there she found Hugh standing just at the center of the room, his face animated and his hands in motion as he spoke with a group of men about his piece. She spotted Benedict’s blond head nearby, as well as Aubrey’s imposing presence. Glancing down at the catalog, she frowned, still uncertain why she did not see a mention of Hugh’s painting.

  But then, Patience gasped, and the crowd seemed to shift in just the right direction, and she saw it. Hugh’s submission for the Exhibition wasn’t Virtue and Vice after all. The bright splash of ultramarine blue called out to her from the canvas against the backdrop of her bare skin swathed in the thin gown. The glow of the moon and a dark night sky lent the scene an ethereal glow, the background painted in the style of a Greek ruin.

  “Oh, Miss...is that …”

  “Me,” she whispered as the movement of the crowd urged them closer.

  Her feet moved of their own volition, her throat constricting and her hands shaking as she glanced down at the register and finally found Hugh’s name. Beside it was printed the name of his piece: Portrait of a Lady.

  The portrait was marvelous, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. So beautiful, in fact, that she had the most difficult time believing that the woman depicted was truly her—despite the fact that she’d sat for it herself. To further drive home the accomplishment of Hugh’s work, it had been displayed prominently in the very center of the north wall at eye level of everyone in the room.

  As her body propelled her closer to the painting against her will, she vacillated between being proud of Hugh and horrified that her image had been exhibited for all of society to see. Not just her face, but a rather scandalous rendering of her nearly naked. One could argue that it had been done in a tasteful, artistic fashion, but Evelyn could not look at it without realizing that every contour of her body had been put on display.

  Her breath caught in her throat as they came to a standstill directly beneath the painting. There were several other works surrounding it, but she could not tear her gaze away from Portrait of a Lady, her entire being overflowing with so many emotions she could hardly sort them all.

  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 of Virtue 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 the ton would 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.

  “De
ar God, Miss,” Patience whispered as the crowd swallowed him up until he was out of sight. “He really does love you.”

  Her lips trembled as she smiled, warmth flooding her in a heady rush. “Yes, Patience...yes, he does.”

  Chapter 12

  “The Hon. Mr. R made quite a stir with his piece at the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition yesterday afternoon. By dinnertime, all of London was ablaze with speculation, as everyone wondered who the mysterious subject of Portrait of a Lady might be. To our complete and utter delight, a grand reveal was accomplished during the ball at the home of the Marquis and Marchioness of C. And the identity of the lady came as a surprise even to me …”

  -The London Gossip, 26 April 1819

  The expected crush at his sister’s ball turned out to be far larger than anticipated, filling the ballroom of her Grosvenor Square townhouse from wall to wall. As Melanie stood beside him wafting a painted fan before her face, Hugh surveyed the crowd with shaking, sweating palms.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many of them on time for a soirée before,” Melanie remarked. “It would seem you’ve created quite a stir.”

  That, he had. The idea had been his, but Melanie had told him how to go about executing it for maximum effect. She had insisted that no woman could resist such a bold declaration of love. He hadn’t told her the whole truth of how he’d come to fall in love with Evelyn, but he had divulged that she was angry with him and he had to win her back. His sister, who had never shied away from a challenge, had been all too happy to offer her ballroom as the setting for Hugh’s potential betrothal.

  If it happened, anyway. There was always the chance that Evelyn decided not to come, embarrassing him soundly before all their peers.

  “What if she doesn’t show?”

  Melanie swatted him with her fan. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she’ll show!”

  “She hates crowds and she loathes being the center of attention even more,” he groaned. “God, what have I done?”

  “A very wonderful, romantic gesture,” Melanie assured him with one hand on his arm. “Stop worrying. She will be here. If I have to tell the orchestra to refrain from beginning the dancing until she arrives, I will.”

  He took a deep breath, searching for more of the bolstering confidence he’d had during the opening of the Exhibition. The event had been surreal, the very manifestation of his greatest dreams. Having Evelyn there and seeing her reaction to the painting, knowing she’d wanted to be there for him regardless of what had happened between them had given him hope that all was not lost.

  But, that hope began to fizzle the longer he stood here, waiting for Evelyn to appear.

  Melanie thrust a champagne flute in his hand. “Drink this and breathe. She’ll be here, I just know it. I have guests to greet. Will you be all right on your own?”

  “He’ll be fine. We’re here now.”

  Hugh glanced up at the sound of a third voice and found himself surrounded by the other courtesans, who had turned out in resplendent dress for the occasion. They all wore black evening suits and white linen just like him, though Dominick sported a gigantic ruby tiepin within the froth of his cravat, while David wore a royal blue damask waistcoat.

  “You didn’t think we’d leave you to be humiliated before the entire ton alone, did you?” David quipped, resting a hand on his shoulder.

  “I almost wish you had,” Hugh grumbled before taking half his champagne in one swallow.

  “Don’t agitate him,” Benedict snapped, before turning to Hugh with a teasing smirk. “However, I must inform you that we have a carriage waiting in the wings in the event of a crushing letdown. We are here to rescue you should you find the need to make a swift exit.”

  “We are here to congratulate you on your forthcoming engagement,” Aubrey stated, casting Benedict and David withering glares. “Unlike these idiots, I have complete faith in your plan.”

  “Good, because I don’t,” Hugh muttered before finishing off his champagne. “Who the devil decided to make champagne glasses so bloody small? A few sips and it’s all gone.”

  “I’ll get you another,” Dominick said, prizing the flute from his grasp. “I can see you’re going to need it.”

  “If you manage to pull this off, I will be quite impressed,” David said, scanning the room with indolent eyes. “You’d be the first of the courtesans to get hitched.”

  “Have you forgotten about Ed?” Aubrey asked.

  “We don’t mention Ed,” Benedict growled. “Ever.”

  “How can you be angry with Edward and not Hugh?” David pointed out. “Both fell in love with their keepers and decided to marry them.”

  “Hugh was always very clear about leaving us once he’d gotten his start as an artist,” Benedict argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “I already knew we would lose him once this day came, but Edward is simply an idiot who lost his head in the line of duty.”

  “One could argue that Hugh has lost his head, too, as we are all now standing around at a society ball waiting for a woman to show up for a waltz,” Dominick said as he returned with Hugh’s champagne as well as a glass for himself.

  “When this is over, we’ll have to go do something especially debauched,” David said. “Cards and drinks?”

  “Whores and more whores,” Dominick muttered into his glass.

  “Some of us don’t want to pass the pox on to our keepers,” Aubrey said with a glare in Nick’s direction.

  “Some of us have been recently cut loose and have no keeper to stop him from plowing through half of Haymarket,” Dominick fired back. “Besides, I’m as clean as a duke’s left foot, I’ll have you know.”

  For some reason that caught Hugh’s attention, striking him as the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Why only the left foot?”

  Dominick never got the chance to respond, because just then, the music began and pairs of dancers filled the floor for the first quadrille of the night. Panic welled up inside him as he realized that the waltz would be next, and his partner still had not arrived.

  “Steady,” Aubrey said at his back. “The quadrille is infernally long. You’ve still a quarter of an hour.”

  He wanted to take solace in that, but the night already seemed to race by him at breakneck speed. What was fifteen minutes when compared to the rest of his life? It was nothing. A blink of an eye in the grand scene of things...enough time for him to lose Evelyn for good.

  He finished his second flute of champagne, but turned down another, not wanting to be foxed if Evelyn did show.

  She would. He had to believe that, because if he didn’t he might not be able to go on standing here, watching and waiting for a woman who might never arrive.

  His friends fell inexplicably silent, as if the tension had become too much for even them to bear. Five minutes passed, then seven, then ten. The quadrille had nearly ended with Hugh ready to take Benedict up on his escape plan, when David nudged him and inclined his head toward the entrance.

  “Isn’t that Evelyn?”

  Heartbeat stuttering, Hugh craned his neck, his glass nearly falling from his hand as he caught sight of the vision rushing into the ballroom on swift feet, skirts held aloft. Benedict took the empty glass before he could lose his grip, freeing Hugh to step forward. His heart seized in his chest at the sight of her, more radiant than he’d ever seen her in a ball gown of vibrant blue very similar to the ultramarine pigment he’d used to paint her sash in the portrait.

  A wide grin spread across his face as he saw the gown for what it was—her own declaration. Not as loud or as bold as his own, but it was just the sort of thing she would do, sending a message that only he could read. She looked as if she’d stepped right out of the portrait and into this ballroom, her shoulders bared by the gown, her hair piled on top of her head in a whimsical coiffure with a few stray curls kissing her jaw and neck.

  As the quadrille came to an end, he began making his way toward her, determination quickening his steps. He had
to get to her, to know for certain that she wasn’t some sort of illusion. She paused at the sight of him, lips parting as she waited for him to reach her. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and beg her forgiveness, promising to earn her heart every day for the rest of his life if that was what it took. But, he’d now gained the attention of his sister’s guests, who had been watching and waiting for this moment since arriving.

  As the orchestra began the first strains of the waltz, he reached her. Her fathomless eyes pulled him in until he felt as if he were drowning in the dark depths. And, God help him, he never wanted to come up for air.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, her words panted out on swift breaths. “There was quite a bit of traffic, and I told Patience we ought to have left much earlier, and—”

  “None of it matters,” he said, extending a hand to her. “You’re here. You came.”

  Biting her lip, she put her hand in his. It shook, but she steadied it and laid it firmly in his palm.

  “How could I not? You left me with no choice.”

  She had certainly had a choice. She might have refused to come and left no doubt in his mind that she was finished with him. But she hadn’t, and he’d never been more elated or relieved in his life.

  He wasted no time leading her to the center of the empty dance floor, where others had gathered on the perimeter to watch in wide-eyed astonishment. Of all the women in the room, he had chosen the one none of them would have expected. Already, word had begun to spread, and women were whispering behind their fans that the son of the Earl of Perth had just declared himself for the world to see for a spinster who was long in the tooth and had been all but forgotten since removing herself from the Marriage Mart.