Though she was no shrinking violet, she surprised herself with that kind of boldness. But she didn't see where she had much of a choice. She had to get Mr. West out of there before—as irreverent Rachael would put it—all hell broke loose.
"Will you have a look at my newest painting, Mr. West?" she asked, coming to a stop before it. "As I'm considering submitting it to the Summer Exhibition, I'd surely appreciate your thoughts."
Before commenting, he studied the picture quite a while. Corinna studied him. He was balding, what was left of his hair was gray, and he looked rather dour overall. But not really unfriendly, she decided with some relief.
Mr. West was famous for his paintings of recent battles that depicted their heroes wearing modern dress rather than traditional, classical garb. Since Corinna thought it rather silly to paint contemporary men sporting flowing Roman robes, she heartily approved—and she hoped his willingness to take the less traveled road meant he was more open-minded than most.
"It's very nice, Lady…Corinna, is it?" he said at last in his disarming American accent. "Your basic techniques demonstrate fine skills. But I'm not certain your model's form looks quite realistic."
"His form?"
"His body, under his clothing. Not quite natural, I'm afraid."
Her heart turned to lead in her chest. She'd done her best, considering the Academy refused women access to anatomy lessons. Maybe she should point that out to him. As the Academy's president, maybe he would see how unfair that was, how detrimental to a lady's chances, and decide to change the Academy's rules.
No, that would never happen. And he might consider such a request to be very bad form. She'd never get elected to the Academy if its president thought she was vulgar.
On the other hand, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Lord Lincolnshire's form looked perfectly fine. West was known for painting all of his subjects with large almond-shaped eyes, so maybe he wasn't one to judge. Although his portrait clients thought those eyes most dashing—and doubtless commissioned him for that reason—it wasn't accurate, after all. Some of them had narrow, squinty eyes, or small round ones.
"Thank you very much for your opinion," she told him as sweetly as she could. "I surely appreciate it, and I shall take your thoughts under consideration."
Suppressing a sigh, she returned to Rachael after he took leave. "Well, that didn't go well."
Rachael's sisters came to join them. "Who was he?" Claire asked.
"Benjamin West, the president of the Royal Academy. He said Lord Lincolnshire's body doesn't look natural beneath his clothing."
Elizabeth glanced over toward the painting and shrugged. "Looks fine to me. Rather impressive, in fact."
"He did say my techniques demonstrate fine skills. And maybe he's wrong about the other, but that doesn't really matter, does it? Either way he won't vote for my painting unless I change it."
"His is just one opinion." Rachael touched her arm. "There are other committee members, aren't there? How many in total?"
"Nine. The president plus eight elected Academicians."
"So you have eight more men to influence. Seven if you count Mr. Hamilton as being on your side. And he should be, considering you've become friends with him."
"I'm not sure friends is an accurate description of our relationship." But although Rachael didn't know the truth, in a sense she was right. The real Mr. Hamilton should be on Corinna's side, considering how hard she'd been working to keep his uncle happy. And he believed each work should stand on its own and not be judged by the gender of its creator. "However, I think he probably will vote for me," she decided.
"So you've already balanced Mr. West's negative opinion with a positive." Rachael smiled; but then her brows drew together in a frown. "Why did you claim you didn't see Mr. Hamilton at the Billingsgate ball on Saturday? That he was Sean Hamilton, not John? I've heard you call him Sean, and Lord Lincolnshire calls him that as well, but it's just a nickname, after all."
"Mr. West seems to think Mr. Hamilton is in Wales for some reason. I didn't want to argue with the president of the Royal Academy. Better to go along with what he said, I was thinking."
Rachael exchanged puzzled glances with her sisters. "I don't know about that."
Corinna gave what she hoped was a casual shrug, then smiled at Lady A, who was approaching with another man in tow.
"I cannot understand why everyone thinks Mr. Hamilton is in Wales," the older woman muttered darkly. And then more graciously as she drew near, "Mr. Mulready, I'd be pleased for you to meet Lady Corinna Chase. Lady Corinna, this is William Mulready."
Mr. Mulready looked much younger than Mr. West, probably not a decade older than Corinna herself. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear," he said in an accent that reminded her of Sean.
That thought made her smile. "Oh, Mr. Mulready, your painting in last year's Summer Exhibition was my absolute favorite!"
She wasn't making that up; the enthusiasm in her voice was genuine. And judging from the man's expression, he rather liked hearing it. "Which one, my dear?" he asked.
Academicians were allowed to display six paintings each—works that were hung without question, without being judged by the committee. "The Fight Interrupted. I adore the seventeenth-century Dutch masters, and it reminded me of their work. An updated version, if you will."
"I too admire the Dutch masters," he said, sounding like he also admired her for admiring them. "Their work inspired The Fight Interrupted."
Encouraged by how much better this was going than her last conversation, Corinna started inching Mr. Mulready toward her painting of Lord Lincolnshire. "I also much admire your wife's landscapes, Mr. Mulready."
"Elizabeth does lovely work."
"Since you married a female artist, may I assume you don't disapprove of us?"
He laughed, apparently enjoying the saucy question. "A valid assumption. I've had a look at your paintings, my dear. Your own landscapes are
