The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  Lifting my calf, he kissed my ankle, gliding his hand over my heated flesh. I did not want to ask where he had acquired his lovemaking skills, but I was grateful for them just the same.

  “I need my sleep now, you wanton woman.” He let out a short laugh as he stretched out at my side, covering us both with the sheets. “Then it’s settled?” Thomas yawned, jabbing at his pillow to fluff it.

  “You mean sitting for Mr. Rhys?”

  “Mmm-hmm, yes.” His voice was drifting.

  “If you want me to, Thomas, I will.”

  He reached for me, patting my hip.

  “I cannot hold you forever, Sara, can I? You all leave me, you always do.”

  I turned on my side to face him, tucking my hand under my cheek as I watched him sleep. “I wouldn’t leave, Thomas,” I barely whispered, too afraid to admit to the words. “Not if you asked me to stay.”

  I awoke to the sun warming my face. I turned with a smile to wake Thomas and found the bed beside me empty. In his stead, a note lay on the pillow.

  I couldn’t wake you; you look so beautiful when you sleep. Will be out for the day most likely. Millais has called me to his house for a meeting, something to do with the Spring Exhibition. Please see to it that Edward finds a good place in the studio to set up his things.

  Will see you later tonight,

  Thomas

  It did not bother me to pose for Mr. Rhys, but what unnerved me was Thomas leaving me to settle in our new guest. His silent demeanor was difficult to read.

  I drew on my dressing robe to go to the loo, not wishing to run into Mr. Rhys in my altogether. I opened the door and the lavatory door opened at the same time, revealing a fine-looking sculpted torso and trousers that hung on lean hips. A towel covered Mr. Rhys’s face. “Good day to you, Mr. Rhys,” I chirped, setting aside the fact that I found myself staring at his body.

  He dropped the towel and my eyes were immediately drawn upward to his handsome, rugged face. He had shaved off the beard, leaving behind a smooth, chiseled jaw. His dark golden hair hung to his ample shoulders in enticing wet ringlets. He flashed me a smile that had me reaching for the door frame.

  “G’day, I am sorry if you had to wait. I thought I should try to make myself a bit more presentable.”

  “Indeed,” I said, staring blatantly at him, the sound of his voice like an instrument.

  “You have a lovely accent, Mr. Rhys.” I hadn’t moved from my spot in the doorway.

  He grinned shyly and looked down, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. My brogue gets a bit thick, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, no, it’s…lovely. Interesting,” I remarked, pulling my robe closer around me. His shoulders were well toned, his skin bronzed from being outdoors. I hurried inside the loo before he could see the warmth staining my cheeks.

  “Let me get dressed and I’ll make us some tea,” I said.

  He nodded with a brief smile and headed to his room.

  “Oh, I was wondering if you might have time to do a wee bit of posing for me, Mrs. Rodin.”

  “Yes, Thomas asked me to help you get your things set up in the studio. I’d be happy to pose if you’d like to get started.”

  “Wonderful, thank you, Mrs. Rodin.”

  I paused, trying to find the right words to convey that Thomas and I were not married. “Mr. Rhys, it is sufficient to call me Sara, since we are, after all, going to be working together.”

  “Very well, Sara,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “If you’re sure that Thomas won’t mind the familiarity.”

  “Mr. Rodin and I…well, we aren’t…” I stammered, looking for the right words.

  “Ah, I see, now,” he said, “you’re lovers, then?”

  I stared at him, surprised by his bluntness. When I did not respond, he stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows lifted in question.

  “I’m not sure that is any of your affair, Mr. Rhys.”

  A smile curled up the side of his face.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then, Sara, and no, it probably isn’t my affair…but it surely makes life interesting.”

  For the better part of the next month, I sat on a wood box, dressed in a long, sufferingly hot vestment of dark blue, a sheet draped over my head to resemble a wimple. My duty was to hold my hands up in prayerful pose, as if speaking to God. The days were long and tedious. Unlike Thomas, who often spoke aloud and paced when he worked, Mr. Rhys uttered few words and rarely strayed from his task.

  To add to my concerns, Thomas seemed to be getting more and more involved in his own world, a world where he was researching venues of public attack on his critics, while also trying to come up with a project that would elevate his talent in the public eye. The adventure that I’d originally sought was confined to the four walls of this studio. Fortunately, Mr. Rhys was not difficult on the eyes, once he removed the shaggy beard, and although he spoke little, he did have an appetite for my cooking, which was more attention than I’d received from Thomas.

  “This is amazin’ stew, Sara.” He held his bowl up for his third helping.

  “My aunt taught me well, Mr. Rhys. I have a well-rounded education and hope to travel one day to broaden it.”

  He eyed me with a humorous glint in his eye.

  “Do you find that an unreasonable goal?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not if that’s the life you want.”

  I shifted in my seat, his words unsettling me. “Would you mind explaining your thoughts?”

  He glanced up, surprised that I would ask, apparently.

  “No disrespect, Sara, but most women these days aspire to one thing only and that is to find a good husband—preferably a wealthy one with title—and settle down to the task of making babies.”

  “Well, perhaps I am not like the women you know, Mr. Rhys.”

  He slanted me a look. “That much is true, Sara, and would you please call me Edward? I’m a simple man and find that these silly English social niceties are a waste of time.”

  “We like to call it etiquette, Mr. Rhys…Edward.” I ducked my eyes before he could pin me with a look, though I felt his gaze as much.

  I must have hit a nerve for he did not respond then, nor did he speak to me until several days later when I was pining about the beautiful late fall afternoon, imagining taking a turn in the park, going to the gardens with Thomas, seeing a play. It had been ages, it seemed, since I’d had any social life at all.

  “Mr. Rhys, do you think we might stop long enough to have tea? My back is aching frightfully.” He looked at me, then the canvas, then toward the balcony doors, which we’d opened at my insistence. He heaved a great sigh.

  “Very well, I can wait,” I conceded not so graciously.

  “No, that’s fine. We’ll break for a few moments.”

  He dropped his palette on the table next to him and, stuffing his hands in his pockets, strode across the room to stand in front of the fireplace.

  The heavy robe weighted me down. I had to try twice before I could get to my feet. I stretched, lifting my face to the ceiling to work out the soreness in my neck.

  “Wait, that’s it…that’s what I’ve been looking for…stay right there.” He ran back to his easel and began to paint

  I heard his brush gently slapping against the canvas.

  “May I shut my eyes?”

  “Yes, yes of course. Just hold still.”

  Concerns about where Thomas had run off to this morning swirled in my mind. I heard a carriage stop out front. “Wait, Mr. Rhys,” I pleaded, excited that Thomas was home early. I lifted my skirts, ran to the balcony wall and peered over it to the street below, barely hearing Mr. Rhys’s litany of curses following close behind. I beheld the sight below and felt as if someone had slapped me.

  Thomas was climbing out of the carriage and seated, holding her hand out for him to kiss, was Grace. I took a step back, knowing neither of them had seen me. Was this how he was spending his time when he said he was with clients? Granted, we had an op
en relationship, but I always thought…at least I thought it was understood that we were exclusive to one another for the time being.

  I shuffled back into the studio, confused.

  “Do you think you can pose exactly as you were?” Mr. Rhys asked.

  I yanked off the gown, not caring that all I wore beneath was my camisole and pantaloons. “That’s all for me today, Mr. Rhys. I must lie down,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. He stood there, palette in hand, staring blankly at me. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  Downstairs, I heard the front door slam as I eased my bedroom door shut and turned the key. I was in no mood to be in the presence of the brotherhood just now, especially not Thomas.

  Sometime later, there was a soft tap on my door, a pause, and then another tap. I lay on my bed, cocooned in darkness.

  I can’t keep you forever, Sara.

  His words came back to haunt me and hot tears fell down the sides of my face, soaking my pillow. He never made any promises, you ninny. I felt angry that I’d allowed myself to think there was more between us than heavenly sex. After all, hadn’t I come to the studio seeking my independence? To build enough of a nest egg to be able to support myself? I had managed to set aside a good sum of money, one that would see me through until I could find gainful employment.

  I wiped my face and blew my nose, sniffing as I turned on my side and began to weigh my options. There was the possibility I’d misjudged the situation. Perhaps Thomas had been walking home and Grace had passed by in the carriage, offering him a ride. It was possible.

  Tomorrow, I would confront him with the circumstances and gauge his reaction. Then I would know what I needed to do.

  Chapter 8

  “HE LEFT YOU THIS.” MR. RHYS HANDED ME THE slip of paper. “He told me to make sure you received it first thing.”

  I held it in my hand, turning it over several times and finally unfolded it. As I suspected, once again he had another meeting that would likely last the whole day. He would see me as soon as he could. In recent days, he’d taken to sleeping again in his own room. I would hear him come in in the wee hours of the morning and wait for him to come to me, but he hadn’t for many weeks. I stuffed the note in my pocket, catching Mr. Rhys’s side glance.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea?” he asked.

  “Yes, that would be nice,” I replied. My thoughts were muddled by my restless night.

  “Is everything all right?” He handed me a cup.

  I took a sip of the strong brew and let it soothe my troubled nerves. “I will be fine. Thomas is gone all day, another meeting.” I wasn’t about to let it bother me as I had in the past.

  “Here, I bought these down the street while on my morning walk.”

  He passed me a plate of fresh-baked scones. I broke off a piece of one and placed it in my mouth although I had no appetite. Its buttery flakiness melted on my tongue, reminding me of Aunt Perdy’s scones and the fact that I was not welcome there anymore. Still, I had the greatest urge to be back home—a once familiar place where people knew me, accepted and loved me. I thought of Deven and how he’d wanted me to stay. Twice, since Mr. Rhys’s arrival, I’d seen my uncle’s carriage sitting down the street. The second time, I’d run outside to try to speak to the driver, whom I strongly suspected to be Deven, but he either didn’t hear me or refused to stop.

  “Miss Sara?”

  His voice jerked me out of my reverie. “I nearly forgot. This came for you yesterday after you’d taken ill.”

  I licked biscuit crumbs from my finger and gingerly took the envelope from his hand. “Excuse me,” I said, walking to the far end of the great room to Thomas’s writing desk. I sat down and flipped the note over, recognizing the red wax seal stamped with an A. It was from a writing kit I’d given to Amelia on her last birthday. I slid my thumb beneath the seal, muttering a silent prayer that everyone was well back home. I forced my mind to focus on the delicate handwriting, something that Amelia prided herself in, even though her penmanship was often difficult to read.

  I hope this letter finds you happy and well, Sara. By now, I suspect you may have spoken to Mr. Mooreland—Deven, I suppose I shall have to get used to calling him. He insisted that he would deliver my note to you personally to see how you were getting on. I have missed you terribly as you might have guessed and, especially now, I wish more than ever you were here.

  I was puzzled as to how and when the letter was delivered. “Mr. Rhys, did you see the person who delivered this? Did he wish to speak with me?” I asked.

  He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Yes, Miss Sara. He did. However, you made it clear that you did not wish to be disturbed.”

  My mouth gaped, but I could not find any words. Deven had wanted to speak to me? Why would he insist? I glanced back down at the letter.

  Oh, my dearest sister, I hope you will understand my reason for wanting to write you myself, despite what Deven may have already told you. It’s just that I never anticipated, not in my wildest dreams, that this would happen to me.

  I looked up, a cold dread beginning to form in my stomach. If this were about her family’s health, she would have spoken of it by now. She was skirting the issue. My heart was convinced of it. I searched for where I’d left off.

  …at Christmas. We both hope that you’ll be able to come.

  Both? Why would I suddenly be invited back for the holidays? I reread the paragraph and flipped over the letter, searching for the part I must have missed. I scanned through the page until my eyes settled on one word.

  Married.

  I blinked a number of times, apprising my brain of what I thought she was saying and started over, reading the entire paragraph once more—slowly.

  Deven and I have discovered that among our mutual love of the country and Da’s business, we share a special fondness for each other. I suspect that for me it is more of an infatuation, having long admired the man from afar, as you know. Those feelings, I hope, will deepen in time. I so look forward to filling a house with children. Right now, I still get butterflies when Deven looks at me. It is such a glorious feeling, Sara. I cannot imagine what our wedding night will be like. It frightens me and yet I am breathless with anticipation of it.

  Deven and Da have formed a partnership in the livery business and Deven has promised to build us a cozy little cottage on the banks of the pond at the edge of the wood. Do you remember how we used to swim there in the summers?

  Fat tears fell on the page, splotching the ink, and I quickly turned away and brushed my cheek, holding the paper upright, swallowing the lump in my throat, determined to finish.

  We cannot afford both the house and a honeymoon, so that will have to wait. But the exciting news is that I have spoken to Mum and Da, and they have given me permission to invite you home for the ceremony on Christmas and we both hope—

  I let the letter fall to the desktop and leaned my forehead against the heel of my hand. Deven and Amelia getting married? The thought was surreal. I dropped my chin in my hand and stared out at the gray autumn morning. I could not go back now and without Thomas, I had no idea where my future would lead.

  “My apologies, Miss Sara—”

  “It’s Sara, Mr. Rhys. Just…Sara.” I gritted my teeth to hold back the dam of emotions that threatened to break loose at any moment.

  “Then I insist you call me Edward.”

  More tears stole from my eyes, trickling down my cheek, and I offered a short laugh in response to the irony of my situation. Perhaps, in truth, I had no reason to feel lost or rejected. Hadn’t I gotten exactly what I’d wished for? If so, why did my heart feel as though it was breaking?

  Edward stood on the other side of the desk looking down at me.

  “Is it bad news? If you’d rather not discuss it…” he said quietly.

  I tossed the letter on the desk. “No, actually its wonderful news. These are tears of joy.”

  Startled, I looked up and met his tranquil jade-colored gaze. “Yes, Edward,
of course. I’m sorry, it’s just everything is…well, it’s all a bit overwhelming at the moment.”

  “Family?” he asked,

  I nodded. “My cousin, more like my sister, really. You see, my parents were killed when I was young and I moved in with my da’s brother and his family. Amelia is three years younger than I am. We grew up together, went everywhere together. We had wicked, vivid imaginations—oh, my, the trouble we could muster.” I smiled at the memory.

  “I’m sorry about your parents. I am an orphan, as well, but spent my youth in an orphanage. It sounds like the two of you are very close.” He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and smiled.

  I glanced up at him, finding it a bit odd that we were discussing our intimate lives. Edward was not known for his stimulating dialogue. “We are. I am very happy for her. She’s marrying a wonderful man who will—” I paused to let the emotion pass “—adore her.” Pain squeezed at my heart and I closed my eyes against it.

  “He is a fool, you know.”

  I opened my eyes, puzzled by his statement. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Sara, I took the note from his hand. I saw his face. He was a fool to let you go so easily. A woman such as you is a rare find.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong, it’s not like that. He’s no fool. On the contrary, he’s marrying a woman who will make him a wonderful wife.”

  “I’m a man, Sara. I saw the look on his face when he asked for you.”

  “Don’t…just don’t.” I held up my hand. “I no longer wish to discuss this.”

  He scratched his chin. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is. In fact, I’ve made a decision about something and need your help, if you are willing. Since I won’t be attending the wedding, I’d like to send them a nice gift.”