by Jane Ashford
Taking a breath, Katharine looked down and resumed her drawing. She had come to the hardest area, the eyes.
She looked into his; there was none of the harshness she had thought part of his personality. Stonenden appeared serious, interested, and something more; she could not define the last. But the expression in his eyes made her falter again, until she shook herself and shut out everything but the idea of the portrait.
After another half hour she leaned back and looked over the sketch critically. “Yes, that will do for a beginning,” she said. “We will block in the canvas tomorrow. You may go if you like. I daresay you are very tired of standing.”
“Not particularly.” Katharine was afraid then that he would ask to see her drawings, but he did not, merely adding, “I shall come tomorrow…at eight again?”
“If you please.” She was so grateful for his restraint that she punctuated this with a brilliant smile. There was nothing worse than an observer who hung about and insisted on seeing each stage of a painting. Katharine hated showing anything that was not complete.
He smiled back at her. “Very well.”
“I will go downstairs with you,” said Mary, rising.
“Tomorrow, then.” And he followed her out of the room.
Katharine, feeling suddenly very tired, went to sit in the armchair. Her sketches were good; they captured a real sense of the subject. Now, if she could just do the painting as well, it would be a fine portrait. She smiled a little, stretched her arms, and got up, feeling extraordinarily happy about her new project.
***
Stonenden was prompt again the following morning, and Katharine was prepared for him. She had spent the afternoon setting up her canvas, and beside it, another easel holding the preliminary sketches she had made. By a little after eight she was hard at work, blocking out the figure in charcoal on the clean canvas and adding suggestions of the background she had decided to use, an actual fireplace.
She worked in silent concentration for half an hour, allowed Stonenden a short rest, and then continued. By nine thirty she was generally satisfied with the initial design. “There,” she said, putting down the charcoal. “I must put in a few more details before we stop, but that is a fine beginning. You may rest. Tomorrow, I can begin to paint.” She stood back and gazed critically at what she had done so far.
“Splendid,” replied Stonenden, moving his limbs to relieve the stiffness. “It goes faster than I expected. Do you think I might see…”
Katharine stiffened as he spoke. Why could no one resist looking at things before they were ready?
But he finished, “…some of your other paintings? Remember, you promised to show me your work from India.”
She laughed from relief and said, much more cordially than she would normally have done, “Of course. They are here.” She walked to the far corner of the studio, wiping her hands on a rag. “All of these.”
Stonenden looked impressed. “You did a great deal of work there.”
“I had a great deal of time.” She turned to one row of canvases that were a little separated from the rest. “These are the only ones worth showing, however. Most of the others were disappointing.” She turned the first in this row and held it out to him. It was a portrait of a man in loose white clothes and a white turban against a background of green leaves.
He took it and studied it carefully. “One of your servants?”
“Yes.” Katharine’s heart beat faster, and her breath was uneven. It really was difficult to show her work. She dreaded others’ opinions, yet longed for reactions, preferably favorable ones.
“It’s good,” said Stonenden finally. “The line is sharp. The composition is well done, particularly the way this branch curves downward behind the figure here. And you have captured the light; that is very hard. It seems to have been an odd light, too.”
“It was,” replied Katharine eagerly. “It came through a thin awning and was very diffuse. I worked on it for days.” She bent and took up another painting. “Here, look at this one.” And she almost snatched the first to thrust it into his hands.
Smiling a little, he looked down. “Ah, a garden.”
“Yes, it was part of a temple compound. You can see the beginning of the pillars there.”
“Yes. The color is splendid.”
“Do you think so?” Wholly engrossed, she leaned farther forward. Her shoulder brushed Stonenden’s, and she put a hand on his arm. “They were lovely.”
He looked down. Katharine was so close that her deep brown curls nearly brushed his cheek. “Lovely,” he echoed, in such a changed tone that she raised her eyes to his. For a moment, they remained so; then Katharine drew back abruptly.
“Here is a portrait of my maid, Mali,” she went on in a breathless voice. “She is lovely also.”
Stonenden exchanged pictures silently, but it was a moment before he could focus attention on the new work and offer an opinion.
They looked over the whole row together, one after the other. Stonenden’s comments revealed both knowledge and discrimination, and Katharine was very glad to have such expert criticism. She did not always agree with his evaluations, and they argued heatedly over two of them, but this too she enjoyed, seeing her pictures through new eyes. Indeed, she was astonished to find that nearly an hour had passed when they put down the last canvas in the row.
“Oh, my! We must get back to work. You will be wishing to leave for your other appointments. How did it get so late? Mary, you should have told us.”
“You were enjoying your discussion so,” answered Mary.
“And I am completely at your service this morning, Miss Daltry,” added Stonenden. “I have no other appointments.”
Katharine went back to her canvas. “Have you not? That is fortunate. Will you take your pose again, then?”
He did so, and she finished outlining in another half hour, putting in as much detail as was necessary at this stage.
“There,” she said again. “I will start to paint tomorrow morning.” She took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted.
Lord Stonenden seemed to see it. “You are getting on very well,” he replied. “It is fascinating to see. Shall I come at the same time?”
“If you will.”
He bowed his head, straightened, then, to Katharine’s intense gratitude, took his leave. She felt more in charity with Stonenden than she ever had in her life, but she was tired. She rubbed her face with both hands, transferring a smear of charcoal to her forehead.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked Mary.
“Oh, yes. But I think I will rest a bit before luncheon.”
“Why don’t you. And I shall move about a little. I have done nothing but sit.”
Katharine smiled at her, only to find her cousin’s pale eyes intent on her face.
“It is going well, isn’t it?” said Mary then. “You are happy?”
A bit puzzled at the seriousness of her tone, Katharine nodded.
“Good,” responded the other with a sharp nod. She turned to leave. “I shall see you at luncheon.”
Katharine stood alone in the studio for a moment, frowning; then she followed her cousin down the stairs and went to her bedchamber for a half hour of quiet reflection.
***
That evening, Katharine and Mary were engaged to accompany Elinor to Almack’s. Katharine, in unusually good spirits, dressed happily after dinner in a silk gown of deep, soft red trimmed with Mechlin lace. It was a lovely dress, and she whirled before the mirror to see the skirt bell out, laughing at her own enjoyment of the sight.
Their party arrived at the assembly rooms at nine thirty, and Elinor immediately joined a group of lively young people. Tony Tillston had drawn her into this circle, and Elinor was very pleased to be a part of it.
Though most of its members were unmarried, she was still so young and inexperienced that she fit in perfectly. A set was just beginning, and Tony asked Elinor to dance. Seeing it, Katharine smiled.
; She herself was soon surrounded by people eager to gossip about her painting. The scene at the theater remained very fresh, and it seemed that everyone was discussing it. Repeatedly she was asked if she would really paint Lord Stonenden, and though she had resigned herself to this onslaught before coming in, facing it turned out to be more annoying than she had expected. She had planned to say merely that she would, and no more, but the twentieth time the question was put, she found herself snapping, “Yes, I am. I have already begun, and you may tell everyone that I mean to say nothing more about the painting until it is finished.”
This, not unnaturally, caused a sensation, and Katharine soon found that instead of silencing the gossips, she had encouraged them. The story went around the room in a flash. The girl looked for rescue and, providentially, saw Eliza Burnham just coming into the ballroom. Hastily excusing herself, she made her way across and joined the newcomer before she was pulled into any of the chattering groups.
“Eliza! You must save me,” she said.
Lady Burnham smiled. “Must I?”
“Yes, you do not know what the last quarter hour has been like.”
“Oh, I have a fair idea, Katharine. You know, when I urged you to come to my ball at the start of this season, I hadn’t the least notion that you would set the ton on its ear when you did join its activities. I wonder if I would have insisted so if I had,” she added meditatively.
“I did no such thing,” retorted Katharine. “They set themselves on their ears; they like nothing better.” She looked around the room disgustedly. “They positively search for things to be scandalized over.”
“Well, of course they do, dear. They lack occupation. But there has to be some basis for their talk, you know.”
“They would be much better off helping you with your hospitals and orphans,” said Katharine.
“Undoubtedly. But they do not find them amusing, I fear. Really, Katharine, I do want to talk to you about this portrait scheme. It seems a bit unwise.”
“Why?”
“Well, to paint Stonenden, just as if you were an official portraitist—it will only increase the gossip.”
“It already has.” Katharine laughed shortly.
“Has? You mean you have begun already?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Lady Eliza sighed. “Well, I suppose it is no good arguing with you if you have actually started. I had hoped to persuade you not to do it.”
“But why?”
“Well, obviously, because it will keep this whole silly story alive so much the longer. I think it would be far better to let it drop. The ton would soon be onto something else, and it would be forgotten.”
“I shouldn’t forget,” replied Katharine, her jaw firm.
“Is it so important to you, dear? Why?”
The girl raised her amber eyes and met her friend’s squarely. “For two reasons, I think. First, of course, I resent being accused of pretending to paint, of hoaxing Sir Thomas Lawrence. I am proud of my painting. But more important, this article was so unfair, and in the most sweeping way. Winstead does not want any woman to have a chance. And only think, Eliza, there could be someone who paints much better than I who would never get anywhere because of him.”
Lady Burnham, who had been watching her closely, nodded. “Yes, I see. Well, you must do what you believe right. Though I must tell you, dear, that one person can do very little in this world. I have found that in my charity work. It is very frustrating.”
“But it is not an excuse for giving up.”
“No.” The older woman smiled. “Did I ever tell you, Katharine, what a sensation it caused when I took up my orphans?”
“No!” The girl smiled delightedly back. “Did it?”
“Society was appalled that I should wish to involve myself with lower-class brats. They are all accustomed to it now, of course. I am pointed out as a curiosity, nothing more.”
“You are no such thing,” laughed Katharine. “But thank you, Eliza.”
Lady Burnham nodded and looked about the room. “What a crush. I must go and speak to Mary. And there is Elinor. How is she?”
“Much better since I told her my scheme for making Tom jealous. She thinks it splendid.”
“Poor child. But is it working?”
“Not yet, apparently.” Both women looked across the room to where the Countess Standen was sitting, Tom Marchington in his usual position. As they watched, Lord Stonenden came up to the countess and bowed slightly, clearly asking her to dance. Tom eyed him with patent hostility.
Lady Burnham raised her eyebrows. “Well, that is certainly an unexpected sight. Oliver—”
“Yes, I know,” interrupted Katharine. “He very seldom dances. If you will excuse me, Eliza, I must speak to Mary about something.” And she strode off, her friend looking after her with mild surprise.
***
Later in the evening, as Katharine was walking across the room, she heard her name and turned to find Lord Stonenden approaching. “May I have the pleasure of this next set?” he asked. “It is a waltz, I believe.”
For some reason, Katharine found this unexceptionable request irritating. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I…I’m already engaged.” She had noticed Tony Tillston nearby, and now she beckoned him unobtrusively. “Tony, this is our dance, I think.”
Tony, showing only a brief flicker of surprise, came over and bowed slightly. “Of course.”
“I am sorry,” repeated Katharine, not sounding particularly so. Stonenden shrugged, and she and Tony walked out onto the floor.
After a moment, the music began, and they danced in silence for a while. Finally Tony said, “I’m quite a useful sort of chap, aren’t I?”
“What? Oh, Tony, I am grateful. You took my hint splendidly.”
“Always at your service. Not that I get much chance these days. I have hardly seen you since I began bear-leading your cousin about town.”
“Tony!” Katharine repressed a smile.
“Not bear-leading, then, escorting.”
“Well, it is excessively kind of you to help,” responded the girl warmly. “I only wish I could be sure it was working.”
“Oh, I’ve seen Marchington glaring at me more than once.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. The thing is, he can’t seem to decide whether to scowl at me or Stonenden. I’d say the race was about even just now.”
“Oh.”
Tony looked down at her. “I can’t understand myself what Stonenden is at. You wouldn’t have any notion, would you?”
“I? Of course not.”
“I thought you might. You and he are so thick these days, what with portraits and so on.”
“We are no such thing. We are the merest acquaintances.”
“Coming it too strong.”
“What do you mean? We are. Professional acquaintances. I am painting his portrait, nothing more.”
“Not on your side, perhaps. But a man like Stonenden don’t offer himself up to the gossips in this way without some reason.”
Katharine frowned up at him. “I don’t know what you mean. Lord Stonenden is only helping me prove Winstead wrong, and getting a first-rate portrait which he has wanted for some time.”
“Come, Katharine! What does he care for Winstead? And he might have any painter in England do his portrait.”
“Well, and if he might? Is it so astonishing that he should wish me to do it?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Tony bluntly. “And you would see it if you stopped to consider. I don’t like the whole business, Katharine.”
“You are being ridiculous.” She stared out over his shoulder stonily.
Tony looked down at her, grinned, and shrugged. “I suppose I am. It is another thing I’m good at. Perhaps I’m simply angry that I did not think of offering to be painted.”
Katharine’s expression softened, and she smiled. “What would you do with a portrait?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Give it to my club, perhaps, f
or darts. But really, Katharine, you are determined to go on with this painting?”
“Absolutely. We began yesterday.”
“I heard. Well, I suppose there is nothing I can do about it. But do be careful, Katharine.”
She laughed. “You make it sound as if I were embarking upon some dangerous adventure, Tony.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Not dangerous. But—”
“Oh, do stop. Let us talk of something amusing, as we used to.”
Tony smiled wryly. “Alas, for the first time in my life, I am caught without an amusing anecdote.”
“Well, we shall simply dance, then.”
They did so, and when the set ended, Katharine sought out Mary to see if she was ready to go home. But before they could depart, Katharine was accosted by Lady Jersey, whom she had successfully evaded all evening.
“Not going, darling?” she said. “Why, I haven’t even spoken to you!”
“Yes,” answered Katharine unencouragingly.
“But surely you can delay one little minute. I simply must ask you about your fascinating painting. I know you began yesterday.”
“Then you know everything.”
“Oh, my dear! Not at all.” Lady Jersey leaned closer. “Tell me, what is it like to spend a whole morning alone with Oliver Stonenden? Such an attractive man.”
“Not alone,” put in Mary Daltry firmly. “I sit with them, of course.”
“Oh.” Lady Jersey looked a bit disappointed, then rallied. “But still, it must be…ah, stimulating.” She eyed Katharine speculatively.
But Katharine disappointed her by laughing. “If you could see me covered with paint in my ragged old apron, I doubt you would say so, Lady Jersey.”
The other raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? Well, my dear, I can only say that if Oliver Stonenden had made such a gesture for me, I should take care to look ravishing when he came round.”