Page 79 of Romancing the Artist

Chapter 26

Standing in the entry hall of Inglewood Castle, Caroline twisted her fingers together behind her back, over and over again, twining and untwining them, lacing them on way and then another. Were they ribbons, they’d have been knotted into a hopeless mess never to be undone.

Edward’s hand covered both of hers, warm and reassuring. He disentangled her left hand, joining it with his, and looked down at her from the corner of his eye. “Steady on, sprite. The work is done. The wait is almost over.”

The carriage in which Sir Thomas Lawrence rode had been seen not long ago from an upper window, and everyone staying at the castle had assembled to greet the president of the Royal Academy. Edward had arrived early, while breakfast had yet been on the table. Somehow, he’d sensed that she needed his steadying presence.

Mama and Papa stood with them, and the earl and countess were at the forefront.

“He will not even see the painting today,” Caroline whispered aloud as the sound of wheels clattering on stone reached her ears. “He will want to rest after his journey. Then have dinner. Then the light won’t be right, and he will wait until tomorrow.”

Edward raised his eyebrows at her but made no comment.

The doors opened, and a gentleman of middling height. At three and fifty years of age, he still had an exuberance about him that surprised Caroline as he walked with a straight back and light step directly to Lady Inglewood. He swept off his hat, revealing a distinct lack of hair atop his head. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he approached.

He bowed low and Lady Inglewood extended her hand, which he kissed with an air of fondness. “My dear countess, it is an honor to be in your home once more. And my lord.” He bowed to the earl, who returned the gesture with a shallow bow of his own. “Perhaps this time I will persuade you to part with your wife’s painting of Herakles?”

Caroline blinked. There was only one painting of the Greek demigod in the castle, in the library. It depicted the ancient hero wrapped in a lion’s skin and looking into the distance at the far away Mt. Olympus. Lady Inglewood had painted that? But then, her model had to have been someone to whom she was close.

“That painting will remain with the castle,” Lord Inglewood said, and Caroline noted a slight redness at the back of his neck. “Though I appreciate your compliment to her ladyship’s skills.”

“I do not give praise freely. You can be certain of that,” he said, then rocked backward on his heels and turned his smile to the rest of the gathering.

Lady Inglewood made the introductions in order of precedence. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, Mr. Everly, and at last: “Finally, this is Miss Caroline Clapham. My friend and protege. It is for her sake that I asked you here this month.”

Sir Thomas bowed to Caroline as she curtsied deeply to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clapham. There are too few female artists, you know, who put themselves forward. Their parents seem to believe it undignified for a woman to have any skill outside of the music room.” He shook his head as though deeply offended by that idea. “Well now. Let’s see what you’ve done, shall we?”

Caroline’s heart seized and her chest went tight. “Oh, but, Sir. You must be tired from your journey. I wouldn’t want to rush you.”

“Nonsense. I remember well what it was like to have my work on display. I will not be the cause of a lady suffering anxiety one moment longer than she ought. Though the countess has told me enough that you likely have no reason to be concerned.” He smiled, and Caroline had the impression he had used that smile to his advantage for many, many years.

“We have arrayed her work in the long gallery, where the light is best,” Lord Inglewood said, extending his arm to his countess. “If you are ready, Miss Clapham?”

“Y-yes,” she said, and felt a gentle touch at her elbow from Edward. It was enough to cure the warble in her voice. “I am ready.”

Sir Thomas offered her his arm. “Then lead the way, my dear.”

When the earl and countess waited, along with everyone else, watching her, Caroline nodded to the staircase. “This way, Sir Thomas.” How had she ever come to this? Walking ahead of an earl, in his own castle! Yet no one seemed to mind. She was midway up the staircase when a sudden fear gripped her that she would forget the way to the long gallery, where the earl’s family portraits stretched along the wall.

The man at her side kept talking, pleasantly, of the artwork they passed. He knew most of the artists of note and their subjects. “I painted my first work of significance in 1787, of course, and showed them at the Royal Academy’s exhibition. But it was the portrait of Queen Charlotte in her blue gown that won the interest of the Crown Prince.” He gave her a kind smile. “I was twenty years of age. I am given to understand that is close to your own at present?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.” Somehow, she had led them to the gallery, and footmen ahead of them were opening curtains to flood the room with light.

“Age has very little to do with talent,” he told her, pausing a few steps inside the room. “There are many other factors at work. Education, determination, passion, and a single-mindedness that will drive you toward betterment.” He patted her hand on his arm, and the warmth in his eyes reassured her. “But experience is important, my dear. Experience of the world, of people, of broken hearts, and all the struggles and triumphs of humanity. I say this to you so you will know, when I look at your work today I am not making a life-long pronouncement.”

Caroline nodded once. “There will always be room for improvement.”

His smile returned. “Indeed. And, between the two of us, had I Queen Charlotte’s portrait to do again, it wouldn’t look at all the same. In thirty-odd years of painting, I have learned much about my own weaknesses and strengths. Whatever your work tells me today will be about today only.”

Her heart calmed somewhat, and she nodded. “Would you like me to show you each piece?”

“Walk with me, Miss Clapham. If I have a question, I will ask.”

They went to the first picture upon its easel.

All of Caroline’s displayed pieces, fourteen items, were in frames borrowed from Inglewood’s attic. Each chosen by her, dusted carefully, polished, and holding her work. Sir Thomas asked few questions. He studied her pastels, her watercolors, and her sketches with interest. His nose hovered sometimes so close to the canvas as he studied a detail that it nearly touched the dried paint. Then he would take several steps back and look again. He went down the line with an expression Caroline couldn’t decipher. She didn’t try. When her heart threatened to leave her chest and go racing away, she looked for Edward.

He waited with her family at the end of the row, facing the single painting still covered by a white cloth. Each time their eyes met, he would smile, and her heart calmed. No matter what happened, she had Edward. His strength, his love, his encouragement. And soon, his hand in marriage.