“Mr. Mooreland, Deven Mooreland. He’s wearing a plaid cap,” I called as he and his friend walked down the street toward the pubs. My gaze was drawn to Mr. Rodin’s confident gait with his broad shoulders, his erect stance and long-legged stride.
We waited for what seemed a long time when finally we saw Deven, with Mr. Rodin and his companion, striding toward us.
“Your driver, Miss Sara?” Mr. Rodin asked.
I peered at Deven’s face, saw the unmistakable sheen to his nose, and knew he’d been drinking. “That’s Mr. Mooreland, to be sure. Thank you again for your kindness.”
“I’ll go get the hansom.” Deven held up his finger. “It’s just down the street.”
“Go on with him, John. I’ll wait here with the ladies.”
He gave Amelia a smile. She raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to her playbill.
“Miss Cartwright, I would like to ask you something.”
Mr. Rodin turned so that he stood between Amelia and me. In the murky light of the gaslamps, his eyes glittered with excitement.
I nodded, captured by something I could not name. It was a feeling of anticipation and adventure. A slow thudding began in my heart.
“Have you ever considered being a model?”
Shocked by his statement, then realizing that he was likely only teasing me again, I shook my head and gave him my friendliest smile. “By that I presume you mean for an artist?” I’d never before been to a museum, but I would sometimes sneak my uncle’s news sheets and had read about a small band of artists who were stirring up trouble within the Royal Academy. Could this man be involved with them somehow? The mere thought of standing in the presence of such a prominent figure in London’s society prompted me to prod him further. “Are you an artist, Mr. Rodin?”
He removed his hat, revealing a mass of brown curly hair. “Master artist Thomas Rodin at your service, madam.”
“Master? Then you are a graduate of the Royal Academy?” I asked, even more intrigued at his offer.
He glanced at the sidewalk and faced me with a humble grin that produced a delightful dimple alongside one cheek.
“I began there, and many of my brothers, my peers, graduated from there.” He cleared his throat. “However, I chose to leave the academy. I felt their methods were too confining.”
I was not certain I understood his meaning, and my silence prompted a misunderstanding on his part.
“I understand entirely if you are not comfortable working with anyone other than an accredited academy-trained artist. Thank you, Miss Cartwright, I am sorry to have detained you.”
He turned and started to walk away, and I saw my future dimming with his every step. “Wait, I meant no disrespect. It’s just that I’ve read some of the news—”
“You read?”
He sauntered back to me and, from the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia shaking her head.
“I am a voracious reader, but that would not be a prerequisite for what you seek, correct?” I hurried on before I lost my nerve. “Are you asking me to model for you, Mr. Rodin?”
His pleased grin sent a jolt through my system. I’d never met anyone like him. It was as if he could barely contain his enthusiasm—or whatever it was that drove him.
“I would be deeply honored if you would consent to coming by my studio. At least to satisfy any questions you might have.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a card. “Here is the address. Thursday, around two, if that suits your schedule?”
I took the card from him and blinked a couple of times to read the scrolled writing. Was it fate that I should meet him? Did he know that what he offered me was a chance to make something of myself? To not have to muck stables for the rest of my life? “Does it pay, Mr. Rodin? This position of modeling?”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “A shilling a week, lodging when the project demands it, and meals. The plumbing is modern.”
That alone piqued my interest. I’d never seen a real bathing tub. “Very well.” I glanced at Amelia, who stared at me with wide eyes. “I shall be there—” I held up his card “—day after tomorrow.”
“I am looking forward to it, Miss Cartwright.” He bowed low. I was enchanted. The hansom pulled up next to us.
Amelia crawled in on her own despite John’s futile attempt to assist her.
Mr. Rodin took my elbow and gently guided me as I stepped into the carriage. I gave Amelia a quick look and knew that I was going to have to explain a great deal. I would need her help if I was to get what I wanted—what I needed.
“Until Thursday,” Mr. Rodin said, and I turned to face the two men tipping their hats.
The carriage rolled forward and I placed my hand on my stomach, finally able to breathe as the carriage rumbled over the dimly lit cobblestone streets.
“Surely, Sara, you are not considering the very idea of going to that stranger’s home?”
Amelia’s voice jarred me from my scattered thoughts. “I’m sorry I wasn’t—I didn’t hear all of what you asked.” My skin felt flushed and my heart was beating fast. “Do you know what this could mean, Amelia?”
“Besides trouble with Mum and Dad?”
She looked at me as if I was not quite right in the head. Nevertheless, the truth was that my mind, though jumbled, was clear with purpose. My heart, now there was another matter. “I could save up for an education. It could mean so many possibilities for me. I want to do more than stay on the farm until I should marry yet another farmer. I want to see things, go places where I’ve not been before. I’m not meant to marry a commoner, Amelia. I want a man who’s adventurous and passionate and has a thirst for knowledge.”
“But you will have to convince Mama and Papa to let you go,” she responded.
“I will take care of it, Amelia.” I turned toward her, taking her hands in mine. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”
She scowled at me and sighed. “Of course I do, Sara, but sometimes we must learn to be happy where God has placed us.” She squeezed my hand.
“And what if it takes more than what God has given me to make me happy?” I asked, searching her face. “I am going to need your help, Amelia. I am going to have to ask you to pretend to know nothing of my whereabouts.”
My comment drew a look of concern from her.
“Sara, whatever you’re thinking, please, I beg you, reconsider.”
I knew in my heart that I had to go to the studio, if only to satisfy my own curiosity. I also knew that asking for my cousin’s silence put her at great risk. I did not want her to get in trouble.
“I do not like this, Sara. Truly I do not, but perhaps you will see his true colors by going to visit him.”
“Thank you. You are the only sister I have ever known.” I hugged her close, taking a cleansing breath as I faced forward. I had much to think about before my meeting with my future employer.
“How will you get to town to meet Mr. Rodin?” Amelia asked.
“I will have to find a reason for Mr. Mooreland to take me.” I searched the horizon hoping to find an answer in the starry night.
“Do you think you can convince him to keep his silence, Sara?”
Her question drove straight into the heart of my greatest challenge and deepest fear. If my plans, still in the making, unfolded as I hoped they would, I might not be returning home. My new life might well begin as a model for a famous artist, as long as my whereabouts were kept secret from my aunt and uncle. Deven Mooreland’s issuance came back to me, taunting my mind. Perhaps there was a way to gain his silence in exchange for something he wanted, and wanted very badly. “You leave Mr. Mooreland to me, Amelia. He and I have often been able to reach an understanding on difficult matters.”
“Dare I ask any more?” She stated her question quietly.
“The less you know the better, Amelia,” I said, offering her a quick smile.
Chapter 3
I LOOKED ACROSS THE BREAKFAST TABLE AT MY aunt and uncle, wondering if this was the last time I would do so. Last night, I had
packed two small bags and hidden them beneath my bed, and I’d written a note, leaving it in Mr. Mooreland’s private storage box in the barn. I urged that it was imperative we meet that day at the pond, no later than noon.
I stirred my porridge, dodging glances from Amelia. There was an odd tension at the table this morning and I wondered if my cousin had broken her vow of silence. I’d been careful to splash cold water on my face before coming downstairs, hoping to mask the dark circles beneath my eyes from having lain awake half the night considering what I was about to do. Certainly, once I made my way well enough, I could return and help the family that had taken me in when my parents died.
“What are your plans for the day, Sara?” my aunt asked, taking a sip of her tea.
Amelia took a sudden interest in her breakfast bowl.
“After I check the roses, I thought I might do some reading and perhaps take a walk.” I fiddled with my food, my stomach beginning to knot. I glanced at the people who’d served as surrogate parents for the past ten years of my life. How could I leave them this way? Would they understand my desire to want more than what their lives could afford me? “Was there something you needed me for?” I asked. My aunt, born of a German background, had wed my Irish uncle in a scandalous union that threatened to split our family apart. From that day, she’d spent all of her energy trying to fit in with my uncle’s and father’s family, to no avail. My grandparents were hard people, set in their ways, and Aunt Perdita was never able to please them. It was sometime during my midnight ponderings that I decided if anyone could understand following your dreams, Aunt Perdy would. She had made certain we were raised in a strict household with the proper instructions of a lady. Even though the chances were that we would never marry above our social position, Aunt Perdy was determined to make it look like we should.
I noted the side glance she gave my uncle and his slight nod, urging her to continue with whatever it was she had to say.
“Sara, you’re reaching an age when a lady begins to consider her future. Since you have no suitors and since we cannot, as you know, afford to send you to a women’s university for proper training, it’s time to consider how you might make a good wage helping others. Acts of kindness are never wasted.”
My porridge clumped in my throat and I had to force myself to swallow. “W-what exactly do you mean, Aunt Perdy?” I tried to remain calm, realizing that this discussion was bound to happen one day—yet today of all days? It could not be more ill timed.
“The Lord and Lady Barrington came by yesterday. Your uncle was checking on a new piece for their coach. We were conversing, Lady Barrington and I, about the weather and how lovely my roses were in bloom…”
I stared at her, the sound of her voice like that of a bee buzzing about his prey before he stings.
“It would just so happen that she has experienced a terrible spin of bad luck—well, bad luck for the poor housekeeper, I suspect, but I question what tomfoolery might have been transpiring between Lord Barrington and—”
“Perdy, God in heaven, get on with it,” my uncle sighed.
“Well, the poor woman has four children as it is. All under the age of ten and she’s with child again, maybe two, the doctor says. And so far all girls! It seems that Lord Barrington is determined to sire a boy—”
“Perdy,” came my Uncle Marcus’s quiet warning. He was a patient man unless rankled, and then he was a force to be reckoned with.
She dismissed him with a short wave of her hand and I stared at the two of them engaged in a dialogue that didn’t include me, but would change my life entirely and seal my fate. I saw my hope of fame and fortune dwindling with each passing moment.
“Well, she says that because there may be twins, the doctor may have to prescribe bed rest for the last three months of her pregnancy. Already the poor dear is as big as a barn. I don’t know how she’ll last another month.”
I was about to explode. To what end had my aunt committed?
“The point is that she is looking for another housekeeper, as well as someone to govern the children. I told her that you were quiet proficient in reading and writing and fair in numbers, as well. Oh, you should have seen her face! The poor woman nearly wept with joy. Had you been here, I’m certain she would have offered you the position on the spot.”
If I was going to make my way on my own, I was going to have to make my stand. “Aunt Perdita, I—”
“Of course, you’ll have your own quarters—food and uniforms are provided. And the salary, though modest to begin with, is competitive for a young woman in that position.”
I found I could not say the words. I did not want to appear ungrateful and what if Mr. Rodin was not truly who or what he said he was? What then? And if the bargain had been struck and agreed to, I would have little other choice but to concede to their wishes.
“What do you think, Sara?” Aunt Perdy asked, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“What do I think?” I asked, my heart lifting a notch. Then nothing had been settled? “May I have a few days to think it over?” I asked.
My aunt blinked, not bothering to mask her surprise at my response.
“Well, I suppose that would be the suitable thing to do, but I caution you not to hesitate very long. Such opportunities to better one’s situation are a rare gift and do not come along every day.”
I felt a great burden lifted from my shoulders. My appetite returned and I nodded quickly, finishing my breakfast. “May I be excused? I have much to think about,” I asked, pushing back my chair. Amelia looked up at me and I smiled, though I could barely stand to see the sadness in her eyes.
Perhaps Deven had forgotten about my request, or my uncle had found him another job to do. The late afternoon sky above was mottled with dark clouds, previewing a bout of rain before morning. The heat from the day lingered like a haze as a cool breeze stirred the trees. I lay on my back and listened to the symphony of sounds around me.
“I was afraid that maybe you’d have gone back home.”
I sat upright and found Deven, smiling, as he plopped down at my side. He struggled with his shoes, wriggling out of his socks and leaning back with a great sigh of relief.
“Your uncle went into town with your aunt to check on a part from the mercantile,” he said, staring out across the pond, its dark gray surface reflecting the sky above.
“Deven, I’d like to think we are friends. You and I, we’ve known each other a good while now and—”
He leaned on one hand and trailed the other along the back of my neck, twisting an errant curl around his finger.
I hunched my shoulders, smiling as I tried to find a way to explain that I was going to need his help. “I need—”
“I need, too, Sara,” he said quietly, leaning over and placing a kiss on the back of my neck. His fingers stroked my throat, slipping lower to the top of my simple gown. I’d purposely worn my long chemise and pantaloons in the event I might take a dip in the pond.
“This is important, Mr. Mooreland,” I said through a sigh, as his fingers dipped down into my bodice.
“It is important to me, as well, Sara. I know this is your first time and I want it to be good for you. I promise to be gentle.”
I faced him then, his eyes a few inches from mine. “And what if I say no, Mr. Mooreland? Will you stop?” I searched his eyes, licking my lips that had gone dry.
He brought his mouth to mine, tempting me with nothing more than a slow peck, his mouth hovering over mine, waiting for me to make the next move.
“You won’t,” he whispered, looking up at me.
He was right; I didn’t want to stop. Far too long, I had imagined what being with a man would be like. If I was about to embark on a journey of independence, I needed to understand what this magical pleasure between a man and a woman was all about.
I reached for his face, cupping his cheek as I pressed my lips against his mouth. His hand found the back of my head, holding my face to his, his mouth growing eager, his tongue se
eking entrance to my mouth. Parting my lips, he took advantage, slanting his mouth, commanding the kiss and my mind.
“Do you like that, Sara?”
He kissed my eyes, then where the pulse beat fierce beneath my cheek before he found my mouth again. He was slow and methodical, driving me to a point of needing more. “More,” I whispered, intoxicated with lust.
He stood and shrugged from his coat, watching me as he drew his shirt over his head.
I swallowed as his muscled torso came into view, sleek and tan, as fine as any stallion I’d seen. His breeches hung low, and a line of dark hair trailed to where a large bulge strained against the suede cloth.
“You needn’t be afraid, Sara. I promise we will fit together perfectly. I’ve known so for a long time now.”
Fit? The term alone caused a slight spasm in my lower belly. “I—I don’t know.”
He reached for my hand. “Let’s go for a swim.”
I nodded and, standing before him, quickly discarded my gown and stood there in my transparent underpinnings.
“You are beautiful, Sara.”
He took my face in his hands, kissed me thoroughly, then led me toward the water. “Your breeches, won’t they get wet?”
“I didn’t want to frighten you.” He paused, the water lapping at his ankles.
“I won’t be, Mr. Mooreland.” I tried to state with a confidence that I clearly did not possess.
“Call me Deven, Sara. Mr. Mooreland makes me sound so old. I’m only a year or two your senior.”
He unfastened his waistband and shoved his breeches down his finely honed legs. His muscles bunched as he struggled to get them off. With one final look telling me this was my last chance to change my mind, he tossed the pants away and stood facing me.
His member looked much larger than I remembered, then again I had been peeking through the bushes at a distance. Strong and thick, it protruded from his body at a sharp angle. I could not tear my eyes from the sight of him naked. I had seen pictures of Greek art before, but none of it had prepared me for Deven’s girth.
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