"He said you have an excellent start."
"Exactly. One doesn't submit a painting that looks like a start, does one? Clearly he was implying I need more practice."
She mentally counted her votes. Against: Benjamin West and James Northcote. For: John Hamilton and Martin Archer Shee. William Mulready would vote for a landscape but not for a portrait.
She wanted to submit a portrait.
Well, maybe Mr. Mulready or Mr. Northcote would vote for her portrait if she fixed it. And there were four other committee members. With either Mulready or Northcote on her side, she needed only two of them to swing the vote.
"How are things going?" Lady A asked, joining their little circle.
"All right," Corinna said. "Mr. West was lukewarm, but Mr. Shee said he was impressed by my work, and so did James Northcote." She wouldn't mention that Mr. Northcote had also said she needed improvement in portraying anatomy.
"Mr. Hamilton will certainly vote for you, although I'm still miffed with him for not attending. He could have influenced the others positively. What did William Mulready have to say, my dear?"
"He loves my landscapes, but he's not as enthusiastic about the portrait."
"Well, that doesn't signify, now, does it? My daughter painted wonderful landscapes. You should be happy enough to get a landscape into the Summer Exhibition."
Corinna wasn't certain that would make her quite happy, but she didn't say so. She didn't want to sound ungrateful. She was thankful to Lady A for giving her the opportunity to meet all the committee members, even if things weren't working out the best.
Besides, things weren't looking all that dire, either. She needed only two more artists to love her work, and she had four more chances to find them.
"I spoke with William Beechey," Lady A added. "I'm sorry to tell you, my dear, that it doesn't seem he approves of females painting portraits."
Corinna couldn't say she was surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. A portrait painter himself, Mr. Beechey had painted the royal family and nearly all the most famous and fashionable people. A steady stream of very sober portraits. Obviously he took life seriously and wouldn't be wanting competition from anyone, let alone from female artists. "Well, then, I don't need to meet him. There are still three committee members I've yet to speak with."
Lady Balmforth threaded her way to them. "I talked to William Owen," she reported. He was principal portrait painter to the Prince Regent.
"And?" her sister asked.
Lady B just shook her head. Mournfully.
Another artist to cross off Corinna's list. Now there were just two left…and her stomach felt as though rocks were collecting inside it.
"How about Henry Fuseli?" she asked. "Or John James Chalon? Have either of you talked to either of them?"
"Our sister has one of Mr. Fuseli's pictures in her bedroom," Lady B said. "Let's ask her if she'll introduce you."
Lady A nodded. "That would be good. I'll find Mr. Chalon in the meanwhile."
As Lady B took her to find Lady C, Corinna wondered what sort of picture the woman had in her bedroom. That she had one at all was rather intriguing. Mr. Fuseli painted weird, often sensual scenes, fantasies that were daringly inventive. His most acclaimed painting, The Nightmare, was an unforgettable image of a woman in the throes of a violently erotic dream.
She was a bit nervous to meet Mr. Fuseli. He seemed attracted to the supernatural, and he was bound to hold strong opinions. She almost hoped Lady Cavanaugh would be too hard to find.
But she wasn't, of course. The house simply wasn't large enough to get lost in it. Lady B found her sister very easily, and Lady C was positively pleased to provide the introduction.
Mr. Fuseli had masses of curly white hair and a face that looked oddly like a lion's. He'd already examined Corinna's artwork on the walls.
"Your paintings are very well done," he told her in a booming voice. "Very accurate, Lady Corinna."
"Thank you, Mr. Fuseli. I admire your paintings, too. I'm inspired by your inventiveness. I find your work fascinating. Very visionary."
"I do believe that a certain amount of exaggeration improves a picture."
Was that a criticism? He'd described her work as well done and very accurate. She always did her best to portray the truth or, as William Mulready had put it, to capture the essence. There was nothing exaggerated in her pictures at all.
"Our ideas are the offspring of our senses," he continued.
What was that supposed to mean?
"It was lovely speaking with you, Lady Corinna," he concluded. "I wish you the best of luck."
That was it? He was done? She hadn't the barest idea what he'd been talking about, or whether he'd liked her pictures.
Her sisters appeared as if by magic—or perhaps as if they'd sprung from one of his strange paintings. "What did he say?" Juliana asked.
"I don't know, exactly. He didn't quite make sense. But he did wish me the best of luck."
"Then he goes in the for column," Juliana said firmly, being the type to always look on the bright side.
Corinna wished she were half so certain. But maybe Mr. Fuseli did like her paintings. And there was still John James Chalon.
The crowd seemed to be thinning out. Spotting Lady A, who was looking rather flustered, Corinna made her way over to see her.
Her sisters followed in her wake.
"Did you talk to Mr. Chalon? Did he say he was willing to meet me?"
"I couldn't find him," Lady A said. "It seems he's left."
"Oh, no. He was the last committee member." Her final opportunity to convince herself she still had a chance. "Now I won't know if he liked my portrait."
"It's all right, dear." The sweet lady smiled. "Everyone loved your landscapes. This all went brilliantly, don't you think?"
Corinna nodded. It was all she could manage. Her only other options were to scream or to cry.
"Have another rout cake," Alexandra said.
