Some of the servants sat us closer to the head of the table, where I noticed Lady Blackmore sit two down from her father. A woman dressed in red sat beside her, and looked to be the same person, just marginally taller and with blue eyes. It must have been her mother.
“Lord Burk! It is divine to see you!”
Across the table sat a man with sweeping, mousey hair, and a jacket the color of the night sky.
“Duke Barrington! What an honor it is!”
A Duke? My, Lord Blackmore has friends in high places I suppose.
We all stood to our feet and bowed to him.
He gestured to the beautiful woman beside himself as we all sat down once more. “This is Lady Barrington, my sister. She has been quite fascinated with the Magnolia’s art, so she insisted that we come to Blackmore Manor and be the first to see these new pieces.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And my dear brother might even love the art more than I do.” She laughed behind her glove, but her the smile did not touch her eyes. “He’s quite the expert.”
“Hush now, sister,” he said. He smiled at us. “My sister does enjoy a good laugh.” He readjusted himself in his seat and looked across the table at us, his wine glass in one hand. “I must admit the art is rather exquisite, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Indeed, my lord,” Lord Burk said.
“I agree,” I added. “An artist like the Magnolia is a rarity. There is such beauty and elegance in his pieces.”
The Duke leaned closer across the table, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I have wondered if the Magnolia is actually a woman.”
All of reacted with different measures of surprise. But it was evident that none of us had ever considered the possibility.
“A woman? What makes you think that the painter is a woman?” Lord Burk said.
Lady Barrington nodded her head. “Does it truly seem that preposterous?”
I had known many woman who loved to paint. My mother was one of them. It was a skill that women of high society enjoyed doing, but it always seemed to be a way to pass the time, or as a hobby. If the Magnolia was indeed a woman, then she seemed to be quite a few steps beyond being a hobbyist.
“The great painters are normally men,” Mr. Burk added.
Indeed you are correct,” said Lord Barrington. He played with the rim of his glass. “But something about the style, the story that the pieces convey. It just seems…wonderfully feminine.”
“What an insightful comment, brother,” said Lady Barrington.
He smiled. “I am drawn to the paintings as to a woman. If the Magnolia is indeed a woman, as I am certain she is, I intend to ask her for her hand.”
“Even if she were an old crone?” I added before I could stop myself.
The Duke stared at me. “It is unlikely. I do not detect the weariness of old age in the Magnolia’s paintings, but rather the joyful freshness of youth and spring.”
I felt Mr. Burk kick my foot beneath the table.
I wasn’t sure why, but the Duke’s words frustrated me. He seemed to have a good appreciation for the paintings, but at the same time his attitude seemed rather mercenary. Or was I bothered that he had seen something I had not – a female hand behind the Magnolia’s paintings?
As the conversations around the table resumed, I brought my glass to my mouth and took small, slow sips as I attempted to calm myself.
I began eating. The food was better than anything I had ever eaten. Their cook was by far the most talented I had ever known.
Lady Blackmore never looked down the table at me, and the more she didn’t look, the more I did. Her hair was like the night sky, and the white flowers like little stars. Her small smile was pleasant to see and her eyes were bright with interest.
I realized that she was not interested in me, but what she had spoken about with me about had been incredibly fascinating. It had been far too long since I had met a woman, or anyone for that matter, who shared my deep love for art and understood it the same way that I had.
I sighed once more. I wished to make up for my actions earlier. Perhaps the night would present me with an opportunity to do so.
*****
After dinner, we adjourned to the ballroom once more. Lord Blackmore had us all stand away from the easels and stand in a neat and organized way so we could all see the unveiling of the paintings. The anticipation in the air was almost palpable. The Duke insisted that he stand in front of the crowd so that he might be able to have an unobstructed view of the paintings. Lady Burk wished for the same for us, but others had precedence, so we stood behind a few others.
Mr. Burk and I agreed that an event such as this was highly engaging, as well as one that we wished to replicate in a smaller fashion in the future.
“Perhaps with hunting, or even gardening for my sisters,” Mr. Burk stated excitedly. I agreed with him wholeheartedly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to share with you this evening the newest paintings of the talented Magnolia! Each has been completed in exquisite detail to be shown to you this night! You all have the pleasure of seeing the newest and perhaps best work done by the artist!”
There was a loud applause from everyone in the room, including myself.
“Are we all ready to see the pieces?”
An applause rang out once more.
“Lord Blackmore certainly knows how to heighten the excitement, doesn’t he?” said Lady Burk in an admiring tone.
Lord Blackmore revealed each piece one at a time, and I was thankful that I was a taller person and able to see over some of the heads in front of me. The paintings were of many different subjects; animals, flowers, fields, and even a castle. But one of the paintings struck me more than the others.
It was a painting of Lady Blackmore.
In the painting, she was leaning over the side of a fountain, the same wide-brimmed hat on her head. Her long hair covered her eyes, and her fingers trailed across the water, the spray behind her reflecting in the bright sunshine. And at that moment I knew that the painting that hung in Mr. Burk’s study was also of Lady Blackmore.
But why did the Magnolia insist on hiding Lady Blackmore’s face in all of the paintings? She was such a beautiful woman, that it seemed ridiculous to me that the artist would not want to capture that beauty and share it with the world. I did not understand.
I looked about the room as many of the guests began to approach the pieces to see them up close. I wished to speak with Lady Blackmore and ask what she knew about the Magnolia. She apparently was quite an inspiration for the artist.
But when I looked around to find her among the guests, I was surprised to see her standing beside a door leading outdoors from the ballroom. She didn’t seem interested in seeing the new artwork, and I wondered if it was because she had already seen them all.
As the crowd became engrossed in the artwork, I watched her slip out into the night onto the veranda outside. I was the only one who noticed her leave.
I greatly wished to ask her about the paintings, and even more so I wished to apologize for my behavior earlier that evening.
I told Mr. Burk I needed some fresh air, and I followed her outside through the same doors that she had left through.
The night was significantly cooler than the day had been, and it felt wonderful to be outside. The terrace was wide and winding, with a wide variety of plants and flowers scattered throughout, as well as benches and tables to enjoy the long summer days.
Lady Blackmore was not to be seen, but the only way that she could have gone was around the back of the house. I walked around and noticed the porch went all the way around to the back of the house. A ways down, there was another terrace that belonged to a room on a higher floor, but a winding staircase connected the lower terrace to it.
And up on that upper terrace, I saw Lady Blackmore. But she was with something that surprised me greatly.
There was an easel up there, and a wide, white canvas. A small table sat beside it, with a jar full
of brushes and a bowl of clear water.
Lady Blackmore walked around behind the easel and stood in front of it. I ducked behind one of the tall stone pillars to ensure she didn’t see me. She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. I felt foolish for hiding, but I feared what her reaction might be if she caught me.
She was even more beautiful when she thought no one was watching her.
She leaned over and picked up a paint brush, and dipped it in a paint palette that was out of my sight. And then she seemed to cast off any and all concerns, and become an entirely different person. She smiled, and her face softened.
She began to run her brush over the canvas, and as she did, a soft hum escaped her mouth. It was a happy, calm sound, and one that she must have sung many times. Her hair was as black as charcoal, and her eyes were bright in the star light. She was a fascinating woman, and I felt myself instantly drawn to her.
She continued to work, and a sudden rush of understanding came over me.
I was in complete shock. A painting station, a sour attitude about people and art, and her father showing off the artwork with such pride as I had never seen.
“You’re…you’re the Magnolia!” I said.
She dropped her brush and fell backwards in surprise. She caught herself on the seat behind herself.
“What are you doing out here, Lord Colborne?”
I took a step towards her. “My deepest apologies, Lady Blackmore. I simply wished to speak with you about these paintings. I had thought it was uncanny how much you resembled the lady in them, but I had no idea that you might be the one painting them.”
Her eyes were fixated on me, and she was breathing quickly. She clutched a hand to her heart.
“This is an invasion of my privacy, sir! You had no right to follow me out here!”
“As I said, Lady, I mean you no harm. I wished to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening. I never wished to upset you.”
She looked about us, but she didn’t seem to want to relax.
“I have been quite a nuisance this evening, in more ways than one. But what you had to say earlier very truly resounded with me. I agreed with all that you said.”
“What do you mean?” she questioned. For the moment, at least, she didn’t seem quite as angry.
I took another hesitant step towards her. “All that you said about art. It was apparent to me that art is truly a passion of yours, as it is mine. I believe you are right when you say that many people love art for superficial reasons. But I don’t see art that way. It is not a fashion, like the many style of dresses of the ladies in London, or the ever changing décor for the homes. No, it is much more than that. It tells a story. It reveals the heart of the artist.”
Her breathing seemed to slow, and she didn’t look quite so afraid.
“And I saw your heart, Lady Blackmore, if you are indeed the Magnolia.”
She stood up straight, and looked upon the canvas that I could not see. Her face fell, and she seemed sad. She put down her brushes on the table and she turned to face me.
“I am the Magnolia.”
My heart brightened. “But why do you say it with such sorrow?”
She took a deep breath and folded her hands behind her back. “Because all I ever wanted my art to be was my own. I never wanted for it to become so misinterpreted, so mundane.”
“Misinterpreted how, my lady?”
“Did you see all of those people in there? All they see is an opportunity to be better than someone else they know. They don’t see the hours I put in, the love and passion that I put into my art. I don’t expect everyone to understand it fully, as I sometimes do not myself. But I do wish that someone could see more than just the Magnolia mystery when they see the art.”
“I do,” I replied plainly.
She looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Do you, Lord Colborne?”
“Did you not hear what I said to you during our conversations today?”
She dismissed my words with a wave of her hand. “You simply said something to make a lady smile, certainly.”
“I most certainly did not. I was honest with you. I never say things simply to impress a lady,” I responded. “Your artwork is the most unique that I have ever known.”
“That’s what my father said as well. And that was when he began showing it to his friends, then hosting these extravagant events. I requested that he allow me to remain anonymous as the artist. But more and more people longed to know who painted it, so I decided to call myself the Magnolia after one of my first paintings.”
Recognition rushed over me. “The painting that was in town today; that truly was one of your first?”
Her face grew dark. “My father did not ask for permission before taking that piece. He just grabbed some before he went to London today. I followed as I normally do, and doing my best to not make a scene, I reprimanded my father for taking it in the first place and demand that he allow me to take it back home.”
“I’m so sorry,” I replied.
“It’s no matter, it is back in its rightful place in my studio.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I realize that my father means well, and that he is proud. But I am unsure if his motives are just to show my art to everyone anymore. I am not sure if it hasn’t become a way to impress others as well.”
She looked up at the sky overhead behind me. “I love him dearly, but I’ve grown unhappy at the way he treats my paintings. My art is a very real part of me. Showing it to any and all people is hard for me to watch.”
“I assume you attend all of your father’s showings?”
She nodded her head.
“And who came up with the idea for the gala this evening?”
“It was my father’s idea. And my mother agreed. I had been painting more than usual in the last few weeks, as a way to help calm my frustration at the entire situation. As such, I had quite a few paintings just leaning against the wall in my studio. One afternoon when he came in and saw the paintings, he excitedly shared his idea with me.”
“And? What did you think?” I asked.
She sighed once more. “I wasn’t nearly as excited as he was. In fact, at first I told him no. But he told me that it would be a way to allow the art to be enjoyed instead of just sitting up in my studio and no one ever seeing it aside from myself and my family.”
“And that is what art is about, isn’t it?”
“Yes, in a way. I admit that was how I felt at first. When I painted a picture of myself outside, my father insisted that he share it with some of our family friends. I was elated that he considered my work to be of enough value to share with others. And when they responded with such positive and encouraging reactions, it gave me a great desire to want to create more. So something I did just because it brought me such joy became something that I realized brought others joy too.”
She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. “I am unsure when it all changed.”
“That picture of yourself in the blue dress and the white hat; that was the first painting you ever did?”
She had been looking up at the sky, lost in her thoughts. She blinked and looked down at me. “Yes, as I said.”
I smiled at her. “You will never believe this, but that painting was the first painting done by the Magnolia that I had ever seen.”
“Truly?” She asked.
I inclined my head. “It was. And I must tell you. It was the single most extraordinary piece of artwork that I had ever seen.”
A small smile passed over her face. “Thank you, Lord Colborne. That is quite a compliment.”
“It is the truth, though, my lady.”
I looked up at her face, which was so beautiful and gentle and yet so guarded. “Why did you hide your face in that painting?”
She seemed caught off guard by my question. Then she slouched slightly, as if she wished to draw into herself. “Well, I never was very good at faces. The eyes always seemed lifeless.”
“But t
hat isn’t the real reason, is it?”
She smiled at me a bit more openly this time. “You are a perceptive man, Lord Colborne. Yes, that wasn’t the true reason. I wasn’t confident about drawing faces, but I never wanted the art to be about me. I wanted it to be about the moment that it captures. The light, the sounds, the emotions.”
“Well you succeeded in that. I wanted nothing more than for the woman to turn around so I could see her face.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Honestly?”
“Honestly,” I replied.
“Well, I chose myself because I know myself enough to be able to know a place where I might be happiest. That painting is from a cottage that my grandmother had on the ocean when I was a girl. It was a marvelous place, with a large garden, and you could smell the sea air from any place in the house. I felt most myself when I was there, and I hoped to convey that sort of comfort of home in the picture.”
“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit,” I said to her.
“What do you mean?” she asked indignantly, her eyebrows furrowing, a strand of her dark hair coming lose out of her braids.
“Well for one you hide behind a name, and it drives anyone who has ever seen your art mad.”
“We already discussed that,” she answered, her guarded tone reappearing.
“I think that you are afraid,” I pushed.
I realized I was pushing my luck with her, but I believed I had figured her out.
“We might have discussed that you wished to remain anonymous, but we didn’t discuss why. I think you are afraid of letting others know it is you because it is so personal and that it is such a part of you. It makes you feel vulnerable, and you are afraid that people’s attitudes might change if you were to reveal that it was you who created them.”
She closed her mouth tight, and glared at me.
“I believe that your art is such an intimate part of you that you fear that your privacy will disappear and you will never be able to create art in the same way. As the Magnolia, you have the freedom to create the paintings. But people want to know who made it so that they can have a more human, personal connection with the paintings.
Sunlight and Shadows Page 55