“Nothing wrong with sausages.”
An alarm in her head said that maybe he would attract attention where they were going, and he’d stick out like a sore thumb—maybe even as a red rag to a bull. Still, it wasn’t unusual that artists attracted patrons. Everyone would assume they were lovers, and that was true. She couldn’t insist she didn’t engage in such things. To her it felt different, because she sought no benefit for herself out of this relationship—except perhaps how he made her feel. It was so easy to forget everything else. “Come,” she said, almost wishing she could put him in another jacket, but that would be deceptive, and she refused to be deceptive. This was who he was. A lord, with more wealth than most people in this town put together.
They walked away from the parade, deeper into the township to a pub she often frequented in the evenings. A comfortable place with a roaring fire inside. The ceiling was low and most of the furnishing were made of thick wood. This place had no refinement at all, and she loved it the way it was. It was the place where many of the artists would drink in the evenings. It was currently unpopular with the younger artists, who at times decided this well-trodden establishment wasn’t avant-garde enough, preferring places they discovered. When she’d been younger, she’d been swept up in such declarations, but now she was wise enough to see them as empty posturing. Being an artist was less important than the work one produced. Granted, new techniques were usually embraced by the younger set, and she did adore that about them.
Familiar faces greeted her as she walked inside, Julius in tow.
One of the young philosophers was postulating across the room about a subject he was clearly passionate about, an avid group of listeners around him. Julius’ attention was drawn to the speech as they sat down at one of the small tables along the wall. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Brandy, I think,” she replied and he rose to approach the bar.
It was a typical crowd that night. The core group of celebrated young artists was absent as she expected, but the literary and philosophical crowd was present, it seemed.
“They’re talking about overthrowing the established order,” Julius said as he came back with two brandies. “Utter nonsense. The existing order was what this country was founded on.”
This wasn’t really a topic she shared an interest in. “They talk quite regularly. They have visitors too, from the continent. They’re very passionate. Honestly, I have a hard time following along sometimes. They can’t seem to make up their minds what they want. Just change.”
Julius was quiet for a moment and brought out a cheroot from his pocket, which he lit. Bringing him here, she hadn’t expected his interest to be caught by the philosophers, but he was interested in public order and management. It was actually something she was quite proud of him about—the way he wished to make things better for other people. It wasn’t required of him, and she felt it said something about his character. “What are the parliamentary committees about? The ones you sit on?”
“Sanitation and public health. It’s a very complex issue when one gets into the details. There’s much we can do to improve things, to stop the spread of disease. Cities are not good for people, unfortunately, but there are things we can do.”
“Such as?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink, noting how absorbed he became when he spoke about the initiatives they were investing in, and what other cities did on the continent.
“Miss Brightly,” a voice said, breaking into their conversation. Jonathan Rappier, one of the better-known artists amongst their set.
“Mr. Rappier. Wonderful to see you again,” she replied. Jonathan had a habit of being overbearing. In fact, she suspected he would be interested in her if she so much as gave an ounce of interest back—which she never had. He simply wasn’t someone she was interested in, particularly as he tended to treat his paramours like conquests. That interested her not at all, even as he was an interesting man who always had captivating conversation—and gossip. The man turned his attention expectantly to Julius.
“Hennington,” Julius said, which was enough for Jonathan to invite himself to sit.
“A patron, I take it.”
“A commission,” she filled in. With Julius being here, Jonathan drew the obvious conclusion, which meant that her relationship with a client would be known by everyone in town by tomorrow midday. Still, she wasn’t one to hide her doings. Maybe it would have the additional benefit of putting Jonathan off her entirely.
“Let me guess,’ Jonathan said. “A portrait. A fine gentleman like yourself.” By his tone, Jane could tell that Jonathan didn’t like him. There was something a little envious about Jonathan. He didn’t like people who were better than him, and he certainly didn’t like people who were better off. “Our Jane is one of the best. Underrated by some.” Interesting to note he was taking ownership of her. This was some kind of male dominance posturing she wasn’t quite privy to. “Do you live here in Brighton, Mr. Hennington? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“I do not,” Julius said, not cowering to Jonathan’s scrutiny as some would. “But Jane has told me so much about it, I thought I had to visit.”
“Is that right?”
“Well, it was lovely to see you, Jonathan,” Jane said, quickly getting bored of this—and embarrassed. “I’m sure your companions for the evening are missing you.” And by the look in his eyes, Jonathan didn’t like her cutting off this battle of wills. This was the very reason she didn’t dally with most men she met.
