The Art of Love

by Lacey, Lilac

  Caroline glowered at him and Leo sensed she could tell that nothing she could say would change his mind. ‘I think you do her wrong by underestimating her,’ she said at last. ‘Tara would never let such trifling considerations stand in the way of love.’

  Leo took her hand. ‘I do appreciate you coming to tell me all this,’ he said. ‘But my only real hope it to go to London and get my exhibition up as soon as possible.’ He didn’t tell her of his hopes for an autumn showing, the idea was too fragile. ‘I won’t be in London for long,’ he said instead. ‘Perhaps you could ask your parents if I may come and stay with you in a few days time.’ If all went to plan he might even have pictures up in the gallery by then and he could propose to Tara. If not, at least he would be on hand to put spokes in the wheels of Mark’s matrimonial ideas.

  The route from Leo’s cottage out of Bournemouth ran past Dogrose Cottage. Tara hid behind the lace curtain in the parlour and watched for his carriage. After an hour it trundled by. Leo was on the driving box and oddly, his cousin Caroline was seated next to him. Caroline glanced at Dogrose Cottage as they passed and Tara shrank back beside the curtain, half expecting that despite the thick glass and the heavy lace, Leo would turn and see her. But he seemed to be occupied with the horses and he did not look her way.

  That was it then, Tara told herself. He was off to Italy and she might never see him again. Suddenly Bournemouth without Leo seemed intolerable, but the idea of returning to Penge and settling in for the winter seemed even worse. Tara wanted distractions and amusements, anything to take her mind off Leo and the pain of his departure. She wanted her friends desperately. Suddenly, in a blinding flash of inspiration she knew what to do. Not everyone quit the city for the summer, Philippe did not, and Freddie never liked to leave his business concerns for too long. She would surround herself with friends and entertainment a plenty. She would go to London.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You say there are matters you must attend to urgently,’ Lady Penge said, and Tara knew from the way her mother pursed her lips that she did not believe her, but she stood her ground with her lie.

  ‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘I have business concerns in London and I must go up for a few days to deal with them.’ In reality all Tara’s funds were managed for her by her solicitor whom she trusted implicitly, but her mother did not need to know that.

  Lady Penge nodded her head, not, Tara thought, because she was convinced, but because she saw there was no point in arguing, her daughter’s mind was made up. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I of course shall stay here. You may take Betty, it would not do for you to try and engage a temporary maid in London, only the wrong sort would be available at this time of year.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tara said meekly. Betty was her own employee, not her mother’s, but she hadn’t thought of the fact that they had come to Bournemouth with only one ladies’ maid between them. Her mother would be inconvenienced; however it appeared she had a plan.

  ‘I shall ask Lord Davenham if he has a member of staff he can spare for a few days,’ Lady Penge said thoughtfully. ‘In fact, as you are insistent that you must leave today, I shall send him my card and see if I may call on him this afternoon.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Tara said, careful to hide her smile. ‘I’m sure Lord Davenham will be only too happy to oblige.’ She drained her tea cup in one unladylike movement and stood up. ‘Betty should have finished packing,’ she said. ‘I’ll write to you from London and let you know what my intentions are.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ Lady Penge said, rising also, but Tara could see her mother’s mind was more on her proposed visit to Lord Davenham than on her own departure.

  A scant fifteen minutes later, Tara was ensconced in her carriage, trundling out of Bournemouth. It was a good day’s travel to London, but the evenings were light at this time of year and Tara was confident that the journey would progress smoothly. With every mile she travelled, she felt her spirits lifting. She was right to leave Bournemouth, she needed the diversions of London. She would see her friends, she would go to whatever meagre social occasions were on offer in the deserted London summer and maybe, in about a hundred years, she would forget about Leo.

  The following morning, waking up in her own bed in her town house, Tara knew she had been right to come to London. The sounds of hooves and wheels in the street outside with its promise of people to see and places to go made a warm and pleasant start to the day. The first thing she had to do, Tara decided, was to send out her card to all her friends and let those who were currently in London know that she was back.

  Her plan paid off. At noon her footman returned from his errand bearing a few of her friends’ cards in reply, including Philippe’s. Joyfully Tara penned a note inviting him to tea that afternoon. Philippe was just the person she needed to see. With his gentle brand of flirting he would help take her mind off Leo and in addition to that she could rely on him to know of any parties or soirees being held over the next few days.

  ‘My darling Tara,’ Philippe said as he was shown into the drawing room later that afternoon, ‘you look…’ Then he stopped and said in an entirely different voice. ‘Tara, ma cherie, what is wrong?’

  ‘N-nothing, nothing at all,’ Tara said quickly, rather taken aback. Philippe had never faltered in his affectations greetings to her before. It was a game they had been playing for years, he complimented her extravagantly and she purred under his praise. He did not ask her if she were all right.

  Philippe sat down on the sofa beside her and took her hand. ‘Darling, you look as if you have the cares of the world on your shoulders. You have lost weight and there are shadows under your eyes that were never there before.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tara said, somewhat at a loss for words. She thought she had been concealing her despair rather well. It was true that her dresses were looser on her than they once were but she had attributed it to the long walks she had taken in Bournemouth. The last walk she had taken, just yesterday morning, to Leo’s cottage, sprang into her mind and she covered her hand with her mouth in case her trembling lips gave away her feelings.

  Philippe’s eyes widened as he looked at her. ‘I heard your mother was ill. She didn’t… but no, you are not in black. Is she well again?’

  ‘Quite well thank you,’ Tara said and then found herself babbling. ‘Well enough to be considering marriage I believe. Bournemouth seems to be like that, full of people offering to marry one. Although I am only guessing about my mother.’ Too late she remembered how Philippe loved gossip. ‘Please don’t mention that to anyone,’ she added hastily, without much hope of her request being adhered to. With any luck Lord Davenham would propose to her mother in the next few days and make good the rumour she suspected she had just started.

  ‘Bournemouth is full of proposals of marriage?’ Philippe asked shrewdly. ‘Do I take it that you yourself have received an offer?’

  Tara looked at him in consternation as she realized how she had just given herself away. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact,’ she said after a little pause.

  ‘How did you answer?’ Philippe asked.

  Tara shook her head, wondering how much to explain. ‘I told him I would think about it,’ she said.

  Philippe raised his eyebrows expressively. ‘What is there to think about?’ he asked. ‘You have no need to marry for money or position. Do you love the gentleman or do you not? That is all that matters.’

  ‘He is very nice,’ Tara said hesitantly. ‘He is kind and honest. Handsome too,’ she added hastily, aware of just how lukewarm her appraisal of Mark sounded.

  ‘But do you love him?’ Philippe asked, and as he looked into her eyes Tara realized this was the first time she had ever seen him entirely serious.

  ‘I like him very much,’ she said. ‘He is a good friend, but I don’t love him.’

  ‘Alors!’ Philippe threw up his hands in exaggerated horror. ‘You do not love him! Then why, may I ask, are you considering marriage to this paragon of virtue?’


  ‘I…’ Tara stopped. She could hardly say that she was desperately in love with Mark’s cousin and that if she could not have Leo, Mark himself was the next best thing. But Philippe was not letting her wriggle out of giving him an answer, she had to say something. ‘I have done five seasons,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I need to marry while I am still young enough to be able to attract a man.’

  To her surprise Philippe burst out laughing. ‘My dear Tara, you will have men throwing themselves at your feet for many years to come. There is something about you that draws us to you. You need not rush into marriage on that account.’

  ‘I still think I should be considering marriage at my age,’ Tara said more firmly, both put out and yet also cheered up by Philippe’s dismissal of her concerns.

  ‘Well then,’ Philippe said, and the next thing she knew he was down on one knee in front of her, still holding her hand. ‘As I said before, you have no need to marry for money or status, and I can offer you neither, but if you are of a mind to marry please consider this - Tara, will you marry me?’

  ‘Oh!’ Tara said, not sure whether to laugh or cry, but she was deeply touched by Philippe’s proposal.

  Philippe smiled at her. ‘I am not asking for an answer now, I am only asking you to consider my offer.’

  ‘I will,’ Tara promised. She could not imagine being married to Philippe, but as she was considering Mark’s offer it seemed unfair not to consider Philippe’s as well, after all he had been a close friend for far longer than Mark had.

  ‘Thank you,’ Philippe said.

  After Philippe left Tara had another response to the cards she had sent out that morning. Freddie, as she had thought, had returned to town and at five o’clock a note came from him asking her to go to the theatre with him that evening.

  ‘It’s only music hall, I’m afraid,’ Freddie said apologetically when he arrived in his carriage to collect her. ‘But there’s not much sport to be had at this time of year, and it should be a good laugh.’

  ‘Music hall will be quite entertaining enough for me,’ Tara said as they seated themselves inside the carriage and Freddie rapped on the roof to signal his driver to move on. ‘I have just come from Bournemouth which only ran to one promenade concert a week.’ It was perfectly true, yet she had not been bored in Bournemouth, quite the contrary. Tara clasped her hands tightly in her lap and tried to come up with of a change of subject to distract herself from thinking about Leo. She had been really quite cheered up by Philippe’s proposal and had managed not to wonder where Leo was and what he was doing too incessantly during the past three hours. But once more his absence hit her with its full force and not only could she not conceive of a change of topic, she found she could not even speak.

  ‘I said young Rodney and Lady Susannah have set a date,’ Freddie said and Tara realized that she had not heard a word he had been saying. She nodded mutely, hoping that would suffice. ‘You’re unusually quiet tonight,’ Freddie said after a pause.

  ‘It may be the heat,’ Tara said at random. The day had been rather warm and airless, but the evening was pleasantly mild.

  ‘Are you in London for long?’ Freddie asked.

  Tara shook her head, ‘Just for a few days,’ she said, ‘I have left my mother in Bournemouth.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll be back to normal when you’re down by the sea again,’ Freddie said heartily and Tara suspected he’d been quite alarmed by the prospect of having a drooping female on his hands for long. With an effort she pulled herself together, this was not the face she wished to present to her friends.

  ‘I’m sure you are right,’ she said, smiling brightly at him. ‘In fact I feel better already for thinking about it.’ Actually the thought of Bournemouth without Leo seemed bleak in the extreme and her mind shied away from even considering it. She glanced out of the carriage window and saw to her relief that they were already in the heart of the theatre district. Other carriages rumbled past them, people on foot picked their way across the cobblestones and then their carriage drew up outside the Haymarket Theatre.

  The secret to forgetting Leo was to keep busy, Tara told herself as she tumbled into bed that night, exhausted enough to go straight to sleep. She had decided to go riding the following afternoon, Freddie had invited her to an impromptu card party in the evening, on Sunday morning she would go to church, and she had arranged to meet Philippe for a stroll through Regent’s park afterwards. She had no idea what she would do yet on Monday, but she there was always shopping.

  Leo’s meeting with Lord Seaforth about his exhibition plans had proved even more satisfactory than he could have hoped. ‘Your pictures are going to take society by storm,’ Lord Seaforth said after half an hour of silently leafing through Leo’s paintings stacked in his studio, while Leo tried to contain his anxiety as he stood by and watched.

  ‘Thank you,’ Leo said, his confidence flooding back.

  ‘Yes,’ Lord Seaforth said thoughtfully. ‘We’ll put up a major exhibition in the spring, but meanwhile, a few pieces displayed in the autumn will not go amiss. Whet the public’s appetite and all that, give them a taste of things to come.’

  ‘When are you thinking of putting them up?’ Leo asked as casually as he could, somehow not able to believe he was really going to exhibit his work until he was given a specific date. Lord Seaforth drew out a small leather bound diary.

  ‘First of September,’ he said briskly after leafing through it for a moment. ‘I’ll want six to eight paintings. Could you deliver them to the gallery next Tuesday? Or is that too soon?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Leo said, pleased with the way his answer came out smoothly, as if her were quite used to arranging dates for exhibitions, while inside he was as jubilant as a child at the prospect of his first show.

  ‘Good, good,’ Lord Seaforth said. ‘Now let’s have another look at your paintings and select the ones we want for September.’ As Lord Seaforth once more viewed each picture in turn, Leo made plans. He would deliver the paintings to the gallery on Tuesday, where no doubt there would be a lengthy discussion on how best to hang them. He had strong views on the way in which pictures could complement or detract from one another when placed side by side, and he was determined to do everything he could to make his first show a success. Then he would return home and pack the bare minimum of supplies he needed to return to Bournemouth, where he would trade on the hospitality of his aunt and uncle. First thing on Wednesday morning he would set off and if all went well he would arrange to meet with Tara that evening. Perhaps it would be a little premature to propose before his work had actually been put up for sale, but Leo felt that in the light of Mark’s offer to Tara, he could not afford to wait any longer.

  On Monday Leo inspected his brushes. His favourites were worn with use, it was time, he thought, to invest in some new ones. There was a little shop in Bond Street specializing in calligraphers supplies that he liked to buy his brushes from. The shop did not particularly cater for artists, but he had found the fine brushes they sold for penmanship ideal for detailing in watercolour and as he intended to leave London as soon as possible, this was the ideal opportunity to stock up before returning to Bournemouth.

  In the afternoon Leo took a hackney cab to town and strolled down Oxford Street, enjoying the liveliness of London after the quiet of a small seaside town. He had always thought of himself as preferring the rural peace of the countryside, but Tara was made for city life, and viewing London through her eyes had given him a new appreciation for being at the heart of the greatest city in the world. There were always people on the streets of London, representing all walks of life, while carriage wheels turned continuously along the narrow, cobbled roads. It was a city which never slept, it had a restless energy which Leo felt was epitomised in Tara. Her energy continuously bubbled inside her, giving something incandescent to her nature and he longed to see her again and bring her back to where she belonged.

  ‘I’m showing a few pictures at the Dulwich Picture
Gallery,’ Leo couldn’t resist saying to the shopkeeper, whom he had been a casual customer of for many years, as he paid for his brushes.’ He was glad to see the man looked suitably impressed and it was with a spring in his step that he pocketed his purchases and regained the street. The afternoon was sunny and Leo considered walking home and was just about to head for the Strand and Waterloo Bridge when a familiar figure caught his eye walking in the other direction on the opposite side of the road.

  He whirled around, his heart suddenly beating twice as fast, while his head told him it could not possibly be Tara. There was no reason at all for her to be here and he had only thought he’d seen her because she was never really out of his mind. Carriages and horses clattered past him, obscuring his view, but paying them no real heed, Leo darted between them to the other side of the road. The lady he had seen was quite a few yards ahead of him, walking with a rapid, purposeful stride, so reminiscent of Tara’s, that despite the protestations of common sense, Leo started up the road after her. If it was Tara he could tell her his news now, then he could invite her to dinner, perhaps that very evening, and as they gazed across the candlelit table at each other, he could propose.

  He was only a few feet behind her and now, although he had not seen her face, he was completely sure the lady was Tara. He had studied her hair and painted it in such detail, that even from the back it was not possible for him to mistake anyone else for her. He could have called to her, but he would not subject her to such vulgarity, and then she turned and went into a small coffee shop, the door swinging shut behind her.