The Muse

by Raine Miller

  “Yes, my lady. I am housekeeper for Mr. Mallerton during the days.”

  “I had no idea. I have much to learn about the workings of the estate as of yet. Ah, Ben has driven me here today.” Imogene looked at her respectfully. “He is a good boy.”

  Antonia’s face brightened before she gave a slight dip of her head. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Mr. Mallerton was waiting for her in the middle of a large, bright, nearly empty room.

  “Will you allow my dog?” she asked him.

  He inclined his head in a nod to indicate approval.

  There was a great elegant chair in the middle of the floor and he indicated for her to sit. He then stepped back to an easel set with a canvas prepared, sat on a stool and faced her.

  Imogene had some thoughts about Mr. Mallerton right away and she felt she was dead on accurate, too.

  He is only a trifle bit beastly, and I think it is all for show.

  “NERVOUS?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you nervous about?” he asked drily, thinking she would say something about the impropriety of being alone with him. She surprised him instead.

  “Of disappointing my husband. He has high hopes of a successful, working relationship between us, Mr. Mallerton. It is for him that I do this.”

  That got his attention. A fighter. He regarded her intently, his impression turning to one of respect for this young intelligent woman. He saw the flicker of a smile creeping up one side of her mouth.

  “Then we must make sure that we do not disappoint him, Lady Rothvale, as we share a common goal.”

  Her response was to nod in agreement at him, and so they began.

  He asked if she would turn to the left and then to the right. He asked this several times of her, explaining that he was comparing her profiles to determine her best side. Then he adjusted the height of the easel and took several measurements from the floor to the top of her head and then her shoulders. While she sat, he marked the measurements right onto the canvas.

  This done, he sat back down onto his stool and asked if Graham had discussed with her what he had in mind for this portrait.

  She shook her head. “He did not.”

  “He indicated to me that he would like to have you in a formal gown, wearing an ensemble of pearls and emeralds. Do you know of the set of jewels?”

  “Yes. There are a choker, earrings and a wrist cuff all matching.”

  “Bring them next time when you come. You will have to take them back and forth as I do not have a way to secure them here in this house. I would also like you to bring a selection of gowns that you like and feel would complement the jewels. On no account will I put a sitter in clothing they do not like. It never works in the end. We’ll be able to decide which gown suits the best. Antonia will always be here when you come and can assist you with your wardrobe. Now, for your hair. I suggest you have it done for the first sitting in the way you would wear it for a formal occasion, so I can sketch out the general idea of it. You will not have to have it done so ornately each time, until I get to painting that part. When I get to that section of the portrait you will need to have your hair done up in the exact same fashion each time you come for a sitting, but I’ll let you know when you need to do that.”

  She nodded in agreement to everything he’d said, but didn’t speak.

  “Do you have any questions for me, Lady Rothvale?”

  “How long will a sitting be, and how many sittings will you need for a portrait like this one?”

  “A sitting is never longer than two hours, and for this image, I’d guess no more than ten sittings will serve adequately. Now, tell me of your schedule. Graham mentioned you have arranged to visit your sister some days.”

  She gave him her free days and they both marked down the arranged dates and times in their appointment books.

  “Ah, our business is concluded for this session. I must compliment you on your nerves of steel. You bore up very well under my onslaught. It bodes well for our future work together, milady.” He gave her a grin.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Mallerton, but please do not hold back anything on my account. I would have your true demeanour. I daresay I can handle the challenge, even of one so prickly as you.” She smiled graciously, curtsying to him. “Until Wednesday. Goodbye now.”

  He watched as she walked regally out of his studio, her equally regal dog following at her side.

  What a lovely, lovely, creature, and it shall be heaven to paint her.

  IMOGENE was dressing for dinner when she realized it. There was no start of a child. No baby this time. She was disappointed and dreaded telling Graham for the embarrassment, and the failure. The familiar cramp took hold in her abdomen. Maybe there was something wrong with her. They had been intimate nearly every day since the wedding and some days more than once. What did it take to start a baby? She knew they had to join together and she knew he had to spill his seed in her. Well, those criteria had certainly been met, numerous times! She needed to ask Philippa some more questions. Maybe the timing was wrong. They had been married for just four weeks. That didn’t seem like very much time. She was completely ignorant of the biology of pregnancy and further embarrassed by that ignorance.

  Her appetite faltered at dinner and Graham noticed. He noticed everything. When he asked her about it she told him her stomach was unsettled. She saw him frown at her reply. He was, however, eager to hear about the meeting with Mr. Mallerton.

  “It went well. He was not so terrorizing as I thought he might have been. I think I earned his respect today, and do not foresee any problems between us.” She tried to ease his anxiety. “I saw that my earlier concerns were for nothing—being alone with him in his studio. Why did you not say Antonia was his housekeeper and that she would be there?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He frowned. “You know, chérie, I honestly forgot about it. Remember, I have been away for a long time and have to relearn this estate, in a sense. I am glad that you have no reservations, and especially that you feel comfortable with him. It eases me.”

  “I will need to bring the emeralds and several gowns to the next sitting. Would you like to help me select some gowns to take? I welcome your opinion.”

  “I would love to help you choose, chérie.”

  LATER, when Imogene came to his room dressed for bed, Graham was already in it, reading a book.

  She sat on the side of the bed and peeked at him through her lashes.

  “You are all wrapped up like a package,” he remarked, eyeing her wrapper. “All the better to unwrap you.” He reached for her.

  She stilled his hands. “We must not…”

  Graham froze, shocked at her denying him. He inclined his head a little to get down to her eye level, waiting for her to speak. When she did not, he whispered, “Are you not feeling well, chérie?”

  She kept her head down and mumbled the words, “It is my woman’s time and we cannot…”

  It took a moment for him to puzzle it out. “Ah. ’Tis all right,” he soothed. He tried to get her to look at him but she kept her head down. He knew she was not comfortable sharing such things but she looked so stiff and unhappy he couldn’t resist the question. “Are you in pain?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It does not really hurt me, mostly just an inconvenience.”

  “I am glad you are not hurting, and I daresay that though it will be hard, I will survive a few days without you.” He tried to lighten her a little with some teasing. “You’ll survive it as well, chérie, but you’ll have to be brave as I know how difficult it is for you to keep your hands off me.”

  She gave him a half-smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. She then nodded before putting her head down again and said, “I’m sorry, I know of my duty to you and I will do it.”

  Graham was perplexed. “You are sorry for what? What are you talking about—your duty to me? I don’t understand you.”

  “You know, my duty to give you a child, an heir.” />
  Understanding of where this conversation was going dawned and clarity finally found him. “Hmmm. You are disappointed you are not with child? I now understand, chérie.” He took her hand and kissed it. “We have not talked about this and now it seems is the time to do so. Come here and let me hold you.” He reached for her and pulled her down next to him in the bed where he could see into her eyes to guess her thoughts and feelings. He put a hand up to her hair and stroked it. “Do you wish to have a baby very badly? Is that what you want?” He searched into her eyes again.

  She seemed astonished by the question.

  “Of course I want it. I must give you an heir. You have much to lose with holdings such as you possess.” She looked up at him resolutely. “It is the one thing I must do as a wife. You have remarked upon it more than once, Graham.”

  “I have?” He frowned. “I do not think so.” He shook his head at her.

  “Yes. Once with my uncle, when we discussed the dowry, and another time when you showed me the portrait of all the cousins as children. You said our children would have to learn to sit for portraits.”

  “Imogene,” he admonished, “I merely referred to our children as a future reality. I am sure we will have them, most every couple does. You are not to worry about this. I understand that society expects it and that you bear the burden of giving me an heir, but I do not care about it at all. I don’t care, truly.”

  “You don’t? Why don’t you?”

  “Because it is not why I wanted to marry you. I did not want you for a broodmare. I wanted you because I wanted to live a life with you, because I love you and need you with me.”

  “But you have so much to lose if I do not give you an heir, a title even.” She seemed so amazed at his declaration, unbelieving. “I cannot believe you. Losing Drakenhurst was a shame for my father in having no direct male heir. I think he was pleased in the end that Timothy would be the heir but I know he would have preferred his own son.”

  Graham shook his head firmly. “Gavandon entails differently. It is not a worry for me in the slightest. Even if we were to have only daughters, it wouldn’t matter because the eldest grandson could take it. I do not plan on dying anytime soon, chérie. Remember, you owe me fifty years.” He held her close and kissed her forehead. “Even if we had no children of our own, it would still pass to Colin and his descendants, and thus stay in the family. Gavandon is safe. You have nothing to worry about.” He squeezed her a little. “Your competitiveness has got you into a bit of turmoil, and with your family history I can understand how you might feel pressured, but please let go of the idea.” Tickling gently, he made her squeak. “Besides, we’ve only been working at it for a few weeks. It might take a little longer than that.” He winked. “And when it does happen—and it will—we will take great joy in its blessing.”

  She snuggled into him. He could feel her smiling even though he couldn’t see her face. “I feel so much better,” she sighed. “You are wonderful in every way.”

  “Well then, since I am so wonderful, would you like to play cards for a while?” We can play right here on the bed. What do you say?”

  “All right. Vingt-et-un?”

  Later, after losing eight straight hands to her, Imogene could no longer hold in her giggling when he asked, “Twist or stick?”

  “I think the better question for you, my darling, is to ask yourself if you can count.” She laughed with a mocking grin, biting her lower lip and shaking her head at him.

  Graham snorted at her. “Remind me to take you around to Almack’s when we are next in Town, chérie, you could win us a fortune. The male players would be so befuddled by your charm and beauty; you could destroy them with just the slightest effort on your part.”

  She raised her eyes and shook her head slowly at him. “How do you fare at the game of chess, my lord?”

  “You play? I had not thought of that, chérie. A most excellent choice for me as it goes very slowly between moves and would provide ample time for me to watch you as you puzzle through your attack. I’d like that.”

  HE dreamed of the monster again. It was the same dream—always the same—the crying, the tormenting, and the maniacal laughter. The young mother, the child, his parents, and the evil one, were all present and accounted for.

  But this time when he hurtled awake, she was in the bed next to him.

  Imogene stared at him in horror. Worry and concern showing clearly, even in the dim fire-glow. “Darling, I think you were having a bad dream.” She smoothed over his hair with a comforting hand. “You were mumbling and thrashing about in the bed. What is it?”

  Hearing her gentle words brought him careening up from hell and back into reality. He was instantly soothed by her presence and terrified by it at the same time.

  What did I say? What did she hear?

  He pulled her to him and held on. Imogene was goodness and light. Truth and virtue. His lifeline. He allowed himself the soft warmth of her to comfort and ease his racing heart.

  “Graham?”

  “Sorry, chérie. Sorry to wake you,” he murmured into her neck, holding her close.

  “What were you dreaming of?”

  “I—I cannot remember.” He felt guilty for lying to her.

  I hate you. Stay away from me…and from her, you evil bastard.

  “YOU cannot mean to leave us here. We’ve nothing!” Agnes cried in panic, holding her sleeping daughter.

  “Oh Agnes, are such dramatics really necessary? You’re a clever woman, you’ll find some way to make a living…I just know you will.”

  The carriage was pulling to a stop.

  “What is this place? We have no money. Please have some mercy!”

  He rolled his eyes at her in boredom.

  “I think it is called Stapenhill,” he drawled, tossing some coins onto the floor of the carriage. “There. I have addressed both of your concerns.” He eyed her valise. “At least I had your maid pack you a bag. Now get out.”

  She stared at him unbelievingly, thinking she must be trapped inside a nightmare that would end at any moment, restoring her life to normalcy. Numbly she picked up the money and her valise and got out of the carriage.

  He peered out at her, the evil devil that he was, stabbing her with cold eyes. “And, Agnes, remember what I said. Don’t you go squealing to him. It will do you no good—he doesn’t want to be reminded. If you force his hand, we might have to get rid of the evidence…” He looked knowingly at Clara asleep in her arms. “You have my promise on that.” He slammed the door, and she heard his rap on the roof. At his signal, the carriage pulled away and down the road.

  Agnes stayed there watching until it was out of sight. Standing on the side of the road, her sleeping child resting on her shoulder, she looked up into the beautiful blue sky and tried to find something to hold onto. Something good and happy. Some kind of hope.

  But there was none to be had.

  The only thing she felt was ruined, and wronged.

  For the second time in her life, Agnes cursed the fact that she had been born a woman.

  FIFTEEN

  When I play with my cat, who knows whether she isn’t

  amusing herself with me more than I am with her?

  Montaigne ~ Essais, 1580

  TODAY was the fifth sitting. Sitting in the elegant chair, she wore a pearl coloured gown, hands absent gloves, per Graham’s request, her jewels in place. This portrait would be full length, her pose a three-quarter profile, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other in her lap. Her head was turned slightly as if she were about to stand and go to someone off-canvas and out of view.

  Imogene was pleased to find Mr. Mallerton was quite chatty while he painted. They had quickly fallen into easiness and had no trouble discussing all manner of topics. As long as she remained mostly still in her pose, the conversation greatly helped to pass the time.

  Breaking through the sounds of his brush on the canvas, Imogene asked, “How did you know you wanted to be a painter?”
>
  “My father was a draper at York. There were just the two of us, as my mother died when I was young. He took me along with him all the time. I always liked to draw even as a very young child, quite the novelty for I could sketch out a profile in minutes and was a source of amusement at gatherings. Visiting the stately homes and manor houses with my father as he went about his business, was my inspiration. I was in awe of the paintings that were displayed. The more I saw, the surer I was of my path.”

  “Did your father support you in your wish to become an artist?”

  “He did. Very early, providing the materials and lessons for me to paint at home and later when I was sent to Harrow for my formal schooling. Graham and I met there. My father wanted me to continue on to university, but that was not what I needed. I knew I had to go to Europe and paint. It was a struggle at first. The starving artist lifestyle is not easy or conventional, which worried my father. For me, that life was part of the education. At the time I knew it was necessary for me to live and to learn in that way.”

  “Is your father still a draper? I have need of a good one.”

  “My father passed a year after I left England. His legacy allowed me to continue in that life for several more years, enough to improve my skills that I might make a living.”

  They were quiet as Imogene absorbed his story. She could feel pain in it but also acceptance. There was a lonely quality about him. Something that set him apart from others. He was guarded, but there was kindness too. She was finding that she enjoyed the sittings. It was calming, and the inoperative time allowed her to reflect upon her new life with Graham.

  “Why do you have need of a draper?” he asked after some minutes.

  “I have been charged to have the lady’s chamber redone in the style of my choosing, but I’ve not started in on the project as of yet.”

  “Do you know what you would like?”

  “Hardly. I really do not know where to start. Other than the colours I prefer, I fear I am no expert in decorating.”