Beth leaned against the back of the old settee. “It should. I might see if I can work at one of the other theatres for a while. I don’t know when the work will need to begin.”
“If you need anything, please let me know. I will help if I can.”
Beth reached for Sally’s hand. “The same holds true with you. If you need anything, I am here. You have been a true friend to me, Sally, and I’m thankful.”
“Now stop or I’ll be crying as well.” Sally stood and brushed down her skirts. “I’d best be getting back to the theatre before Mr. Alderman has a fit. You know he might hire you back, if you ask him. I think he regrets letting you go so quickly.”
“I don’t know, Sally. Not when everyone there knows what happened.” Lord knows there was enough of that going on in her life right now. She didn’t need to add to it.
“He’s also a businessman and the sets you designed were the best in the business. He’d be upset if you went to a competitor. He’ll get over the notoriety, especially if you continue to make Drury Lane Theatre one of the best in London.” Sally tightened the strings on her reticule. “Everyone misses you, Beth.”
“I miss them, too. I’ll give it some thought. Right now, I want to lick my wounds and heal for a bit.”
Sally nodded then turned for the door. She paused and looked back. “I forgot! Mr. St. Clair has entered your painting in the Royal Exhibition that opens tomorrow.”
Beth’s stomach dropped. “I thought that Exhibition was closed, besides, they refused it.”
“Not when you have enough money to donate to the Royal Academy. Apparently, it doesn’t matter where you come from, if you have money. You should go by and see it when the Exhibition opens tomorrow. It has been your dream all along to have one of your paintings there.”
Beth nodded her agreement, but her mind was spinning. This had to be Langston’s doing. Perhaps it was his parting gesture, but she didn’t care. Her painting would be seen by thousands. It confirmed she was a real artist. For the first time in two days, she felt as if things were going to be fine. She still hurt, but the hurt would pass. She would become content again, like she was before. She had her friends, her mother, and she had her art. “I think I might.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Michael could not stop pacing in the large hall of the Royal Academy. It was the opening day of the Royal Exhibition. Three days had passed since he last saw Beth and he longed to go to her and beg her to marry him. It had been a busy three days. He’d spoken with St. Clair about investments, his solicitor about separating his own fortune from his father’s, and he’d had to convince a bunch of stodgy old men to put Beth’s painting in the exhibition. Of all of those, the latter was the most frustrating. He’d presented the painting to the president who’d immediately loved it, until he found out it was painted by a woman. It didn’t even seem to matter the woman was the daughter of the past president of the Academy. He still had to argue that her talent superseded her sex. The frustration over the lack of logic in the president’s argument almost had Langston throwing up his hands and giving up. Had Beth felt this? Had she wanted to give up?
She must have a great deal more patience than he in this matter. The courage it took her to even try humbled him. He was so very proud of her, of this moment. He stopped to lean against one of the walls in the large room that housed hers and other’s paintings. He watched as streams of people stopped and stared at the work, murmuring to themselves. He wondered what they thought.
“How’s our girl doing?” St. Clair said coming to his side. “I could barely get through the doorway the crowds were so thick.”
Langston grinned. “The line is slowing in front of Beth’s painting. I see a lot of different faces.”
“She’s gifted, Langston.” St. Clair looked around. “I’ve been searching the crowds for her. Miss Morgan seemed to think she might show up to see this.”
“This has been her dream for years, so I’m hoping it will tempt her. Thank you for letting me put the painting in and using it as a lure to get her here.”
“Just don’t hurt her any further. She’s dealt with enough.”
There was a tone in St. Clair’s voice that caused him a moment of jealousy. “Are you interested in Miss Bishop?”
“Not if you are, but you let her go, all bets are off. The woman has more bottom than anyone else I’ve met in this town.”
“Just so you know, I don’t plan on losing her again.” He planned to grovel, beg, and plead, instead. He had to win her heart. Without her, the future was bleak.
“See that you don’t,” St. Clair said. “Now if you will excuse me, I am going to stand by the painting I purchased and listen to what people think.”
“You didn’t have to purchase the painting, St. Clair.”
St. Clair grinned. “Are you joking? That woman is going to be famous someday and I have her first original.”
Michael watched as St. Clair crossed the room, pushing his way through the crowds until he stood by Beth’s painting. He was so proud of her, even though her artistic talent exceeded his. She was truly gifted in capturing both the sadness of a moment and the joy. She deserved this moment. His eyes scanned the crowds again hoping for a glimpse of her. He wanted to share this with her more than he wanted anything in his life but with crowds like these, it would be difficult to spot her.
He looked down at his boots, feeling the weight of the loss of her and these past few days. He should have told her how he felt. He should have made the engagement real. It had been so real to him he hadn’t considered that it might not feel real to Beth. She’d been waiting for their time to be up. The ball must have been the final straw for her. Anger still stirred at the way she was treated by his father and the rest of the ton. So much for Polite Society as far as he was concerned. He still hadn’t spoken to his father and had no plans to. If the duke wanted to cut him out of the will for his choices, so be it. The estates were entailed, and Langston had enough money set aside to make sure they stayed profitable. He was done trying to live his life the way his father wanted him to. It never made either of them very happy.
Langston scanned crowds again hoping for a glimpse of Beth. As he had for five years, he was looking for her face in every lady he saw. He glanced down at his feet again, defeated and afraid that he’d lost her forever, but he couldn’t stop. The crowds pulled his eyes to search again, to search forever. His eyes moved from woman to woman, bonnet to bonnet until he found her, standing a distance from him, staring at him. His heart raced. He straightened and nervously tugged on his waist coat as he stared back. Her face was pale, her eyes sad even as she tried to smile. That tiny bit of a smile, the barest movement of her lips gave him hope. He crossed the room slowly, afraid she would disappear or worse, run like she had the last time she was here. This time would be forever, something he could not bear.
He reached her in seconds, though it felt longer, as if the room had doubled in size in the moments since their eyes met. His hands were sweaty and he fought the urge to tug at his cravat like a schoolboy. This moment would make him or break him. He had no idea how it would turn out, what she would say. It was all completely out of his control, something he hated, but relinquished to her happily. She held his heart and he just needed to tell her that. He stopped before her and took her hand in his and pressed his lips too it. She trembled at his touch. “Good afternoon, Miss Bishop.”
Beth wrinkled her eyes at him, confused. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Did you see your painting?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. The crowds were too large and I saw you standing there alone.”
“Waiting for you, Beth.”
Beth glanced around them noting the attention they were drawing. She pulled her hand away from his grasp. “Perhaps we can talk privately. There is much to say.”
He nodded. “I have a studio on the third floor. Will you accompany me there?” He offered her his arm. She paused the briefest of moments before
taking it. He led her through the crowds noting the attention they were getting. The gossips would have a field day with the news. He took her up the steps to the third floor. “How is your mother?”
“She is well, sir. She has recovered from the ball and is almost her own self again.”
“And you?”
Beth pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, stalling before answering him, sparking a twinge of fear in him.
“I’m learning to be content.”
It was an odd phrase that gave him pause. As he didn’t want to have a personal conversation where they could be overheard, he waited until they were in the studio and he closed the door. Beth moved away from him to his desk. “This is your mothers, isn’t it? I remember you telling me about it all those years ago.”
“It went with me to university and then here. She used it with her painting.”
Beth nodded. She looked at the pictures scattered on the desk with curiosity. “May I?”
“Of course.” Langston watched and waited as Beth went through the sketches of her through the years. There were the ones from their first night together. The one he’d done of her right after she came with her painting to the Royal Academy weeks ago. And the one of her he’d done after they’d made love again. Her brow wrinkled as she started to put together the time line.
“I don’t understand.”
Michael approached her slowly, his eyes watching her face. “It’s always been you, Beth. I hated leaving you when Mother got sick, but your father assured me that you'd be waiting. I lived for your letters. When you stopped writing, I felt broken, lost.”
“As did I.” Her voice was soft with old pain. “Father took your letters and mine as well.”
“Perhaps he was protecting you. He knew my father would destroy all of us, if you and I had married.”
“He still could. What will you have if we marry? An estate you can’t afford to keep? Tenants needing repairs you can’t afford to make? You don’t want that life, Michael. Trust me, poverty rips at love and hope and I can’t watch it happen to you.”
Michael took her gloved hands in his and squeezed. “I don’t think it’s going to be that bad, my love.” He stepped closer to her until she had to look up to meet his eyes. “I’ve been supporting the estate with my own funds for a good while now. Father’s gambling has gotten out of control.”
“How?”
“It’s good to have a capitalist like St. Clair in your corner, love.”
“From a guttersnipe?”
“The best people I know are guttersnipes. Beth, I love you. My heart has been yours for five years. There was nowhere I could go without looking for your face. When I found you again in this very building all those weeks ago, it was like a gift from God. It was the second chance I’d prayed for.”
Beth’s eyes swelled with tears. He released one of her hands and brushed a tear away from her cheek. “Please tell me I’m yours as well, my love. Spend your life with me. Marry me, because without you I’m just an empty shell.”
Beth brushed back his hair and he pressed his face into her hand. He tugged at the ribbon under her chin and removed her bonnet, tossing it on the desk. He took her hand and removed her gloves, tugging one finger at a time placing them by the bonnet. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing as she watched him with wild, heated eyes.
“You’ve not answered my question, love,” he said as he pulled her flush against him and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Make an honorable man out of me?”
She broke into sobs that broke his heart. God, how could ever make up for the pain he’d caused her. “I’m sorry, Beth. I’m so sorry.” He whispered the litany against her hair as he rocked her back and forth. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re killing me.”
She looked up at him her eyes wet, face blotchy then pressed her mouth to his. “I love you so much. I never thought this day would happen.” She pressed more kisses to his chin, his neck until he took her chin in his hand and kissed her.
Her lips parted, her tongue tasted, firing his blood. His hands molded her to his body, rubbing her back in an effort to get closer. A noise on the stairs startled them both and they broke away.
“I shall call upon your mother for a date to read the banns in church.”
She looked at him in shock. “I sent the retraction to the paper.”
He chuckled. “I was expecting that. I’ve already contacted the editor and told him to disregard any retractions. I did have to promise him the full story when we were finally married. It seems, my love, that London loves a fairy tale and we’ve become the latest one.”
“As long as it means that we live happily ever after together, I do not care,” Beth pressed her mouth to his in another kiss. “Do we have to wait for the banns?”
He grinned. He didn’t want to wait either, but he felt he owed it to her to have the wedding of her dreams. “I could get a special license.”
She smiled. “Perfect. I’ve waited for five years, my lord. I have no intention of waiting any longer.”
He had to kiss her again.
“There is one thing we need to discuss. St. Clair offered me a commission to do some paintings for his new hotel. I should notify him I won’t be able to fulfill the request.”
Michael studied her for a long moment before answering. “Do you wish to do this?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not suitable work for a marchioness.”
“Beth, is this important to you?”
She nodded. “But you mean more to me than the opportunity, Michael—-”
He placed a hand upon her lips. “Then do the paintings.”
The surprise on her face told him he had much more to convince her of. “You don’t mind?”
“You have a great talent that should be seen, Beth. I could never tell you to stop doing something you love so much and do so well.”
She squealed and jumped into his arms. “Thank you, Michael,” she said between kisses. “Thank you so much!”
He laughed as he swung her in a circle, happier in this moment than he’d ever been in his life. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a home, in her heart. He felt blessed to have her by his side. The future might be hard, given society’s penchant for judgment, but they would survive. Together they were unbeatable. Together, everything was possible.
Acknowledgements
This book almost did not get written. I had started Beth and Michael’s story in the spring of 2016, then my husband was diagnosed with cancer.
For three months, the words did not flow. We were too busy getting diagnosed, looking at our options, and just trying wrap our heads around what the future held. Through all that time, my friends and family where there when I screamed and cursed through this large bolder in my road of life, through the fear of losing my husband, and all the other craziness. Thank you just doesn't begin to cover what this meant to me and my husband. The outpouring of prayers and support is something we’ll treasure forever.
Thank you to Jason, Nadisha, Justin, and all my family for your comfort, prayers, and support.
Thank you Adrienne Mishel for dragging me away from burying myself in work to lunch filled with laughs and gossip. I know this was hard for you, which makes it all the more special.
Thank you to Susan, Darla, Heidi, Danielle, Michelle, Cheryl, Leah, Barbara, and others from my church family for the meals, the prayers, the hugs, and the support.
Thank you to Carolina Romance Writers. Thank you especially to Dawna Mae and Becky, for sharing your experiences with coping with this disease and how to be a caregiver. All of you have been there for me and remembered us and it means more than you know.
Erica, this book would not be written without you. Thanks for allowing me to rant and cry. Thanks for the critiques, the advice, and especially the opportunity to get this story out to the public. I have learned so much from you and I’m so very thankful to call you my dear friend.
Teresa from
The Midnight Muse, thank you for the fabulous cover and making my vision a reality.
Thanks to my editors, Rebecca Paula and Louisa Cornell, for cleaning up my very messy drafts. You guys make me a better writer. Any mistakes found are mine alone.
And thank you to the readers out there. Your feedback has helped me become a better writer and tell better stories. I would not be able to grow and improve without you.
Love,
Eileen
Author Notes
I took some creative license with history in The Art of Seduction.
The Royal Exhibition occurs every summer at the Royal Academy of Arts. I fudged the dates a bit to allow for the story to happen when it did, by creating a Spring Exhibition. The location of the Royal Academy of Art was Somerset house which was a happy accident as it was a very short walk from Catherine Street where Drury Lane Theatre was located.
Additionally, there wasn’t much research on how one might enter the exhibition. I used my mother’s experiences with art shows that she’d been in, giving the artists of London a chance to have their work seen and approved. This gave my couple a chance to meet again.
Theatre design was in flux during this time period. In Georgian Times the sets consisted of painted backgrounds. Into the early 19th century and the Regency, three-dimensional box sets were starting to be used. A box set had three sides with doors and windows. I expanded on this with Beth’s job allowing her to not just paint the backdrops of the set, but to design the sets for the plays.
I chose Holborn and the Red Lion Inn Square for the location of Lady Bishop and Beth’s townhome. This neighborhood was approximately a fifteen-minute walk from Drury Lane. The neighborhood has ebbed and flowed in popularity through the centuries and during this time period was just this side of shabby, which worked perfectly for the story.
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 15