“What did Heron do?”
Sophia laughed softly. “He scowled and told us he meant us no harm. He said he knew a shortcut. Annabelle was still shivering and clinging to me and I realized we could stay out all night if I didn’t put my trust in him. He was just a boy, after all, and in the end I let him lead the way. It seemed no time at all before we came out of the woods at the back of Foxwood. We were home.”
“Had you been missed?”
“Yes, indeed. Half the household were out looking for us. Annabelle was hurried inside away from the weather and when I turned to thank Gabriel, he’d disappeared back into the woods.”
“You must have felt very alone.”
“I did.” She drew in a halting breath and exhaled slowly before continuing. “Later, I realized that Annabelle and I would never see things the same way. We could love each other as sisters should, but our minds were far apart. It was selfish and stupid of me to wish for more.”
Bruno shook his head. “I haven’t known you long, but I doubt you have a selfish bone in your body and you’re certainly not stupid. How can you think it selfish to share something you valued so much? It seems to me the height of generosity!”
She arched away from him, her hands still clasped in his. Despite their conversation in Mrs. Nighy’s store the other day, he sensed she had not entirely absolved herself from blame in what had essentially been a childhood escapade.
“What happened to Annabelle afterwards?”
“She lay desperately ill for weeks. Mama and Papa were called from London. Our local doctor said there was no hope; he said Annabelle’s lungs had been damaged beyond repair, but Papa summoned a specialist. Eventually Annabelle was able to leave her bed, but she was so frail…”
“And you?” Bruno searched her troubled face.
“I was forbidden to go beyond the garden walls for the rest of that summer. I was barely spoken to,” she said on a whisper. “Nanny, whom I adored, was dismissed.”
“And so you’ve spent the rest of your life trying to make it up to your sister.”
“You make it sound very dire,” she said with a smile. “Until Papa died, it was not so onerous.”
“It will be easier when you are married to Freddy—”
Sophia made an impatient noise and withdrew her hands.
Bruno studied her warily, unsure of her thoughts. He himself was not prepared to alter the plans he had for her. Providence had delivered him a second chance not only to love and support his newly-found sibling, but as a means of his own redemption. It was his responsibility to guide Freddy towards this union with the woman he’d chosen and he would not be deterred from it. Even though Freddy was clumsy in his affections, he’d expressed no aversion to marrying Sophia Cranston and Bruno was convinced his younger brother truly loved his fiancée but simply lacked the experience for amorous courtship.
Although it stung like salt in an open wound to picture Freddy and Sophia in any kind of embrace, let alone a passionate encounter, he promised himself to have a man-to-man conversation with his brother in the near future. The very thought of such a conversation made him hook his finger into his cravat and he quickly diverted his attention to Sophia. Her earlier revelation continued to perplex him.
“But why do you need to sell your grandmother’s necklace? Or any family heirlooms?” he asked. “Haven’t I made it clear that you’ll be well provided for?”
She looked away for a moment. When she brought her gaze back to his, her expression was reflective. “I do not wish to be provided for, like some lap dog. I appreciate your consideration but I do not care to live by yours—or anyone’s grace and favour for the rest of my life.” She pressed a fist to her breast. “It may not be the convention, but I want… I need something of my own.”
Bruno frowned. Most of the women he knew would have been only too happy to divest him of every cent he owned. “I did not take you for a blue stocking.”
Sophia looked up at him. Leaf-shaped shadows flickered across her face. She drew her lovely brows together.
“But it was you who helped me understand that perhaps I do not need to marry Freddy,” she said, the last word spoken so softly Bruno had to bend his head towards her to hear it. Her perfume mingled with the apple fragrance from the tree.
He closed his eyes and hauled in a steadying breath. God give him the strength not to sweep this woman up and ravish her in the wild grass that surrounded them. He must simply look on her as if she was already his sister, already married to Freddy, despite anything she said. He would not countenance any other plan. Surely that would put a leash on his hunger.
A leaf slipped away from its mooring and spiraled downward. It paused briefly on Sophia’s collar then dropped further and clung to the skin at the base of her throat. Her knees brushed his.
He moved away so that they were not touching and when he considered the distance safe enough, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked at her searchingly. “I don’t understand.”
“You offered to purchase the painting of Vanessa and baby Ash. You proposed further commissions.” The hesitant smile she gave him tore at his heart. “You can have no idea of how your words and your encouragement bolstered my confidence.
“The duke and duchess had already contracted me to do a painting of themselves with baby Ash and the amount offered is generous. One of Mama’s friends bought a small picture just last week and the other day Mrs Nighy asked me if I’d paint her new grandchild. Now I have added the Deacons and Pagets to my list of patrons, I am beginning to feel more confident about making a living as an artist. I could rent the Dower House and live in it with Mama—"
Bruno drew back, startled. “But what about Freddy?”
A look of exasperation crossed over her lovely features. “Don’t you see, Mr. Cavanaugh? I’m trying to explain I may not be obliged to marry Freddy! I don’t require a great deal to live on, and Mama may have to cut her suit according to the cloth I can make available.”
“What about your sister?” he said, despising himself for the reminder, but determined that Sophia should fulfil her informal agreement to be Freddy’s wife.
“Annabelle will make her debut this year and is confident of securing a match.” A smile touched her lips. “I am seeing my sister in a new light these days, and I believe she will succeed.”
Bruno sat back. “I cannot understand you, Miss Cranston. Are you telling me you’d rather live in genteel poverty than have all the advantages marriage to Freddy will bring?”
Sophia brought her chin up. “You do not mention the disadvantages.”
“Perhaps that’s because I fail to see them! Between my father and myself we will ensure you will lack for nothing.” His voice turned harsh. “Is it because Freddy is no longer the legitimate heir to Enderby?”
Sophia rose suddenly. The leaf tumbled downwards and caught on one of the buttons of her jacket. She swiped it away and it dropped to the ground.
“That detail does not daunt me. I will go through with this marriage as a last resort, and then only for the sake of Mama, who I love dearly. In my own mind, I am assured Freddy will not care less.” She sent him a fierce stare. “But you must understand, Mr. Cavanaugh, I am determined to do everything in my power not to marry your brother!”
She wheeled away and stalked across the lawn, leaving behind a drift of the almond blossom that scented her skin. Bruno’s turn of mind was bleak as he watched her retreating figure. He realized how mistaken he’d been in assuming she’d be delighted to learn no material thing would be denied her for the rest of her days.
At the same time he could not disregard the exceptional talent he’d recognized in the vibrant works packed into her atelier. With something akin to awe, he acknowledged the sheer effort of will she must have applied, the years of determination, of learning in isolation and by trial and error to achieve the compelling images that had drawn such an emotional response from him. And unlike many in her own world, he understoo
d her pursuit of liberty was not inconceivable.
In America, far away from the hide-bound traditions of their ancestors, he knew women who’d ventured beyond long-held beliefs to establish and profit from their own endeavors. Very often, they had had no choice but to fall back on their own resources. He was acquainted with women who had set up saloons and bawdy houses; established themselves as milliners or seamstresses, ran restaurants and schools and farmed their own patch of earth far away from civilization.
On the frontier, he’d encountered women who had taken up the rifles dropped when their husbands had fallen in battle, and protected their homes and hearths by their own valor. He had always admired the strength and resilience of such women and he could not find it in himself to blame Sophia Cranston for wanting to draw on her talents and live the kind of life she yearned for.
Bending down, he picked up the mutilated leaf ground into the earth by Sophia’s paint-splattered boot. Above all things, he’d desired Freddy’s happiness; now he was finding Sophia’s wellbeing at least on equal footing in his aspirations. He looked up to see her tugging her skirt from the tangled foliage and then she disappeared through the gap in the hedge without a backward glance. Staring at the barrier of greenery that hid her from his sight, Bruno found himself pierced with loneliness, an emotion so sharp and unexpected, it took his breath away.
Chapter Fifteen
An uneasy truce existed between Sophia and her mother in the days after Sophia’s passionate announcement against marrying Freddy. She threw herself into her work, scarcely aware of all else while she awaited a response from the Academy. Although self-doubt still troubled her, at the same time her confidence grew, for word-of-mouth had triggered interest in her portraiture from others in the county.
One evening, after tallying up the requests, she could not help but smile. “I have a waiting list!” she’d said to the owl-eyed tabby cat, wishing there was a human who might share her enthusiasm. But Annabelle spent most of her time with the Hilliards these days, and would not delight in the news anyway, and she and her mother tiptoed around each other rather like two battle-scarred cats each unwilling to expose the first weak spot lest the other close in.
One bright morning, when she heard Sarah crying,“Miss! Miss!” and the little maid’s feet hurried towards her atelier she knew the reply had come, for she had bade the letter be delivered to her immediately upon arrival.
She broke the seal with shaking fingers, read the contents swifly, planted a kiss on the startled Sarah’s cheek, picked up her skirts and raced through ante-rooms and corridors, flying upstairs to the sunny drawing room where she knew she would find her mother.
“Mama! Mama! The Hanging Committee would be pleased for me to submit up to eight pictures!”
Lady Cranston looked up from her stitching. “Do you have eight pictures?”
“I can afford to frame and send only five,” said Sophia, sending silent thanks to Gabriel who had completed his mission with gratifying success. The sale of Grandmama’s diamond necklace would not only see Sophia’s pictures neatly framed, but provide more than enough for Annabelle to be brought out in moderate style.
“Frames for the exhibition are required to be light and narrow to allow for so many pictures to be displayed—you know what a crush it is at Somerset House at the height of the season,” she said, speaking almost to herself. “I’m sending the pictures of Tom Broadworth and Gabriel, and the one of yourself on the turquoise chaise I finished last year; a still life, and the one of Vanessa and baby Ash—although that is not to be sold.”
Mama’s needle halted halfway through a stitch. “I do not care to be publicly displayed for all manner of people to gawp at, Sophia,” she said, as if she had not heard mention of the other portraits to be exhibited.
“Perhaps only the ton will stop to admire you, Mama. People of lesser quality may find you altogether too intimidating.” She smiled to soften the tease, but her mother’s stare sharpened.
“I believe that American, Benjamin West, is currently president of the Academy.”
Sophia arched her eyebrows. “You have not objected thus far to the American in our midst, Mama. Besides, unless you are prepared to part with twenty-five guineas, your picture belongs to me and I may do whatever I please with it.”
“Twenty-five guineas!” Lady Cranston dropped her stitching into her lap and sat upright.
“I have your attention, Mama!” Sophia said gleefully. “Indeed, twenty-five guineas. That is the price one of Mr. Lawrence’s portraits sold for recently. I do not think it unrealistic to ask the same. Isn’t it fabulous, Mama? Please do find it in yourself to be happy for me!”
Her mother gave a strained smile. “Of course I am happy for you, my dear, but I still cannot see your scheme as sufficiently realistic in the long term.”
Refusing to allow Mama’s lack of fervor to taint her own pleasure, Sophia took bread and cheese for sustenance and returned to her atelier. She dispatched a note to Ted Haskell who would construct the frames she needed, and was about to organize preliminary work on the Pagets’ portrait, when Mallard announced Mr. Cavanaugh.
He stood on the threshold and eyed her gravely.
Sophia made a brisk curtsey. “Good day, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
“Miss Cranston.”
“Please, do come in, You have caught me in an excellent mood!”
He smiled. “I take it you have heard from the Judging Committee?”
Sophia laughed. “How did you guess?!”
He gave a crooked smile. “I think I know you well enough to understand there is little else that could make you so radiant.”
There is something else, thought Sophia, watching him cross the room towards her. Did he know her well enough to read it in her eyes?
But after the smallest hesitation he came forward and bent over her hand so she could not read his expression. His lips brushed her fingers briefly and when he rose, she saw only kindness in his eyes and friendship in his smile.
“May I offer my sincere congratulations?”
“You may indeed,” she said, generating a glittering smile.
He searched her face for a moment. “We’ve spoken of your completing some work for me,” he said. “If it’s a convenient time, I thought I should make the offer formal before you are overwhelmed.”
Sophia tilted her head in silent enquiry.
“Everywhere I go I hear word of your talents.”
She lifted a hand in dissent but then suddenly found herself unwilling to assume an air of false modesty. As if he understood, he said, “You have worked very hard. This is a success you deserve.”
Sophia met his gaze. “Even though it makes me less obligated to marry Freddy?”
His mouth twisted. “Even though.”
They stood very close to each other. His body radiated warmth. A pulse beat in her throat.
He stepped back, leaving a cool space between them. “Do you have time to discuss the pictures?”
Sophia arranged her features into what she hoped was an expression of professional detachment. “Of course. I shall look forward to the undertaking.”
“First,” he said, with the same objectivity, “a full-length portrait of her grace. I should like to gift this to Ash. He and Vanessa have become great friends. I could not have navigated my way through your ‘polite society’ without their advice and guidance. And I’m still learning,” he said drily.
“The rules in our world are indeed very intricate,” Sophia smiled, observing him pensively. She knew little of his upbringing but she believed she knew his character. He was a man who could mix in any company and yet at the same time, stand out. His manners were those of a gentleman although one with harder edges than other men she’d been acquainted with. She had experienced his kindness and sensitivity, along with courage and the fierce, implacable loyalty he bore towards Freddy. At a deeper level she sensed an aloneness she recognized as intrinsic to her own nature, and longed to ease in his.
His next words, offered in an unusually formal tone, splintered her reflections. “I am proposing a fee of one-hundred-and-fifty pounds.”
Sophia drew in an incredulous breath. “That is exceedingly generous!”
Cavanaugh waved away her demurral. “Joshua Reynolds charged about the same amount for a full-length portrait more than thirty years ago.”
“But Sir Joshua was a recognized practitioner!”
The corners of Mr. Cavanaugh’s mouth lifted. “As you will be,” he said. “Do not doubt yourself.”
She felt suddenly adrift. “I did not think you would offer yourself as a patron, Mr. Cavanaugh, given your resolve that I should marry Freddy, and my equal resolve that I should not. Such a substantial commission makes it even more feasible for me to refuse Freddy.”
He shook his head. “I’m disappointed you think me so small-minded. Contrary to your declaration, your happiness is indeed of consequence to me.”
“For Freddy’s sake? Because my happiness might affect his wellbeing?” She searched his face.
The smile faded from his mouth, leaving his features unusually grave. “For its own sake. But I ask you to consider carefully. Marriage to Freddy need not inevitably cause you unhappiness. I can see no reason why you should not continue to paint when you are married. You can commission an architect to design a space especially for you, you’ll be able to purchase any materials and equipment you need. You will be able to advance your career,” he stressed. “Marriage to Freddy will make it easier, not more difficult.”
I could continue to paint while I’m married, thought Sophia, uninfluenced by his last words. She did not think Freddy would be a husband who would forbid her anything. He would simply not care what she did. She brought her hands up and drew her collar closer to her throat, for the atelier had grown chilly as the morning sunshine turned to steady rain.
The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2 Page 16