by Jane Ashford
“What are they?” asked Katharine.
“Bills. He has been spending amazing amounts of money. I don’t know what his father will say, though Tom has an income settled on him, of course. But he is buying things for…that woman.”
“He is not paying her bills?”
“No. It is presents, I think. But, oh, Katharine, what am I to do? He is so irritable now, I can hardly talk to him. And he is never home. I don’t know what he does or where he goes. My life is ruined.” She drooped in her chair.
“Now, Elinor.”
“Of course it isn’t, dear,” added Mary. She patted Elinor’s hand. “This will pass, you’ll see.”
“I don’t know. Tom has started railing against Lord Stonenden now. He is mad sometimes, I think. I am so afraid he may actually call him out. What a scandal that would be! And Stonenden is a leader of fashion.”
“Stonenden!” exclaimed Katharine so abruptly that both the others stared.
Elinor nodded. “He has been seeing the countess also, and Tom is in a rage over it. Last night when he came in, he raved about town beaus and their insinuating ways until I thought he should have an apoplexy. And if it came to a duel—”
“Well, it won’t,” snapped Katharine. “Stonenden would never accept such a challenge even if Tom were addle-brained enough to offer it.”
Elinor drew back a little in the face of her vehemence.
“And in any case,” continued the other, “I believe the plan I have set in motion will end this thing soon.”
“What plan?” replied Elinor eagerly, and Katharine realized with a start that she had neglected to tell her young cousin about her scheme to make Tom jealous. She flushed a little.
“Tony,” she said.
Elinor frowned, then, surprisingly, flushed slightly herself. “What do you mean? Did you know I wished to talk to you about him, too?”
“Talk about him?”
“Yes.” The younger girl’s flush deepened. “He has been coming to see me quite often, and I…I have been wondering…that is, I know he is a friend of yours, Katharine, and I thought you could tell him for me that I am not—”
“Tony is my plan,” interrupted Katharine.
Elinor stared.
“I asked him to take you driving and pay you attentions in order to make Tom jealous. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you, Elinor. I don’t know how I came to be so heedless.”
“To make Tom jealous,” repeated Elinor slowly. She sat for a moment taking this in, then smiled brilliantly. “Then he is not…and Tom will think…oh, Katharine, how splendid!”
Katharine could not help laughing a little.
“You must think me such a ninnyhammer,” continued Elinor. “I was worried that Mr. Tillston was truly interested in me. I didn’t know what to do. But if it is all a hoax…” She contemplated this beatific vision. “What a grand idea! I wonder if Tom has noticed? I shall go out with Tony every day. I wonder if I should order a new pelisse for driving in the park?”
Katharine laughed again, but Mary said, “My dear. Should you be so happy with a scheme that is, however necessarily, based on deceit?”
Elinor paused, frowned, then tossed her head. “I don’t care. Tom is being abominable, and he deserves to be deceived. It is not as if I were doing anything wrong.”
“No,” said Mary doubtfully.
Elinor rose. “I must go. Oh, Katharine, thank you! I knew I could count on you to help me, and you have.”
“Wait and see how it comes out before you thank me.”
“I know it will be all right.” She sighed. “Tom, jealous—only think of it!” She started to turn away, then looked back and added, “And you are certain it will be all right about Lord Stonenden? He would not fight Tom?”
“I shall forbid him to.” Katharine looked grim for a moment, then smiled thinly. “How can I paint his portrait if he is fighting duels?”
Elinor laughed. “Will you really paint him? I thought it was a joke. How famous.” With a wave of her hand, she hurried out. Katharine watched her go with a smile.
But when she turned back to Mary, the older woman was looking at her very seriously. “Do you mean to go forward with the portrait, Katharine?” she said. “I don’t think it wise.”
“Why not?”
“It will merely keep the whispers alive, dear. You would do much better to ignore them.”
“But then everyone would think that odious Winstead told the truth.”
“I doubt that. But even if they did, it would be better than exposing yourself to public notice this way. Admit that you were cruelly embarrassed last night.”
Katharine nodded. “It was very unpleasant.”
“And you hate being gossiped about, particularly your painting.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then?”
“All that is true, Mary. But it is also true that this portrait would be my first chance to do a real painting. One that might be hung and seen. I have stacks of canvases upstairs that no one will ever look at. At first, I preferred it that way, I admit, and I was furious with Tony when he showed them. But now, I don’t know. If I am to get any better, I must have criticism, I think. And this seems a perfect way—”
“Katharine. You could show your painting to a number of people without doing this portrait.”
The girl looked down. “Yes, well…the truth is, I want to do it, Mary. It is an interesting challenge, and I want to try it.”
Meeting her cousin’s eye, Mary Daltry sighed. “But having Lord Stonenden in your studio for hours at a time…”
“Oh, you will sit with us, of course,” replied Katharine eagerly.
“I?”
“Yes. I cannot be closeted with Lord Stonenden day after day. You must be there.”
Mary frowned.
“You can sit in the corner with your workbasket, Mary, and it will be quite all right.”
“I suppose I could.”
“And it will only be for a short time. I can do a portrait in two or three weeks, I daresay.”
Mary sighed. “You insist upon doing it?”
Katharine met her eyes and nodded.
“Well, then, I suppose we must do our best.” The older woman shook her head.
Katharine jumped up and went to hug her briefly. “You are wonderful. And now I must go look over my paints and see if I need anything. I shall see you at luncheon.” She was out of the room before Mary could reply.
In the afternoon, Mary went out to pay a call, and Katharine sat down in the drawing room to write some long-overdue letters. Her hatred of letter writing arose out of its impersonality. She got no sense, from a sheet of pressed notepaper, of the other person’s presence. Yet if she did not write, she had no contact with them at all. So, at long intervals, she forced herself to sit down and pen something, however unsatisfying; but she faced such occasions with loathing.
Thus, when one of the maids came in to announce a caller, Katharine jumped up from the writing desk at once and said, “Oh, whoever it is, send them in!” But she was a bit taken aback a few moments later when Lord Stonenden strolled into the room.
Clothed with his usual quiet elegance, in a dark blue coat and yellow pantaloons, he smiled and nodded. “Good day. I have come as promised.”
For some reason, Katharine felt a bit flustered. “Promised?”
He raised his eyebrows. “To discuss the portrait.”
“Oh, oh, yes! Please sit down.” Katharine did so herself, on the sofa, and he took the armchair across. “What…what sort of portrait do you want? A full-length, or only a bust?”
“Oh, a full-length, to be sure. You do mean to paint it, then?”
She cocked her head. “Of course.”
“I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“Not at all. Why should I?”
Stonenden smiled slightly. “I can think of several reasons.”
He did not elaborate. Katharine met his dark blue eyes and saw both amusement and
challenge there. Her chin came up. “Of course, if you have changed your mind, Lord Stonenden, you need only say so. I shan’t hold you to your word.”
“On the contrary, I am eager to begin. When is it to be?”
Katharine had not thought quite this far ahead. Once again, she was disconcerted. “Well…oh…perhaps tomorrow?”
“Certainly. I have never before sat for a portrait. What must I do?”
Katharine took a breath and gathered her wits. “Nothing, really. Simply come here in the morning. Do you mind beginning early? The light will be best then.”
“I am completely at your service.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“Very well. And how long do you expect to work? Not that I mean to hurry you in any way, but I must put off some engagements.”
“Say…two hours?” Katharine was not at all sure how long she would wish to work on a formal portrait. This would be very different from drawing her native servants in India.
Lord Stonenden nodded. Katharine expected him to take his leave now that their business was concluded, but instead he leaned back in his chair and said, “Your talk of India interested me greatly, Miss Daltry. Might I perhaps be allowed to see some of your paintings of native subjects tomorrow, or sometime?”
“I…suppose so.” Katharine’s eyes dropped from his. She remained oddly uneasy, not sure how to deal with this new Stonenden. His interest seemed sincere, and the genuine attention in his dark eyes was hard to meet calmly. It confused her. He continued so assured. Several things she had meant to say to him fled her mind.
“You don’t like showing your work?”
“I never did. But I am trying to learn to now. Sir Thomas made me see that I need objective criticism if I am to progress.”
“I am sure he would be happy to give it.”
“Oh, I shan’t ask him again; I shouldn’t have the courage. But I think I shall show some things to friends, perhaps.”
“You don’t sound very certain.”
Katharine smiled, then shrugged. “Well, it is difficult for me. For a long time, my paintings were such an important, private thing, not to be shared with anyone. It is hard to change that.” Even as she spoke, Katharine was surprised. She was revealing more than she meant to, and she could not understand how it happened.
He was nodding. “Yes, I can see how that might be.”
Katharine stared at him, her amber eyes full of astonishment and doubt.
“You don’t believe me?” he responded with amusement.
“What? Oh…I…”
“But I assure you I can understand wanting to keep some favorite pastime from society’s eyes. I have wished many times that I could do so.”
“H-have you?”
“Indeed.”
“But what pastimes…I mean…” Katharine stopped abruptly.
“What are these mysterious activities?” He laughed a little. “Ah, but they are secret.”
Katharine met his eyes and laughed also. “I see. But if I show you my paintings of India, you must reciprocate by telling me.”
“It seems a fair bargain.” They smiled at each other. “I had hoped to meet your companion today,” continued Lord Stonenden then. “Miss Daltry is out, I take it?”
“Yes, Mary is paying calls. I am sorry she is not here to greet you.”
“And how are your other cousins, the Marchingtons?”
Katharine’s momentary contentment evaporated. The mention of Tom and Elinor brought a rush of associations. “They are well,” she replied stiffly.
“You are less worried about him, I hope?” He smiled at her with what Katharine felt to be odious superiority.
“Yes,” she snapped before she thought, “no thanks to the Countess Standen.”
“Ah, Elise can be irritating.”
“Some people find her the reverse, seemingly.”
“She has her attractions, of course.”
Thinking that Stonenden knew more than most about these attractions, Katharine rose abruptly to her feet. She was not going to sit here and discuss the man’s paramour, though he and the countess would no doubt think that a fine joke. “If you will excuse me now,” she said. “I have an appointment.”
Stonenden, rising also, looked surprised. But he said, “Of course. I did not mean to keep you.”
She rang the bell for the maid.
“I hoped to reassure you about Tom Marchington,” added Stonenden as they waited for the girl to appear.
Unable to imagine how he had hoped to do that, Katharine merely continued to look at the floor. In a moment, the maid entered.
“Good-bye,” said Katharine.
Lord Stonenden gazed down at her as if he expected she might offer her hand, then said, “Good day. I will be here tomorrow promptly at eight.”
“Y-yes.” She had almost forgotten about the portrait.
He bowed slightly and followed the maid out of the room. Katharine went to fling herself back on the sofa. Had she, she wondered, made a mistake after all? Her desire to paint this portrait had suddenly waned. What had seemed an exciting and important chance now looked more like drudgery. Should she try to cry off? Katharine stared blankly at the wall for a long moment; then, with an impatient exclamation, she got up and went back to the writing desk and her unfinished letter.
Eleven
Lord Stonenden arrived at the Daltry house on the stroke of eight the following morning. Katharine and Mary had already breakfasted and were prepared for his arrival, so they all went directly upstairs to Katharine’s studio to begin the portrait. Katharine wore her customary old gown, and after a quarter hour of indecision she had determined that she would wear her apron, whatever Stonenden might think of it. Her studio was not a ballroom. But she had made the concession of dressing her hair more fashionably than she usually did to paint.
Upstairs, the women had provided an easy chair and worktable for Mary in the corner, and she sat down there. Katharine had draped one wall in blue cloth in an effort to provide a background for her painting, and now as Stonenden looked at her, she gestured toward it. She was extremely nervous, she found, in this new situation. Other concerns aside, she had never tried to paint anyone like Lord Stonenden, and she began to be afraid that his interested, knowledgeable gaze would prevent her from doing anything.
“How shall I stand?” he asked, moving in front of the draperies.
Katharine looked at him helplessly for a moment, then tightened her jaw and told herself to stop behaving like an idiot. “What sort of portrait do you want?” she asked, her voice sounding amazingly assured to her own ears.
Stonenden smiled, “The usual sort.”
This made the girl laugh. “In that case, you should put one hand on your hip and one foot forward and look straight ahead.”
Still smiling, he did so.
“That is it. Now we require only a worshipful spaniel to complete the composition.”
“Alas that I left mine at home.”
“Well, we shall simply have to get on without it. But I think we will use another pose.” Katharine lost all her self-consciousness as she studied the problem. “There is a stopped-up fireplace behind the drape. Do you feel the mantelshelf?”
He tried. “Yes, here it is.”
“Rest one elbow on it and lean back a little.” He did so. “Yes, that is it. I think that will do. What do you say, Mary?”
Her cousin looked up from her sewing, startled at being consulted. “Oh, yes, very nice, dear.”
“No, but, Mary, does it look right?”
Thus appealed to, Mary Daltry surveyed Lord Stonenden more carefully. “It does, you know. It seems…characteristic.”
“Labeled as a drawing-room lounger,” exclaimed the man. “Unfair.”
Mary looked taken aback, but Katharine laughed. “That is what happens when you request a portrait. Your innermost character is revealed. Now, are you comfortable? Can you remain so for a while?”
“Certainly.”
Katharine got out her sketching block and began to do some preliminary drawings from various angles. In each, she noted some particular detail, the line of Stonenden’s neck and shoulders, the precise position of his bent knee, the way his hand rested negligently on the mantel, trying to catch the essence of her subject. She grew more and more pleased and excited as she worked. The sketches were good, and Stonenden an admirable model. For the first time, Katharine began to see him as a man, apart from any flaws of character he might possess. He really was extremely attractive, less because of the arrangement of his features, though this was pleasing, than the strength and confidence he automatically projected. She suddenly saw that these were not affectation, but an integral part of him. Even standing perfectly still, he compelled attention in some undeniable way. One might glance past other men idly, but never Stonenden.
“May I move a little now?” he asked finally.
“What? Oh, of course! I should have let you rest before now. Are you very stiff?”
“Not unbearably, but I admit I shall be glad to stretch.” He suited his actions to his words, moving his arms back and forth.
“I am nearly finished for today,” said Katharine. “You can walk about or go downstairs. Would you care for some refreshment? The servants will get it for you.”
“No, thank you. But I believe I will walk about the room.”
He proceeded to do so as Katharine filled in detail with the charcoal. To her relief, and gratitude, he did not come round behind her and watch her work, a thing she hated. After a while, during which she had been lost in her drawing, she turned to find him chatting quietly with Mary in the corner. “Can you do a bit more now?” she asked. “I want to make one more sketch, and then we will stop.”
He came back to stand as before, and she sat down in front of him to draw his face. This was the most difficult preliminary, and Katharine had left it for last; her other studies held only a blur. Now she gazed at him intently and began to outline his features on her pad—the firm jaw, straight nose, and broad forehead, marked by two dark curls from his fashionable Brutus. Once again she was struck by the power of the man—not in the sense of physical strength, but strength of character. His face clearly reflected the magnetic personality behind it. The effect was so marked that she paused for a moment, charcoal suspended, and simply gazed. He pulled at some deeply buried part of her, making her wish to speak, to move, to somehow shake that massive confidence.