Page 68 of Romancing the Artist

“Since when have I ever been some fathers?” he asked with that raised brow. “You warned us in a letter that your Atlas is ‘barely clothed.’ Your mother laughed for days about whatever she imagined she saw on my face. I assure you, though not an artist myself, I completely understand the need for recreating the human form.” He spoke with the accent of a well-educated lord, sounding snobbish enough that she could imagine the sort of person he had been when he’d been more lord than farmer.

“Very well.” Caroline gathered the cloth up in both hands, then gently pulled it from the easel and the canvas, revealing a portrait three feet tall and twenty-two inches wide. A background of back with faint pinpricks of light, distant stars, made the foreground image stand out in brightness and complexity.

Caroline held her breath as her papa studied the portrait, watching him rather than looking at the image she knew well enough to sketch it with her eyes closed.

At last Neil spoke, his voice soft and tone almost reverent. “Caroline. This is magnificent.” He turned to look at her, and she saw tears and wonderment in his eyes. “You did this?”

He had only ever seen her portraits of the people she loves and had known since childhood. Her landscapes of sheep and sea. Studies of flowers and baskets of puppies and kittens. Nothing like this. Caroline had never attempted anything like this.

“It has exhausted me,” she admitted to him. “I have never worked this hard on anything, Papa.” And she didn’t know if it was good enough. Wouldn’t know, until someone with authority told her so. Nor did she think she could ever make something so full of human emotion again.

“You are a marvel, Caroline Clapham.” He put his arm around her shoulder and turned her, so they both looked at the painting. “I have never seen anything so captivating.” They stood in silence a long while, with Caroline looking for every fault and weakness in the work she could find. With her papa’s arms around her, she didn’t find them as easily as she usually did.

“It isn’t finished,” she whispered at last. “There are details still to add to the globe. To his cape.”

Neil kissed her forehead. “I only wish I had a place worthy to hang it, where everyone could see what you are capable of, and what you have already done.”

The words soothed her heart, and Caroline looked up at her father. “I’m so afraid that Sir Thomas will not like it, Papa.”

“And if he doesn’t?” The imperious eyebrow rose again. “He is one man. An important one in his field, but still just a man. And this piece would impress most, I think.”

“Especially since it’s done by a woman.”

“Bah. There will come a day when women artists are as well known as men. When it won’t matter who did the work, only that the work speaks for itself.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It will be people like you who make it so.”

“What if I marry and my husband doesn’t want me to paint? Or if children come and take all the time and energy I have? What if—”

“Lady Inglewood manages. She has a painting hanging at Kensington Palace.”

“A countess has more resources than I do,” Caroline pointed out.

Neil huffed and looked around the room at the evidence of that statement. “So she does.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “As to the husband trouble, we will hope you choose wisely. There will be someone who loves you and wants you to succeed, my dear. And if that is not Mr. Everly—” How had they go around to talking about Edward again? “—I hope you will put an end to that courtship. Love is important. So are dreams.” Neil picked up the cloth from the chair where she’d draped it and put it over the canvas again. “Do you love him?”

Did she love Edward? And if she did, when had she stopped pretending? Caroline didn’t give an answer, and her father didn’t press her for one. “He is coming this afternoon. Would you like him to stay for dinner?” she asked.

Her papa’s smile turned into something dangerous, and a gleam came into his eye that Caroline wasn’t certain she liked. “Yes. If our hosts do not mind. I would like nothing better.”

Hopefully, Edward would feel the same.

Chapter 22

The knowing gleam in Neil Duncan’s eyes as he received Edward’s introduction from Caroline did nothing, absolutely nothing, to calm Edward’s nerves. He’d meant it when he told his father he would speak to Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. But he’d thought he’d have time to tell Caroline the truth, and to find out if she held him in any kind of affection, before that moment came.

Being in the midst of a pretend courtship while meeting a woman’s father made an already complicated introduction that much worse.

Though Edward had known Caroline adored her stepfather, seeing the way she looked at him, with such trust and love, caused his heart to ache. He didn’t have that sort of feeling toward his own father, a man who had always been in his life, related to him by blood.

They weren’t working on any paintings today. Caroline didn’t hand Edward a sketchbook to amuse himself or a volume of myths to read aloud to her as she worked. There would be no spontaneous carriage rides or walks along the shore. Instead, the three of them walked through the rain-dampened gardens. Caroline on her father’s arm and Edward at her other side, with both hands tucked behind his back.

“I am only here for a day,” Mr. Duncan said. He’d insisted on that form of address rather than Lord Neil. Edward couldn’t work out if that was a good sign or a bad one. “Then I will go back to our home, gather up the rest of the family, and return here in time to meet Sir Thomas.”

“You needn’t go to all that trouble, Papa,” Caroline assured him, though her gaze fell to the path. Edward knew it would mean the world to her, to have her family there at the culmination of her summer’s work. “I will come home after Sir Thomas’s visit and can tell you everything then.”

“We wouldn’t miss this, Cara. Your mother and I want to share the triumph with you.” He raised his gaze to Edward. “You will be in attendance for the presentation, will you not, Mr. Everly?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Nothing would keep him away. “Your daughter has my complete support.” That sounded not the least romantic. But did a father wish to hear a suitor wax poetic about his daughter? “I look forward to meeting Mrs. Duncan and the children, too. Miss Clapham has spoken of your family often and in the warmest terms.”

Caroline gave him an odd look.