“The painter is coming today,” the Dowager Duchess said firmly, clearly unprepared to brook any resistance.
Chapter 2
Picasso
They arrived at Munboro Hall at ten in the morning, hoping to give the new Duke sufficient time to finish his morning routine. The butler let them in and asked them to wait in the parlor. Her father fell onto the chesterfield sofa as if he was exhausted from their short walk and Louisa frowned in his direction. She had noticed his tendency to tire more easily than he had previously and had tried asking him about it. He always dismissed her concerns and she was sure that today would be no different.
The door opened and a tall man was standing in the doorway, tall enough that his dark un-bewigged hair, brushed against the top jamb of the door. He was regarding them both with trepidation as if they were unwelcome.
Her father got to his feet with a smile and bowed. “Americus Notley at your service,” he turned toward her, “and my daughter, Louisa.”
The man looked from her father to her, and then back to her father as if he did not know what to say to them.
“The Dowager Duchess commissioned me to paint a portrait of–” her father was saying since the man seemed unsure.
“I know why you’re here,” the man interrupted, “come with me.”
As abruptly as that he turned away, walking down the hall and clearly expecting them to follow. Louisa frowned at his rudeness but hurried after her father, her arms full as she carried the easel as well as the bag of paints. Her father had the canvas in his hands and he was walking as fast as possible, but could barely catch up.
The man in front of them stopped in front of a door and turned back. His green eyes shone out of a pale face, filled with an emotion Louisa could not identify.
“I think the conservatory will provide an interesting background for a portrait,” he said, “and the light is good.”
“Very good sir,” her father said, trying to hasten his footsteps so he could step through the door before the man got tired of holding it open. Louisa darted forward and took hold of the door, to relieve the man of holding it and her father of the anxiety of having to hurry. Her eyes drifted upward to meet those of the man who was looking curiously down at her.
His eyes traveled down her frock to the easel she was holding. “Do you paint too?” he asked.
She was surprised that he addressed her directly. He seemed to exude an air of impatience about their presence and she had thought for sure that she had been dismissed from his mind even before her father made an introduction.
She nodded slowly, with a shy smile. “But don’t worry, I’m just here to assist my father. I won’t be doing any painting.”
The man nodded…he still had not introduced himself which Louisa found a bit rude. He knew who they were, the least he could do was tell them who he was and when they would be seeing the Duke. If she had not known that her Uncle Gilbert was the steward, she might have assumed that this man was. He was clearly a high-ranking member of the household just from the cut of his cravat.
Her father slipped into the room and she let go of the door. It swung closed behind her without her having to push it and she gazed at it in startlement.
The man moved further into the room and stood by an armchair in the corner. “Would this be suitable for your work?” he asked.
Her father looked around assessingly. “Yes, I most definitely can work with this.”
“Good. When do we start?”
Louisa gawped at the man. “You’re the Duke?” she blurted in her surprise.
His eyes cut to her in surprise. “Yes, I am.” He frowned. “Did I not introduce myself?”
She slowly shook her head.
“My apologies. I have a lot on my mind and everyone already seems to know who I am anyway.” To her surprise, he stuck out his hand to her, “Jeremy Harper, Duke of Munboro, at your service.”
She tentatively reached out and shook his hand before letting it go to curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He ignored that and turned to her father with his hand outstretched. Her father bowed over the hand with a murmured “Your Grace” as well.
“Well, that’s the formalities out of the way, you may call me Jeremy as we work. I’m not one to stand on ceremony.”
Louisa could not help how she gaped. She had never heard of a duke asking commoners to call him by his given name.
“Uh yes, Your…uh, Je-Jeremy,” her father said. Louisa silently began to set up, resolving to avoid having to call him anything if she could possibly help it.
Jeremy took his place in the armchair and crossed his legs, looking thoughtfully out of the window. He crossed his hands on his lap and Louisa’s eyes dropped to them, noting how long, delicate, and sensitive looking they were, despite the calluses she could see on the tips of his fingers.
They said that he had been at sea for a long time and so clearly, he wasn’t some weakling unused to physical labor but he had the hands of a pianist – his nails neatly trimmed and clean. Her hands itched to draw those hands and she had to turn away, busying herself with setting things up where they were within easy reach of her father. The Duke did not seem much interested in what they were doing which was odd.
Usually, their clients were full of suggestions and questions concerning what was about to transpire. Jeremy simply stared out of the window, looking like he wished himself anywhere else but here. Louisa did not think that he would tell her any stories about the sea. She certainly felt too tongue-tied to ask.
Suddenly the door opened and a whirlwind in the form of the Dowager Duchess entered the room. She was dressed in a light-blue muslin gown that billowed around her as if she carried her own personal breeze beneath her clothing. She floated toward Americus with a determined look on her face.
“Have you begun yet, Mr. Notley?” then she giggled looking to Louisa as if to share a joke. “So strange to call you Mr. Notley as well when I am usually referring to your brother when I say it.”
Jeremy had turned his head when his mother entered the room and now his eyes shone with interest. “Brother?” he asked.
“Oh yes, Your Grace, these are Mr. Notley’s brother and niece. They paint.”
Jeremy’s eyebrow rose. “So I see.”
“Mr. Notley is quite renowned. He has painted a portrait of the Prince Regent to commemorate Guy Fawkes’ Day.”
Jeremy’s mouth twisted. “That’s nice, Mother.”
Louisa frowned at his tone. He sounded extremely patronizing of his mother, which did not sit right with her. What gave him the right to look down upon them?
The Dowager Duchess looked uncertainly at her father and Americus sprang into action. “Right well…this is not an official portrait and so you are free to choose how you wish to be portrayed keeping in mind of course, that it will hang in your Gallery of Dukes.”
Jeremy raised a bored eyebrow. “Just get on with it, all right? I do not have all day.”
Louisa could feel the smoke come out of her ears at his rudeness. Nobody spoke to her father like that. She opened her mouth to snap back at him but her father stepped on her foot and she ended up yowling in pain instead. Jeremy was out of his chair at once and at her side, peering down at her face in concern. “Are you quite all right?”
She narrowed her eyes at her father whose eyes twinkled mischievously back at her as if he hadn’t just almost broken her leg. “I’m fine, thank you,” she murmured through gritted teeth.
Jeremy did not move away. “Would you like to sit?” his hand hovered above her arm as if he would like to help her to a seat but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her. On reflection, Louisa thought that sitting just might be a good thing. She limped to the nearest sofa as the Duke trailed beside her as if he was incapable of relaxing until she was fine. She flopped onto the seat with a sigh of relief and he immediately went down on his knees and took her foot in his hand.
“Our furniture is quite sturdy,” he said as if he assumed she h
ad bumped her leg against a chair, “it can be quite unforgiving.”
She stared down at him, her mouth open in disbelief as he worked her shoe off and examined her feet as if he was some sort of sawbones. It was most unseemly and she looked up at her father for help.
He cleared his throat and the Duke seemed to come back to himself. He dropped her foot as if it was on fire and got to his feet. “Forgive me…I sometimes forget my manners. The formalities of living on land do not translate well on the open seas. I seem to have forgotten how to behave.” He gave an embarrassed laugh and Louisa’s heart immediately melted. She was not the only one feeling out of her depth here. She reached out, quite boldly she imagined, and squeezed his hand. “It’s all right.”
She reached down and pushed her foot back into her shoe, smoothing down her frock so her feet were completely covered. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?” she said breezily, getting to her feet.
They had completely forgotten about the Dowager Duchess until she spoke. “His Grace does the most outré things. You must try to overlook it.” Her voice startled Louisa and she nearly did stub her toe against a piece of furniture. She turned to find the Dowager glaring at Jeremy. He was looking back but his expression was bland.
“Forgive me, Mother,” he said but clearly he did not mean it. Louisa narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed that he would be so rude to his mother.
“Shall we begin?” her father asked.
“Yes, of course,” Jeremy moved back to the armchair and sat down, putting his chin on his knuckles and staring outside the window. Louisa took a deep breath, looking around for somewhere close by where she could sit down. There was a short stool in the corner and she went to get it, putting it next to her father’s easel and sitting down on it.
Her father was already creating broad strokes on the canvas, his face focused. She watched him; fascinated with his technique as always. His painting seemed to come from a place outside of conscious thought. It seemed to flow out of his hands onto the canvas without effort.
She already knew that this painting would be extraordinary.
* * *
The girl…Jeremy did not understand why she was here. She looked so soft, her eyes so expressive, her mouth…lush and inviting. When she looked at him, he felt stripped bare, as if she could see beyond all the barriers he put up and straight into his soul.
He avoided looking at her. It was bad enough that his mother had roped him into this ridiculous exercise. If he hadn’t been so worried about her, he would have refused.
There was something very wrong with his mother. If she was not off in her own world, she was having hysterics about petty things. She went from frantic to silent in the snap of a finger and Jeremy had no idea what to do about it. He was afraid that if these painters spent enough time around them, they would see what the Dowager was like and then she would be the talk of Munboro.
They would call her a hysteric.
Jeremy did not want that. His eyes flicked toward the girl again. She was sitting on a stool, staring as her father worked, looking fascinated. He had seen her frown when he was speaking with his mother and was surprised to feel somewhat ashamed, he did not understand it. He barely knew her name, and yet here he was, wanting her good opinion.
He had heard the legend of sirens at sea, who lured sailors to their deaths with their song. He imagined that if they were indeed real, this is how it might feel to be bewitched by one.
He chalked it up to an extended time at sea. She was the first young woman of his acquaintance since he had been back on shore. Perhaps he was just missing the company of someone soft and warm and sweet. Tonight he would visit the tavern and find someone to slake his desire, and then he would get over this foolish thing that had overtaken him in a matter of minutes.
Of their own volition, his eyes sought her out. She was cleaning a brush her father had used while he continued with another. Her hands worked quickly, moved with surety. He watched them work fascinated by the grace of their movement. They were most definitely not the hands of a lady and yet, they were beautiful nonetheless.
She turned her face and caught him watching her. Their gazes caught and they stared, seemingly unable to look away.
“Are you almost done?”
His mother’s voice broke the spell they were under; startled them both. The girl’s father laughed.
“Not yet, Your Grace. It will take much longer than a few minutes to do this painting. Days.”
The Dowager huffed impatiently. “But I want the picture in the gallery soon. Can you not try to go faster?”
“I will try my best, Your Grace,” Americus said with a courteous bow. He showed no sign of irritation or anger at her unreasonable request which piqued Jeremy’s interest. Of course, he was perhaps simply showing respect for her station; or seeing as his brother had been the late Duke’s steward, he was already used to his mother’s temperament.
Whatever it was, he was pleased that the painter showed her the respect she deserved. Something inside him relaxed and he was not so anxious to have this painting over and done with.
“We shall utilize the late mornings until nuncheon for painting, but after that, I have other duties to attend to,” Jeremy said.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“However, if you are able to continue the painting without me, you may stay and work for as long as you want.”
Americus nodded. “There are some things I can do without your presence, Your Grace but that comes later. In the early days, I am afraid I shall ask you to sit for as long as you can.”
“I understand.” Jeremy nodded.
“He will sit for you, don’t you worry Mr. Notley,” his mother chimed in, giving him a reproving glance. It was so reminiscent of each time she’d done so as a child that his heart leaped in his chest with the hope that she might be over her nerves. The next instant, however, she looked out of the window and disappeared back into her thoughts, her expression blank and empty.
Chapter 3
Notley Crew
Americus was done with the initial outline by noon and as he put his brush down he turned to the Duke with a nod. “All done for today, Your Grace.”
The Duke barely acknowledged him; he simply stood up from his seat and walked out of the room with a nod in Americus’ direction and the slightest of glances at Louisa. The Dowager Duchess had long wandered off.
He had noticed the looks the Duke had flashed at his daughter and did not know what to make of them. Was he affronted that a woman would deign to assist in making his portrait or did he have some other interest in Louisa?
He turned as he heard the door open to behold his brother standing just inside the conservatory. “I am to escort you out,” he said to Americus, his face impassive.
“Greetings, Uncle Gilbert,” Louisa’s soft voice interrupted his musings and he turned to his daughter with a proud smile before giving Gilbert a narrowed glance.
The latter bowed and smiled. “It is good to see you, Louisa. And how do you fare?”
“I am well, Uncle,” she replied with a small curtsy, “I cannot complain. Father keeps me busy.” She smiled wide so that her twinkling sky blue eyes slitted so narrowly that they disappeared into her cheekbones.
“I am sure he does.”
Gilbert turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Would you like some refreshment before you depart? We can have tea in my chambers.”
Americus lifted a surprised eyebrow. Gilbert was not one to offer such a thing without an ulterior motive. Americus was curious as to what it might be. “I suppose we have some time.”
“Excellent. Follow me.” His brother led the way down a darkened hallway and then turned right into a chamber furnished with a large wooden desk and chair. In the corner of the room was a chesterfield large enough to seat three and next to it was a shelf filled with books. Americus had never been to Gilbert’s office in all the years that he had worked for the late Duke. He wondered why he was here now.
“Have a seat.” The steward said before picking up a small bell and ringing it. Not long after, a footman appeared and Gilbert ordered some tea. He took a seat on the armchair and regarded them as they sat side by side on the sofa.
“This is a great opportunity that has presented itself to you – I expect that you shall have many other doors open once this painting is done.”
Americus snorted. “Need I remind you that I have painted actual royalty?”
Gilbert waved a hand. “Yes yes, I am aware you are well-known among London circles, but there is an opportunity here for long-term employment so that you need not live from commission to commission. You could become the Duke’s official portrait painter.”
Tempting The Ruined Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 2
