The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  “I’m not going to see a show. I need to speak to a man who works there.”

  “Aha! You’re an actress. Another promising occupation for a stunner such as yourself.”

  Cara had never heard the word stunner before today. She couldn’t help but feel proud at this compliment even as she shook her head. “I need to speak to one of the stagehands. He’s my brother-in-law . . . sort of, I think. Is the brother of one’s brother-in-law also a brother-in-law?”

  “I see you like conundrums as much as I do. What are you going to talk to him about?”

  “Well, I . . .” Cara was taken aback by his forthright question. Yet she found it hard to take offense. He had a slight tick in his eye and a certain nervous movement that made him seem different from most people. And he’d already proven that he didn’t like to follow rigid social conventions. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was overstepping polite rules of conduct. Still, Cara wasn’t going to explain herself.

  Langham didn’t seem to notice her lack of an answer. He was looking down at her carpetbag. “Have you brought samples of your work? I’m always curious to see what other painters are doing.”

  “Are you also a painter?”

  “Yes, indeed. I’m having a showing at the Grosvenor in a few months. I feel I am a mere dilettante, but Sir Coutts assures me my work is equal to the professionals.”

  That explained not only why he knew Arthur Hughes, but everything else about his manner. Painters, like many others in the arts, were notorious for flouting the rules of society. Cara knew this because she’d often purloined the society journals after Lady Needenham had read and discarded them. They were filled with stories of how artists, authors, and even actors rubbed elbows with royals and aristocrats at the Grosvenor Gallery’s special events. The owner of the gallery was Sir Coutts Lindsay. Some of the artists whose work was displayed in the gallery were aristocrats, too! And here she was, after being in London for only a few hours, talking with someone who was friends with such people. She could hardly believe her good fortune.

  Langham’s name wasn’t familiar to Cara. Not that she knew the names of every artist in London—how could she? But if he wasn’t famous yet, he soon would be. Being invited to show his work at the Grosvenor Gallery guaranteed that.

  “So, have you brought your work with you?” he asked again.

  Cara did have two of her favorite drawings in her carpetbag. She couldn’t bear to leave them behind, even though the butler had assured her he would forward her things as soon as she sent him an address.

  If Langham’s work was good enough for the Grosvenor, his skill would be far superior to hers. Yet Cara believed the drawings in her bag represented her best work. To get an assessment from a master would be an invaluable piece of good luck. How could she pass up the opportunity?

  She reached down to open the clasp. “I did bring a few items.” She tried to sound offhand about it and not at all nervous. She pulled out the first, which was a drawing in charcoal of her sister Rosalyn. It was a modest-sized picture, about fifteen inches square. It showed a smiling Rosalyn from the waist up, in three-quarters profile, one hand up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

  Langham held the drawing at an angle to catch the light as he studied it. Cara began to feel self-conscious as some of the other pedestrians sent curious glances their way. She grew more uneasy as the moments passed and Langham said nothing.

  “It’s my sister Rosalyn,” she said, and then felt even more foolish. What did it matter who the subject was? Langham would judge the work on its artistic merits.

  She was becoming so convinced he didn’t like it that she was stunned when he murmured, “This is very good.”

  Those few words were enough to make her forget her discomfort. “You think so?”

  He nodded. “Your sister is an earnest person. Innately quiet, perhaps, yet she has an energy that can burst forth when she allows it.”

  “That’s amazing! But you can’t have gotten all that from my drawing. You must be a fortune-teller of some kind.”

  “Reading a painting the way a gypsy reads tea leaves?” Langham waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve often said I have a drop of gypsy blood in me, although I confess that’s figurative, not literal. But yes, I did glean that information from your portrait. What’s more, I see your love for her as well. I can always tell when someone paints out of love. There’s something magical about catching that spark in a person’s soul, isn’t there?”

  After the horrible things that had happened this week, to suddenly have an accomplished artist complimenting her and understanding her art brought tears to Cara’s eyes. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “Then you can’t know many nice people.”

  She didn’t reply, but in her mind the answer rang crystal clear. Considering what she’d learned today about her sisters, neither was very nice in her eyes. They had betrayed her. If she were to paint Rosalyn’s portrait today, it would come out a lot differently.

  Langham’s gaze returned to the portrait. “I feel as though I know this woman already.”

  These words caused Cara’s ballooning pride to deflate a little. “Perhaps you have seen her. She’s touring with The Pirates of Penzance.” If he had seen the production, he might have gleaned those things about Rosalyn from her performance rather than this portrait.

  He shook his head. “Opera is not my cup of tea. Not even the works of Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, though they are wildly popular. I did, however, see their newest show, Patience, because it is a satire on the Aesthetics. I expected it to be dreadful, but in fact it is terribly funny. I thought it brilliant that the main character is named Grosvenor!”

  Most of what Cara knew about the Aesthetic Movement was that its adherents were interested in “art for art’s sake” rather than creating works for edification or to illustrate some important lesson. The Grosvenor Gallery was filled with such paintings, and Cara was eager to see them. What would she think of them? How would they make her feel? What could she learn to make her own work better? “Are you an Aesthetic?”

  “I don’t tie myself down to one school. There are infinite ways to view the world, and therefore infinite ways to capture it on canvas. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes!” Cara replied heartily. “I’ve never put it into words before, but that is exactly what I think.”

  His eyes twinkled as he handed back the drawing. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were an exceptional soul. Let’s see your other one.”

  Cara rolled up the drawing and put it away. She reached for the second, which was a watercolor she’d made of Robbie last spring.

  “Oh, hang on,” Langham said. “Here comes the omnibus. I’m on my way to the Grosvenor now. Why don’t you come along? Lady Lindsay is still in town. If she’s there, I’ll introduce you. You know there is an entire room set aside just for showing the works of ladies, don’t you?”

  She was hardly able to believe her ears. “You would introduce me to Lady Lindsay?”

  To be introduced to the famous Lady Lindsay, who co-owned the Grosvenor with her husband, and who was an accomplished painter in her own right, was too good to be true.

  “I’m itching to show you that painting of Hughes’s,” Langham continued. “You’ll be astonished at the likeness!”

  It was tempting, to be sure. So tempting that she could already hear Julia’s reproof about how easily she could be led astray from her purposes. And that made up her mind for her. She hadn’t forgotten her predicament, but neither was she going to pass up this opportunity. Something this good might never come around again. Perhaps it was God Himself who was making this possible! She’d always sensed His presence with her, even if she had not been a model Christian. There was no reason why Cara couldn’t go to the gallery now; she would have plenty of time to get to the theatre afterward.

  As the omnibus came to a halt, Cara pulled out her remaining coins. “Threepence, did you say?”


  “Don’t worry—I’ll pay,” Langham said, motioning her toward the door. “Come quickly! Omnibuses are like time and tides—they wait for no one.” He helped Cara aboard, taking hold of her bag and stepping on after her. “There are seats inside. What luck. Otherwise I’d have to sit on the knifeboard seats up top, and I detest that.” He dropped some coins into the waiting hand of the conductor.

  The seats were composed of two long benches that ran the length of the omnibus. Cara and Langham had not gotten fully settled before the omnibus lurched forward. The sudden momentum tossed Cara sideways, toward the rear of the vehicle. She nearly fell into Langham’s lap.

  “Careful!” he said with a laugh. “It takes some work to keep your balance in these things. Have you ever ridden an omnibus before?”

  “Never,” she confessed. “Thank you for paying my fare. That’s very generous.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it. I’ve plenty of money. The truth is, I could take a cab if I wanted to.”

  “Why don’t you?” Cara asked in surprise. Surely it would be more comfortable than this cramped omnibus. It had an odd smell, and the straw lining the floor was filthy.

  “This is much more interesting. You never know what kind of people you’ll see.”

  Given that the woman seated opposite her was wearing a massive hat decorated with flowers and fruit and what appeared to be a stuffed bird, Cara had to agree.

  “Besides,” Langham said in an elaborate stage whisper, “I like the anonymity. Many of the cab drivers know me, and they are bound to report my whereabouts to my brother. Again.”

  This seemed an odd statement, like so many he’d made today. “Don’t you want your brother to know where you are?”

  “No. He’s a good man, but he’s too inclined to direct every aspect of my life. As though I could not take care of myself. It is tedious to have a domineering sibling.”

  “It sure is,” Cara agreed with feeling.

  Langham’s eyebrows lifted. “Domineering is not a trait I spotted in your sister’s portrait. Or do you have an overbearing brother like I do?”

  “It’s my other sister, Julia. Rosalyn worries about me, but Julia only badgers me.”

  “I should hate to see what sort of portrait you’d paint of her!” he replied with a laugh.

  “Every time she thinks she’s being helpful, all she does is make me feel worse.”

  Langham nodded. “I understand completely.”

  It felt good to be with someone who, although his life was obviously so different from hers, seemed to be going through similar troubles. Cara was glad she’d accepted his offer.

  She was on her way to the Grosvenor Gallery! This day had turned into an adventure better than anything she could have imagined.

  CHAPTER

  6

  ALTHOUGH HE KEPT UP a stream of conversation, Langham looked out the window a lot, keeping tabs on the progress of the omnibus. It made many stops, slowing their pace.

  “Here we are at last,” he said, interrupting a story he’d been relating about a scandal at the Royal Academy’s spring show. They swiftly disembarked. It was clear he was as anxious as she was to visit the gallery.

  As they approached the entrance, Cara paused, staring up at it in wonder. The Grosvenor was grander and more ornate than she’d imagined. Two giant marble columns, several stories high, stood on either side of a massive door. It looked like a Greek temple.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Langham said. “The building itself is a work of art, and the interior is just as magnificent.” He opened the door for her. “Come on.”

  Stepping through the doorway, Cara thought she’d walked into a palatial mansion. The spacious foyer was edged with plants and statues, and a wide marble staircase rose majestically to the next floor.

  This wasn’t a home, though. An attendant standing at a tall desk next to a sign stating the entrance fee made it clear this was a place of business. Cara stopped in alarm. She hadn’t even considered the entrance fee.

  Langham greeted the guard like an old friend. “Lester, how are you? How is business today?”

  “Very slow.”

  “Have the Kinnard sisters been through here today?”

  The guard scratched his chin. “No, sir, don’t believe they have. Most of our best patrons have left the city to get away from the heat.”

  Langham appeared disappointed at this answer. Cara wondered who the Misses Kinnard could be, aside from some of the gallery’s “best” patrons. But he seemed to shake it off. “I hope Lady Lindsay has not yet fled town.”

  “No, sir. She’s upstairs in the watercolors gallery.”

  “Excellent.” Langham took Cara’s elbow to lead her upstairs.

  The attendant held out a hand to stop them. “Excuse me, sir, but . . . well . . . rules are rules.” He motioned toward Cara.

  “This is a rising artist Lady Lindsay will want to meet.”

  Lester looked unconvinced. His gaze traveled over Cara, taking in her dress, wilted from the heat and hem brown with dust from the streets, and her well-worn carpetbag.

  “I couldn’t expect you to pay my way,” Cara protested.

  “All this angst over a mere two shillings,” Langham said with a dramatic sigh. Two shillings wasn’t exactly a pittance to Cara, but Langham’s world was evidently much richer. “You know Sir Coutts has commissioned two paintings from me for the autumn showing. My bill will be paid in full once they sell.” He gave Cara’s arm a tug. “Come along.”

  The attendant frowned but did not stop them. He did, however, make a note in a large ledger. Cara determined that at some point she would pay Langham back. How or when that would be, she had no idea. But she would find a way.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Langham sent a quick glance back toward the entrance. Cara wondered if perhaps he was still looking for the Kinnard sisters. Someone was coming through the main doors, but it was an older gentleman and his wife. Langham turned back to Cara and led her through a wide entryway on their left. “This is the watercolor gallery.”

  At the far end of the long room, a woman was surveying a newly hung painting while a worker descended a ladder. “Yes, I knew it would be better here,” she said, nodding in satisfaction.

  The lady had a light falsetto voice that seemed at odds with her appearance; although she was not tall, she tended toward stoutness.

  She turned as Langham and Cara entered. “Langham!” she said warmly, walking toward them. “What are you up to today?”

  “No good, naturally, my lady,” he joked, giving her a peck on both cheeks.

  “Will there be anything else, ma’am?” the worker asked.

  “No, that will be all. Tell Mr. Warren I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” he said, tipping his chin deferentially before picking up the ladder and leaving the room.

  Cara guessed the woman was in her late thirties. She had bright, piercing blue eyes, a pretty contrast to her dark brown hair.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you!” Cara gushed when Langham introduced her to Lady Lindsay. “I’ve wanted to come here for ages.”

  “It’s always nice to meet a fellow art enthusiast,” the lady replied with a smile.

  “She’s more than an enthusiast—she’s an artist, too,” Langham said. “I believe she has real potential. She has the drawing here, if you’d like to see it.” He motioned toward Cara’s carpetbag.

  Cara froze in mortification. They were surrounded by true works of art. It didn’t feel right to press Lady Lindsay to look at her amateurish artwork.

  Lady Lindsay must have thought so, too. A look of annoyance crossed her face. She glanced down at a watch attached by a chain to her dress. “I suppose I have a moment.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble—” Cara began.

  “She just said she has time,” Langham interrupted. “Show it to her.”

  Only a desire not to keep Lady Lindsay waiting prodded Cara past any furth
er hesitation. She pulled out the portrait of Rosalyn and handed it over, holding her breath as Lady Lindsay studied it.

  “This is reasonably good. Your instructor has given you a good grounding in the basics.”

  “Oh, I haven’t had any lessons. I suppose you could say I’m self-taught.”

  Upon hearing this, Lady Lindsay looked at Cara with new interest. “In that case I revise my estimate. You have a natural eye for framing and perspective. You could go far with proper instruction.”

  Cara was nearly beside herself at receiving this praise from an expert. “Thank you!”

  Lady Lindsay handed the portrait back to Cara. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Bernay. However, if the two of you will excuse me, I have to solve some issues down in the restaurant before I leave. Sir Coutts and I are catching the train for Scotland in the morning.”

  “Do give him my greetings,” Langham said. “I’m already looking forward to your return in October.”

  “While you are waiting so earnestly for us, be sure to keep working. Remember, your pieces must be ready by the end of September. I don’t want you to take up Mr. Burne-Jones’s bad habit of taking years to complete a painting.”

  “I will be an absolute slave to my brush.”

  Lady Lindsay’s response was a lift of her brow and an ironic smile.

  “Your ladyship, might I ask before you go . . . I hope you will pardon me, but is there a retiring room here?” Cara’s cheeks burned, but she had to ask.

  Lady Lindsay looked sympathetic. “Of course. They are down by the restaurant. You can follow me.”

  “Just take the stairs all the way to the top floor when you are done,” Langham said. “I’ll wait for you in the main gallery.”

  “Have you known Langham very long?” Lady Lindsay asked as she and Cara walked downstairs.

  “I met him just today,” Cara admitted. “He’s very nice, isn’t he?”

  “Most people find him likable, although he hasn’t much respect for the rules of polite society. At times I feel he is too lax. As a member of the aristocracy, he has a reputation to uphold.”