The sketch of him wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Something wasn’t working. There was nothing for it but to keep trying. It wasn’t at the point where the attempt needed to be discarded. The form or perspective weren’t wrong. It was something else. She was fairly sure Julius wouldn’t be tolerant of the fact that she needed to keep redoing this. He seemed like a man who didn’t tolerate mistakes.
“I couldn’t imagine doing this as a profession,” he finally said.
“You have to have the passion for it.”
“Then I admit that I don’t have it.”
“What do you have passion for?” she found herself asking.
“Horses, I suppose,” he answered as if it was a question no one had ever asked him. “Family.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Who?”
“Your family.”
“I was speaking more as a concept. But to answer your question, not terribly often now. Octavia no longer lives here. Caius left a long time ago. For a while, we were united, but we have gone in separate directions now.”
“I admit I don’t understand the idea of family as a concept.”
“How would you? You are an orphan.”
Jane wasn’t offended by the statement. It was true, and perhaps her absence of family made her not understand—concept or otherwise.
“It’s an issue of belonging,” he filled in and straightened his cuff inside his jacket. “The past and the future and what will endure.”
“My paintings will endure.”
They looked at each other for a moment, but nothing more was said. “I suppose that will be your legacy,” he finally said.
“That matters to you,” she stated.
“Does it not to you?”
“My paintings will speak for me after I’m gone, but as opposed to others, I’m not sure I do this for the fame, post-death.”
“Then it is simply a means of supporting yourself.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I strive to be very good at it, and of course it pleases me to receive praise from my peers, but when my life is over, I’m not sure I care about what remains from it.”
“And amusingly you paint portraits exactly for that purpose.”
“I’m sure legacy isn’t the primary consideration for most that I paint.” Although that seemed to be his central motivation. “Most like to be admired while they live.” A good, large portrait was a statement of their importance.
Silence descended for a moment. It felt a little as if they were so different in their views, there was little to talk about.
“And how is Eliza?” he asked. “I understand you painted her children.”
“Yes. She seems very content.”
“Surprisingly, she’s still quite involved with that business of hers. It means they must spend a great deal of time in London.”
“Mrs. Broadman runs the day-to-day operations of the business.”
“Yes, I recall meeting her once. Charmless woman.”
“She’s not a great admirer of men,” Jane admitted. It was true. Teresa Broadman had no time for men unless they were on the charitable committees that the company sold their products to.
“Are you the same, Miss Brightly? Not a great admirer of men?”
“I have not had the experiences that she has,” Jane replied. “The men I deal with tend to be my peers.”
“Some people have no business getting into relationships. Myself included.”
“Were you such a terrible husband?”
“Technically I still am, although my wife has absconded.”
This was perhaps taking their discussion into uncomfortable areas. She didn’t know what to say now. “Perhaps when something is not right, it should be ended.”
“Do you think we should walk away from our commitments, from our oaths?”
He was seeking to lambast her now. This was a trap she’d walked into. “Intention and reality are not always the same thing. Should Mrs. Broadman have stayed with her violent husband simply because she’d married him? I’m fairly sure he misrepresented the kind of husband he would be.”
“Let me disabuse you. I was never violent or unkind to my wife.”
“I never said you were.”
“Are we perhaps discussing a topic in relation to your depth of experience on the subject?” he said with a snort. “How can you speak on the topic when you have absolutely no experience?” Clearly the topic was a sore point. Perhaps understandable when his marriage had failed completely.
The accusation that she didn’t understand wasn’t one she appreciated. She wasn’t stupid, nor was dealing with men completely foreign to her. Even caring about them. But no, she had never been married, or dealt with a relationship of that nature. Saying that, she wasn’t some spinster who fiercely guarded her virtue. That was not the life she led, and he didn’t understand that.
“Marriage is a solemn contract. Not something one simply discards because one prefers the company of a lover.”
“I suppose we are all susceptible to the power of love.” So his wife had run off with someone she’d fallen in love with, and Julius wasn’t happy about it.
"Posh. Marriage is a contract one agrees to. One doesn’t cry off if one isn’t entertained every moment of the day.”
“I’m sure it’s a much more complex issue.”
“There is nothing complex about it. You make a bargain, you hold up your end of the bargain. What my wife does with her paramours, I don’t care about, provided she’s discreet. But no, that was not suitable to her. Would you not treat your marriage as a sacred oath?”
“I have chosen not to marry,” she said and the stare she got in return was of complete perplexity.
“What do you mean?”
“I have chosen not to marry.”
“Even if a man offers for you?” Clearly he mistook her concept of choosing for not being chosen.
“I’ve had offers.”
“They were
