Unconventional Series Collection

by Verna Clay

  Stepping from his coach, he made sure his empty sleeve was attached to the pocket of his jacket, set his top hat on his head, and approached the building. Entering the foyer, he searched the mail slots until he found Jenny's name to ensure she truly lived there.

  Following the stairs to the third floor, he determined which direction to turn in the hallway and then walked halfway down. When he knocked on Jenny's door, part of him hoped she wouldn't answer, but the other part just wanted to get his apology over with so he could return to his fortress and hide from the world.

  The door opened.

  * * *

  Jenny opened her door expecting it to be Nathaniel. Over the months, they had become friends and developed the habit of lunching together every Saturday at Jenny's flat. Nate, as he liked being called, always brought bread for their simple meal. Jenny knew he had very little money and had lived in an orphanage since the age of nine. She had visited him there a few times and learned that he was beloved by the nuns, who spoke of his artistic ability as being a gift from God. Sister Theresa was the one who had approached the academy pleading for a scholarship for him.

  Jenny said as she opened the door, "Nate, I got us a special treat…" Her eyes widened when she recognized her visitor.

  "Miss Samson, I apologize for calling on you unexpectedly, but there is a matter of urgency that I must speak with you about. When I entered the building, I noticed there is a drawing room downstairs, would you accompany me there?"

  "You can come into my room, Mr. Ryder."

  "No. I would not want my visit to be misconstrued by your neighbors."

  Confused by his presence, she said, "Very well."

  Mr. Ryder motioned for her to lead the way to the drawing room. With her heart in her throat and the sound of her blood pounding in her ears, Jenny felt like a convicted felon marching to her execution. When they reached the drawing room, Mr. Ryder politely held the door for her.

  Jenny lowered herself nervously onto the settee and hoped she didn't look as alarmed by his presence as she felt. Mr. Ryder perched his tall frame at the edge of a chair across from her and she tried to avoid his eyes, but like a magnet, she was drawn to them, their gray color similar to that of a brewing storm.

  He cleared his throat. "Miss Samson, I have come to apologize for my unseemly behavior and remarks during the gallery exhibition. What I said was inappropriate and–"

  Jenny interrupted. "Please do not apologize. Although I was hurt at the time, I have come to realize the truth in your words. I have decided to return home–"

  He interrupted. "That would be foolish. You have a talent that–"

  "I do not believe you."

  "Why do you doubt me?"

  "Because you are a man of forthrightness; you would not have spoken thus if it were not true."

  * * *

  Ryder ran his hand through his hair in frustration. The woman was pushing him to his limits. Why couldn't she just accept his words and not make him explain his insensitive behavior. Besides that, her blue eyes were beautiful and made him uncomfortable in their scrutiny.

  When she started to protest again, he lifted a hand to stay her response. He had no alternative but to bare his soul. "Please listen. You have talent and I was wrong to criticize. With continued effort you–"

  The girl interrupted again. "According to you, talent is not enough. I must have a gift to–"

  "Damn it! Stop interrupting. I believe you have a gift. When I first saw your paintings they reminded me of…hell, they reminded me of my own paintings when I was your age. They're sweet and depict a world of perfection. They will sell well and you will make a fortune. Finish your studies at the academy and I'll give you introductions to the best galleries. Do you understand what I'm offering you?" he finished, exasperated.

  The chit replied softly, "I do not want your charity. I do not want to be talented. What must I do to paint like you?"

  Pain lanced Ryder's heart because of his inability to recreate the visions in his mind since his accident, but he answered her nonetheless. "Learn the secrets of light and shadow and your paintings will touch the hearts of those fortunate enough to view them."

  The girl's eyes rounded, their irises increasing in blueness. Barely above a whisper she beseeched, "Teach me."

  Now it was Ryder's turn to look at her with astonishment. "Impossible. I do not paint and I do not teach."

  "But you have the school–"

  "For others to teach. I repeat, I do not teach." The pain of speaking to this persistent girl was weighing on Ryder and he wanted nothing more than to escape her presence and youthful desires. He wished he had never seen her or her paintings. "I must leave," he said, and stood to go.

  "You are a cruel man, Mr. Ryder."

  Ryder frowned and paused. "I just apologized and revealed things I never expose to anyone. If you want more accolades over your artwork, you'll not receive them from me."

  "I care not for accolades. I only care for the art. You are cruel because you dangle the carrot in front of me only to snatch it away. I want to learn what you have discovered."

  "I do not teach," he emphasized again, and turned toward the door.

  "How did you learn?"

  Her words made him pause. Reaching for the handle, he said, "I painted the light, then I lived the darkness and painted them both together." He stepped through the door, his thoughts morose. And now I live in darkness, unable to balance it with light.

  Chapter Four: Determination

  Jenny watched Mr. Ryder close the door and feelings of anger and sympathy vied for preeminence. The man was impossible. What was the darkness he had lived? His paintings had been done before he lost his arm. And how did one paint both light and darkness into a picture? Frustration made her clinch her fists at her sides and close her eyes tightly. Suddenly, she remembered that Nate was coming over and rushed back to her room.

  Setting out plates and utensils on her small table, she replayed the encounter with Mr. Ryder. There was a knock on her door, and she opened it to Nate. He handed her a wrapped loaf of bread and said, "It just came out of the oven. Sister Theresa said to tell you hello. Hey, you look serious. What's wrong?"

  Jenny smiled at her young friend, and because they shared everything related to artistry, recounted her visit from Jake Ryder. The boy's eyes grew big. "He came here?"

  "Yes. He apologized for his unkindness to me at the gallery and asked that I not leave the school."

  Nate grinned. "I knew he was a good man, and see, even he knows you need to stay."

  Jenny motioned for Nate to sit at the table and she sat across from him. "Nate, he said I must combine light and dark in my artwork. I think he was speaking symbolically. How can I do that?"

  Nate gave her a bewildered look and finally shrugged. "I don't know. Did you ask him to teach you? Because if he teaches you—you can teach me."

  "I asked him and he refused. He said I had to live the darkness to become a gifted artist. But, Nate, I have lived in darkness. Especially, after my mother and baby brother died. I don't understand."

  "I've lived in darkness, too." Nate drummed his fingers on the table. "Jen, you've got to get him to teach you."

  "But he already refused."

  "And you're giving up just like that?" He snapped his fingers. "You told me you applied to the school three times before you were accepted? The way I figure it, you need to keep asking Mr. Ryder like you kept trying to get into the school."

  Jenny lifted a bite of boiled potato to her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she patted her friend's mop of blonde hair. "Nate, you're right. I've been acting like a frightened mouse. It's time I roared." She giggled, "Well, at least squawked."

  * * *

  Ryder downed a shot of whiskey and looked at the clock. Damn, eleven in the morning and I'm already doing shots. He poured another. For three nights, since his visit with Miss Samson, he had dreamed of eyes bluer than the seas of islands he had visited. In every dream, her eyes had mirrored bo
th worship and hurt. Don't worship me, Jenny. I'm a bastard of the first order.

  A knock interrupted his angst and he called, "Yes? Enter."

  Clayton, his butler, opened the double doors of the library and, with his usual impartialness, said, "Sir, there is a young lady to see you. She rang the bell at the gate and when Peter told her you do not receive visitors unannounced, she said she would continue to ring the bell until you were told of her presence. She said her name is–"

  "Jenny Samson," Ryder finished for him.

  "That is correct, sir."

  Ryder downed the whiskey he had just poured. "Let's see how determined she is. Show her to the sitting room and tell her I am engaged in household duties at the moment."

  "Yes, sir, as you wish." Clayton closed the door.

  Three hours later, his butler returned with an update. "Sir, one of the parlor maids relayed to me that the young lady said to tell you she wasn't leaving until you listened to the reason for her visit."

  Ryder groaned. I know her reason because if I were her age with her idealism, I would do the same thing. He set his shot glass down and mumbled in a half drunken stupor. "I might as well get this over with. Thank you, Clayton. I'll take care of this now."

  "Yes sir. Umm, sir, does that mean you'd like the lady shown to the library?"

  "Please." Ryder plopped behind his desk, fingered his hair, and shook his head to remove some of the cobwebs.

  Several minutes later, Clayton opened the door again and ushered the persistent girl into the room. He announced, "Miss Jenny Samson, sir."

  Ryder gazed at her through glazed eyes. "Please sit, Miss Samson. Would you like Clayton to pour you a drink? Whatever you desire, we probably have it."

  Very primly, she responded, "No, but thank you."

  Ryder turned his attention to Clayton and nodded that he could leave. When the door closed behind him, Ryder said, "Please step away from the door and come sit." He motioned to a chair in front of his massive desk.

  Miss Samson slowly approached and sat on the edge of the chair.

  "Do I make you nervous, Miss Samson?" Ryder couldn't resist asking.

  "Honestly. Yes."

  He grinned. "I must say, even though I prolonged our meeting hoping you would just leave, I wasn't expecting you to."

  "Mr. Ryder, I will get right to the point. The reason–"

  "Please call me Ryder and leave off the Mister part. After all, since I can't seem to get rid of you, you might as well address me more…intimately." He was pleased to see her turn scarlet.

  Examining her hands as if they were somehow crucial to their conversation, she finally looked back at him and began again, "The reason for my visit–"

  "–is because you're demanding that I teach you to paint."

  "No sir."

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "I am asking you to teach me. If you refuse, then I will demand. If you still refuse, I will camp out on your doorstep."

  It took a second for Ryder's whiskey fogged mind to assimilate her words and when he did, he laughed loudly. "So, there's more spirit to the shy country girl who creates poetic paintings than I imagined. Come stand before me."

  A questioning looked passed across the girl's face, but she obeyed and stepped to the front of his desk.

  "No, Jenny Samson. Not there. Here." He motioned to the space beside his chair.

  Again, a questioning look lit her countenance, but she stepped around the desk until she stood close enough that he could reach and touch her. Swiveling his chair until he faced her, he found himself looking directly at her small breasts and had a strong desire to reach and cup them. Instead, he lifted his eyes to hers and rasped, "How determined are you that I teach you?"

  After watching her gulp, he smiled a devil's grin. Perhaps he could scare her away.

  She replied in the voice of a frightened girl, "Very determined," but repeated more forcefully, "Very determined."

  Ryder looked back at her breasts. "If I still painted, I would paint you…twice. Once with your clothes on looking like the Virgin of the West, and then again with your clothes off, looking like…" He didn't finish his sentence.

  Jenny quickly stepped backward and he expected her to turn and run. When she didn't, he lost himself in the depths of her eyes now darkened to the color of a stormy sea. She merely said matter-of-factly, "You've been drinking."

  "I certainly have. How else do you think I could talk to you so commonly?" He amended his words, "No, not common. You could never be common, Jenny."

  She replied. "I'll leave and return another day when you are yourself."

  Ryder laughed cynically. "What is 'myself' sweet Jenny? 'Myself' died twelve years ago with the death of my…" He clamped his mouth shut.

  Suddenly, Jenny stepped within a hairsbreadth of him. In a swift gesture, she touched the shoulder of his amputated arm. Softly she said, "I'll come back another day and ask that you teach me. If you say no, I'll begin demanding."

  Before Ryder could react, she turned and rushed out the door. He leaned back in his chair, still smelling her sweet breath that had fallen across his face.

  Chapter Five: Persistence

  Ryder woke with one hell of a headache. He was tempted to stay in bed and drink the day away, but he had a strange inclination to not let Jenny Samson see him in an imbibed condition again. With everything in him, he knew she would be returning within a few days; maybe today. He needed to dismiss her and get her out of his life.

  At eleven, the same as the previous day, she arrived at his gate ringing the bell. Clayton made him aware of her presence and he asked that she be shown immediately into the library. Rather than sit behind his desk recalling memories of his obnoxious behavior the day before, he walked across the room and leaned against the fireplace mantle. Clayton showed Miss Samson into the room and announced her.

  When they were alone, Ryder motioned to the settee. "Please sit, Miss Samson." He couldn't help but notice her simple country dress and matching bonnet. The gauche apparel was somehow endearing. "Do you always wear bonnets, Miss Samson? Do you not know the fad is cute petite hats decorated with…whatever."

  "Yes, I always wear bonnets. My mother loved them."

  "Loved? Past tense? Is she dead?"

  "Yes. She died when I was nine."

  "So, you have experienced darkness."

  "Yes."

  "Well, there's your answer. Paint the darkness into your art."

  "I don't understand and wish for you to teach me."

  Ryder snorted, "How can I teach you about darkness?"

  "I don't know. But I'm asking you to try."

  "Not demanding?"

  Jenny's lips tilted in a smile and Ryder's heartbeat gained speed.

  "No, not yet," she said softly.

  Ryder turned toward the mantle, gripping it with his hand. He didn't like that the plain country girl had his heart hammering. He didn't like that his miserable world had been upset by her. Inhaling a calming breath, he turned back around with a plan to scare her away.

  "Very well, Jenny. I will teach you, but you will not like it."

  Jenny grazed her teeth over her bottom lip and Ryder's heart hammered triple time. He said, "We will begin tomorrow at this same time with me painting you."

  At her surprised look, he continued, "Oh, the painting will be rubbish because I cannot paint with my left hand, but I will explain what I am doing while I go through the motions."

  When a smile lit her face, he pounced. "Your smile may be premature because I will only paint you wearing your chemise and petticoat." He almost grinned before she answered because he knew the innocent farm girl would refuse. He could finally be rid of her.

  * * *

  Jenny blinked several times unsure of Ryder's meaning. When he smiled devilishly, understanding slammed her. "Y-you want to paint me?"

  "Yes." He grinned. "In your unmentionables."

  "What does that have to do with painting light and dark?"

  "Miss S
amson, since when does the student question the teacher whom she almost demands teach her?"

  Jenny narrowed her eyes. Oh, I understand. You think I'm going to run away in terror. Well, Ryder, I'm so desperate to learn what you know, I'll play along with your game. "Okay, Ryder, I'll be here tomorrow at eleven."

  The shocked expression on Ryder's countenance gave Jenny some satisfaction as she turned to flee. Just as she passed through the doorway, she heard him curse.

  Jenny slept little that night and wondered if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Searching her undergarments the next morning, she found her most chaste cotton shift; chemise indeed! It almost covered her like a dress with its cap sleeves and rounded neck. Ryder would see little more of her body than he did now. She would play his game to show her determination and perhaps get a glimpse of the master at work.

  At precisely eleven the next morning, Jenny arrived at Ryder's home. The steward that answered her ring did not question her. Immediately, he opened the gate and led her to the front porch. The same staunch butler as on previous visits was waiting for her outside the front door. "Please follow me," he instructed after dismissing the steward.

  The butler led Jenny to the end of the porch and down the side steps. He then followed a pathway to the back of the house past beautiful fountains and flowering foliage and stopped before a small, artfully constructed stone structure. He knocked on the door, cast Jenny a haughty glance, and then swiftly walked back the way they had come.