A Duke's Dilemma

by G. L. Snodgrass

  There could be a dozen reasons. She really shouldn’t get her hopes up. Yet, she couldn’t slow her building anticipation.

  Oh, how she wished she could see the completed project. A desperate urge filled her to talk about his work. She wanted to understand what moved him. What did he see and how?

  Margaret had spent countless hours in her father’s library looking at books about art. Studying, infatuated, only to discover she did not have the talent necessary. No matter how much she tried, she could never really capture the essence of what she saw. It was a very frustrating lesson to learn, but it did not take away her love of all things beautiful and true.

  It wasn’t until she rounded the bend to find him on the bridge that she was able to breathe again. Yes, she thought as her stomach fluttered.

  He stood before his canvas, facing downstream this time. Obviously painting a new scene. Had he tired of the Mill? Or, had he fixed his problem and finished? Oh, how she wished she could see the completed work and discuss it with him.

  As she approached, she studied him while he stared intently down the stream to some distant object. His tight focus made her smile. This was a man who studied the world closely. For a brief instant, she wondered what it would be like to be his sole focus. To have someone see her, the true her. Not her father’s daughter. Not a British Lady with all of the assumptions associated with that title. No, someone to see her, Margaret.

  Swallowing hard, she stepped onto the bridge. The tall man frowned then glanced towards her. His face immediately brightened to a large smile as he stepped back from his painting.

  Her heart fluttered. He was happy to see her.

  “Miss Duval,” he said with a slight bow.

  “Mr. Temple,” she was able to respond, surprising herself with her courage. Once again, she was talking to a strange man. A man she knew nothing about. And alone this time. Her mother would faint with shame at the mere idea.

  He watched her as she moved closer then examined his painting. She couldn’t stop from smiling. A mother duck and six ducklings. It was still rough, with a lot more work yet to be done. Yet it was already beautiful. He had captured their true essence. There function and form touched by innocence and rightness. Something simple. It made her smile just looking at it.

  The tall man raised an eyebrow, obviously asking her what she thought. As she tried to form her thoughts, he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I know it is rather frivolous, but much like the mill, I couldn’t not.”

  She frowned as she shook her head. “No Sir, it is not frivolous. It is too true. I can see the concern of a mother for her young. The dangers in the hidden depths, the threats from above. All of it is there without being blatant or overdone.”

  His brow creased as he studied her for a long moment. “If you don’t mind me saying, you have a very discerning eye for a Lady’s maid.”

  Margaret’s heart jumped as a bolt of fear shot through her. Had she given herself away? Glancing down quickly, she tried to hide the truth. This man was too observant, she told herself. She needed to be careful.

  “His Lordship allows his servants access to his library,” she said “He has several books. Books about painting and art and … things.”

  Mr. Temple pursed his lips as he took in her story, then nodded as if it made perfect sense. Her insides relaxed as she fought not to slump with relief.

  “Did you finish your other painting? The one of the Mill?”

  He smiled gently, “I don’t know if I ever finish. Sometimes, I will go back to something years later to change something.”

  “Do your patrons allow that?” she asked. “Don’t they become upset? I know if I ever owned a painting, I wouldn’t want the artist to return and make changes.”

  A strange look crossed behind his eyes before he turned to look at his painting. “I don’t sell many.”

  Margaret frowned, that made no sense, the man was good, surely other people could see it. She studied him while he continued to examine his painting. Her heart went out to him. An unknown artist with an unappreciated talent. Sometimes the world was so unfair.

  “You just need to find the right patrons. I am sure they are out there. Ready to discover your work. After all, quality never stays hidden for long.

  He dabbed his brush into his pallet and made a quick stroke. For some reason, she had the feeling that he didn’t want to look at her. She found the touch of shyness endearing. It gave her confidence. As if they had something in common.

  Chapter Four

  Ian stepped back and examined the young woman. Remarkable, he thought as he really looked at her. So typically English, he thought. Flawless skin, sun-kissed hair with a hint of red. Some long lost Viking in the family tree no doubt.

  A figure that could entice a god. Fit, trim, efficient, and all woman. But, it was the eyes that caught him. Full of innocent intelligence. A kitten on her way to full lioness.

  “Here,” he said suddenly as he gently moved her to lean on the bridge’s stone rail. Before she could question him, he pulled out his spare pieces of paper to spread across the back of his paint box and began drawing with charcoal.

  “Yes,” he said as his hand flew across the paper.

  She frowned at him. But slowly, a smile crept up to her eyes.

  “So, no Miss Parkinson, today?” he asked as he made another stroke. It was important to keep her entertained. A model’s boredom had killed more than one great work of art. “I must say, your mistress must be very kind to allow you another free day.”

  A quick frown creased her brow making him hesitate. Careful he thought, he would need to take care not to upset her. That smile was what he wanted. It was critical to the composition he was starting to create in his mind.

  “She isn’t feeling well,” Miss Duval said. “I am supposed to be sowing a hem, but the day was too pretty.”

  He smiled, as he rubbed at a line. “My good fortune.”

  A faint hint of pink flushed across her cheeks. He froze. Yes, he would need to capture that blush. It was key to understanding what he wanted to say. And key to understanding that smile.

  Taking a deep breath, he returned to his paper. When he finished, he twirled his finger at her, silently asking her to turn so he could capture her profile. Working in the corner of the paper he smiled as he drew her slightly upturned nose.

  Perfect.

  “If I may ask,” she said without disrupting her pose. “Where are you from Mr. Temple? Your speech does not sound as if you are from Warwickshire.”

  “London,” he said as he shifted to try and capture her eyes in a separate drawing.

  “London,” she gasped, “is it as wonderful as they say.”

  “It is … London,” he answered absently. “And, call me Ian,” he added.

  “Oh, I could never.”

  His hand froze as he looked up at her, trying to understand. His experience with Lady’s maids was extremely limited. Had he stepped over some barrier to offend her?

  “I intend to title the final painting ‘Meg’,” he told her as he returned to drawing. “So, I will need to think of you as Meg. Therefore, you must think of me as Ian. See it is simple.”

  He knew she was frowning without having to look up. But really, there was no other way. Not if he was to capture the truth.

  “Besides, we are to be friends, I can feel it.”

  This time when he looked up, he caught something behind her eyes. A hesitancy. A nervousness that surprised him. Was he really that intimidating?

  “Perhaps if I talked to your employer,” he told her. “I might even offer to paint a portrait of her if she allowed you time to pose for me. Two paintings, for free.”

  The frown turned to a quick look of terror as her eyes grew big and her fair skin became even paler.

  “No,” she said, then hesitated. “I don’t think that would be wise. My Lady’s father is rather strict about such things. I don’t think he would ever approve.”

  Ian’s gut clenched up.
He hated the idea of losing this opportunity. Of course, if he was to announce himself, the Duke of Suffolk, he would surely obtain this woman’s assistance. Her employer’s father would agree. He doubted there was a gentleman in England who would deny him.

  Meg continued to look off into the distance, obviously working through several issues. “Do you really wish for me to pose for you?”

  Ian thought the doubt in her voice was enchanting. “Yes, very much,” he said as he finished the sketch and stepped back. “It will take several days to capture what I need.” His gut told him this was important as a feeling of hope began to build inside of him.

  Young Meg continued to frown, “What if it rains?”

  His brow knitted in confusion until he realized her mistake. “Oh, we wouldn’t do it here, but in my studio, above the grocer’s. It has very good light.”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O as she blanched. “I couldn’t. Alone with a strange man, in his rooms. My M … My mistress would be very upset. No, Never.”

  Studying her intently, Ian came to believe that she wanted to be convinced. Like most women, she wished to have someone else tell her it was perfectly acceptable to follow her own desires. But, instead of trying sweet words, he simply handed her the paper with its sketches.

  “I understand,” he told her as he started packing up his paint box and removing his canvas from its stand.

  Her face fell, she had so obviously hoped to be convinced. But he had learned long ago, the best argument needed time to percolate.

  She looked up at him, then at the paper in her hands then again back to him. He could see it fighting behind her eyes. She was but a Lady’s maid, when would she ever have a chance such as this, her portrait captured by a talented artist. Yet, there was propriety to fear. Her very employment might be impacted by the slightest slip.

  “I do wish you could give me your opinion on my painting of the mill,” he said to her. “See if I was able to make the correct changes. A shame really.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I do wish I could see it. And your other paintings.”

  He smiled at her. “If you change your mind. I will either be here or above the grocer’s. At least for the next two weeks.”

  “I could hire you.” he said as he tucked the box under his arm. “If you took a vacation. Do maids get vacations? As my employee, there would be no impropriety, would there?”

  Meg rolled her eyes at him, obviously disagreeing as to his sense of right and wrong.

  “If people saw me entering your studio, word would reach My Lady, her father.”

  “Of course,” he continued. “There are a backstairs to my rooms, however.

  Again, that fight continued inside her. She so obviously wanted this. “Walk with me,” he said, indicating they should proceed further into the village.

  His heart jumped when that special smile returned as she nodded and joined him. It appears walking with strange men in public was acceptable. Of course, she could always claim they were simply going in the same direction.

  “So, tell me about Meg Duval. I take it Meg stands for Margaret?”

  She balked for a brief moment then, nodded. “There is not much to tell good sir. A simple girl from Cornwall.”

  “I must say, your accent is not very strong. Most of the Cornishmen I have met are almost as difficult to understand as a highland Scott.”

  She smiled, “Surely not.”

  He laughed, “a slight exaggeration.”

  Meg smiled up at him, “I grew up in his Lordship’s home, perhaps that is why.”

  Ian nodded, it made sense. “And your sweetheart? Doesn’t he mind you walking out alone?”

  That pretty blush returned to her cheeks as she glanced down at her hands. “I have no sweetheart.”

  His heart jumped as he fought to hold back a smile. “What? No handsome footman? I must say I find that rather surprising. I always believed Cornishmen had good sense.”

  Her pink cheeks grew even redder. Strange he thought. She was not used to compliments. So different than the Ladies of London. It had been his experience that they thrived on compliments and flattery. They seemed to be in constant search for approval. In fact, he had often thought that the women of the ton couldn’t survive without constant reminders of their beauty. Even when such comments were obviously false.

  Meg, however, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, was unfamiliar with flattery. She didn’t spend her time trying to manipulate such comments and was surprised when they occurred. How charming.

  “How is it? she asked as she glanced over at him, “that a starving artist can afford to hire his models?”

  He laughed, “Do I look like I’m starving?”

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, you most definitely do not look unhealthy.”

  Ian laughed. He enjoyed her choice of words. The woman wasn’t dull. “A small inheritance allows me to live and do what I enjoy. At least for now.” Technically not a full untruth, he had inherited his wealth. It was rather large, but still inherited.

  It hurt to lie to the girl. But he knew deep in his soul that if he told her the truth, that special smile would turn to fear.

  No Lady’s maid could ever be herself around a Duke. It just wasn’t in them. She would become hesitant, second-guessing every word, every action. And never be herself again. And he needed her to be Meg. A simple Cornish girl.

  A sharp pain of regret filled him as he pulled to a stop in front of the grocer’s. “Here we are,” he said as he nodded to the store across the street. “Would you like to see the finished painting of the Mill?” he added, just the slightest push. “I give you my word, you need not fear. At least not me.”

  Her face grew pale as she quickly glanced around. The street was empty. Most wives had long ago finished their morning shopping.

  She swallowed hard then nodded.

  Ian smiled to himself. If he was lucky he might get several hours of her posing for him until she had to return. He needed this, he realized. He needed to capture her beauty on canvas.

  “This way, Miss Duval. If you hurry around the back, no one need know.”

  She looked up at him as if trying to decide whether to step into a blazing building or not. At last, she sighed heavily then scurried around the back of the store.

  Ian could only smile with pleasure.

  Chapter Five

  Margarete’s heart pounded in her chest. Was she really going to do this? Enter a strange man’s room. This man’s room? Her entire body buzzed with excitement as she ducked down the alley and around the back of the grocer’s.

  What if someone stepped out? What if there was a delivery? Hurry, she wanted to call out to him. But instead, he ambled at his normal pace. His hands were full of his painting supplies. Finally, he led her up the stairs, stopped for a moment to shoot her a quick glance, then opened the door.

  “A seamstress and her apprentice used to work here,” he told her.

  Margaret held her breath as she stepped inside. It was as if she were stepping into a different life. A life without rules. A life without boundaries. It was impossible to imagine all the ramifications if she was discovered. Her parents would be devastated with shame. Her friends, what few she had, would disown her.

  Her father would be apoplectic then make her life utterly miserable.

  Perhaps even Lord Evans might refuse her father’s plan. The thought made her smile. Maybe she should arrange to be discovered.

  The room smelled of coal oil and paint. Two large windows looked out onto the street below. Filling the room with light. A small bed was tucked into the corner, a side table next to it with a bowl and pitcher. A small table and one single chair sat in the middle of the room. A threadbare settee faced a small stove with an iron pipe for a chimney.

  But none of that really registered. Her breath was taken with the paintings. Half a dozen were leaning against the wall, drying. Beautiful landscapes, a woman walking in a field. Farmers gathered to eat thei
r lunch. Each one unique, each taking her breath away.

  The honesty, the truth behind every stroke.

  Rolls of canvas were stashed in the corner with empty stretchers. Two tripods held works in progress. One of them, the painting of the Mill. He had done it, she realized immediately. The changes he had made brought the picture into focus. Captured the entirety of the moment.

  “You did it,” she whispered as she turned to him. He had held back, watching her, obviously wanting her opinion. “It amazes me that you are not famous,” she added as she returned to inspecting his work.

  He smiled as he leaned his canvas next to the others, then put his tripod and box of paints in the corner. The two of them stood before his painting of the mill. Her heart raced as she realized how close he was to her. His tall strong body mere inches away. His very presence surrounding her, blocking out every other aspect of the world. A nervousness filled her.

  I should be going, she thought to herself. The nervousness racing through her made her want to run. Yet, the curiosity and the need to know more, also pulled at her.

  “Please,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Just a few minutes.” Smiling gently, he reached out to turn her so he could stare into her eyes. “

  Her arm tingled from his touch as she looked up into his eyes. She would do almost anything this man asked she realized. Biting her lip, she nodded.

  Ian smiled as he reached up and undid her hat, pulling it from her hair. “I think I will need this down,” he said as he pulled a pin, letting her hair fall. Margaret’s heart jumped as she continued to stare up at him as a delicious sense of wanton excitement flowed through her. She was alone with a man. With her hair down. Things were moving so fast. Her entire body quivered with excitement.

  What did it mean? How was it possible to feel this way?

  “Here,” he said as he placed a hand on her lower back to direct her.