‘Sense I have in limited supply, but talent I possess in abundance,’ Ridley quipped. ‘I’ve already completed five commissions and have five more waiting. And they pay me very well.’
‘Then he must be good, Percy,’ Aunt Dorothy commented. ‘The aristocracy are very particular about who they engage to paint their portraits.’
‘Exactly!’ Ridley agreed. ‘They are very particular and I am very good. More to the point, those for whom I’ve done work have passed my name along to others and I actually have more work than I can handle.’
‘And I suppose you expect me to clap you on the back and say, well done, sir, well done!’ his father demanded.
‘That would be nice.’
‘Well, I shall not! Being a barrister is a respectable occupation. One that would stand you in good stead for the rest of your days. The same cannot be said for artists.’
‘Of course not, because we are all licentious reprobates who drink too much and have naked women lying around our studios,’ Ridley muttered. ‘God knows, I’ll probably be dead by the time I’m thirty.’
‘Really, Ridley, such language in front of your sisters!’ Aunt Dorothy chastised.
‘Indeed, and in front of your aunt,’ his father added. ‘I am not pleased, Ridley. Not at all pleased.’
‘But why should you be upset? It’s not as though I’m drinking myself into oblivion, or trying to cadge money from you. I make a very good living.’
‘But it is not the occupation of a gentleman!’
‘And I have never aspired to be a gentleman,’ Ridley said in exasperation. ‘I want to paint. I’ve always wanted to paint. It is the only thing I’m good at and likely the only thing I ever will be.’
The conversation was mercifully interrupted by the arrival of Jenks.
‘Ah, Jenks,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Would you be so good as to bring some fresh tea and either a slice of cake or a piece of pie for my brother?’
‘Don’t bother.’ Ridley abruptly got up and headed for the door. ‘I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going up to my room.’
‘We’ll talk about this in the morning, Ridley,’ Mr Darling called after him. ‘Don’t think we won’t!’
Emma exchanged an anxious glance with her sister, then nodded at the servant who was still standing patiently in the doorway. ‘Thank you, Jenks, it seems we won’t be needing anything after all.’
‘Very good, miss.’
After he left, the room settled into an uneasy silence. Linette picked up a book, Emma reached for a magazine and Aunt Dorothy went back to her tambour, muttering something about mismatched threads and too-tight knots.
‘Oh well, that’s just splendid!’ Mr Darling finally burst out. ‘My youngest daughter about to marry into an earl’s family and my only son announces he’s given up law to paint pictures.’
‘Portraits, Father,’ Emma corrected tactfully. ‘And it is not such a disreputable occupation. Mr Gainsborough and Sir Joshua Reynolds were both highly respected for their work.’
‘Ridley is not Gainsborough,’ Mr Darling drawled.
‘You don’t know that. You haven’t seen any samples of his work.’
‘And I have no desire to. Knowing Ridley, I can just imagine what kind of pictures—’
The door opened and Ridley walked back in. Ignoring his father, he handed a framed picture to Emma. ‘Lord Mortimer paid me six guineas for that and his recommendation brought in two more commissions for which I shall charge double. You may not like what I’ve turned my hand to, Father, but you cannot deny I’m good at it.’
With that, he left again, this time closing the door firmly behind him.
Emma glanced at the painting and slowly began to smile. The subject was a little girl no more than three years old. She was sitting on a stool with a spaniel at her feet and a small grey kitten clutched in her arms. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn and she was wearing a pale pink dress dotted with silver stars. She was a pretty little girl, to be sure, but it was the wistfulness of her expression and the innocence of her smile that Ridley had captured so perfectly on the canvas.
‘It is excellent,’ Emma said, handing the painting to Linette.
Linette didn’t say a word, but her eyes opened wide and when she looked up, Emma saw the admiration on her face. Clearly, she’d had no idea that Ridley was so talented. None of them had. The portrait was not the work of a rank amateur. It was the work of a man who deserved to be recognised for his skill and ability.
Unfortunately, thinking about paintings took Emma back to that morning and to the unpleasant confrontation she’d had with Lord Stewart. Pity she couldn’t so easily relegate him to the back of her mind. But, there he was, front and centre once again, and she had a sinking feeling he was going to stay there until she had decided what she was going to do about this situation with Linette and Peter.
Lord Stewart didn’t want his brother to marry Linette and Emma didn’t want to see Peter and Linette break up. And now Ridley had given up law to become an artist. Was it any wonder she had a feeling it was going to be a long time before harmony found its way back inside the peaceful walls of Dove’s Hollow again?
Chapter Four
Alex had been fortunate enough to enjoy a close relationship with his younger brother ever since they were boys. Always a happy-go-lucky lad, Peter was easy to be around and was never moody or quick to anger. Loyal to a fault, he could be counted on to tell the truth, and though that honesty that had cost him the friendship of several boys who tended towards mischief, it had stood him in good stead in all other areas of his life.
His one failing, if it could be called that, was his tendency to fall too easily in love. Peter often mistook friendship for affection and when a young lady smiled at him, he was prone to reading more into it than was intended. Thankfully, since most of the girls they had grown up with had tended to look upon Peter as a brother rather than a potential suitor, his youthful escapades had not landed him in any serious trouble. But Alex feared his brother’s engagement to Linette Darling now was trouble. Trouble of the most ominous kind.
‘So how did you and Linette meet?’ he asked as the two of them stood reviewing renovation plans the following morning.
‘We were introduced at the Christmas fête.’ Peter picked up the architect’s drawing of the new parlour and held it towards the light. ‘Linette was looking after the children. The vicar introduced us and we spent a few minutes in conversation. I thought her delightful.’
‘So you went to see her after the fête?’
‘No.’
Alex frowned. ‘No?’
‘I didn’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘I don’t follow.’
Peter put down the drawing. ‘Father’s always had very high expectations of us and while Linette’s birth is acceptable, I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for him, so I purposely did not seek her out.’
‘Then how did you come to be engaged?’
‘A week before Christmas, I was invited to a small dinner party. An informal gathering, the hostess said, with three or four other families to whom they were close. Given that I had nothing else to do that evening, I agreed. Linette was there, along with her father and sister.’
‘I see. And did she seek you out?’
‘No.’ Peter drew forwards another sketch, this one of changes to the formal dining room. ‘In fact, she went out of her way to avoid me. She admitted afterwards that she had never associated with anyone of high rank before and that she was terrified of embarrassing herself. But she never put a foot wrong. And, as the evening wore on, I found myself making excuses to be near her. I enjoyed talking to her and I loved hearing her laugh.’ He stared down at the plans, but Alex knew he was seeing something quite different. ‘I believe I fell in love with her that very night.’
‘You didn’t think it simply a case of infatuation?’
‘Briefly, yes,’ Peter admitted. ‘But as the months passed and I couldn’t stop thinking about her, I rea
lised it was more. And the idea she might be seeing someone else nearly drove me insane. So, I started planning ways in which we might meet. Accidentally, of course. I went to a few of the local assemblies. Started accepting invitations to events I knew she would be attending, and, eventually, I got up the courage to call at her house. And the more I saw her, the more I realised how much I loved her. Finally, I had no choice but to speak to Mr Darling. When I had his approval, I asked Linette to marry me.’
Alex stared at the drawings, aware that the answers weren’t at all what he had been hoping to hear. He had expected to find fault with his brother’s reasoning, sure there would be something upon which he could hang his hopes of breaking them up. But there was nothing. Peter had used logic and family obligation to try to resist the young lady’s charms—and had fallen in love regardless. They were not off to a promising start.
‘By the way, I talked to Mother last night,’ Peter said.
‘Oh?’
‘I wanted to know how upset Father really was over my engagement.’
‘What did she say?’
‘That he doesn’t approve and that he expects me break it off as soon as possible.’
‘Is there any chance you would?’
‘No. It would break Linette’s heart, not to mention mine.’
So, he would stand by his decision. Alex sighed. Their father would not be pleased. ‘Did Mother say anything else?’
‘No. Why?’
Surprised, Alex turned and walked towards the window. Why hadn’t their mother made mention of their father’s illness? Surely she felt it important enough. Why else would she have told him? ‘No reason,’ he said, deciding to leave it for the moment. ‘Tell me, what does Mother think of Miss Linette Darling now that she’s met her?’
‘That she is lovely and sweet and seems to come from a nice enough family.’
‘But…?’
‘But do I really think I am doing the right thing by marrying her.’
Alex hadn’t expected his mother to agree with the betrothal, but neither had he expected her to condemn it as harshly as his father had. Her relationship with Peter wouldn’t allow it.
‘You haven’t told me what you think about all this yet,’ Peter said.
Alex shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it matters. You’re my brother. I’ve always looked up to you. I care about what you think.’
‘So if I were to tell you that I agree with Father in thinking you should have done better…?’
‘I’d say it’s not what I wanted to hear, but that I can understand your reasons for saying it.’
‘Unfortunately, understanding what I’m saying doesn’t solve the problem, Peter,’ Alex said. ‘If something were to happen to me, you would become the next earl. Do you really think Linette Darling is suitable to being the next Countess of Widdicombe?’
Peter smiled unhappily.” I’m sorry, Alex. But in my eyes, she already is.’
* * *
Ridley’s startling admission that he had given up law to paint portraits for a living was an endless source of fascination to Emma. It seemed a thoroughly illogical, but totally understandable, thing for her brother to do; curious to find out more about that part of his life, she waited until their father had gone for his daily walk and then went to seek him out.
She found him, not unexpectedly, in the stables, devoid of jacket and with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a soft brush in his hand and was running it over the sides and back of his chestnut, both he and the horse seeming to enjoy the peaceful occupation. Ridley was different from most gentlemen in that regard. He liked looking after his horses almost as much as he enjoyed riding them.
‘Hello, Emma,’ he said as she appeared at the stall door. ‘What brings you down here?’
‘I wanted to talk to you about your painting. Away from the house.’
‘Away from Father, you mean.’ Ridley resumed brushing. ‘At least I know you don’t think I’m dicked in the nob for going ahead with it.’
‘Not at all. I admire you for having had the courage to follow your heart. But weren’t you nervous, giving up your legal studies for something as unpredictable as art?’
‘In truth, I was terrified,’ Ridley admitted with a smile. ‘But only for a day or two. In my heart, I knew I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t cut out for the law, Em. All those boring precedents and tedious pleadings. I never would have been any good at it. But painting is like breathing to me. It’s natural. It’s what I need to do to be happy.’
Emma understood that. Though her own enjoyment of painting wasn’t the passion it so clearly was for Ridley, she knew the joy of sitting down in front of an easel and getting ready to create, the freedom of allowing her imagination to soar. ‘But you said you had commissions. With so many successful portraitists in London, how did you get anyone to hire you?’
‘I was lucky enough to be friends with Lord Bickerson’s son at Oxford,’ Ridley said, moving the brush over the chestnut’s hindquarters. ‘Tom knew of my interest because I had shown him a few of my sketches. So when he came in one evening and told me his father was looking for someone to do a family portrait, I jokingly suggested that he put my name forward. He told me he already had and that I was to meet with his father the next day to go over the details.’
‘How wonderful!’ Emma said.
‘Yes, it was, rather. So I met Lord Bickerson and told him I’d do the painting, and that if he didn’t like it he didn’t have to pay me.’
‘Very noble of you.’
‘Not really. Bickerson knew I’d never done a commission before. He had already engaged an established artist before Tom even mentioned my name. So giving me a chance wasn’t much of a risk on his part. It was something he did as a favour to his son. And if it turned out I wasn’t any good, he’d still have a painting from someone else and all I would have been out was the cost of a canvas and some paints. But, as luck had it, he was delighted with the painting and paid me what I considered to be a very fair sum. More importantly, he recommended me to Lord Huston—’
‘Viscount Huston?’ Emma asked on a gasp of surprise.
‘That’s right. And when Huston saw what I’d done for Lord Bickerson, he hired me to paint a portrait of his wife and another one of his two young sons. After that, I received a commission from a titled gentleman, followed by one from a lady who wished me to paint her portrait as a gift for someone.’
Emma smiled. How wonderful to hear that Ridley was enjoying success in his new career. Why, then, the faint echo of regret in his voice? ‘So you are now an established artist with enviable credentials and a growing list of clients,’ she said.
‘Indeed. But Linette tells me you have improved immeasurably since I left,’ he said in an overly hearty voice. ‘When are you going to show me some of your work?’
‘Are you mad? After showing me that delightful painting of the little girl with the kitten in her arms? Not a chance. I paint for my own pleasure. Not for your eyes or anyone else’s!’
But someone else had seen her work. Lord Stewart, the morning he had come upon her painting down by the pond. He had complimented on her ability and told her that her work was impressive. High praise indeed from a man like that.
Good thing she’d known better than to believe him.
On Wednesday morning, Emma donned a plum-coloured riding habit with a matching bonnet and had Jenks saddle her mare. It was a glorious morning for a ride. The sky was a bright sapphire-blue with a few white clouds drifting by like tufts of cotton. Dark-green hedges crisscrossed lighter green fields dotted here and there with clumps of golden buttercups and white-and-yellow daisies. A painter’s palette of colours! Unfortunately, caught up as she was in her study of the world around her, Emma failed to notice the approaching rider until he was close enough to speak. ‘I suspect your artistic eye is seeing all this in a vastly different light than those of us who cannot tell blue from turquoise.’
The voice
was teasing, lighter in tone than it had been the last time they’d spoken. Nevertheless, Emma couldn’t suppress a frisson of awareness at hearing it. ‘You surprise me, Lord Stewart. The fact you know there is a difference leads me to believe you already know more about colour than you are willing to let on.’
His smile widened. ‘I always try to exceed a lady’s expectations.’
‘But since I have none, there is nothing to exceed.’
‘Come now, Miss Darling, surely you have some expectations of the man who will soon be your brother-in-law.’
‘Really? I thought you were doing everything you could to prevent that from happening.’
He shrugged. ‘If neither party is willing to cry off…’
‘Then you have not succeeded in changing your brother’s mind?’
‘No more than I suspect you have succeeded in changing your sister’s.’
‘Ah, but I have not tried,’ Emma informed him. ‘There have been so many other things to occupy my time. Fittings for new gowns. Paying calls on all the people who are desperate to hear details of my sister’s upcoming nuptials. Meetings with Mr Tufton to talk about the ceremony.’
‘Ah, yes, the dedicated vicar.’ Lord Stewart did not smile. ‘I wonder if he is taking as much of an interest in all of his parishioners as he seems to be taking in you and your family.’
Emma cursed the warmth that flooded her cheeks. She did not blush prettily. Patches of red stood out on her cheeks like droplets of blood on snow, resulting in her chin and forehead appearing all the more pale. ‘It is part of his job to get to know the people of this parish, my lord. And since Linette is to be married in his church, he is spending time with her to familiarise her with the ceremony. As well, he and my father discuss matters of philosophy and religion. The time he spends with Ridley and myself is minimal.’
‘If you say so.’ He didn’t meet her eyes, but Emma could sense his annoyance and for the life of her she couldn’t imagine why.
‘You haven’t answered my question as to what you expect of me as your brother-in-law,’ he said, reverting to their earlier topic of discussion.
Improper Miss Darling Page 6
