The Muse

by Raine Miller

  “Graham, now that my rooms are done, we must really think about the next project. Can you guess what it is?”

  “I know, chérie, for I have also thought of it. The nursery. And believe me, it needs attention for the last occupant to spend any time there was Colin. I suppose I must call the draper and the painters back straight away.”

  “Bravo! You’re exactly right. How should it be done do you think?”

  “Refreshed mostly. Maybe Tristan could do a series of paintings to go ’round the room. Fairy tales or something similar? Knights in armor, princesses, dragons, unicorns?”

  “I love your ideas. You are so brilliant. My very own, brilliant Professor Adonis.” She leaned toward him for a kiss. “Would you like to sleep here in my room tonight, Professor?”

  “Most assuredly.” The professor appeared distracted however, his thoughts no longer focused on the beautiful new rooms or their plans for the nursery. As he kissed into her neck, he had more engaging activities in mind, and for the very immediate future, Imogene guessed his plans did not involve sleep.

  SHE arose hesitantly each morning, Hester with her tea and toast at the ready to help with the morning sickness. Thankfully, it usually passed by mid-morning and Imogene was able to attend to her duties for the most part. She found that the convenience of the bathing room and the ease of getting water up to her room a timely luxury. The baths were very comforting in lessening the discomforts of pregnancy.

  Graham fussed over her terribly at first, and she had to tell him, quite firmly, that his over-attentiveness was most unwelcome. He took her criticism well enough, in his easy way, but she knew it pained him not to fuss. They settled back into their regular routines and looked forward to the warming weather of late spring.

  A letter from Jocelyn Charleston was waiting when she returned home to Gavandon. Jocelyn stated that Mr. Thornton was a mature gentleman, and while he was older, he wasn’t unattractive. She didn’t think their age difference much of a concern. He was serious and sombre but had paid his particular attentions to her alone. His offer of marriage was honorable and respectable considering her dowry was not substantial, and he was well situated on a profitable estate, close enough to her parents that she would have opportunity to see them occasionally. She was anxious to make her way in a life of her own and figured that Mr. Thornton would suit as well as any other. She had no illusions of making a love match as

  Imogene had done. Her only regret was that she would not be able to visit Warwickshire this year and couldn’t possibly know when she might ever. She promised to write often, hoping to see Imogene again whenever she stopped in Kent to visit her family possibly on a trip to London.

  Imogene wrote back to Jocelyn straight away. She offered congratulations and shared her happy news of expecting a baby in November. She pledged to write and assured to visit on their way when they made the trip to Town, which would come eventually as Graham had obligations to Parliament. She still felt the pang of uneasiness regarding Jocelyn’s choice when she posted her reply, realizing that by the time Jocelyn got her letter, her wedding day would have nearly dawned.

  With the help of Mrs. Griffin and the companionship of Cariss, Imogene resumed the tenant visits. So far they had gone off smoothly and the tenants seemed honored by the attentions of the new mistress. It was clear they respected Graham. They were well pleased the master had returned from his sojourn to Ireland and further gratified he had brought back with him a kind and benevolent wife.

  30th April, 1812

  “I cannot find my watch,” Graham grumbled at breakfast. “I took it off last night and set it in the usual spot at my bedside table. I am certain I did.”

  “I am sorry, my darling. I’ll look for you when I go back upstairs.” She grinned. “You are getting forgetful in your dotage?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you up to, chérie?”

  “La! You didn’t think you’d get away with it passing and no observance, did you?”

  He looked sheepish. “I did hold out hope, I admit. But you didn’t answer my question, chérie. What have you concocted?”

  “Just a simple birthday supper tonight; a few friends will join us is all,” she replied demurely. “So look sharp and wear your merriest face. That is all I am telling you.”

  “Chérie?” he warned.

  “What? Can a wife not honor her husband on his birthday? I could not allow your birthday to pass without acknowledgment, now could I? Not when I have the best, most loving, handsomest, most gallant, and adoring husband in the world.”

  He drew her into his arms and gazed down. “I am honored. He kissed her lingeringly, bringing his hands to the sides of her face.

  “Good. I have a special gift for you, but I’ll give it to you tonight, when it’s just us, in private.”

  “Ah, I cannot wait,” he answered knowingly, eyes gleaming wickedly as his hands reached around to grip her bottom.

  “It’s not that, you scamp. It’s not what you’re thinking, but you know you’d probably get that anyway,” she said more quietly. “It is a tangible gift and I think you will like it. I hope so.”

  “Oh, chérie, I will love it, no matter what it is, but you should know that you have already given me the best gifts of all, your love and…this.” He brought his hands to rest on her stomach. “How is our precious cargo this day?”

  “Well, I believe, and firmly in place, still making me sick each morning, so he must be strong and stalwart like his father,” she teased with a smile.

  “That’s the baby making you sick, and not me I hope?”

  “I hope he is just like you.”

  “You think it a boy then?”

  “I don’t have any idea, really. And you?”

  “I see a bouncing, blonde-haired angel, demanding a pony ride.”

  She laughed at that vision. “Why do I feel as if you are drawing up a fiction of me as a child?”

  “But is it fiction, chérie? I bet I am spot on. I can see you bounding into your father’s study and stamping your foot, telling him your need for an immediate ride on your pony. I am sure your entreaties worked quite seamlessly in gaining your desired end. He was helpless against you and did what any doting papa would do: dropped whatever he was doing and seeing to a pony ride with his princess.” He smiled as if imagining it. “I would love that for myself.”

  “You’re going to be such a wonderful father.” His eyes sparkled at her as she placed her hands over his.

  “GRAHAM darling, Tristan is arriving first. I think we should be ready to greet him.”

  “He’d better be bringing what I think he might.”

  She merely smiled at him. “You look smashing in your fine new jacket and waistcoat. Mr. Phelps has done a good turn with you tonight. I say, you grow more handsome with the passing of the days. I hope I don’t have to fight off scores of admiring ladies for your attentions.”

  “I sincerely doubt that will be a problem, chérie. It never has, I would remember that,” he said wryly. Graham clutched her hand tightly, wrapped over his arm. She could tell he was nervous.

  “Now darling, I want you to relax and enjoy yourself this eve. No worries about anything. This is merely the companionship of good people who care about you.”

  He nodded at her solemnly. “Are you feeling well, chérie? Please do not overdo yourself in orchestrating your plans for the evening.”

  She had to laugh at his words. “I am excellent tonight, and I promise if I become fatigued, I shall take up a seat and sit back and enjoy the show.”

  “My God, woman. What have you designed?” He looked wary.

  “I am only jesting. The look on your face. I could not resist, you were begging for a tease.”

  He grabbed her then and kissed her wolfishly. “No, not really. But I can think of something you are begging for. You need it badly and it is most definitely not a tease,” he growled the words low and soft in her ear.

  “Now watch yourself, my lord, you have a gue
st arriving at your doorstep as we speak. You can deal with me later.” She flashed him her sauciest wink.

  “Naughty, naughty, Lady Rothvale,” he clucked at her. “I intend to, and that’s a promise.”

  The footman, Hicks, appeared then, announcing, “Mr. Mallerton.”

  Tristan came forward, carrying what appeared to be a portrait. It was covered with fine cloth and tied with string.

  “Finally. Finally! I thought I’d never see it completed.” Graham greeted Tristan eagerly.

  “Yes, well I’ve worked as fast as I was able. I think you’ll be pleased with this.” He untied the string, pulled off the cloth and turned the canvas to face Graham.

  Graham was stilled by the sight of the portrait, inspecting it reverently. Slowly, he expelled a breath. “You have a rare talent, Tristan. It is perfect, just as I might have imagined it. Thank you for portraying Imogene so magnificently.”

  “I am a realistic painter, painting the subject as it appears.” He nodded at Imogene. “Thank you for the compliment and I am glad you are well pleased.”

  “Oh, I am, you can be assured.” Graham was animated and excited. “Say, I want to have this on display here in the parlor, tonight. I must have an easel for it.” He moved toward the door.

  “Graham, are you going? Why not send someone to get one for you?” Imogene inquired.

  “I must, chérie, they’d never find the proper one. I know exactly what I want for this—better if I go. I’ll just pop up to my old studio and return in a moment.” Bussing her cheek before turning back to Tristan, he said, “This pleases me greatly, Tristan. Thank you, thank you, my friend.”

  Tristan waved him off as he left the room in search of the perfect easel, sharing a giggle with Imogene. “Are you nervous?”

  “Why should I be nervous, Tristan? Just because I’ve invited half of Warwickshire for a house party and my husband doesn’t know about it? I feel like I’m going to be sick again.”

  “Please warn me if that is the case, so I may step out of the way, my dear,” Tristan muttered. “Before I forget, here’s this.” He handed her Graham’s watch, which she placed on a side table.

  “And the other?” she asked.

  “Safely delivered with the help of Mrs. Griffin. She said to tell you it is under the bed.”

  She squeezed his hand in answer, mouthing the words, ‘thank you.’

  Graham returned then, the desired easel in hand. He smiled at them and set to work, arranging the portrait to his liking. “There. It can be viewed to the best advantage from over here. Magnificence. I love the expression on your face, chérie, as if you are about to say something very significant to an unknown person off canvas and out of view. It is evocative of ambiguity and mystery. I am glad Zuly is in there with you, as she fits in so elegantly. The three-quarter profile is a marvelous element, displays the jewels to their best I think. They came across so luminous in paint. It’s just so—”

  “Darling?” Come up for air, my dear.

  “Yes, chérie?” He paused for a moment in his fussing over her portrait and gave her his attention.

  “While you were gone, I happened to look down here and look what I’ve found?” She held up his watch.

  “Thank Christ. I’ve been looking all day.” He came forward and took the watch. “This watch belonged to my father—” his words cut off abruptly as he opened it. “Oh…” He snapped his head up to lock eyes with his wife. “It is so lovely. You’ve put a miniature portrait of yourself in my watch. Now I can take you with me always.” He embraced her. “Thank you, chérie, it is the very best gift of all.” Imogene could tell he was overcome. “I am afraid I am at a loss for words, I am so touched by this beautiful gift.”

  “It is not a gift from me, darling. It is from your friend here,” she said, indicating with a tilt of her head toward Tristan. “My only part in the plan was absconding your watch for the day so he could set it inside for you.”

  Graham shifted his eyes to Tristan, who gave him a short nod and a grin. “Happy birthday, old man, glad you like it. I must say I am surprised you didn’t think of it before I did, and beg for one. You would have had it long before now.”

  “Tristan. Thank you. Sorry, I am bumbling.” He bowed to his friend. “A lovely gesture and it will be treasured always, my good friend.” Tristan bowed his head in return.

  Hicks reappeared and announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Julian Everley, Miss Vickering, Colonel Hargreave.”

  Graham, further surprised by the announcements, came forward to greet his guests. “Ha! I have been taken totally unawares. Welcome, welcome. God, it is good to see you here at Gavandon.” He turned to Imogene. “You are amazing, chérie, and very good. I had no idea.”

  She just smiled at him and arched her brows in challenge.

  Colin and Cariss entered the room then with Hicks following close behind them with another announcement. “Mr. Gravelle,” he bellowed.

  Graham greeted him warmly. “I hope you will stay with us for as long as you can, Gravelle.”

  Mr. Gravelle looked at him a little oddly. “I had planned to stay, yes. Christ, man, are you getting dotty in your old age?” he quipped.

  Graham just shook his head and shot another look Imogene’s way, now beginning to comprehend what she had orchestrated.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Burleigh, Dr. and Mrs. Brancroft,” Hicks announced more guests.

  “How many have you invited, chérie?” he whispered as he moved to greet the newest arrivals.

  “Surprise, my darling. I lied a little, but just a little, mind you. It’s not only a supper party, you see, I’ve invited them all to stay with us. It’s a house party! Happy birthday.”

  GRAHAM could not remember a more memorable birthday, nor a time when he felt so honored by his friends and family. It was heart-warming to enjoy the companionship with loved ones in the halls of Gavandon again. Imogene had arranged the additional entertainment, with Tristan’s cooperation of course, to have him sketch miniature line drawings of everyone for a keepsake of the occasion. The musical talents performed, and the miniature portraits had delighted everyone. Elle and Mina were now quite accomplished at playing duets, apparently.

  Imogene had shot a satisfied look at Graham when it was Cariss’s turn to play for them, and Gravelle stepped up to turn pages for her. He had to agree that her suggestion Gravelle might like her young cousin seemed rather accurate.

  During supper, the excellent staff of Gavandon had been busy settling the guests’ luggage into their rooms. Mrs. Griffin, operating without a glitch in the arrangements, as if she organized a whole houseful of guests every day, was superb. Graham could not recollect the last time Gavandon had hosted such a large crowd.

  He thought of his late mother and how she would definitely have approved of their house party. The reminiscent notion brought feelings of regret though, regret his good mother would never know his wife. Oh how he would have loved for them to know one another. He was grateful Zuly was included in the emerald portrait with Imogene. Zuly had been his mother’s dog, and now she was Imogene’s, seemed connecting somehow. It brought them together in a way that was right and good. The passing of the torch from one Lady Rothvale onto the next.

  When they retired to their room at the end of the night he was still amazed at what she had managed to plan without him knowing. “Chérie, you have outdone yourself in your attempts to make a magnificent birthday for me. I loved everything, and had a marvelous time tonight. I will never forget the occasion or the gesture.”

  “Oh well, I am not yet done, my darling.”

  “There’s more? How could there be more?”

  Imogene nodded knowingly. “Now, I want you to sit here on the couch and close your eyes.” She kissed him on the forehead, then pulled back to hold his chin. “You know, you look boldly handsome with your hair loose, and lounging in that deep purple robe. I am a lucky wife,” she admired. “No peeking now. Just give me a minute.”

  He heard her scrabbling on the flo
or, and something sliding, keeping his eyes closed while he listened to the additional sounds of string being pulled and rustling. He sensed her close, could hear her breathing…could smell the familiar scent of oil spirits and paint.

  “For you, with all of my love,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes.

  She held it for him.

  At first he was speechless, but then he found his voice. “You did it. You had him paint you in…dishabille.” The words came out of him like a cry he was so affected. “I—I—how did you—” His eyes found hers and then darted to the painting, back and forth. He brought his hand to his forehead. “Sorry, I am having trouble understanding; this is so, so beautiful. It is incomparable. I cannot believe you did this for me. I could stare at it forever, chérie.” He continued to gaze at the painting, and then took it into his hands to hold himself.

  “I am so pleased you like it. It was a challenge, but I see now that it was worth every bit of the effort. Happy birthday, my dearest husband.”

  He looked up at her in wonder. “I don’t deserve you,” his voice tremulous, “any of this.”

  “Deserve? What does that mean? Who deserves anything? The world does not work in such a way. Things just are as they are. We met and fell into love and that is just the way it is. We are together now, forever, and for today, this is something I wanted to do for you because I love you and want to make you happy. All the time. I am thrilled that you are happy. You have given me so much, Graham. It makes me happy to do this. I love you profoundly, to the depths of my soul.”

  Carefully setting down the precious painting, he got up from the couch, deftly lifting and carrying her to their bed where he made love to her as he’d promised he would earlier in the evening.

  He did it slowly and with great care, the whole time whispering words of devotion and adoration, showing her how much he loved and needed her, and that it would always be so, for him in this way, with her.