Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

by Diane Gaston

  She responded with a questioning look. ‘You told Tranville two weeks.’

  Because he wanted as much time with her as possible.

  ‘To put on the finishing touches and to make the copy, I will need two weeks. It is not crucial for you to pose for me.’

  She looked wounded and confused.

  He tried to mollify her. ‘I am engaged most of the day tomorrow with Lord Ullman,’ he explained. ‘Ullman apparently wishes to show us his townhouse and God knows what else.’

  ‘Very well,’ she murmured.

  A few minutes later as Jack watched her walk up the street towards the Strand, he had a notion he understood how Michael had felt after parting with Nancy.

  Nancy was seated in her room, wrapped in a woollen shawl because the fire was merely one measly dying coal, the coal bucket was empty, and she did not want to rouse herself to get more. She just sat, staring into the flame of one candle on the table beside her. All she wanted was to sit alone and be miserable.

  There was a knock on the door and Wilson’s voice. ‘Mr Harper has called, miss.’

  Michael! She bounded out of the chair.

  ‘I will be there directly, Wilson,’ she called through the door. ‘Tell him to wait. One minute.’

  She turned around, looking down at her gown, wondering if it was good enough, but changing it would only delay seeing him.

  It would have to do.

  She brought her candle to her dressing table and hurriedly tidied her hair. To think she’d almost refused to have the maid pin up her hair this morning. She peered at her face in the mirror and rubbed at the dark smudges under her eyes and pinched her cheeks to put some colour in her face. She looked terrible. She should not even show her face to Michael, she looked so awful.

  Once when she had almost refused the chance to walk to the shops with Michael because she looked a fright, he told her it was foolish to think she could be anything but pretty.

  The memory made her smile.

  She hurried downstairs, but slowed as she approached the drawing room. It would be so painful to see him, painful to part from him again.

  She peeked into the drawing room. He stood with his head bowed, so very still. It frightened her a little. He looked like the man who had come that day to tell Mama that Papa was dead. She’d been very little, but she remembered.

  ‘Michael?’

  He lifted his head and smiled a bittersweet smile. ‘I had no classes. I came to see if you would like to take some air.’

  Just like before, when they’d been carefree friends.

  ‘I would like that very much,’ she replied.

  Wilson must have been hovering because he appeared with her cloak, hat and gloves. They were soon on the street.

  ‘Where would you like to walk? To the shops?’ He sounded almost like the Michael who used to take her on walks.

  She sighed. ‘Do you know what I would wish? I wish there was somewhere to walk like the park in Bath by the Royal Crescent, somewhere with lots of trees and greenery. I want to smell spring in the air.’ One last time, she almost added.

  It felt as if life would end when she married Ullman.

  Michael did not answer right away. ‘I suppose we could walk to St James’s Park. There is much greenery there.’

  ‘Oh, let us go there, then!’ She took hold of his arm.

  Michael frowned. ‘I am not certain your mother would approve, though. The park has a reputation.’

  She blinked up at him. ‘A reputation?’

  He tilted his head. ‘Well, let me say that two people might be very private there.’

  She stared into his eyes. ‘My mother need not be told of it.’

  They walked in silence for a while until Michael spoke. ‘I saw Jack last night.’

  ‘Did you?’ She did not wish to talk to him about Jack.

  ‘He said you are to marry very soon.’

  She did not wish to talk of that either, especially not that. ‘We are to be married by licence. It is faster.’ The banns would not have to be read in each of their home parishes for three consecutive Sundays and no Certificates of Banns would be required as proof.

  ‘You could marry in two weeks, then,’ he murmured.

  That is exactly what she had been fearing, but she and Michael often had the same thoughts at the same time.

  They fell quiet again until reaching Charing Cross.

  ‘This is such a romantic place,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Romantic?’ Michael sounded sceptical. ‘It marks the spot where the coffin of Queen Eleanor last rested before she was entombed in Westminster Cathedral.’

  She pushed him a little. ‘It was romantic for King Edward to mark all those places with crosses. This was the last.’

  He laughed. ‘That is romantic? I must take your word for it.’

  She shot him a vexed glance. ‘Oh, you are teasing me.’

  He touched her hand. ‘I have missed teasing you.’

  Nancy’s eyes stung with tears. She blinked them away. ‘Let us hurry to the park.’

  Hand in hand they ran the short distance to the park and were out of breath when they reached its wide path. Some others were taking advantage of the fine day, but the park was by no means crowded.

  Nancy looked up at the trees, holding on to her hat as she did so. The trees were tall and showed spring buds. The lake was dotted with geese gliding in its shimmering blue water. It took Nancy’s breath away.

  ‘We must find a bench so that you can rest,’ Michael said.

  She did not at all feel fatigued, but she let Michael lead her to a bench facing the lake. Fragrant green shrubbery surrounded them. When they sat Nancy could no longer see the other people on the path. It felt to her like no one else existed in the world except her and Michael.

  ‘I am glad you brought me here, Michael,’ she whispered to him. This would be a memory to cherish for a lifetime.

  ‘I wanted to be private with you,’ he murmured, his voice both enticing and sad. ‘To talk to you.’

  She did not want to talk. What could she say to him? She just wanted to be with him, to pretend that this moment would never pass.

  He gazed into her eyes. ‘I need to make certain you are happy.’

  ‘Happy?’ Her voice rose and her tears could no longer be blinked away.

  He gazed at her with such anguish, she thought she could not bear it. It seemed as if time had slowed down, as if he moved very slowly, putting his arm around her back, enfolding her against his strong chest. He held her like that for the longest time.

  While her ear rested against his heart, he spoke, ‘If—if I had anything to offer you I would not let you marry Ullman. I would marry you myself, but I have no money at all while I am finishing my studies and no prospects for the future if I do not finish.’

  She felt the timbre of his words through his body, words she longed to hear, but words that could change nothing.

  ‘I love you too much to cause you the sort of suffering you would endure if I claimed you for my own,’ he went on. ‘But it is killing me to think of you with any other man.’

  She slid her arms around his neck and looked into his face. ‘You do love me, Michael?’

  ‘With all my heart.’

  He took her chin in his fingers and seemed to consume her with his eyes. She felt such a rush of feeling, feelings she had never felt before. That morning she’d thought she’d been dying, but now, this touch, this gaze from Michael made her feel more alive than ever before.

  She took a breath and inhaled his so-familiar scent. He smelled wonderful. ‘I—I thought you were my friend, Michael. Now I know I was wrong. You are my love. My only love.’

  His eyes sparked with pain but, still holding her chin, he leaned down and placed his lips on hers.

  Her first kiss, she thought, dismissing Lord Ulmann’s slobbering attempt. Michael’s was the kiss of which romances were created.

  He kissed her again and again, doing lovely things with his tongue. W
ho would have guessed a man’s tongue in one’s mouth would be so thrilling? The kisses made her feel all achy inside, but in a wonderful way.

  Abruptly he pulled away and set her at an arm’s length from him. It felt as if he’d suddenly travelled as far as the West Indies.

  ‘I cannot trust myself, Nancy. We must take care.’ He was breathing harder than when they’d been running.

  She suddenly understood something. These were the sorts of feelings men and women experienced before they tumbled into bed with each other. She understood as a woman what the pleasures of lovemaking could be.

  With the right man.

  Her tears erupted once more. ‘I do not want to stop, Michael,’ she cried. ‘I do not want to ever part from you, but what am I to do?’

  His lip trembled and his eyes turned red. ‘I cannot offer you anything but my love. I have no money. No position. No prospects until my studies are done.’

  ‘And then you will go back to Bath, to the position that awaits you?’ He had told her many times that an architect in Bath, a great friend of his father’s, was willing to take him into his firm.

  He seemed to brace himself. ‘Yes.’

  In the short space of a year Michael would be ready to marry.

  She tried not to sob. ‘If only I were not trapped.’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘Jack says you are not trapped, that he can support you and your mother.’

  ‘I know he thinks that.’ She pressed her hand against her forehead. ‘But Tranville vows to ruin him and he has cut Mama off without a care.’ For all she knew, Tranville could ruin Michael as well. ‘Can I take such a chance with their futures? I should never forgive myself if I caused them suffering.’

  Michael glanced away. ‘If only I could help all of you. If I had even one year, I swear I could support you and your mother. My father could help Jack find work, as well.’

  ‘You are so dear.’ She dared to take his hand in hers. ‘How I wish all this would disappear and we could be back in Bath.’

  He made a crooked smile and squeezed her hand. ‘Nancy, we never knew each other in Bath.’

  She fluttered her lashes. ‘But we should know each other now.’

  ‘Where is Lord Ullman’s estate?’ he asked, his voice cracking.

  ‘Lincolnshire.’ Far away from Bath. She would never see Michael. If only she could live near him, see him sometimes, speak to him, she could fight off despair, but he would never come to Lincolnshire.

  Tears flowed again and Michael held her once more. ‘I am so sorry, Nancy. So very sorry.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ariana spent a miserable afternoon. Luckily Mr Kean pleaded illness and ended the rehearsal even before it began, so no one discovered she could not remember her lines, her marks, or anything, really, except that Jack had avoided looking at her when she’d left the studio.

  She wished she could be rid of Tranville once and for all. He blanketed everything and everyone with misery.

  That evening she avoided the Green Room and instead asked Henry to walk her home. Swearing him to secrecy, she confided in him about Tranville’s proposal. She did not tell him of falling in love with Jack.

  ‘The best on dit of the century, and I must not speak of it.’ He rolled his eyes and sighed.

  She laughed. ‘It is not quite that important.’

  Loud voices came from inside a nearby tavern. There was an atmosphere of tension in the streets that had been absent when she and Jack had walked this same route. It was all about the Corn Bill. The House of Lords was debating a bill to prevent the price of grain dropping. Now that the war had ended, grain from Europe was driving down the prices and landowners’ ability to sustain their estates was threatened. Unfortunately the bill being debated would increase the cost of bread.

  Ariana heard ‘We need bread!’ coming from the tavern. She felt a shiver of fear, reminding her of when Jack had been overcome by his memory of Badajoz.

  Henry strolled along as if oblivious to the disquiet of the streets. ‘You should have kept the bracelet, you know,’ he mused.

  She gave him an exasperated look. ‘You know I do not accept such gifts.’

  He shook a finger at her. ‘You should. Selling that bracelet would yield enough to support yourself for a year or two.’

  She laughed. ‘Believe me, it would have cost me much more to keep it. Tranville attaches himself like a leech. Even if you do not give him an inch, he takes an ell.’

  As they passed by another tavern a man burst from the door, practically colliding with them. He was full of drink. ‘We’ll send those lords to the devil, you mark my words.’

  Ariana jumped away in fright.

  Henry manoeuvred them away from the man and continued as if nothing had happened. ‘You must do something scandalous if you wish to be rid of Tranville. Something that would make him look buffoonish. Gentlemen despise looking buffoonish.’

  She tried to compose herself. ‘What would make him look buffoonish?’ She added sarcastically, ‘He is an important man.’

  He grinned. ‘You could have a wild, public affair with someone totally his inferior, such as—’ he paused ‘—an artist or some such person.’

  He and their other housemates often teased her about Jack, although she admitted nothing to them.

  ‘How could I be certain Tranville would not take out his wrath against the artist?’ Her question was rhetorical.

  Henry threw up his hands. ‘Then do something outrageous. Dance naked in a fountain or something!’

  She gave him a playful punch. ‘The weather is still too chilly for that.’

  They dropped the subject, but the word naked hung in her mind.

  The next day Ariana had a message delivered to Tranville asking him to meet her at Jack’s studio to view the portrait. Jack would be away with his mother and sister at Ullman’s townhouse.

  She let herself in to Jack’s studio, as she had done so many times before. The curtains were drawn and this time no sounds of sleep could be heard. She peeked into the bedchamber and her heart lurched at the site of the tangled bed linen. She walked over, running her fingers over the blanket, resisting the temptation to make up the bed. She lifted the pillow to her nose and inhaled the scent of him.

  She wanted him. Was desolate without him.

  Wrenching herself away, she hurried out to the studio and opened the curtains to bring in the light. Carefully she took the cloth off the canvas and gazed at her image. Cleopatra, nearly naked.

  The clock chimed three, the time she’d asked Tranville to appear. He kept her waiting fifteen more minutes. Finally she saw his carriage draw up to the entrance.

  When she let him inside, his face was flushed with excitement. ‘I am eager to see the portrait at last. There is no time to waste to get it to the engraver.’

  She helped him off with his top coat, hating touching even the cloth of his clothes.

  ‘Where is Jack?’ He clapped his hands together and looked around.

  ‘He is attending to a family matter,’ she replied.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Calling on Ullman.’

  ‘Should we have waited for him?’ she asked.

  He gave her a mooning look. ‘Not at all. I relish the chance to be alone with you.’

  She cringed.

  He followed her over to the easel, breathing audibly in his apparent excitement.

  She stopped him before he reached it. ‘I warn you, it is unlike any portrait you have ever seen.’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘How can it not be when it is of you?’

  She made herself laugh gaily. ‘Not of me, recall. It is Cleopatra.’

  She stepped out of his way so he could view the canvas.

  He stared, unmoving, not speaking.

  ‘Is it not grand?’ She exaggerated the excitement in her voice.

  He still did not speak. His complexion grew even redder, and she felt triumphant. He was reacting in the way she had desired.

  ‘I cann
ot wait to see it on playbills and magazines and print shops,’ she went on, rubbing it in as vigorously as she could. ‘Will it not bring hordes of people to the play? Will not everyone talk of it?’

  He still stared.

  The painting looked even more wonderful than the last time she had seen it. Cleopatra lounged on the chaise, facing the artist, her expression showing precisely how Ariana felt when Jack was about to make love to her. Her hair was loose about her shoulders as if ready for bedding, and her lips were red and slightly pursed for kissing. The pink of her skin showed through the transparent gown, leaving little to the imagination. There was no doubt at all that Cleopatra was naked under the sheer fabric.

  Tranville finally spoke. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ His voice sounded like a growl.

  She pretended to misinterpret him. ‘See? It shows Cleopatra, the seductress. Most artists show Cleopatra dying with the asp, but I thought that would be too dreary. This portrait depicts the queen’s power over men and her own ambition. Do you not like all the nuances of white Jack painted? It is such a contrast to her earthiness, is it not? Was that not brilliant?’

  His fingers flexed. ‘You are naked.’

  She laughed, acting as if he’d made a joke. ‘I am hardly naked. Except for my feet.’

  Her feet were bare but for a gold ring Jack had painted on one of her toes.

  ‘You undressed for Jack.’ He suddenly sounded dangerous.

  She made herself smile patiently. ‘I dressed as Cleopatra.’

  ‘Whose idea was this? To—to pose naked,’ he sputtered. ‘Was it Jack’s?’

  Inside her anxiety grew, but she made herself sound gay. ‘It was my idea, of course. What would Jack know about Cleopatra?’

  Tranville swung away from the portrait to face her. ‘What has been going on here while you forbade me to visit? I did not pay Jack to bed you.’

  She took a step back. ‘Bed me? Do not be ridiculous, sir. You commissioned a portrait, which you promised was to be my possession. I told Jack what to paint, and I like what he did.’

  ‘Do not lie to me, Ariana. I do not take well to lies.’ His eyes bulged with anger.