“I sleep in different rooms just because I can.”
Jane stared at him.
“I jest, Miss Brightly.”
For a moment, she hadn’t been sure.
“Why is such a large house necessary?”
“To convey that it is a family of means and consequence. Practically, it only comes in use when one throws large house parties.”
“Are you of the disposition to do so?”
“No. There were a few for my wife’s amusement when she was still here. But I do not throw them for my own benefit.”
Whatever light had been in his eyes when he’d spoken of his son was utterly gone now. The distant coldness was back.
“My family come here for Christmas, of course.”
“Why do they come here?”
“It is the family seat. I am the head of the family, so it is expected that important events for the family are done at Denham.”
“In such times, your son must have some cousins to play with.”
“An increasing number, it seems,” he replied coolly.
Jane guessed he wasn’t expecting to have any more children of his own. Now she wondered what he planned to do with his marriage. Seemingly, he wasn’t getting a divorce, so this was how they were to continue. Would he accept her back if her current relationship ended? No, she couldn’t see it. The insult of her running off would be too great for a reconciliation.
Surely he wasn’t going to go through the rest of his life being alone and stuck in a dead marriage. However, judging from his observations about her life and the men she had at times shared it with, he didn’t have a great deal of stock in relationships. They were transactions, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps the same was true for his son. That would be a harsh view on the world, where all relationships between people were transactions.
Then again, her relationship with him was a transaction. She’d paint him, and he’d pay her for the privilege.
Did he not have friends at least? “You must miss your friends if you stay here all year.”
“I do go to London for business when I must. I see people then. You seem to find the idea shocking that I would prefer the solitude here to the dubious delights of town. I suppose it would be fair to say I am as enamored with fine society as you are.”
“Touché. I still get a great deal from the people whose company I seek.”
“And what do you get?” he asked.
“New ideas. Perspective on the human condition.” It was hard to put into words. Her friends and acquaintances were a lively group. They debated and teased, and got drunk. But there was a comradery there that she valued, even if she couldn’t define it. Granted, there were some who didn’t accept her as an equal because she was a woman, but they weren’t her friends. Her friends didn’t see her gender diminishing her as an artist. Granted, she did in some ways have a different perspective, but Jane felt that made her richer as an artist.
“Perspectives on the human condition?” he repeated with an eyebrow raised.
“The trials and tribulations we all face.”
“I find we have infinitely less of them when not dealing with other people.”
“I think I would wither.”
“Apparently my wife felt the same thing,” he said tartly. “Without diversion and amusement, who was she?”
Perhaps Jane was starting to have some sympathy for Lady Hennington. “It is through our relationships with other people that we grow.” Jane firmly believed that, but Julius snorted.
“If you are referring to growing one’s tolerance for the stupid and inane.”
“Is it just women you have such a colorful view of, or is it people in general?” Jane said with a chuckle. It was a little amusing just how arrogant he was. This was more like the man she’d met during her season. Until now, she hadn’t really seen the connection between him and the man she now saw before her, but here it was.
“It is quite general, I assure you. It even extends to my own family members.”
“I believe you,” she said.
“I do not suffer fools gladly.”
“You’ve implied that applies to your family as well.”
Straightening his coat, he looked ahead, but didn’t argue.
Something that had become more apparent to her was that as she aged, she appreciated people’s quirks more. When she was younger, it would bother her inordinately that someone wasn’t perfect, or trying to be. That included her own imperfections. They were to be routed out and destroyed at all costs, in order to make her a better person, and a better artist. She had been equally unforgiving of other people, and she’d rail at Julius for his arrogance. How could such an imperfection be allowed?
The more she’d started painting people, the more she’d been drawn to their imperfections—physically, to begin with. Not that most people wanted their physical imperfections highlighted. Artists tended to be a little more forgiving when she painted them.
As time passed, she wanted the emotional imperfections to. She wanted to convey it on canvas. Their imperfections were what made up a good chunk of the human condition.
It was an issue she was still grappling with, but as an artist, she was increasingly drawn to people how they were, instead of how they wished to present themselves. It was also a reason why portrait painting was a little tiresome, because people demanded to be painted in a better light than how they really were.
So while his arrogance had really bothered her when she’d known him previously, she was more able to let it be now. The imperfections of the world around her were not a personal reflection on her. She was not responsible
