“And you will critique mine. I’ll have my equipment set up here.” He sauntered toward the door, and while that view was agreeable, his departure without even touching her was maddening.
“Elijah?”
He half turned, a listening pose as opposed to one that focused on her visually. “My lady?”
“I’m glad you’re back. Very glad.” So glad, her chest had developed a peculiar ache, and her hands had balled into fists.
“I’m glad too, Genevieve.”
He sauntered back to her, kissed her cheek, and left.
Elijah tried to read the letters sent by his remaining sisters—they’d shared paper, the better to economize— and he’d barely comprehended anything except that they missed him and hoped to see him at Christmas.
Perhaps they would, if the Academy had given him the nod by then.
And perhaps they wouldn’t.
“I should not have kissed her,” Elijah informed a cat that looked very like the one he’d seen at Kesmore’s and Sindal’s. This beast also occupied Elijah’s bed, a green-eyed feline stare tracking Elijah as he unpacked his clothes and hung them in the wardrobe. Against the green, gold, and cream appointments of the room, a black-and-white cat commanded attention.
“I could not help but kiss her. When she saw me, she just stood there, a serene smile on her face, and me, not knowing—”
Not knowing if he’d made a small mistake by coming here, or a huge mistake.
“I am here to fulfill a ducal commission.”
The cat lifted a paw and commenced to tongue-wash between its claws.
“I am here because I could not hang about London, waiting for word from the nominating committee. The other fellows would stop by, the Christmas invitations would come. I wouldn’t get any work done.” Though he was caught up on his commissions, all except for the portrait of Sindal’s boys.
The cat rose to sitting and turned its back on Elijah, then tended to its ears with particular assiduousness.
“I am here because it’s someplace my family will not casually drop by and leave hints the size of elephants that this year, I ought to join the revelry at Flint Hall.”
Though they’d stooped to letters, which was beyond hinting. The cat glanced over its shoulder at Elijah then started licking its own belly.
“I am here because Moreland’s holiday hospitality is legendary. The regent himself recommends Her Grace’s recipe for punch.”
At this, the cat started licking its privy parts. Elijah sat on the bed and put the damned beast on the floor. “Dignity, cat. At the very least set me an example of dignity.”
The cat leapt onto the bed, appropriated Elijah’s lap, and once settled in, began purring without any dignity whatsoever.
“Right. I am here because I want to spend whatever time I can around Genevieve Windham, even if it’s only a few weeks amid paint fumes and under her parents’ watchful eyes. I am here to share with her whatever support and insight I might render regarding her art before she leaves for damned France. I am here”—he brushed his nose along the top of the cat’s head—“because I could not resist the opportunity to see her, to kiss her, even once more.”
The cat appeared to consider this, then bopped Elijah’s chin.
“I am here because I am a fool.”
A knock on the door cut short these pathetic confessions. Elijah set the cat aside and opened his door to behold a mature version of Genevieve Windham.
“Your Grace.” He bowed to the duchess then stepped back, hoping he’d put his stockings and under-linen out of sight.
“Bernward, welcome. I am remiss for not being here when you arrived, but I needed a recipe from my daughter at Sidling.” She came into the room, a woman whose very posture could teach lionesses about dignity and presence. “Your mother and I made our bows together, you know.”
Though she offered him a smile that likely dazzled men half her age, she was warning him of something. His Grace’s words about the womenfolk and their espionage came back to him.
“Mother has mentioned this, as did His Grace. I enjoyed a drink with His Grace upon my arrival.”
“Timothy is welcoming you too, I see. Jenny’s cat is as particular as most of his breed. I hope you aren’t given to sneezing around cats?”
“He’s a friendly sort, and I like cats, generally.”
“Gracious, Bernward. You aren’t seeing to your own clothing, I hope?” She considered the open wardrobe and his traveling bag, where—thank ye gods—no stockings or linen were in evidence.
“My things are damp from the weather, Your Grace, and the sooner they’re hung up, the less objectionable my attire will be at dinner.”
Her inspection landed on him. “You have your mother’s pragmatism, though I’ll send along a footman posthaste. Tell me, Bernward, do you paint quickly?”
This was the woman for whom Elijah would be rendering a portrait of the duke, and so her interest in his art made some sense. And yet… the cat had stopped purring.
“Fairly quickly. Mostly, I’m disciplined. I spend hours in the studio, as any laborer spends at his work. His Grace says the portrait must be completed for your Christmas Eve open house.”
She peered into the water pitcher on his nightstand, putting Elijah in mind of Lady Jenny doing the same thing when he’d spent a night at Kesmore’s.
“Can you do two portraits between now and Christmas Eve?” While her tone was merely curious, the hairs on the back of Elijah’s neck prickled.
“I… can, if my sitters cooperate and I’m left undisturbed for most of each day.” That she might be requesting a portrait of Genevieve made his blood churn and ideas racket about in his brain—Genevieve in green or blue? With her cat? Sketching? Genevieve merry or pensive? Genevieve looking regal or slightly mussed? A portrait of Genevieve absorbed in her art?
“I assure you, Bernward, you will have full cooperation, for you see it’s my portrait I’d like you to paint.”
The disappointment this news engendered was hard to keep off his face. “It will be my pleasure and my privilege, Your Grace. Will this portrait be a surprise to His Grace?”
Her smile was mischievous, a smile he’d seen Jenny wear under circumstances her mother would not approve of. “If possible. Can you manage that?”
“I can, as long as it’s understood nobody sees what I’m working on until it’s complete—nobody except Lady Jenny.”
Fine blond brows drew down. “Sophie said you would never have gotten such a wonderful rendering of her boys without Jenny’s assistance.”
The espionage of females, His Grace had called it. “Lady Sindal misstates the case, Your Grace. I would never have gotten
The duchess’s smile turned maternal. “Jenny is very good with children. Her siblings, nieces, and nephews adore her.”
Genevieve was equally good with a sketchbook, though Elijah doubted her mother would smile if he said as much. He tried anyway. “Her assistance was also artistic, Your Grace, having to do with both composition and execution of the portrait. Your daughter has a great deal of artistic talent. I’ve asked His Grace’s leave to call on Lady Jenny’s assistance while I’m here.”
While he watched, the duchess crossed to the wardrobe and withdrew a sachet bound in cream muslin with a green ribbon. She held it up to her nose—neither the lady nor her nose would qualify as dainty—and sniffed. “These need to be replaced. We’ve a large gathering descending in a few days, all of it family, Bernward. Your late addition to the party means the staff might not have been as attentive to your accommodations, for which I apologize. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything at all that will make your stay with us more enjoyable.”
“My thanks, Your Grace. The duke made it clear I am to consult you regarding all aspects of his portrait.
