“Do come in,” Simon said warmly once he recognized the face. “Emilia, this is Lord Cumberland and his wife Lady Helena.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Emilia said, getting up from her stool and curtseying.
“They are good friends of Kingsley’s,” Simon explained, “and often pay a call.”
“Where is the fellow?” Lord Cumberland asked.
“I fear that he has kept to his room today, but seeing as you’ve come, I’m sure that he can be roused.”
“And to whom do we have the pleasure?” Lord Cumberland asked, looking towards Emilia with a tight smile.
“My apologies,” Simon went on, “This is Emilia Spencer and her sister, Rose.”
“Charming,” Lady Helena said.
“Let’s rouse the master and get us a spot of tea,” Lord Cumberland said, turning back towards the door.
“Does this mean I can finally meet him?” Rose asked.
“There’s a very good chance of it,” Simon replied.
“Then, in that case, I’ll take tea once more!”
As Rose made her way to the door, Emilia turned to do the same. Just then, she felt Simon’s hand upon her forearm, and something stirred within her.
“Why don’t you help? With the clean-up,” Simon said, and from the tone of his voice, Emilia could tell that his request wasn’t so much about cleaning up but rather, having her stay in the room.
“Very well,” Emilia replied, and turned back to Rose. “You go on down. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Very well,” Rose replied, unfazed.
Just as soon as the studio was cleared and it was only Simon and Emilia in the room, she felt momentarily uncomfortable. Although they had spent moments alone, there was always at least another person nearby. Now that there was no soul in the world in that studio other than themselves, a kind of physical tension was created that Emilia did not know how to manage. She took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop pounding in her chest. As though Simon could feel all of this, he pointed out a painting to show Emilia to perhaps put her at ease.
“It was from his series of waterfalls,” Simon said, and Emilia walked over to the painting to inspect it.
“Remarkable,” she said.
“As you can see, the various layers of blue were tedious to execute,” Simon said, pointing towards the layers but taking great pains not to touch the actual canvas. “It perhaps took several months to complete the water alone.”
“Only Kingsley would have the patience,” Emilia said.
“Yes,” Simon replied, his tone instantly changed. Emilia watched as his brow knit and his jaw clenched. What thoughts were in his mind that were causing Simon to tense so? Emilia wished to know.
“Do you mix the colours for him?” Emilia asked.
“Most of the time,” Simon said. “Kingsley complains that his hands aren’t what they used to be.”
“I think that his hands should be set in gold. They work miracles,” Emilia said warmly.
“Kingsley says that he sometimes has nightmares in which he becomes blind to colour.”
“How dreadful.”
“It has happened to some rather famous painters,” Simon went on.
“I truly can’t imagine.”
Just then, Simon and Emilia turned to one another at the same time, each lost in the other’s eyes. Emilia, for the life of her, couldn’t think of what to say. Her heart was beating wildly yet again, and memories of the kiss they shared flooded back in.
She longed for nothing more than to have that kiss again, but being alone in the same room, Emilia feared for what it might escalate into. To break the tension, Emilia walked away, towards a curtain with a canvas just poking out the side of it. Out of curiosity, Emilia pushed the canvas to the side. Behind her, Simon called out.
“Emilia, stop!”
Before she could stop, Emilia had pushed the curtain aside to reveal a rather familiar painting. In fact, it was an exact replica of the waterfall painting that Simon had just showed her.
Chapter 13
Every muscle in Simon’s body froze. It was the moment that he feared most but somehow pushed the prospect of to the back of his mind, thinking that perhaps there was a way for Emilia never to discover.
It was a painful truth that he himself did not want to examine too much. He had supported Kingsley throughout the latter part of the artist’s career, and Simon had done this knowing that the majority of Kingsley’s most famous pieces were copies.
“These are the same painting,” Emilia said, examining the one that was behind the curtain.
“Allow me to explain.”
“I wish that you would because I cannot quite comprehend,” Emilia said, her brow knit in confusion.
“These are the same painting, yes,” Simon said, desperate to have her understand and not run away from him.
“And Kingsley painted both of these?”
“I’m afraid not,” Simon replied, feeling a lump swell up in his throat. “The painting in front of you was not done by Kingsley.”
“But that one over there was?” Emilia asked pointing towards the painting that Simon had just showed her.
“Yes.”
“So, who painted this?” she asked, looking back towards the painting that was in front of her.
“Reginald Scott.”
Emilia quickly looked back towards Simon, her eyes wide with wonder. No doubt Emilia knew of Reginald Scott. He had some renown in his day as a landscape painter but was always hermetic with his work and released very little to the public. What was released earned some good money.
“So, why has Kingsley created a replica of Reginald Scott’s work?”
Simon felt that lump swell up again in his throat, but he thought that Emilia deserved the truth. “Because, the replicas sell quite well.”
“Well, if Kingsley wishes to be a criminal, why does he not just sell the Reginald Scotts and say that it is his own work.”
“Because Kingsley does multiple copies.” Emilia’s eyes went even wider with wonder, and Simon continued to explain. “They are sold around the world. He takes great pains to make sure that there is only one copy of each in Britain.”
“And he gets away with this?”
“Yes,” Simon replied. “The whole truth of it is that Kingsley purchased Reginald Scott’s private collection for a very cheap sum early on. The collection was owned by Scott’s grandchild, who complained that her grandfather was a drunkard and a brute. She wanted the collection off of her hands as soon as possible and Kingsley saw an opportunity. He made a replica early on and sold it for a fine sum of money. Since then, Kingsley has done well by his work.”
“As a criminal.”
“Not as a criminal,” Simon protested, wishing that she would not see it so.
“A liar and a criminal that is using another artist’s work to benefit himself,” Emilia went on. Simon watched as she looked around the studio in dismay. “All of Montgomery House was purchased with thievery and lies. How long does he expect to get away with this?”
“I’m unsure,” Simon replied, looking down towards the floor.
“And you have helped him all these years?”
“Allow me to explain.”
“You are explaining! I’ve allowed you to say every word.”
“And I will continue to do so,” Simon went on, trying to keep his tone low and neutral so as not to frighten her. “Kingsley was unfortunate enough to inherit a great deal of debt from his father. A ridiculous sum that no painter could ever pay off. From a young age, Kingsley tried to sell his own paintings but made very little. When he discovered that the counterfeits were selling so well, throughout the world, he decided that that was what he needed to do to clean his financial house.”
“Selling on the black market.”
“When abroad, using the black market, yes.”
“So, Kingsley feels morally justified in ruining the sanctity of art?”
“I’m unsure if
he feels morally justified,” Simon went on. “I just see him doing what needs to be done. He’s a remarkable painter. He could never make such replicas without skill.”
“You use the word ‘replicas’ but these are ‘forgeries.’ Let us make that perfectly clear,” Emilia said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Call it what you like,” Simon replied. “He does not plan to do it forever.”
“And that makes it all right?” Emilia asked. “I’m quite sure that he no longer has the debt collectors pounding on his door. Montgomery House is well-tended, so I see that he does plan to do this for the foreseeable future.”
“Emilia, please,” Simon said, stepping towards her. She immediately backed away. That was when Simon felt utter regret; regret that she should discover the truth and regret that he was involved in it. As the days passed, what Simon wanted more than anything was Emilia’s love and trust. How could she possibly trust him after all of this had been revealed? There was a very real chance that his future hopes would be dashed upon the rocks.
“I fear that I need to sit down,” Emilia said, prompting Simon to become very alert.
“Are you faint?” he asked, rushing towards her and holding her shoulders. She pulled away from him yet again, not wishing to be touched, which filled Simon with misery and dread. Still, he remained by her side until she was comfortably seated on a stool.
“What a fool I have been,” Emilia said, taking her head in her hands.
“You have been no such thing.”
“Here I’ve been, in the studio of my idol, and it’s all been lies. I don’t know what to think.”
Simon knelt down upon one knee in front of her so that she could see his eyes, and the pain that was in them. Her eyes were filled with pain as well, and Simon wanted nothing more than to take that pain from her. The very notion that she was disappointed with him cut Simon to the quick. It didn’t matter that Emilia was not his real fiancée. In his heart, she did hold that coveted place, and with a woman that was to be his bride, disappointment was the thing that he wished she would never feel.
Instead of endlessly explaining himself, Simon decided it best to allow them to be there in the silence for a few moments. There was more that he wished to explain, but for the time being, he merely wanted to look into her eyes. Although the notion was risky, Simon felt the need to reach out and take Emilia’s hand and did so.
To his surprise, Emilia did not pull away, but allowed him to grasp her palm with affection and deep remorse. Emilia sighed, and Simon delighted in the sound of it. Perhaps it was Emilia releasing her cares. Simon would do everything to relieve Emilia of her cares, one by one.
But his folly was clear. For so long Simon had justified his support of Kingsley, knowing full-well that the artist had taken him off the streets and turned him into a gentleman. Simon shuddered to think of the kind of brute that he would be today had Kingsley not taken him under his wing. In fact, Simon had to wonder if he’d even be alive. No, although Simon was involved in a criminal plot, he had to admit to himself how differently he had perceived the situation than Emilia was seeing it now. With fresh eyes, he could see the falsity in it. But for Simon, that studio was still a great bedrock upon which art had flourished.
Although Kingsley was basing his paintings on those of a dead genius, he still had to admit that Kingsley’s work was magnificent. The brushstrokes were paramount, and the choice of colour even more exceptional than the originals. Kingsley was enhancing what Reginald Scott had done.
Simon wished to explain all of this to Emilia and so much more, but he could sense that she felt relief in the silence. Emilia was a woman of exceptional standards, and for that, Simon prized her.
Her mind would not be changed as it pertained to the sanctity of art. Simon wished that he had her noble character, and even considered that with time, if Emilia did not run away from him, perhaps she could help to make him into a better man. In fact, he was sure of it.
That’s when Emilia gently pulled her hand away, but Simon was grateful for the time that she had allowed him to hold it. He watched as she looked around the room once more.
“Do you suppose he’ll ever sell his own paintings?”
“He wishes to,” Simon replied, happy to see that Emilia had softened.
“None of it makes sense,” Emilia went on. “He has so much skill.”
“He wanted to become a portrait artist,” Simon went on, thinking of his own desire to be a portrait artist as he did so. “Portraiture was quite popular at the time, as it still is today, but for whatever reason, they did not make much money. If you ask me, it’s because they were not traditional enough.”
“In what way?” Emilia asked.
“It’s difficult to explain,” Simon went on, trying to think of the best way to put it into words. “There was something whimsical about his portraits. As though he was not only painting the person, but also the soul that emanated from them.”
“But that is exactly the definition of good portraiture!” Emilia protested.
“Yes, but please understand how rigid the British tradition is. Wealthy families don’t want their souls emanating from anything. They wish to have their jawlines more defined, their noses well-shaped, and their shoulders erect.”
“I do see what you mean,” Emilia said softly.
“Kingsley refused to conform to this tradition, and so, he found that he could replicate traditional scenic paintings without compromising himself.”
“I will admit that it is a skill in and of itself. But, that’s not to say that I’m in any way condoning it.”
“I don’t expect you to,” Simon said with a warm smile. Although Emilia refused to smile, Simon could still see that he was getting through to her, if even only subtly. If he could get her to understand, it would put his heart at ease like nothing else in this world.
“If word were to get out, you do understand what a scandal this would be.”
“Yes,” Simon said, getting up from his kneeling position and standing to full height. Emilia continued to look up at him.
“Not only would Kingsley’s reputation be ruined, but yours, as well. Perhaps, even mine.”
Fear coursed through him. The very notion that Kingsley’s unlawfulness would damage Emilia’s reputation filled him with rage. Simon was convinced that he’d never let such a thing happen. Were the secret to come out, Simon would do everything in his power to cut Emilia’s ties to any of it. “Nothing will happen to you,” Simon assured her.
“As for me, I do not harbour any regrets. Please understand that not only has Kingsley been a father to me, he has also given me the greatest gift I have ever known. And that is my art. Without it, I don’t know the kind of man that I would be. Should my reputation be ruined, I suppose I can move away from here and practice my art in some foreign locale.”
“That’s a very romantic notion,” Emilia said, finally smiling. Simon delighted in the image of it.
“I’m told that I have something of a romantic mind,” Simon replied.
“And you find lies to be romantic?”
“Not in the slightest. Although it may look like lies to you, in truth, imagine how much of Kingsley’s art is in the world, making it a brighter place? Imagine how many households and museums hold his scenic paintings? I understand your notions about art, Emilia, but can’t it also be said that there is no sanctity in art? It’s beauty that should spread. Art should be everywhere, and Kingsley provides this, even if it’s all fashioned after the work of another. I know that what you think I have done is wrong, but I am a better man for it, and the world is a better world for having these copies.”
The Wild Passion of an Eccentric Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 15