This hurt far more, and would take longer to recover from—but, recover she would. Then, she would pick herself up and carry on, just as she always had. In time, Hugh would be so far behind her he’d be no more than a distant memory.
For now, however, he was a dagger in her side, twisting itself in the wound and creating a sharp and resounding pain.
Chapter 11
“The day of the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition draws near! Rumor has it that the estranged son of the Earl of P has submitted a most beautiful painting for consideration. This writer certainly hopes he finds success this year. Had I a betting book, I suppose I might make a grand sum taking wagers over whether any member of his family might show their faces at the event.”
-The London Gossip, 23 April 1819
Despite his attempts to get to her, Hugh went without seeing or speaking to Evelyn for weeks after their falling out. Though it wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d gone straight to her home the morning after, only to be turned away by Joseph, who had informed him that Evelyn was not taking callers. He’d tried again for three successive days and was turned away each time. On his last visit, Patience herself had come to the door, disgust in her eyes and venom lacing her words.
“You are only making matters worse, coming here. You’ve done enough, and all she wants now is to be left alone.”
“Will you give her a message for me?” he’d pleaded, needing her to at least know how he felt. He didn’t want her to believe that the things she’d overheard represented the truth of his heart. He had only been trying to convince his friends, as well as himself, that he did not love her...and all because he’d been too daft to see what had been right in front of him.
“Fine,” Patience had relented. “What do you want me to tell her?”
He hadn’t even hesitated, spilling forth the only words that truly mattered. “Tell her that I love her, and I refuse to go away until she can look me in the eye and tell me she doesn’t feel the same.”
Patience had seemed taken aback by that, but had recovered quickly, giving him a curt nod before slipping back inside. He’d never know how his message had been received, because Evelyn had not come to see him. She hadn’t so much as sent him a note, not even to tell him to go to Hell.
He’d been relentless anyway, sending flowers and writing notes that went unanswered. He’d even tried waiting outside her townhouse in hopes that he might find her coming or going. But not once did she appear on the threshold, not once did she respond to his attempts at apologizing and making things right.
Now, he sat in the dimly lit confines of his studio three nights before the Exhibition, drowning his sorrows in brandy. He’d done quite a bit of that lately, especially once it had become evident that Evelyn wanted nothing more to do with him. Some nights he drank with company, his fellow courtesans dropping in to ensure he was at least eating and bathing regularly—something he did with half-hearted resignation. Laying down to die felt like a suitable alternative to living through such pain, but no one would go away and allow it. His servants, his friends, all seemed determined to force him to carry on as if he hadn’t lost his entire reason for living.
Even his art did not soothe him as it once had, everything he’d attempted coming out dark and macabre now that Evelyn was no longer his subject. He drew the most morose scenes of sadness and death, and found himself painting with carbon black pigment more than anything else. Crosby had visited last week with the exciting news that Portrait of a Lady had been selected for the Summer Exhibition, and he found it ironic that he could not conjure a single ounce of joy over it. The one thing he’d wanted most for the past several years, and it had ceased to matter to him without Evelyn to share it with.
Glancing down at the stack of pages on his knee, he took another sip of brandy. The words swam on the top sheet, but he’d practically memorized them by now. He had finished The Mad Baron weeks ago, and had read it three more times since, feeling connected to Evelyn just by reading her words. Each read only reminded him that he’d never gotten to tell her how brilliant the story was and how gifted a writer he thought her to be. He had expected to find it enjoyable, but had been amazed at how absorbing the tale of Regina, Sir Antony, and Baron Redgrave had been. He ought to return it to her, but could not help secretly hoping that him maintaining possession of it would draw her to his doorstep. Once he had her in front of him, he wouldn’t let her go until he’d made her understand just how much she meant to him.
He still had her spencer in his bedchamber, as well, her scent still faintly emanating from the fabric. He’d been reduced to clinging to that piece of clothing, pressing it to his face and remembering with an aching chest the last time he’d held her, her sweet scent wafting up his nostrils. Before long, the scent of the spencer would be over taken by his own, the last trace of her obliterated from his life.
“Mr. Radcliffe, you’ve a visitor.”
He glanced up just as a footman ushered in a woman he hadn’t laid eyes on in two long years. His empty glass fell to the floor with a thud, and he just barely managed to keep Evelyn’s manuscript from flying every which way as he shot to his feet. His chest tightened painfully, his mouth going dry as he blinked to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. But there she stood, his sister Melanie, the youngest of the Radcliffe brood and the only one who had protested when his father had disowned him.
She had the same dark hair and brown eyes as Hugh and their other siblings, though the roundness of her face had melted away to reveal the stunning visage of a woman grown. No longer a debutante and one year into her marriage, she had truly come into her own.
“Mel,” he rasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “Is that really you?”
Sniffing the air, she cringed, but came farther into the room with a swish of her skirts. “That stench tells me you’re in your cups, but I know you can’t have gone blind. Of course it is me. Are you just going to stand there, or will you come greet your sister?”
He was on her in an instant, rushing across the remaining space between them and crushing her in his embrace. She was not the woman he’d hoped would come to call, but he still found relief in her presence. He’d been so miserably alone, drowning in his own sorrow. Seeing Melanie again after so long felt like a breath of fresh air.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as they pulled apart, noting that she blinked back tears.
“Deciding not to allow Father and Marcus to dictate my actions any longer,” she declared with a sniffle. “It’s been too long and I feel perfectly ghastly for allowing them to keep me from you. It ends now.”
Hugh raised his eyebrows, surprised by what he was hearing. “And what of Father? He will not be happy—”
“I do not care how he feels, and Marcus may go to the devil. I am a married woman now, and the two of them no longer have any say when it comes to how I live my life.”
This was the Melanie he knew and loved. As the youngest of the family, they had always been close, as well as the two most likely to rebel. Melanie was outspoken and independent much to the chagrin of the earl, who’d insisted such traits would see her die a spinster. She’d proven him wrong by marrying a marquis last year in a lavish ceremony at St. George’s. Hers had been the best match among his sisters, and even from afar he’d been proud to learn that she had proved their father wrong.
“And what of your husband?” he teased. “What would he have to say about you turning up here?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “The man is batty for me, lets me do whatever I please. I’d say he’d be happy that I am happy. Anyway, I heard your splendid news and thought to come congratulate you myself.”
He frowned, knowing word of which artists had been selected wouldn’t be so widely known yet. “How did you find out?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Mother. You know she’s never forgiven father for casting you out, but would never go against him by reaching out herself. But, she has her ways. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone in your
household wasn’t being paid to feed her information about how you are getting on. We are both so happy for you. Having your work displayed in the Exhibition has been your dream for so long.”
“Yes,” he agreed, with far less enthusiasm than he ought to feel. “Thank you.”
She frowned studying him with a critical eye. “You do not look very pleased about it. In fact, you’re a mess, Hugh. What on Earth is the matter?”
He shook his head, wandering over to his table to fiddle with a paintbrush. He needed to occupy his hands to keep himself from falling to pieces over Evelyn.
“It is nothing. Tell me everything about your new life with the marquis. We can go into the salon and I’ll send for tea.”
She took hold of his arm before he could brush past her, halting him in his tracks. “Now, wait just a moment. Something really is wrong, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you this upset since Ferdinand.”
He groaned at the thought of his childhood pet—a cat named Ferdinand who had wandered off from the manor one day never to return. Just now, it hurt as much as it ever had.
“You always did know how to twist the knife in a wound, Mel. In short, no I am not all right, but I will be. There was a woman...now there isn’t. That is all I’m ready to discuss at the moment.”
Giving him a pitying look, she looped her arm through his and let him guide her from the studio. “I daresay we ought to forget the tea and send for brandy, but you smell as if you’ve already got half a bottle in you.”
“You can have all the brandy you want, but I have had quite enough,” he said, pressing a hand to his roiling stomach.
They settled in the salon with the refreshments Hugh had sent for, their easy camaraderie as strong as ever as they traded stories about the past few years of their lives. He was delighted to learn that her marriage had been a love match, and that she was truly happy with her marquis. She had not told anyone yet, but she suspected she might be with child. She practically glowed as she told him her happy news, which only reminded him of the joy that had been within his grasp, but that he’d lost due to his own stupidity.
After she’d gotten him up to speed on the happenings of her life, she slouched on the sofa beside him with a heavy sigh.
“Hugh, how can you ever forgive me? We were always close, and when Father made it clear we were to have nothing more to do with you, I stood back and let it happen.”
“You did not stand back and let it happen...you gave Father what for. I remember that part of it very clearly.”
“It wasn’t enough. I ought to have done more, perhaps convinced Marcus and the others that together we might present a united front. He cannot disown all six of his children.”
He rested a hand atop hers and gave her a grateful smile. “It is in the past, and the only one of my siblings I ever blamed for any of it is Marcus. He more than any of you could have tried to put a stop to it. But Father made his choice, and I made mine. I do not regret it.”
“I should say not,” Melanie drawled, leaning over to nudge him with her shoulder. “After this Exhibition you’ll be a famous, renowned artist. Father and Marcus may split their humble pie, and I will serve it up myself!”
She clasped his hand, suddenly serious.
“I am so proud of you,” she whispered. “If no one else tells you that, know that I am. So, so proud.”
Her declaration brought Evelyn to mind and her impassioned vow to be there for the Exhibition. Now, he knew not to expect her to come. Why should she? She had no reason to want to be there for him after the things she’d heard him say.
“Will you come?” he asked. “To the Exhibition? It would mean the world to me for you to be there.”
That way, he could look into the crowd and see the face of at least one person he loved. Melanie leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
* * *
Evelyn sat on the stool before her vanity mirror, staring down at the note from Hugh resting in front of her. She’d read the words dozens of times over the span of three days, debating with herself whether she would attend the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy. Today was the first day of the exhibit, which would mark the unveiling of all the pieces chosen to be presented. The most important members of society would be in attendance, people who could make the difference between fame and obscurity for Hugh.
She had risen that morning and taken a light breakfast before asking Patience to help her dress. She had donned one of her best day gowns, a sprigged muslin affair in soft pink with a pair of matching slippers. Her hair had been arranged and adorned with a pink bandeau that Patience insisted brought out the rich hue of her eyes. She even wore her favorite ear bobs.
The Exhibition would open in an hour, and despite being dressed in her best clothing and experiencing the mad beating of butterflies in her belly she still did not know whether or not she would attend.
Picking up Hugh’s wrinkled note, she smoothed a hand over it and read it for the umpteenth time.
Evie,
As I am certain you know, the Summer Exhibition opens in three days. My painting was chosen to be displayed among the others. I know you may not wish to see or speak to me, but please know that your presence there is of the utmost importance. I would not even expect for you to approach me, or grant me a moment to speak with you. I only want to be able to look into the assembly and see your face, and remember that I could never have done it without you. Should you decide not to come, know that the words of my message to you still hold true.
All my love,
Hugh
Tears welled in her eyes as she set the missive aside, but she blinked them back. She was determined not to ruin her appearance with blotchy cheeks, and had resolved last week to stop blubbering over Hugh. He had not made it easy with his flowers and notes and attempts to see her. She had wept for what felt like hours after Patience’s delivery of the message referenced in his note.
Patience had related Hugh’s words with a strained voice and a furrowed brow. “He says he loves you, Miss...and he isn’t going away until you can look him in the eye and tell him you don’t feel the same. I really think he means it…”
Evelyn buried her head in her hands, drawing in a deep, slow breath. She wanted to believe he meant it. She wanted to have faith that Hugh’s love for her was real and not just some fantasy she’d fabricated based on the skilled seduction of a courtesan. But the things he’d said to his friends echoed through her mind, leaving her uncertain about what was true. Could it be that in the event that the Exhibition did not give Hugh what he needed to begin his career he was looking for security in the bed of a keeper? And who better to support him than the latest one, one he’d wrapped around his finger so tight she had fallen hopelessly in love with him like a gullible idiot?
Even as she had the thought, she couldn’t help but think that Hugh was not that sort of man. He’d never been dishonest with her about his reasons for becoming a courtesan, or his ambitions for after he was finished. Could it be that he’d simply come to love her despite his best efforts? If that were true, then why could he not have simply told her how he felt? Why stand about in his studio insisting that it was all an illusion, and that he had only done to her what he’d done with all the others?
The constant confusion and uncertainty had given her a splitting headache, making her want to climb back into bed and sleep until the end of time. But, if she did that she would miss the Exhibition after she had given him her word that she would be there. If his family would not attend to support him, then he ought to have at least one person there to witness his shining moment. Her agony over the things that had happened aside, she knew that no one was more deserving of this honor than Hugh. He had worked so hard to have his gift recognized. She might have refused to see him again, but she would not deny him this. If nothing else, she would be able to say she’d upheld her promise to him.
That decided, she stood and went in search of Patience.
If she were going to make it to the Exhibition on time, she would need to leave soon.
As it turned out, Patience had foreseen her decision and had already sent for the carriage. Smiling smugly as she descended the stairs arm in arm with Evelyn, the companion went on and on about how romantic it all was, and how she’d known the two of them would come to their senses and make up.
“We are only going to view the exhibit, Patience,” she had chided as they’d stepped into the waiting carriage.
“Of course, Miss,” Patience had murmured, though her smug expression never faded away.
It seemed to take ages to arrive, especially as they drew closer to Somerset House, the clogged streets growing harder to navigate. Just as she’d thought, anyone who was anyone had come for the grand event. Anxiety welled in her middle at the thought of being surrounded by so many people, and she wondered how Hugh would manage it. He didn’t like crowds any more than she did, though he was decidedly better at speaking with strangers.
At last, her driver let them off in front of Somerset House, where a host of people were making their way inside, their voices buzzing with excited chatter. Arm-in-arm, she and Patience fell in with the others, making their way into the grand house. Evelyn’s heart pounded as they followed the crowd up the circular stairs and toward the great room where the paintings and sculptures would be displayed. She paid the required shilling for the catalog which detailed the various pieces in the room. There were far too many bodies within the space, even so large as it was, so she and Patience were forced to follow the flow of the room from left to right and wall to wall. The progression of movement seemed at a standstill at the center wall, where those paintings which had been deemed ‘the best’ were hung at eye level. The entire space had been filled from floor to ceiling with framed paintings of various sizes—some whimsical watercolor landscapes, others portrait, or battle scenes. Patience ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over each one, while Evelyn kept her eye out for one painting in particular. She did not see Virtue and Vice in the catalog, nor did she see it on the west wall, but there was still so much more to see.
Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1 Page 21
