But everything worth having did require some suffering. His heir certainly had, he though wryly. Equally so, it was worth it. Atticus was a boy. He would make a fine man. Just about reaching that age where he moved out of childrearing to where he could start learning. It may be time to engage a tutor for him. Honestly, it pleased him to think the boy was getting to an age where conversing with him was possible.
In front of him sat the investment accounts that had been sent by his office in London, where three men of business managed his investments and other business. Quite a bit of change had been required after his father’s passing. His father had been old fashioned when it came to investments, and a complete restructure had been necessary. The change, however, had meant a time of losses, but it was reversing now. All was going as expected, and the rewards would be worth it, provided one had the time to see out the change in direction.
Outside the window, it looked as though it would be a nice day. Spring days could be wonderful when they came.
Soft steps were heard and he knew it was Mr. Fuller without looking up. He discreetly cleared his voice as if Julius hadn’t heard him coming.
“After speaking to Miss Brightly, she pointed out that we should choose a location for where the painting should be conducted. I take it, it should be a location that could handle an accidental spillage.”
“Spillage?” Julius repeated with a frown. What kind of process did she engage in? “Fine. Why don’t you set up the music room?”
“I believe it might be too dark for her requirements.”
Julius blinked. What rooms had more light? The conservatory, but that wasn’t the background he wanted. Ideally, he’d want it done here in his study. This was the kind of setting he wanted for the portrait. But it was dark. How was something like this managed by others?
“I believe there are also issues of how the lighting is present.”
These things had not occurred to Julius. “Perhaps we need to refer to her expertise.”
“Miss Brightly has gone for a walk presently,” Fuller informed him.
With his nod, Fuller withdrew from the study. It now occurred to Julius that there might have to be some negotiation of what this portrait should look like. Truthfully, he hadn’t really thought much about the process other than how tedious it would be. How much room did she need? There was the folly, which had large windows, but it was little more than a room with a settee. It could be dressed in a suitable manner to provide whatever background he wanted.
“Mr. Fuller,” he called, and the man came back. “I think the folly might be perfect. Why don’t you ask her to review it for the purpose?”
“As you wish,” Fuller said and withdrew again. That would also keep any smells out of the house. Didn’t painters use noxious substances like turpentine and whatnot? And the folly would give him the lake to look at, which was better than staring at a wall.
Rising from his seat, he shifted to the window and he saw a lone figure walking across the lawn. White dress under a brown jacket. Her hair was loose. There she was, looking utterly informal. Even more informal than he’d seen her before, but that had been some years ago. From what he remembered, she’d been a pretty, young girl whose eyes have been large with excitement, taking everything in.
The season Eliza had thrown her had been something the girl could never have achieved for herself. Not that it had done any good in the end as she hadn’t managed to secure a husband. Hardly surprising as she was little more than a pauper. Perhaps it had been cruel of Eliza to tease her with a life and stature that was utterly out of reach.
What had happened to her afterward, Julius had no idea. Clearly, she was making a living from her artistic skills. It was hardly surprising Eliza liked her, as she had also been in the position to make her way in the world through wit and grit. While Eliza had had some support, Jane was entirely dependent on herself. It was a precarious situation in a harsh world. But it seemed the girl survived. Eliza had thrived.
The girl turned to face the wind and her blond hair caught in it. It really was too informal to be appropriate. And frankly, quite impractical on a windy spring day. But maybe Jane Brightly was of the impractical kind.
He continued to watch as she headed back to the house. She wasn’t particularly tall, he remembered. At no time had he chosen to dance with her throughout her season. It had seemed a moot activity since she’d needed to turn her attention to potential suitors, and he had never been that.
As she got closer to the house, Mr. Fuller approached her and they spoke. Mr. Fuller was indicating toward the lake. Was probably telling her about the folly. They started walking in that direction.
A small noise behind him had Julius turning to see Atticus standing in the doorway. “Have you snuck away from the nursery again?”
The boy looked shy and timid.
“Well, speak up.”
“There’s a visitor,” he said.
“Yes, a Miss Brightly. She is here to paint a portrait. You must stay out of her way and not bother her. Where is your nursemaid?
