Oh, this was going astoundingly better. "Here is my latest portrait. What do you think?"
"Lord Lincolnshire, isn't it?" Cocking his head, he perused the picture. "I think, Lady Corinna, that you've truly captured the essence of the man."
Corinna couldn't help but grin. She couldn't think of a more wonderful compliment than hearing she'd captured the essence. That was exactly what she tried to accomplish, not only with this portrait but with all of her paintings.
And the score was now two to one. Mulready and Hamilton on her side, and only Benjamin West on the other. Clearly her chances were good.
She loved William Mulready.
Until she heard the next words out of his mouth. "But he seems a wee bit…stiff."
"Stiff?"
"Yes, stiff. I've had the pleasure of meeting Lord Lincolnshire—quite the art collector, isn't he?—and he struck me as a relaxed sort of fellow. It's something about this fellow's frame beneath his clothing that looks stiff, I think…" Smiling, he patted her on the shoulder. "Not to fret, Lady Corinna. Your landscapes are brilliant. I'm sure the committee will be more than pleased to choose one of them."
She didn't want them to choose a landscape. She was no longer sure she even wanted to submit any. She was going to have to fix Lord Lincolnshire's portrait.
"How is it going?" Alexandra came and asked when Mr. Mulready had walked away.
"He likes my landscapes."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?"
"He's not nearly as impressed with my portrait. He thinks Lord Lincolnshire looks unnatural beneath his clothes. And Benjamin West said the same thing."
"Oh, my. I think you need a rout cake."
Alexandra fetched one from the platter and handed it over. Corinna bit into it morosely, thinking she could use their luck.
No matter that she disbelieved such nonsense.
"How many works will be chosen?" Alexandra asked.
"There were nearly a thousand in last summer's Exhibition."
"Well, then, I should think your chances will be good."
"But there were more than eight thousand submitted. And there are eighty Academicians who get to show six pieces each, which leaves only five hundred twenty for the rest of us."
"Only five hundred twenty," Juliana said with a laugh as she joined them. "I should think there'd be room for one of yours in all of that. And I cannot believe you did that calculation that fast."
Juliana never had been very quick with numbers, but that was beside the point. "I've done that calculation a hundred times," Corinna admitted. "At the very least."
"How are the pieces chosen?" Juliana asked.
Corinna was about to confess ignorance when a man stepped up and gave a little bow. "I'd be pleased to explain to such fine ladies." Although he wasn't anywhere as handsome as Sean, he too had a similar lilting accent. She'd had no idea so many Academicians were Irish. "Martin Archer Shee, at your service," he added.
Martin Archer Shee had studied with the late, great Sir Joshua Reynolds. Corinna was awed that such a man would bother to introduce himself, let alone take time to explain a mysterious procedure. "I'm Corinna Chase, and I'd adore hearing all about it."
"It's very pleased I am to meet you, Lady Corinna. The process is a simple one, if a wee bit tedious. The works are marched past the Committee by a chain of human art handlers. The first round cuts the mass of submissions to about two thousand, and the next round is much more rigorous. From the Academy's earliest days, two metal wands have been used to stamp labels attached to each painting. One wand is surmounted by a letter D, the other by a more ominous X. A work which receives the vote of three or more Academicians is awarded a D for 'Doubtful' and passes to the next round of selection. Works which get the X are eliminated. The rounds are repeated until the paintings that remain are reduced to a reasonable number. Beef tea is served to keep the Academicians' spirits up during the ordeal." His eyes twinkled. "Which isn't really very much of one, in reality. Hanging the exhibition is a much more arduous affair."
"That takes days," Corinna told her sisters. "More than a week."
"With much politics involved regarding whose picture goes where. All done in a veil of secrecy, to protect the Hanging Committee from being hanged ourselves."
Mr. Shee smiled at his own joke; a quite engaging grin, Corinna thought. "Thank you kindly for the explanation."
"I'm much impressed by your work, Lady Corinna. Your textures are quite admirable. I wish you the best of luck in the selection process," he added before taking his leave.
Corinna turned to her sisters. "He likes my work," she breathed. Maybe her chances weren't so dire, after all. "Martin Archer Shee likes my work. And he studied with none other than Reynolds."
"Ah, but I wrote Life of Reynolds," another man said, rivalry evident in his tone.
He stepped up to take Shee's place. Though she'd never seen him before in her life, Corinna knew who he was immediately. "James Northcote, I'm honored to meet you. I read your book four years ago, when it first came out, and I found your recollections of your old master to be quite enlightening."
"He was an enlightening man," Northcote said. "And a discerning one. He'd have been impressed, as I am, with your portrait of Lord Lincolnshire. The man's suit looks like real velvet, his lace truly handmade, the trees in the background wet and glistening. An admirable endeavor, Lady Corinna. Not perfect, of course. The underlying anatomy seems a mite off, and—"
"I'm so pleased you think well of it," Corinna interrupted before she was forced to hear that complaint again. "I realize it's not usual for a female to paint portraits."
"Half the things that people do not succeed in are through fear of making an attempt," he told her solemnly. "You've an excellent start. I wish you well in proceeding with your portrait career."
"I think you have a good chance," Juliana said as he walked away. "He sounded very impressed with your realism."
Corinna smiled
