A Most Unconventional Match

by Julia Justiss

  She smiled. ‘He would be, since I just completed a sketch of Max! After viewing the works of the masters, I’m not sure I want to let you view my poor efforts.’

  ‘Gentle critic,’ he reassured her with a smile. ‘Would like to see them.’

  Flattered that he’d expressed an interest in her work—even if it was probably just an excuse—one she welcomed!—for him to linger a bit longer—after a moment longer of hesitation, she nodded. ‘All right, if you insist. But I warn you not to expect too much of me!’

  He made a crossing sign with his finger, as if sealing a child’s pact. ‘Duly warned.’

  Nodding to Sands, who’d been waiting to either relieve the gentleman of his coat or escort him back out, Elizabeth said, ‘Take Mr Waterman’s things and bring another brace of candles to my workroom. And ask Betsy to put these in water, please.’ She set the violet posey down carefully on the hall table.

  After turning over his coat, hat and cane, Hal followed her down the hall to her workroom. Though David had led him into her sanctum previously, she had received them at her desk near the door. Several of her paintings hung on the walls over the desk, but the canvases on which she was currently working were kept on easels by the north windows, not visible from the desk area.

  The last of the daylight shone faintly through the large north windows as they walked in. Elizabeth paused to light several candles.

  Now that Mr Waterman was here in her private space, poised to inspect the work that, except for her family, had been the central focus of her life, Elizabeth found herself suddenly nervous. Of course, it mattered not at all whether he admired her work. But she couldn’t suppress a fierce hope that he would approve it.

  She gestured to the large portrait over the desk. ‘That one is of my husband, Everitt Lowery, painted last summer. The small piece below it is a colour study of some roses from our garden; the one to the left, a study of David I did last winter.’

  His eyes widening, Hal approached closer to the paintings. ‘You did these? Thought professional painter had. Likeness of David particularly fine.’

  A rush of relief, gratification and delight filled Elizabeth. ‘Thank you! I am rather fond of that portrait of David.’

  Hal bent his head, studying it, then nodded. ‘Captured angle of head, expression of eyes.’ He turned to her and smiled. ‘Almost hear chattering.’

  Elizabeth smiled back. ‘He does chatter! “How” and “why” and “when”, until one can become quite weary with him! But you have been all kindness and patience.’

  ‘Intelligent, interested. Like his chatter,’ Hal affirmed. ‘Have other works?’

  ‘I’ve given most of the other oils to my family. A few are upstairs, but there are several more here, plus a number of drawings. If you would like to look?’

  ‘Very much,’ he said.

  For the next half an hour, after a frowning Sands brought in two more braces of candles, Elizabeth showed Hal several more oil works, four sketchbooks full of pastel and charcoal drawings as well as the two unfinished oil paintings on which she was currently working, the cloudy rooftop and another portrait of David.

  Hal examined them all with what seemed to be keen interest. Finally, she summoned Sands to bring wine and they walked back to sit by her desk.

  ‘Work excellent,’ Hal said, taking a sip of his wine. ‘Much better than expected, meaning no offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ Elizabeth said. In addition to the ever-simmering connection between them, his enthusiasm for her work filled her with joy and gratitude. Sharing it with him seemed a fitting conclusion to the most wonderful day she’d experienced since before Everitt’s death.

  ‘Ever thought to show it?’

  ‘Show it?’ she repeated, not certain what he meant.

  ‘At exhibition. Royal Society. All artists able to submit work. Committee decide what to accept. Several female artists accepted.’

  ‘Submit my work for possible inclusion at a Royal Academy exhibition?’ she breathed. ‘No, of course I’ve never considered it! Do you really think my work is skilful enough?’

  Hal nodded, his expression both serious and enthusiastic. ‘Portraits especially good. Natural, unaffected. Capture spirit of subject. Good as Gainsborough.’

  ‘Now you flatter me too much!’ she said. ‘I do think I’m improving, but never imagine my skill comparable to one of the great portrait painters of our age.’

  ‘Mean it,’ Hal insisted. ‘Ever think to do portraits on commission?’

  ‘You mean…have clients who would pay me to paint them?’ She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never considered painting anyone but family.’

  ‘Think about it. Don’t need income. But work beautiful. Many pay to have portraits. Especially of children.’

  By the intent light shining in his eyes and his rapt expression, Elizabeth realised that, incredible as the prospect seemed, Hal was entirely serious. ‘You really believe that people outside my own family would pay me to do portraits of their children?’

  ‘Without doubt. Have gift. Should share it.’ He gestured to the portrait of David. ‘Parents treasure picture like that, long after child grown. Especially after child grown.’

  Sipping her wine, Elizabeth considered the possibility. Though the prospect still seemed incredible, a little kernel of excitement began growing within her. Might she actually be, not just a genteel dabbler, but a true artist? Daring to show her paintings to the world, submitting them to the Royal Academy exhibit, taking commissions?

  The possibilities, the challenges of such a venture, energised her.

  It would certainly be a more fulfilling way to spend her day than choosing between twenty different ways of preparing chicken!

  ‘Very well,’ she said slowly, almost afraid to voice the words aloud. ‘I will think about it.’

  Finishing his wine, Hal set down the glass. ‘Good.’

  For a moment they stared at each other, both seeming reluctant to end the evening. Then, with a sigh, Hal stood. ‘Will be wanting your dinner. Best go now.’

  Reluctantly Elizabeth stood as well. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon. A wonderful evening. Thank you so much.’ Laughing with a light-hearted glee she’d not felt in a long, long time, she added, ‘I shall be forever grateful to your mama and her protégée for desiring you to attend Lady Cowper’s ball.’

  ‘I also,’ he replied, smiling.

  She walked with him to the hallway. ‘Goodnight, Mr Waterman,’ Elizabeth said softly, catching herself at the last moment from calling him ‘Hal’.

  ‘Mrs Lowery.’ As he had this afternoon, he took her hand, simply holding it for a long moment before bending down to brush his lips over her knuckles. Spirals of heat, giddy, intoxicating, radiated out from the infinitesimal pressure of his lips. Elizabeth had to curl her toes in her slippers to resist the roar of desire that she throw herself at his chest, claim the comforting, exhilarating, intoxicating feel of his arms encircling her.

  Finally he released her hand, retrieved his things from a fortuitously appearing Sands, and, with another bow, walked out.

  ‘Do you wish dinner served in the dining room?’ Sands asked, staring with a frown at the door that he had closed behind Mr Waterman.

  ‘No, I promised to tuck David in. Have Cook fix something light for me and I’ll take it upstairs.’

  Sands bowed. ‘I’ll have it sent up directly, ma’am.’

  As she mounted the stairs, Elizabeth looked thoughtfully after Sands. He was pacing away, his back and shoulders still stiff with disapproval.

  Did he frown upon her spending time with Mr Waterman, with Everitt less than two months gone? It was possible, she supposed. Sands had been with her husband for many years and would be very particular about her observing every rule of mourning etiquette.

  Which, of course, she had every intention of doing. Just because she’d spent a lovely day in company with a man whom she was coming more and more to like and admire didn’t mean she loved her husband an
y less, or intended to do less than honour to his memory.

  No matter how oddly her treacherous body was reacting. After pausing to drop a kiss on the forehead of her sleeping son, Elizabeth returned to her chamber and let her maid help her into a dressing gown. Finally alone, she curled up on the sofa in her sitting room to analyse her unprecedented reaction to Hal Waterman.

  Perhaps it was just that her body, after slumbering for months in grief and distress, was suddenly awakening. She’d had no physical intimacy since Everitt’s death, of course, and very little in the six months preceding it.

  But the prospect of intimacy, the way she felt when near Everitt, had never elicited the strength and violence of the response she’d experienced today. Could it be that, older and more experienced now than the timid virgin she’d been upon her marriage, she felt physical desire more strongly?

  How she wished Sarah was here. She’d always been able to ask her wise older sister’s advice on everything. Though, to be honest, she wasn’t sure she could ask even Sarah about this.

  Thinking about Mr Waterman made her feel at once protected, safe, secure, and jittery, impatient…and attracted. She wasn’t sure whether it would be wise to see more of him, to discover if these odd, contradictory sensations would abate, or avoid him.

  But she didn’t want to avoid him. Nor, with him not yet finished the paperwork of Everitt’s estate, would that be practical.

  Thinking about her attraction no longer made her feel as guilty as it first had. She’d loved Everitt with all her heart, still missed his smile, his wry humour, his gentle touch. He and David had been the entire focus of her world.

  But she was beginning to see that in cherishing her, he’d also kept her sheltered from the world, dependent upon him by bonds of affection that were none the less tethers. Handling every worldly detail for her, he’d shielded her from grief and distress, but also from responsibility, excitement and opportunity. Though he’d known her since she was a child, watched the progress of her skill as a painter for many years, never once had he suggested that her talent deserved a broader, more public exposure.

  He’d never even taken her to visit the exhibition at the Royal Academy, something Mr Waterman had realised after a mere ten days of acquaintance would thrill her to the very core.

  She thought again of the financial tangles in which Everitt had left the estate, his not appointing a solicitor competent to manage his affairs. Of course, he’d not thought having such a solicitor would be so soon a necessity. The fact that he’d apparently borrowed money against David’s inheritance to fund his passion for collecting didn’t lessen her affection for him, but it did make her realise that he was not the infallible judge of everything she’d long thought him.

  It also made her just a bit impatient and more than a little curious to explore the world outside the cocoon in which she’d been living.

  After the proper interval, she also wanted to explore more fully the novel feelings Hal Waterman inspired. She knew beyond doubt that, whatever his faults, Everitt had loved her deeply. He would neither expect nor want her to shut herself away in his house, making it a mausoleum to his memory. When the time for mourning was done, he would want her to survive, endure and go on.

  With Hal Waterman as her guide into the world beyond grief, she thought, looking up at the framed pastel sketch of her son that hung over her mantel, forging a new life was beginning to seem more and more possible.

  Did she have the talent to succeed as an artist? Could she get her work accepted for showing by the Royal Academy? A swell of pride and enthusiasm filled her at the idea of being recognised, even earning money, for doing what she loved. There were women artists in the Academy exhibition, Hal had told her. Could she be one of them?

  Despite her excitement, she wasn’t at all sure she could. But in the afterglow of this wonderful afternoon, with the reassurance of not having to part yet with David, for the first time in her life, Elizabeth Lowery felt she just might be capable of such a challenge.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Inspired by her Royal Academy visit, Elizabeth went to her workroom even earlier the next morning, eager to explore in her own study of the swirling mist some of the translucent technique she’d observed in Mr Turner’s painting of the storm clouds.

  She also hoped by beginning early to have finished her work for the day before nuncheon so she might stop by the library and catch Hal Waterman before he departed. After the closeness and camaraderie of yesterday’s excursion, perhaps this time if she pressed him to stay and eat with them, he might accept.

  She had just finished mixing her oils when an insistent knocking at the study door pulled her out of her contemplation of the unfinished composition. Annoyed at the interruption, she looked up to see Sands striding in.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, trying to keep the impatience from her voice.

  ‘It’s your maid, Gibbons. I discovered her skulking around my quarters. I’ve not yet done a complete inspection, so cannot be sure if anything is missing.’

  The concept of how she would proceed with her brush dissolved as she stared in consternation at the butler. ‘You think Gibbons meant to steal something from you?’

  ‘I cannot imagine what other object she might have for lingering by my room. There’s no reason for any female servants to be there.’ Sands shook his head. ‘I warned you when you brought her from the country that it would have been better to let me hire someone from an agency.’

  ‘Gibbons is the younger sister of a maid at Wellingford Manor,’ Elizabeth protested. Knowing after her marriage she would live mostly in London, she’d wanted to bring with her someone as fond of her country home as she was, rather than employ a city girl who might scorn Elizabeth’s unfashionable rural preferences. ‘My sister Meredyth would not tolerate a thief in her employ.’

  ‘Perhaps the sister is more honest. But I would strongly recommend that you dismiss the girl and let me engage someone whose references can be checked.’

  Theft in a household was a serious offence. On the other hand, there was as yet no proof a theft had occurred, nor did Elizabeth wish to dismiss someone who had served her for seven years as competently and cheerfully as Gibbons simply on Sands’s suspicion. She should at least hear her maid’s side of the story.

  But, oh, how she hated dealing with disputes! Miss Lowery had always handled disagreements among the staff, Everitt stepping in to make a final decision if necessary.

  For an instant Elizabeth considered asking Amelia to assist her. But with her health so fragile, Everitt’s cousin did not need to have her still-uncertain recovery disrupted by this, particularly as it might make her feel she must leave her sickbed prematurely to resume management of a household Elizabeth did not wish to handle.

  Acutely conscious of her painting time ticking away, Elizabeth said, ‘Have you spoken with her about this?’

  ‘To what purpose? She would certainly deny it.’

  ‘That may be true, but I would like to hear what she has to say.’

  The butler nodded stiffly. ‘I had hoped, ma’am, that you would assume I make the well being of this household my first concern. My late master certainly did. However, if you insist upon speaking with Gibbons, I shall summon her.’

  Sighing, Elizabeth watched him walk out. By not immediately following the butler’s recommendation, she’d apparently offended him. Since, as the senior servant in the house, his disgruntlement could affect all the others, she would have to find some way to appease him. But surely Gibbons was entitled to speak on her own behalf?

  If she dismissed the girl, she would have to tolerate having someone new and unfamiliar inhabiting her private rooms. If she did not dismiss the maid, Sands would clearly be unhappy.

  Regardless of what she decided, there was likely to be some lingering perturbation in the household.

  While she worried over how to satisfactorily resolve the squabble, a knock at the door announced that the moment to attempt that feat had arrived. Tryi
ng to put aside her distaste for dealing with the matter and assume a confident manner she was far from feeling, she bade them enter.

  Under Sands’s cold glare, Gibbons walked in and curtsied. ‘I be so very sorry to disturb you, ma’am. But, Mrs Lowery, you know I would never steal from nobody!’

  ‘I don’t think you would. But why were you lingering near Sands’s room?’

  Her eyes studying Elizabeth’s face, Gibbons opened her mouth, then closed it. After casting a glance at Sands, she finally said, ‘I never meant no harm. Just wanting to watch out for you and the young master…no matter what someone else might think.’

  ‘And that is all you have to say?’ From the girl’s manner, Elizabeth suspected there must be more that, for whatever reason, Gibbons seemed reluctant to share.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Then you may go. I’ll speak with you later.’

  After bobbing another curtsy, Gibbons walked out, carefully avoiding the butler’s hostile gaze. Once the door had closed behind her, Elizabeth asked Sands, ‘Have you determined whether or not anything is missing?’

  ‘Nothing that I could tell…yet,’ he conceded.

  ‘Then I cannot see how, in fairness, I can dismiss Gibbons. Perhaps she has her eye on one of the footman and was lingering below stairs hoping to meet him.’

  ‘Immorality is no more acceptable in a female than thievery,’ Sands said repressively. ‘I still urge you to consider replacing her at once.’

  ‘But in her years with this household, Gibbons has not been proven to possess either fault. Much as I respect your opinion, I cannot feel it proper to take any further action against her now. Of course, I shall watch her closely, as I am sure you will continue to do. I assure you, I do value everything you do for this family.’

  Sands’s stiff bow of acknowledgement told her he wasn’t mollified. ‘Very well, madam. I hope nothing untoward comes of your indulgence. By the way, Miss Lowery asked if she might have a word with you.’

  For a moment, Elizabeth closed her eyes in frustration. Everything seemed to be conspiring against her accomplishing what she intended at her easel this morning. But despite her eagerness to get to her work, she would never keep the gentle Amelia waiting. ‘Tell her I will come up at once.’