Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons)

by Tina Gabrielle

  Caroline’s dark eyes sparkled with excitement. “Fascinating. I’ve always believed women have what it takes to earn their own money.”

  Surprise coursed through Amelia. “Truly?”

  Caroline paused at the top of the landing and sighed wistfully. “I’m grateful to be born into my family, but I would love to have my own business. Scandalous, I know. Women in my family don’t work. But I believe there is nothing more admirable than working toward your own financial support. Don’t you agree?”

  She did. But she wasn’t comfortable voicing her opinions with a woman she had just met.

  She wondered if Lord Vale knew of his sister’s unusual opinions.

  Caroline continued down the hall, Amelia and Chloe trailing behind.

  “I understand congratulations are in order for your sister’s engagement,” Chloe said.

  “Thank you. Helen is marrying a marquess, Lord Newchester.”

  Chloe placed a hand over her heart. “A marquess! How exciting!”

  “I suppose. My grandmother is thrilled,” Caroline said. “I’m happy for Helen because they truly care for each other. Newchester is a good fellow.”

  Chloe’s blue eyes grew even larger. “A love match, too! It’s my dream.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Please ignore my sister. Her sole goal is to marry an aristocrat.”

  “That’s untrue,” Chloe snapped. “My goal is to capture the heart of a handsome, rich aristocrat. Is that so uncommon?”

  Lady Caroline smiled. “No. It seems to be what every debutante seeks at Almack’s.”

  Something in the lady’s tone said it wasn’t her goal. Amelia was intrigued. Perhaps they had a common interest. Vale’s sister wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

  Halfway down the hall, Caroline halted. She opened a door and motioned for Amelia and Chloe to step inside, then followed them.

  Amelia’s breath caught at the lavender silk that covered the large four-poster. The walls were painted cream, the furniture elegant pearwood. A long bench seat sat before a window. Amelia wandered over to the window and parted the curtains to gaze outside. The view overlooked the rear of the mansion and a long stretch of rolling lawn. The twin marble gazebos stood like sentinels guarding the lush ivy-lined path. In the distance, sheep grazed on the rolling hills.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Amelia said. She could picture herself sitting at the bench seat and painting the peaceful country view for hours.

  “I’m pleased you approve.” Caroline turned to Chloe. “If you would follow me, I will show you to your room.”

  Amelia swung around. “You mean we’re not sharing?”

  Lady Caroline hesitated. “No. The earl left instructions that you were to have your own rooms for the duration of the house party. It’s not a worry. Rosehill has dozens of bedchambers.”

  Vale wanted her to have her own room? Why? And why would an earl even concern himself with the guests’ sleeping arrangements? Were not such choices the domain of the housekeeper or the dowager?

  Amelia struggled to keep her voice light. “When is Lord Vale expected to return?”

  A frown knit Caroline’s brow. “I apologize that he wasn’t here to greet you, but my brother had unexpected business arise.”

  She wondered what business could keep him from welcoming guests to his home.

  Two footmen appeared at the door carrying Amelia’s trunks.

  “Place them there,” Caroline instructed as she pointed to an empty corner in the room.

  The burly footmen set the trunks down and departed.

  Lady Caroline waved on her way out. “I’m certain my brother will say hello as soon as he returns.” Chloe smiled cheerily and turned to follow.

  Once she was alone, Amelia opened the first trunk and withdrew a partially completed canvas and a wooden box that held the small round glass jars containing her pigments. She’d begun to paint a landscape of Huntingdon’s country estate, and she was thrilled to see that the view outside her window appeared similar.

  “It’s beautiful!”

  Amelia whirled at the feminine voice to see Lady Helen, Vale’s elder sister, standing in the doorway.

  Amelia’s hand flew to her chest. “Goodness! You startled me.”

  “Forgive me,” Helen said.

  Amelia closed the lid of the wooden box. She felt a moment of unease until she glanced at Helen’s face.

  Vale’s sister was focused entirely on the canvas as she rushed forward.

  “I had no idea you could paint.” The lady looked at the canvas, then out the window, then back at the painting. “It’s lovely and reminds me of Rosehill’s expansive lawns, lush greenery, and even the flock of sheep in the distance. You are a truly talented artist.”

  Amelia’s heart fluttered in her chest at the praise. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Oh no. You must call me Helen. Now please tell me, have you ever sold one of your paintings before?”

  Amelia was taken aback at the question. How much to reveal about her family’s past? Lady Helen, like her younger sister, Caroline, seemed genuine and accepting, but Helen was not only the earl’s eldest sister, she was to marry a marquess.

  Amelia picked up her brush. “I sold some paintings while we owned the print shop. Though I was always careful to sign my artwork using false male names.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Amelia hesitated before answering. “Buyers would offer half the price if they’d known the work was completed by a woman.”

  It had always disturbed Amelia that she couldn’t sign her works with her own name. She’d watch as the print shop’s customers browsed the artwork and halt by one of her paintings of a bowl of fruit, a vase of colorful flowers, or of a London sunset as they decided to make a purchase. She’d wanted to cry out that it was her own, but had to stand silent as they made their selection. Her sisters had needed the money—every shilling—to survive, and she couldn’t afford to be vain or selfish.

  But now their lives had changed, and Amelia’s dream to paint what she wanted under her own name was no longer unimaginable.

  She knew her ambitions may not be popular, but she longed to create paintings of the impoverished—the laboring poor and paupers that populated the London streets. After her brief stay in the rookeries when their father had first fled, she’d sworn that when the time came she would use her artistic gift to show the harsh conditions of those less fortunate.

  And she would sign each one proudly as Amelia Somerton.

  Lady Helen’s brow furrowed. “Then they were fools. I’d like to buy this painting from you.”

  Amelia blinked. “Buy? That’s not necessary, my lady.”

  “It’s Helen, remember?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m not asking because you are our guest for a fortnight. I want the painting because it is a marvelous landscape and reminds me of my beloved country home. I want to take it with me after I marry and hang it in my new residence.”

  “In that case, I will gift it to you,” Amelia said.

  Helen shook her head. “Nonsense. It is your work. If I were to hire an artist to make me a similar painting, I would expect to pay for it.”

  Amelia held up a hand. “Consider it a wedding gift. I’m flattered you find my work worthy to hang in your new home.”

  Amelia was surprised when Lady Helen hugged her. “Thank you for such a valuable gift. I will always treasure it. Now please tell me where you learned how to paint so well? Did you take instruction at the Royal Academy?”

  Amelia sighed. “I wish that I had. I never received formal art instruction.”

  She’d always longed for tutelage. After their father had left, there was never money to spend on fripperies like art lessons.

  Survival had been all consuming.

  “Then how did you learn?” Helen asked.

  Amelia shrugged. “I taught myself by watching others.”

  My art forger father, to be precise.

  He
len gaped. “Self-taught? I cannot imagine teaching myself how to accomplish this,” she said, motioning to the landscape. “You should think of selling your work again. I know many people who would solicit your services.”

  Lord Vale already has, Amelia mused.

  Goodness. Did she have to keep thinking of his outrageous offer?

  His words returned to her in a rush: you should be aware that I’m not one to follow the rules, and when I want something I don’t like to take no for an answer.

  He wouldn’t try again, would he?

  She needed to maintain her resolve and hold firm.

  She became aware of Lady Helen waiting for her response. “I’d like to sell my work again one day, but not yet. Perhaps in the future.” She’d select her best sketches of her time in the rookeries and paint them. She’d often dreamed of having her own art exhibition, where she could display those works that really mattered to her—the paintings that showed those beaten down by circumstances not in their control.

  Helen raised a hand to her throat. “In my excitement at seeing you work, I forgot to deliver my message. My brother, Vale, has returned from his business trip and has asked for your presence in the drawing room to welcome you and your sisters.”

  Chapter Three

  Amelia’s heart pounded as she stepped into the drawing room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the fireplace where Vale stood leaning against the mantle. Her skirts rustled, and he turned.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  Her heart lurched at his smile. Dressed in a meticulously tailored navy jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, he looked every inch the dominant earl. Tall boots over tan breeches that hugged muscular thighs added to his masculine appeal. A damp unruly lock that brushed his forehead was a shade darker than if it were dry. He must have returned from his business, ordered a bath, and headed straight for the drawing room. An image of his muscular frame in a marble bathtub came to mind—warm water cascading over his naked body, his head leaning on the rim of the tub, his arms resting along the sides. Her insides quivered at the image.

  Heavens! She would have to guard her reactions as well as her thoughts.

  He walked forward and stopped before her.

  “Your home is lovely,” she said, glancing around nervously to see if either of her sisters were present. The room was empty.

  Were her sisters delayed? Or had he summoned only her?

  Her fingers curled in the folds of her skirts. “I was told you had unexpected business to attend.”

  “Yes, but the trip was successful, and I believe it will prove advantageous.”

  What an odd thing to say, she thought.

  His smooth smile was back in place. “Are your accommodations satisfactory?”

  “My bedchamber is lovely and spacious. Too spacious, in fact, not to share with my sister. Chloe and I would be happy to—”

  “That wouldn’t work at all.” A flicker of predatory interest lightened the emerald in his eyes.

  Her misgivings increased. What on earth did he mean?

  A sudden unpleasant thought occurred to her. She’d been propositioned before by men who’d thought a shopkeeper easy prey for unwanted amorous advances. Lord Vale had already suggested she paint him in secret. Did he believe she would welcome his attentions now that she was under his roof?

  She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders. “I was told you wanted me to have my own room. If you think I would welcome you or another into my chamber one night during the house party, then you are sorely mistaken.”

  His expression stilled. “You think I would attempt such a thing?”

  “What else am I to think?”

  “I assure you, that’s not my reason.”

  “Then why?”

  “I’ll show you.” He offered his arm. “Will you accompany me?”

  She eyed him with uncertainty, but whatever unease she felt was pushed aside by curiosity. She placed her hand on his sleeve.

  As he escorted her out of the drawing room and into the hall she caught a hint of shaving soap and a clean masculine essence that belonged to him. She felt the strength of his forearm even through the fabric of his sleeve and the power that coiled within him as he walked. Beneath lowered lashes, she glimpsed his strong profile.

  She forced her gaze to the carpet runner as he turned right, then left, then escorted her down a long hall and halted outside a closed door. He opened the door, and she swept into the room.

  She froze. Dozens of gilt-framed portraits glared down at her in grim-faced silence. Judging by their costume, many generations hung on the cream-colored walls. Starched white neck ruffs, velvet doublets, and embroidered waistcoats embellished the paintings. Some stood beside hunting dogs, others were mounted on prized horseflesh, and others sat stiffly. The men’s expressions were similar—haughty and aristocratic.

  Vale joined her side. “This is Rosehill’s portrait gallery. The Earls of Vale go back many generations. This one,” he said, pointing to the most recent portrait on the wall, “was my father.”

  The man in the portrait had dark hair and green eyes similar to his son’s. He was handsome with bold, commanding features, yet somehow he was different from the Lord Vale standing beside her.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “You have your father’s looks, but it’s difficult to tell a person’s true essence from a portrait. I’ve found that artists paint those that commission them in a more favorable light. For instance, your father looks serious…somber even.”

  “You’re right. The artist may have captured his likeness, but ignored his personality. My father, the old earl, spent his time at his clubs and with his whiskey.”

  “Truly? He looks rather respectable,” she said.

  “He was a drunkard. The portrait appears the way it does because my grandmother instructed the artist.”

  Amelia blinked at the harshness in his tone. It was clear he had strong feelings about his father. Most of them were not of a positive father-son relationship.

  “Why did you bring me here? If you thought to inspire me to accept your offer to paint your portrait, then I’m afraid my position has not changed,” she said.

  “I brought you here because I’m curious of your opinion. I already have my own thoughts about my father’s portrait, but what do you think of the others?”

  He wanted her opinion? Amelia turned back to the paintings on the wall. “They all seem very earlish.”

  “Earlish? They were all earls,” he said.

  “What I mean to say is that they all have a similar feel—cold, haughty, and inapproachable.”

  Vale frowned as he looked at the wall. “You’re right.”

  She swung to him. “I’m not agreeing to paint you, but these portraits are boring and pompous, unlike you. That’s not how I see you or how I would paint you.”

  He stilled. “Then you must.”

  She sighed. “We’ve already discussed this. My answer is no. I won’t paint you or a copy of the Cuyp landscape.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t offer the proper incentive last time.”

  “Incentive?” He seemed very pleased with himself, and Amelia eyed him warily.

  “I was foolish to offer monetary payment. You are Huntingdon’s sister-in-law. I know my friend well enough to understand that he will always ensure you and Chloe are cared for.” He clasped his hands behind his back, and a gleam lit his eyes. “I was away for a certain reason. To obtain something—something you want, rather than need.”

  He’d traveled for her? Amelia’s curiosity was piqued. “I’m not certain there’s anything I—”

  “Have you ever heard of Samuel Stirling?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Stirling from the Royal Academy? The master painter?”

  He was not only an artistic genius, but Amelia had been enamored of his work for years. He’d experimented with pigments and often used cadmium, vermillion, and cinnabar to produce brilliant colors for his landscapes.

&
nbsp; Vale took a step closer and nodded. “Yes, the painter and member of the Royal Academy.”

  “What does he have to do with me?” She scanned the portraits on the wall. Most were too old to be his work. “Did he paint one of these? Your father’s?”

  “No. Stirling is a longtime family friend. The dowager had commissioned one of his first works when he was a struggling artist and helped launch his career, and he feels indebted to the Vale family. He’s an incredibly busy artist, but when I described your talent he agreed to offer a series of instruction.”

  Amelia’s heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she was surprised Vale couldn’t hear it. “He agreed to instruct me?”

  “You must paint my portrait. In exchange, the lessons are yours when you return to London,” Vale said.

  Her breath caught in her lungs. She struggled to comprehend the enormity of what he offered. She understood why he’d want her to paint a copy of the Cuyp landscape. Her unique ability to forge paintings was rare. But his second request was baffling. “Why me? I know why you sought me out to replicate the Cuyp painting, but why not hire Stirling himself for your portrait?”

  Vale’s eyes darkened to a deep moss. “Stirling no longer paints portraits, but I wouldn’t commission him even if he did. The true reason I want you to paint me is because I don’t want to look like them,” he said, flicking his thumb at the portraits on the walls. “I don’t want to look earlish.”

  A single thought crossed her mind: Vale looked nothing like them. The comparison was as foolish as the tingle of excitement she experienced every time he looked at her, and she suppressed the urge to press her hand to her pounding heart. There was so much male beauty that she longed to capture on canvas.

  The risks were high. She could get caught alone with him at night while she worked. She could ruin her reputation and her chances at a future marital match. Eliza would be devastated.

  She would spend hours alone with Vale, watching him, studying him for as long and as freely as she wanted as she painted. It was sinful, wicked, and entirely improper.

  When had that ever stopped her in the past?