by Diane Gaston
Her comment was very close to Tranville’s the previous day. ‘This is merely the first step,’ he said tightly.
Ariana picked up the sketch. ‘I have no idea how an Egyptian queen would appear.’ She turned to Jack. ‘Would it not be splendid if I truly looked the part?’
Nancy said, ‘You must have such a costume in the theatre.’
‘I dare say such costumes exist.’ She gazed away in thought. ‘I should love to look as if plucked directly from an Egyptian vase.’
As they spoke the painting was beginning to form in Jack’s mind. Ariana draped in fine linens, gold jewellery adorning her neck and wrists, her chaise, an Egyptian sofa, pyramids in the background.
‘There are prints of Egyptian friezes and sculptures we could view at the Royal Academy,’ Michael said. ‘If you wish, we could view them today.’
‘You could arrange that?’ Ariana asked him.
‘Of course, he could!’ Nancy jumped to her feet. ‘Let us go right now. May we, Jack?’
He liked the idea of using real images from the period to inform the work. ‘Give me time to get my sketchbook and pencil.’
Soon they were walking down The Strand toward Somerset House, the wind from the Thames fluttering the ladies’ skirts and threatening to whip Jack’s hat off his head. Michael and Nancy were ahead, their heads together in deep conversation.
Jack heard a snippet of it. ‘It was not at all what I expected…’
Nancy spoke about meeting Ariana, he suspected. Jack should have anticipated Tranville would be with her. This portrait was merely a part of Tranville’s pursuit of her, no doubt. Had Tranville bestowed other gifts upon her?
Ariana’s manner towards Tranville was a puzzle. She seemed to ignore him, except when deflecting his talk of arranging nuptials for Nancy. The damned audacity of the man.
Ariana held Jack’s arm as they walked. ‘Those two seem very happy,’ she remarked. ‘I dare say matchmaking for Nancy’s sake will be unnecessary.’
‘What do you mean?’ It was as if she’d heard his thoughts.
‘Those two.’ She inclined her head towards Nancy and Michael. ‘Surely they are sweethearts.’
He gaped at them. ‘They are friends. Michael is our only friend in London.’
‘Not your only friend,’ she murmured.
‘Who else?’ he asked.
She gave him a disappointed look, and they walked on.
After a while she asked, ‘Is Tranville not your friend? He says he is.’
Jack stiffened. ‘He is no friend.’
She shook his arm. ‘Jack. Jack. You make me want to ask you what is between you and Tranville, but I doubt you would tell me.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘It is a private matter.’
The mood that had been lightening between them darkened again. Jack could not shake the picture of Tranville seated at his mother’s breakfast table from his thoughts. It had not been the first time Tranville had so used Jack’s mother, only this time she must have had no illusions about it.
Jack walked on, mouth clamped shut.
Ariana broke the silence. ‘Every time Tranville appears in person or in conversation, you turn dark and sullen. Did you know that?’
He turned to her and spoke with deep sarcasm. ‘Forgive me. I shall endeavour to be more entertaining.’
She hit his arm. ‘Stop it. I do not want that.’ They walked a few more steps before she added, ‘I like you, Jack. I wish to be your friend. If we might be friends, think how enjoyable our time together will be.’
He broke in. ‘This is a matter of business between us. Nothing more.’
‘It is more to me,’ she countered. ‘It is my future. Yours, as well, I think. I want this painting to help make me a sensation on the London stage. You must be counting on it to bring you commissions. We both want the money and attention the painting can bring.’
‘That is still business, Ariana.’
Her eyes widened and a smile flitted across her face. He realised, then, that he’d called her by her given name, belying all his talk of business.
‘Jack.’ She spoke his name as if confirming his slip. ‘Your drawings are good, but they are not exceptional. You are holding back. I look flat in them, like I am nothing more than a doll. You can do better; I’ve seen you do better, but we must get over this—this barrier between us.’
‘Nonsense. There is no barrier.’ Inside he knew she was correct.
‘The barrier is Tranville,’ she said.
‘Then it is an insurmountable barrier,’ he shot back. ‘Tranville is paying for the portrait. He is as much a part of it as you and me.’
She stepped in front of him, causing him to stop. ‘Money doesn’t make him part of it.’ She put both hands on his arms. ‘He is nothing to me, Jack.’
The hood from her cloak fell away and her face was bathed in a soft light, diffused by clouds obscuring the sun. Wisps of auburn hair beat against her cheeks and eyes he knew to be green had turned grey from the sky’s reflection. Her eyes pleaded and she raised herself on tiptoe, bringing her face even closer.
His gaze fell to her lips. He tried to memorise their colour in the overcast afternoon, more violet than pink. His head dipped and he noticed the length and curl of her dark lashes.
His hands closed around her waist.
A carriage clattered by and Jack stepped away, shaken out of his reverie.
He glanced past her to see that his sister and Michael had put a great deal of distance between them.
‘We had better walk on,’ he said.
She held him back. ‘Can we be friends, then? Forget about Tranville when we are together and enjoy ourselves?’
He stared down at her, knowing at this moment he wished for more than friendship with her.
Forgetting Tranville would be difficult, but far easier than resisting the desire she aroused in him, yet she looked so earnest, so compelling, he could refuse her nothing at this moment.
‘Very well, Ariana.’ He looked into her eyes again and again felt the rush of desire for her. He bit down on his resolve. ‘I shall try.’
Chapter Seven
Ariana walked out of Somerset House with Jack at her side feeling she could not be happier. Only on stage did she feel similar exhilaration.
True, she had not convinced Jack to confide in her, but he had used her given name, more than once. And he had almost kissed her. It was enough to send her spirits soaring to the heavens.
Inside Somerset House Jack had quickly sketched from print after print of Egyptian art. He’d been so totally absorbed that she, his sister and his friend might well have been invisible. Ariana did not mind. It was fascinating merely to watch him work.
Now that their lovely time at Somerset House had ended Ariana could not bear her day with Jack to come to an end.
They strolled back to Adam Street talking about Egyptian prints.
‘I did not like all that I saw,’ Ariana said as she walked between Jack and his sister. ‘The women looked so strange.’ She shuddered, recalling one print depicting a bas relief of a bare-chested queen nursing a boy almost as tall as she.
Michael grinned at her. ‘Do you mean you do not wish to be painted in profile with some strange symbol resting on top of your head?’
‘I want to look regal and exotic’ She gazed at Jack, who had lapsed into silence again. ‘What do you think, Jack? Am I to be in profile?’
‘Not necessarily’ He seemed to be only half-listening.
Michael went on. ‘At the Academy we practise designing classical architecture, but we are expected to create buildings suitable for modern use. Jack might use the same principles.’
‘Meaning I do not have to be in profile?’ Ariana arched a brow.
Jack finally smiled down at her. ‘You do not. Cleopatra will be as exotic and regal as you desire.’
His smile made Ariana feel like warm honey inside. She was quite in danger of becoming completely besotted with him.
‘W
ell, I am glad the Egyptian ladies wore their hair down,’ Nancy remarked pragmatically. ‘You have such lovely hair. It will make a very pretty display.’
Ariana smiled at her. ‘Why, thank you, Miss Vernon. What a nice compliment.’
She liked Jack’s sister, so fresh and young and full of hope, exactly like the portrait Jack painted of her. It was obvious to Ariana that Michael shared her opinion of Nancy and more.
Ariana turned back to Jack. ‘Perhaps you might come with me to look through the theatre’s costumes and props for something that will befit our Egyptian queen?’
‘That is an excellent idea,’ Michael agreed.
‘What fun to rummage through theatrical costumes!’ Nancy looked at her brother. ‘You should do it.’
Jack’s gaze touched Ariana again. ‘If you wish it.’
Her heart fluttered.
They reached Adam Street, and Nancy pulled at Michael to hurry him on. ‘Mama will wonder what has happened to us. It is almost time for dinner.’
Michael was evidently an invited dinner guest.
Nancy and Michael said their goodbyes and hurried off. She was alone with Jack.
‘Will you walk me home?’ Ariana asked.
‘Of course,’ he replied without hesitation.
It made her heart soar. ‘I enjoyed myself today.’
He did not respond.
She jostled his arm. ‘Here now, Jack. There is no harm in telling me you enjoyed yourself as well.’
He looked down at her and his mouth slowly widened into a smile. ‘I did enjoy myself.’
She was besotted with him, she thought.
When they crossed Maiden Lane, it was all she could do to not dance for joy. What harm would there be if she opened her heart to Jack? She was not the green girl she’d been at nineteen.
When they arrived at her door, she grabbed his hand. ‘Come in for a little while.’
He did not ponder long. ‘For a little while.’
She opened the door, still holding his hand, giddy with excitement.
Betsy stepped into the hall, carrying folded laundry. ‘Miss Blane, there is a gentleman to see you.’
‘A gentleman?’ She glanced at Jack, who already seemed to have retreated from her. ‘Who is it?’
‘Lord somebody.’
Her insides turned leaden.
‘Tranville,’ Jack said.
‘I’m sure I don’t know, sir,’ the maid responded. ‘I wasn’t the one who let him in. He’s been here over an hour, though.’
Ariana felt as if she’d plummeted down a well. ‘Is he in the drawing room?’
‘That he is,’ the girl repeated and hurried up the stairs.
Jack moved toward the door. ‘Good day, Miss Blane.’
She still had his hand. ‘No, come upstairs with me, just for a little while.’
He glanced toward the closed drawing-room door. ‘You have a guest.’
It felt as if a stone wall had suddenly been erected between them.
‘He can wait,’ she pleaded.
‘He must not be reckoned with, Ariana.’
‘I will send him away,’ she insisted.
He shook his head.
It was no use. ‘You will still come to look at the costumes tomorrow, will you not?’
He again glanced at the drawing room door.
‘Oh, do not refuse, Jack. Please,’ she whispered.
He put his hand on the front doorknob. ‘Select any costume you desire and bring it to the studio.’
She covered his hand with her own. ‘Please, Jack.’
He looked into her eyes. ‘There is much at stake for both of us. You said so yourself. It is best this remain a business matter.’
She tossed her head. ‘I can manage him.’
His expression hardened. ‘Do not underestimate what that man can do.’
He turned the knob, her hand still touching his. She reluctantly released him as he opened the door.
‘Come to the studio tomorrow afternoon whenever you choose.’ He turned away and was gone.
Ariana closed the door, her throat tightening. She made a frustrated sound as she tore off her cloak and hat and pulled off her gloves, throwing them down on a nearby chair. She paced the hall for a few minutes, trying to calm herself enough to face Tranville.
Jack was mistaken about Lord Tranville. He was merely full of his own consequence and ruled by carnal desire rather than a rational assessment of his attraction to a woman less than half his age. She could manage such a man.
She squared her shoulders and entered the drawing room.
Tranville sat in a chair, his legs extended and his head bobbing against his chest.
She cleared her throat.
He uttered a loud snort, opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. ‘Miss Blane!’
She remained just inside the doorway and spoke in her coolest voice. ‘Lord Tranville.’
He took a step forwards. ‘My dear, where have you been?’
She lifted an eyebrow, but did not answer him.
He halted. ‘I was concerned something had happened to you.’
She gave a shake of her head. ‘Why?’
‘I stopped by Jack’s studio, but there was no answer. Naturally I thought you had come home—’ his tone was matter of fact ‘—so I decided to call upon you.’
‘You stopped at the studio?’ She was shocked. ‘I asked you not to.’
‘Oh, I had given you plenty of time. I actually thought I would see Jack.’
Her breathing accelerated. ‘You gave me plenty of time? I did not realise my time was yours to give.’
He answered with a laugh. ‘You misunderstand me. I merely happened to be in the neighbourhood and I wanted to see what progress Jack had made.’
‘Happened to be in the neighbourhood,’ she repeated.
‘Indeed.’ It now seemed to be dawning on him that she was not pleased. ‘So, where were you? Where did you go?’
Ariana walked to the window, pressing her lips together so she would not say something she would later regret.
‘You expect me to account to you where I go, what I do?’ Her voice rose to a higher pitch.
‘Not at all.’ his tone was almost cheerful. ‘I just wanted to know.’
She swung around to stare at him. This man deserved the biggest dressing down she could deliver.
Her mother’s voice—and Jack’s—sounded in her head, warning her not to make an enemy of him.
Even so, she must make clear to him he had not purchased her along with the portrait. Gentlemen assumed actresses, singers and dancers were like trinkets in a shop, awaiting purchase. Ariana’s mother had been a high-priced ornament, but as soon as some new glittering ornament had appeared, gentlemen cast her aside.
Ariana wanted none of that. She just wanted to act.
She turned to Tranville. ‘Sir, do sit.’
He had not moved far from the chair in which he had been napping. He lowered himself on to it.
She chose a chair not too nearby. ‘I am distressed.’
‘Distressed?’ He sat forwards in his chair, immediately solicitous.
She wished she could shrink back.
Instead she put on a patient smile. ‘I perhaps misunderstood you.’ It was always better to act as if the fault was on her part, not the gentleman’s. ‘I thought you said this portrait placed me under no obligation to you—’
He interrupted her. ‘It does not, I assure you—’
She silenced him with a hand. ‘And I thought you agreed not to come to the studio.’
He straightened. ‘I agreed not to interrupt you at the studio while you were sitting for the portrait, which I assure you I had no intention of doing.’
She tilted her head as if pondering a question beyond her means of comprehension. ‘And if I had been there when you knocked, would that not have been an interruption?’
He coloured, but she feared it was not in embarrassment, but in anger. ‘But you were not there.’<
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She must tread carefully. ‘The point is, sir, that I either misunderstood you or you are not a man of your word.’ She made herself smile again. ‘And I cannot believe you are not a man of your word.’
His eyes flashed. ‘Of course I am a man of my word.’
She stood. ‘Excellent!’
He rose as well.
‘Then I may continue to sit for the portrait.’ She smiled again. ‘Without your assumption that you have purchased my attentions—’
His eyes bulged. ‘Purchased your attentions!’
‘—and I have your word you will not come looking for me at the studio and intrude on what I consider a most serious endeavour?’ An endeavour she wished to make very private.
He had no recourse but to nod his head in agreement, although she could see he did not like it.
She took a few steps towards the door and then stepped aside.
He gaped at her as if not believing she expected him to leave. He did not march out as contritely as she had hoped.
Instead, he walked up to her, his eyes hard as flints. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and spoke in a smooth voice. ‘My dear, I have the highest, the deepest esteem for you. Anything I did, I did because of my regard for you, my desire to fulfil your every wish.’
He still did not believe she was serious.
She curtsied, gently pulling her hand away. ‘I am complimented, sir, but I must speak very plainly. My affections are not secured by what favours a gentleman performs for me. I must refuse the portrait if you expect some compensation from me in return for it.’
This was a gamble. If he pulled out of the portrait, she would lose that valuable exposure for her acting career and Jack would lose his commission.
He looked affronted. She’d wounded his vanity, and men whose vanity was wounded were very prone to retaliation.
Placate him, she told herself. Don’t lose Jack’s commission.
She touched Tranville’s arm. ‘It is not you, sir. It is merely that I value myself too highly to sell my attentions to anyone. You know how the theatre is. How gentlemen are. In my opinion, it cheapens me to give my heart to the highest bidder.’ She spoke honestly. ‘I never accept a gift if an obligation is attached.’
His brow wrinkled as if he was pondering what, to him, must seem a mystifying statement. An actress not willing to sell herself to the highest bidder? Was this possible?