by Lisa Campell
The children were gathered in the music room, Mrs. Hardcastle, their teacher, rose at the sight of her. The children turned and they jumped up in excitement. Lavinia giggled as they surrounded her.
"Lady Lavinia!" they called as they gathered round her.
"We have missed you!"
"Where have you been?"
"Did you bring us some new books today?"
Mrs. Hardcastle spoke up. "It is best to let Lady Lavinia have some air. Come on now, take your seats."
But one girl, Rosaline, spoke up as they all calmed down again. "Is he your friend, My Lady?"
Lavinia turned back to see Colin standing by the door, watching her. He looked away immediately and smiled. She narrowed her eyes at him. He was here with her, so it was only appropriate to introduce him to everyone.
She beckoned him to come closer. "Everyone, this is Lord Grandview, my brother."
He bowed and smiled at the children. “Good day, children!”
They surrounded him, shaking his hand, bowing and curtsying to him, and asking him questions all at once. Lavinia thought it would be overwhelming for him, but he was patient with them, asking their names, smiling at them.
"I regret that I have come with nothing today, but I shall bring you all gifts, the next time I come," he promised.
The children were gladdened by this. It warmed Lavinia's heart that he made them smile.
"Would you play us some music?" Grace asked. She was a young girl of about twelve. She lost two fingers on her left hand from a fire in her home a few years back. Lavinia smiled at her and so did Colin, sweetly.
To Lavinia’s utter surprise, he nodded. "Certainly."
He walked around and sat down before the pianoforte and began playing.
"May I have a word with you, My Lady?" Miss Dorset asked.
Lavinia nodded and followed her out of the room.
"Thank you so much for coming here today, and for the food you sent. I cannot appreciate you enough -"
Lavinia shook her head. "There is no need to thank me for anything."
Miss Dorset smiled. "What you do for these children —"
Lavinia wanted no more of Miss Dorset's appreciations. She placed her hands over Miss Dorset's. "Let us not speak of this, please!"
Miss Dorset smiled, and nodded.
The sound of the children clapping their hands together was heard, and Lavinia headed back to the room. Colin was standing by the door now and waving at the children. They seemed in awe of him.
Mrs. Hardcastle sat before them and clapped her hands briefly. "Alright now, may we continue with our lesson?"
They all nodded. But their attention was still partly with Colin. He had made quite an impression.
He walked out of the room toward Lavinia, smiling.
Miss Dorset smiled at him. "It seems you have made the children smile. Would you come to see them again?"
He nodded without a second thought. "Most certainly."
Lavinia said nothing. Miss Dorset excused herself and walked into a room on the left.
Lavinia was now left with Colin. He did not let silence prevail.
"Such lovely children."
"Hm." Lavinia nodded.
"It is wonderful what you do for them."
She looked up at him. He was gazing at her, a smile on his face. In his eyes, she saw pride. She felt her heart swell. She looked away immediately.
"Lavinia," he said. "I am well aware that you are furious with me."
She stopped walking and faced him.
"I apologize for my reaction to your suggestion concerning our lessons." He shook his head. "I had promised myself to never paint again after France."
"Why? What could make you stop painting?" she asked.
He sighed. "Lavinia..."
"Colin, I would understand if you tell me, but I understand as well if you do not feel the need to explain yourself to me."
He shook his head immediately. "No,” he said, then paused, “let me share this with you."
She felt something deep inside her shift when he uttered those words. She nodded. "As you wish."
He blew out a breath. "Shall we sit?"
"I brought you both some tea," Miss Dorset said, startling them as she came back in. She carried a tray of tea and biscuits.
Lavinia laughed. "That is not necessary. We shall be leaving soon."
"Nonsense," she insisted, placing it on the round table not so far from them. "It would be rude of me to not to offer you some sort of refreshment."
Lavinia smiled. She took Miss Dorset's hand in hers when she approached. "Thank you," she said and squeezed gently.
Miss Dorset grinned. " Enjoy."
Lavinia and Colin took their seats as Miss Dorset left them.
"Miss Dorset likes to serve tea," Lavinia explained as she mixed in cream and sugar. "It is mandatory that visitors must take tea."
Colin laughed. "I see. As I was saying…”
Lavinia sipped her tea and nodded.
"I went to Paris because my mother loved Paris. She had visited there, once."
"Oh. I did know she was French?"
He chuckled. "No. She went there to improve her painting. Paris is a city of art after all. She had to leave, quickly, when the Revolution began."
Lavinia smiled. He sighed. "When I arrived at Paris, I wanted to improve myself, paint the same places that she had, go to where she had been, so I could feel closer to her."
Lavinia felt his sadness. He gazed steadily at the table as he spoke, his head was clouded by nostalgia. She felt for him.
"I felt good about it for a while, until I came across her paintings in Paris." He looked up. "They had been signed. I recognized her signature, from the ones I had seen at home, from the ones my father had kept. Mother had been known."
"How so?"
"In all the places I had seen her work, the galleries wondered why they never got new works from her. 'This artist is very good,' they would say. 'I wonder why she stopped painting? She would have been known all over Paris'." He looked up. "Perhaps if I had not been born, my mother would have achieved much more."
Lavinia's shoulders sagged at this. She felt his pain. She reached out and placed her hand over his. She had heard about how his mother had died during his birth. The maids in the house gossiped a lot and she had heard of it. She had not known that it had weighed on him so much. She had not been aware of how hurt he was.
"But your mother had died so that you may live, Colin. So that you may carry on her legacy, and you have been blessed with her gift. It is not so that you could give up and blame yourself for her death.” Lavinia smiled. "It is a sign, don’t you see? That you found her paintings. It is a sign for you to carry on for her. Wherever she is, Colin, she is proud of who you are. And I am quite certain she has no regrets whatsoever. So why then should you?"
His eyes never left hers as she spoke. "Colin, it was fate that took you to Paris to see all of her works, so that you could carry on for her, not so you could give up."
"Lavinia..."
"Do not give up on this, Colin. You could accomplish what she was unable to. For her, and for you. You must let go of your guilt. The situation you blame yourself for, is one you had no control over, Colin. It was no fault of yours. None at all."
Colin's face softened. He stared at her, as silence fell. Lavinia could not bring herself to look away. She hoped with all her heart that Colin would not give up painting. She hoped he would no longer let a past he had no control of, haunt him like this. Although he said nothing, she felt deep down, that her words had done much more than he could let on. She hoped that for his sake, she had used the right words.
Chapter Six
Colin had never been told that he was not at fault for his mother's death. Lavinia’s words had warmed his heart in ways that he could not imagine. Lavinia always had the right words to say. Perhaps seeing all of those paintings of his mother had been to encourage him to do what his mother could no longer. But he had do
ne the opposite. He had given up. He was glad that he had shared his feelings with Lavinia. Perhaps she was what he needed. She was so kind and loyal. Irrespective of how stubborn and uncouth she seemed on the outside, she was more than that on the inside. He had admired how the little children loved her. How she had laughed with them, spoken with them. It gave him joy to see that. It made him happy that he had shared such an important moment with her. He had been unable to get the image of her with the children out of his mind. It was all he thought of and all he saw when he closed his eyes.
"Colin?" his father called.
He blinked. "Pardon me. I was carried away."
The Duke nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "Are you done with looking through the records?"
They were seated in the study, his father had on his spectacles. He had summoned Colin to discuss his knowledge of the estate. He had not been able to finish looking over the records because he had gone with Lavinia to the orphanage the day before, and because of his lessons with her.
"No, Father, I have not, but I shall dedicate my time to it today."
The Duke nodded. "Alright. Do take your time in going through it. It is important."
Colin nodded.
"That would be all," his father said.
Colin rose from his chair, but the Duke stopped him. "How are the lessons with Lavinia?"
Colin smiled. "They are going well."
The Duke took off his spectacles. "Well? Has she been much trouble?"
Colin shook his head slowly. "I believe that she is doing everything that she should."
"Splendid. Her mother wants her prepared in time for her debut ball."
"She will be ready."
He inclined his head and left the study. Colin wished that he had a stronger relationship with his father. Most times, it felt as though he were talking to a stranger. They were always so formal. All they talked about was related to the Duchy and the estate. Never had his father asked how his travels really were, what he had done in all of that time, and if he had been fulfilled.
He stopped walking, as something dawned on him. He wondered where his mother's paintings were. He wanted to see them.
He stared at the paintings on the wall. That of the new Duchess, and of his father. His eyes narrowed at a painting of a garden.
"Your mother was a terrific artist, My Lord."
Colin didn't need to look back to know who was speaking. It was Spratt. The butler.
"You never met my mother," Colin responded. He had not known Spratt while he had been growing up. Spratt had been hired after Geoffries, who had been the household butler for many years before he passed away.
"Certainly not, but I have heard about her. All her paintings are wonderful. She would have been a great artist," Spratt said.
Colin stroked his chin. He turned to Spratt. "Do you know where her paintings are?"
Spratt nodded. "Of course, My Lord. Locked away in the attic, at the behest of His Grace."
Colin raised both his eyebrows. His father had asked that her works be kept away? Colin was hurt by this. He nodded to Spratt. "Take me to them."
He would surprise Lavinia in the next lesson they were to have, he decided. He could not wait to see her reaction when she saw what he planned to do. He could not wait to see her smile at him. Or laugh, in the same way she had, with the children. He followed Spratt to the attic.
After seeing his mother’s paintings, he chose one which he wanted to make use of and asked that it be taken to the garden. He also asked that everything be set up for painting. Lavinia had been right. What he needed to do was keep her alive, by keeping her legacy alive. He had decided to recreate his mother's paintings of a rose garden.
He made sure that everything was set before Lavinia's arrival. He wanted to surprise her.
He sat in the garden and waited.
His face brightened when he saw her walking out of the house, with her lady’s maid, Rebecca, behind her. Lavinia’s hair was pulled up in a bun and not a hair was out of place. Her shoulders were straight as she walked. She did not slouch. Just as she had been taught. She was the picture of a Lady.
He was mesmerized by her.
"Colin." She curtsied when she came near. He inclined his head and waited for her to see all that had been set out for her.
Just as he predicted, her eyes wandered around the garden. When he saw her gasp, he knew she had seen it. Her eyes widened. She looked at him, and then behind him again, where everything was set.
"Colin..."
"Would you like to begin your lessons on painting?"
She smiled. "Certainly."
She walked over to where the easel was set, with a canvas seated comfortably on it. He watched her, the way she looked at the brushes, and at the paints. When her eyes caught sight of the completed painting situated away from the empty canvas, her smile faded a bit. She seemed struck by his mother's painting. She walked over and touched it.
"Is this...your mother's?"
He nodded. "Yes. I found them in the attic. Spratt helped me to find them."
"It is so beautiful. Your mother was a great artist."
He walked over to where she stood and stared at the painting as well. His mother was indeed talented.
She whirled around suddenly, her grin wide. "Let us begin."
Her excitement was infectious. They both stood before the two easels and he said to her. "Alright, so, we shall proceed with your deportment lessons while also improving your painting skills."
He watched her attempt to hold back a laugh and nod. It felt so surreal, that he was raising up his brush to paint again, after such a very long time. It seemed that she wanted him to do so before she herself took up a brush, for she watched him keenly. It made him nervous, but he began to draw. She watched. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he paused.
"Go on, as I watch you, I'll learn," she said.
He smiled and went on. Soon, he was lost in painting, in recreating what his mother had created. He wondered why he had ever stopped painting, with Lavinia cheering him on, he did not feel like setting the brush down even for a second.
"So that's how you paint the flower?" she asked.
"Yes. You sketch out the shape first, then you add in the shading."
She smiled. He had paused to look at her. She nodded. "Go on."
He chuckled and went on. Her facial expressions always made him laugh, her reactions to situations. Lavinia was like a light. Perhaps coming back home to London was not a bad idea. Perhaps London was what he needed. Perhaps she was what he needed.
When he looked back at her, she was still grinning at him. She was all the encouragement he needed.
They were still working when the time for dinner came. Lavinia looked disappointed about it. She did not want them to leave. She pouted.
"Perhaps we could not go for dinner and continue paint?"
Colin laughed. "Certainly not, Lavinia. It will be getting dark."
She had looked him in the eye and asked softly. "Do you promise that we will continue tomorrow?"
He realized then, that her fear was that he might change his mind about the painting lessons. He knew he would not. He did not want to ever experience the feeling of her being disappointed in him. He took her hand in his. "Lavinia. Tomorrow, we shall continue this. I promise you."
It had made her smile. Her hazel eyes brightened, and his heart pounded. He felt a knot inside of him, and he wondered what strange feeling that was. He let go of her hand after that and cleared his throat.
"To dinner?"
She nodded. "To dinner."
The Duke and Duchess commented on Lavinia's apparent changes at dinner. They found her to be more to their liking, more of a Lady. Colin had watched Lavinia to see her reaction, but she said nothing about it, her facial expression was utterly blank. But he imagined she didn't like the comments.
After dinner, while the Duke and Duchess sat and conversed in the drawing room, he and Lavinia left, to retire for the evening.<
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"Goodnight, Colin." She smiled.
She was about to make her way up the stairs when he called her. She turned.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She creased her brows. "What for?"
"The painting. It makes me feel like myself again."