Returning to the dining room, Simon could sense that his face was sunken. He was not the same jubilant man that came down the stairs with Emilia, admiring her back all the while. Now, he was a heavy man with many cares and decisions. He tried to put on a good face so as not to alarm anyone while they enjoyed their dinner.
“All is well?” Kingsley asked.
“Very well, indeed,” Simon said, taking his seat again and joining in on the course of broiled bluefish. It was cooked in a lemon caper sauce, but of the sudden, Simon felt as though he had no appetite.
“Word from London?” Kingsley asked.
“Indeed. Quite,” Simon replied. He returned the napkin to his lap and did the best he could with the fish, accompanied by green peas with candied walnuts and figs. Finally, he looked across the table at the object of his affection. Emilia seemed happy and carefree, enjoying her meal and with a bright disposition. But as soon as she saw Simon’s expression, her face fell.
Was Emilia sensing his emotions? Had they grown so close that they could now read one another’s thoughts? Simon wouldn’t be surprised. But her pained expression only pained him more.
Then, a horrible thought occurred to Simon that he could not ignore. The timing was far too eerie. He had told Emilia of the forgery that night. He had never told anyone before. Why was it that he then received the letter shortly thereafter? It was utter poppycock.
There was no way for Emilia to convey that information to anyone else in the brief time that they had spent. His mind must be playing tricks on him. But why did he even feel a moment’s doubt and suspicion? Simon looked down at his plate and shook his head in dismay.
“Is everything all right?” Emilia asked.
“Perfectly all right,” Simon replied flatly. Even though he didn’t wish to convey his emotions, Simon was finding that he was doing so effortlessly. Emilia knew something was wrong and had enquired about it accordingly.
“The bluefish is superb,” the Duke of Sheffield said.
“Past question,” Lady Helena added.
Despite all the thoughts swimming around in his head, Simon did the best that he could to enjoy himself. The meal truly was superb, and the delightful atmosphere reminded him why it was that he should be happy. Emilia looked radiant, the lights from the candelabras perfectly illuminated her face as she dined, and even Rose seemed well-composed and happy. Simon was surrounded by lovely people. He could hang his hat on that and release his cares for the time being.
Thoughts of the remarkable experience in the studio returned to mind. Emilia had been so willing to give herself over to him. He had touched the most intimate places of her body, and it filled him with longing and need to think of it once more.
The woman sitting across from him, that beautiful, smiling woman, had been in his arms, and experienced remarkable pleasure. When would it happen again? When would he get to touch her, kiss her, and hold her once more? Simon was counting the minutes till when it might begin again. But he had made a vow to himself, and that was not to lay a hand on Emilia till he was sure with his whole heart that he was the one for her.
“You have very few words to share this evening,” Kingsley said, his cheeks aglow from the wine and repast.
“There is much to think about,” Simon said, looking across the table at Emilia. He sincerely hoped that she didn’t think that he was heavy whilst thinking of her. As if he had regrets. Every time that he thought of her, all heaviness dissipated and hope was restored. How was it that a woman could have that kind of effect upon him?
“You need more wine,” Kingsley said, motioning towards a servant to pour it. Now, it was Kingsley whose face went flat. The two men had spent enough time with one another to understand each other’s moods. Yes, Kingsley knew that something was wrong, and most likely knew that it had something to do with his art.
They shared a dangerous secret, he and Kingsley. Not dangerous in the sense that anyone might be injured, but dangerous because they relied upon one another, and their reputations and livelihoods were sincerely on the line.
“I thank you,” Simon said, receiving the wine with a nod of the head. The wine would help to numb his mind, but it couldn’t possibly be enough to erase everything that had happened that day. Simon was used to a solitary life in which not much happened, but now, everything was happening all at once.
“I’d like to make a toast,” the Duke of Sheffield said. “To one of the greatest artists that Britain has ever known!” he added, raising his glass into the air.
“Here, here!” the others cheered, but Simon’s heart sunk in his chest once more. He did believe that Kingsley was one of the greatest artists that Britain had ever known; there was no falsity in that. But his methods were being called into question, and Simon was unsure if he could handle the repercussions.
“Now, for the raspberry soufflé,” Kingsley said, but Simon could already tell that the artist’s mood had shifted and would remain dark for the rest of the evening. In a way, Simon felt bad for the old chap. He had been carrying the secret for so long. On the days when he had his moods, Simon put no pressure on Kingsley to bring himself out and get to work. Simon knew what was going on and allowed it to happen. He knew of the immense stress that must be on Kingsley’s mind, on a daily basis.
The soufflé was indeed served, and Simon found that it did sweeten his soul. It was accompanied by chocolate ice cream, and all of it came together like poetry.
Simon thought yet again of the thought he had but moments ago; why was the timing of his telling Emilia so closely aligned with the letter? He banished the thought once more, not only thinking it impossible, but considering the fact that Emilia had one of the purest and truest hearts that he had ever known. It occurred to him that if he gave his heart to Emilia, she would most likely give it safe keeping.
Sadness filled him. Emilia and her sister would leave that night. Their coach would take them back to London, and Simon would be bereft, lying in his bed and having visions of her. Imagining her beside him, naturally, in a state of undress. Such visions would fill Simon with a tad bit of remorse, only because of how deeply he respected her. But mostly, he would relish these images and not give excuse.
He would imagine her on top of him once more, fully unclothed, overcome with pleasure. Then he’d imagine himself on top of her, holding her tight and taking her fully. From that vantage, he could overpower her while still looking at her beautiful face. He could kiss her breasts, her neck, and her mouth all while doing the one thing in the world that he wished to do forever more.
Simon took a breath as he realized that his imagination was carrying him away far too soon. Those thoughts and images would have to wait until he was alone in his own bedchamber.
Chapter 17
Emilia was beside herself with happiness. Returning home that evening, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she and Simon had shared. There was so much to consider and all the time in the world to do so. When it came to Simon, it was as though time stood still in many respects. She greatly valued how he had stopped at the very moment when she was feeling discomfort.
It wasn’t that Emilia didn’t wish to proceed, but just as soon as Simon began to pull down her undergarments, the true realization of what was happening struck. There was no way they could continue, despite how much Emilia longed for that. Her honour was at stake, and Simon proved that he was deeply receptive.
During the carriage ride home, Emilia looked out the window with a dreamy expression. Rose stared at her like she had the plague.
“Why are you so quiet?” Rose asked, her brow knit.
“It was a lovely evening,” Emilia replied.
“That it was,” Rose said, looking out her own window. “Simon is ever so handsome.”
“Isn’t he?”
“And seems rather noble.”
“He is.”
“But why does he stare at you so much?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m saying,” Rose wen
t on, becoming indignant. “He’s always staring at you in a funny way. I don’t know what it means. Even when you’re not looking at him.”
“Well, that’s what fiancé’s do,” Emilia replied with a laugh.
“Must be utterly nerve-racking,” Rose said, shaking her head. “But it is sweet,” she went on. “I wish for someone to look at me like that one day.”
“Someone shall,” Emilia assured her.
“I feel as though gentlemen look at me with confusion and regret.”
“You’re not old enough to be concerned with such things.”
“I’m trying to prepare myself,” Rose said, lifting her chin.
Emilia laughed to herself and continued to look out the window. She sighed. There were so many delicious thoughts to consider that evening while she lay in bed. Would Simon be thinking of her while she was thinking of him? She sincerely hoped so. What a remarkably good feeling to think that you were being thought of.
Upon reaching London, Emilia could see that the streets were quiet and soggy. So much had happened since she left from there that afternoon. What Simon had admitted about Kingsley still troubled her. One of the greatest artists she had ever known had changed in her estimation. Still, she could see Simon’s reasoning and was remarkably happy that she even had the opportunity to meet him at all! If it weren’t for Kingsley, she would never have the chance.
“I’m hungry,” Rose said with a frown.
“We just had a sumptuous meal,” Emilia protested.
“I’m still growing.”
Upon reaching their home, the door was quickly opened by Clyde and then Dominic was present shortly thereafter. Her father was grinning from ear-to-ear, and it surprised Emilia.
“I trust that it was a pleasant evening,” Dominic said.
A bit of embarrassment came over Emilia as she realized that her father didn’t know just how pleasant it truly was. “We had a marvellous time,” Emilia said.
“I had the chance to meet the artist!” Rose added.
“And how was he?” Dominic asked, taking Rose into his arms.
“A rather strange fellow,” Rose replied.
Emilia had to admit to herself that Kingsley was rather a strange fellow. His moods seemed to shift often; something that Emilia had not seen on the first and second occasion. But everything that Simon had explained had made it make sense. Kingsley bore a heavy mind, most likely due to his way of life. Emilia imagined that the guilt over what he was doing must cling to him every day.
“I have a proposal to make,” Dominic said, leading the girls into the home and then into the adjacent parlour.
“What is it?” Emilia asked.
“I’d like Kingsley and Simon to come for supper. Here.”
Emilia feared that perhaps her jaw had fallen open. Did her father really feel so comfortable with Simon that he would suggest such a thing? Of course, it seemed perfectly natural to suggest. Simon was her supposed fiancé and the gesture was natural. Still, seeing the happiness on her father’s face made her believe that it was something far deeper than that.
“I think that they will both be thrilled,” Emilia replied, and then felt her heart sink. Her father didn’t know about the true nature of Kingsley’s art. He admired the artist just as much as she, so was Emilia now presenting yet another lie? Still, the thought of Kingsley and Simon being under her family roof brought Emilia a great sense of joy. In fact, having Simon under any roof where she resided seemed like heaven, especially on that night.
That was when Emilia resigned herself never to tell a soul about Kingsley’s truth. There was no benefit in doing so, anyhow. But Emilia thought that the beauty of Kingsley’s art was so profound, and the character of the gentleman so humble, that there was no sense in robbing his art from the world.
For, if Emilia were to tell anyone, that’s exactly what would happen; enthusiasts would be robbed of his remarkable paintings. Emilia didn’t wish to do that. It was the very thing that Simon had explained to her earlier, and it was only now sinking deeply into her mind. Art was joy, beauty, and profundity. There was no need to take that away from the world.
It was a mere two days later when Simon and Kingsley arrived at Emilia’s family town home in London. Spirits were high, and Rose was greatly anticipating the return of her sister’s fiancé. Dominic wore his finest suit, and a fine meal would be prepared to impress the esteemed artist.
Try as she might to avoid it, Emilia found that she was a fit of nerves on that night. Although she felt quite close to Simon, she had to admit that he had taken such a hold of her since their last kiss that she couldn’t help allowing the anticipation to overwhelm her. And at the same time, she would be comforted.
In the mere two days since she’d last seen him, Emilia had pined for him in a way that she had never craved any other human being before. She felt a hunger for him which she could not explain nor fully understand.
“Do you think that Kingsley will be impressed with the house?” Rose asked.
“Of course,” Dominic said with pride.
“Simon has told me in his own words that it’s a fine home,” Emilia added.
“But I want the artist to think that it’s the greatest home in the whole world.”
“Oh, Rose,” Dominic scolded. “There is no need to be hyperbolic.”
“But it’s true. I was so very taken by him when I first met him,” Rose went on.
Emilia’s heart sank. Her sister didn’t know the truth, nor did she wish to convey the truth to her. Emilia had taken a vow of silence, within her own heart, and that meant that the only way that Rose would discover the truth would be if it was made apparent to all. Emilia didn’t wish that for the world.
“I’ve had every corner of this home dusted,” Clyde said, straightening his black waistcoat.
“Well done,” Dominic replied.
“Quail with stuffing is being served, just as you suggested. There are also roasted new potatoes and buttered peas.”
“A fine meal,” Dominic added.
“I do fear that he will turn his nose up at our art,” Rose said, looking around the room.
“Kingsley is a fan of all paintings,” Emilia said, knowing it to be the truth. “He enjoys paintings by children.”
“I should like to learn to paint,” Rose said.
“You said that you never wished to learn,” Emilia said, knitting her brow.
“Well, now that I’ve met Simon and Kingsley, I want to learn how. I want to be a great painter someday.”
Emilia smiled to herself. Being a great painter wasn’t as easy as Rose thought that it might be, but she did wish to see her sister excel at something. Most of all, Emilia wanted Rose to be happy. Although her sister was precocious, Emilia was sure that Rose would make something of herself.
That was when Emilia watched as Clyde practically ran down the hall and towards the front door. He was moving with more haste than she’d ever seen before, and Emilia took that to mean that the guests had arrived. How was it that every great footman had that magic sense that the guests of honour were arriving, even without the knock on the door? Emilia was in awe of it.
The little family assembled themselves there in the parlour, a fire crackling behind them, and watched as Kingsley and Simon entered the room. Was it true that Simon looked more handsome every time that she saw him? It seemed so, for Emilia found that the breath was knocked out of her.
The Wild Passion of an Eccentric Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 19