Sunlight and Shadows

by Christine Cross

  “You worry that these people don’t care for the art itself? First of all, I think you are generalizing far too much with them. There are many, such as myself, who are able to appreciate the art for what it is. But more than that, people who don’t care, will! They will see you, and knowing that an actual artist, a living, breathing person with human hopes and fears, they will appreciate your art with more depth than they could when you remain a mystery to them all.”

  She tapped her foot, and turned partially away from me. I smiled. I was correct.

  “Lady Blackmore, you have a beautiful heart, and a beautiful talent. Do you truly wish to keep your identity a secret from everyone forever?”

  “And what would you have me do, then? Reveal myself?”

  “First, you should be open to the idea of people accepting you and your art for what it is; beautiful and real. As for revealing yourself, well, you’ve revealed yourself to me, and I am so glad for that!”

  Lady Blackmore said nothing.

  I continued. “You have become incredibly popular, and you will make so many more people happy by sharing in the experience with them. They could ask questions about certain pieces, learn the histories and the stories, and understand about the piece that they love so much. It becomes much less a reflection of you and more of a relationship with you.”

  She swallowed, and slowly turned to face me. She made her way to the stairs and walked down so she stood right in front of me. She stood about a head shorter than me, and she stared up into my face.

  “I didn’t wish to be popular.”

  “But you don’t wish to stop painting more.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I wished for half of London to know my art.”

  I smiled. “This is bigger than you now. You have created something that people love. Let them know you.”

  She looked over my shoulder into the gardens, and the only sound was the splashing water of the fountains nearby.

  “Perhaps I should tell them,” she said quietly.

  I smiled at her.

  “It appears that you just needed someone to talk to.”

  She smiled a very sweet smile at me. “It appears that is precisely what I needed.”

  “So what will you do?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure, really. Shall I just go right into the party and tell them all that I am the Magnolia?”

  I glanced up at the canvas. “Have you ever painted with people watching?”

  She looked up at the balcony as well. She studied the scene before her before she answered. “I have never tried it before.”

  “What if we brought your paint supplies closer to the exhibition room, perhaps outside here still, and let you begin a painting? They might not believe you if you were to just go inside and announce to everyone that you were the Magnolia.”

  She nodded. “I suppose that could work.” Then she looked at me. “Could I paint you?”

  I was taken aback by her question. “You said that you didn’t enjoy painting faces.”

  “I never said anything about your face, sir.” And then she smiled. “I’ll paint your back as you look out into the gardens. The light at night is pleasant, and would be an interesting thing for me to paint.”

  I smiled at her. “I would be happy to be your subject.”

  I made to move up to her supplies to help her move them when she reached out and touched my arm.

  “Wait,” she said. Her green eyes looked up into mine, and I felt my heart tighten. She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen.

  “Why did you care so much to talk to me this evening?”

  I swallowed, and I looked down at her. “There was something about you when I saw you in your painting. Your soul, perhaps. Whatever it was that captivated me then, captivated me as well when I met you this afternoon. And now, knowing that you are the Magnolia, I feel as if I know you already because of how detailed and emotional and intimate your paintings are.”

  She smiled up at me. “Well, Lord Colborne, I found you most refreshing today, and for such an esteemed man to be so readily complimentary of me and my work is very flattering.” It was too dark to see, but it appeared to me that her cheeks had reddened.

  “Well, are you ready to show the world who you are?” I asked her.

  She looked over her shoulder at the canvas. “I believe so. You have convinced me that this is the right path for me to take. Come, let’s go collect my things.”

  Once we had gathered what she might need, we stood together on the terrace, the night air cool on our faces.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Are you ready, my lady?” I asked her once more.

  “Thank you, Lord Colborne, for seeing me when no one else did.”

  I smiled at her. “Thank you for believing in yourself.”

  And we walked toward the ballroom, where her life would change, but so would mine.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 18 of 20

  Until Tomorrow

  The sound of clapping was distant, the music as if it were a dream. The people moved in blurs, the color of the dresses and suits a complex stroke of paint on a canvas. I knew they all laughed and spoke in delighted tones. The candles all burned low in their holders.

  But as I stood there, fixated to the wall like a crystal sconce, there was only one face, one shape, that I saw. Her gait was light and easy, and her smile put the brilliance of the stars themselves to shame. I shifted uncomfortably as she laughed heartily, spinning around, the music guiding her along.

  And then she glanced over the head of her partner, and her eyes met mine. Eyes bright like the color of the night sky as the sun dips below the horizon. She beamed, and I felt myself return the gesture, unable to control it. It was just so contagious, so perfect.

  And so familiar.

  Miss Grace Fletcher was always a bit unorthodox. She would climb trees in the orchard in the summer, her bare feet dirtier than my own. She would chase the chickens from the coop just so she could laugh at the way they ran from her. The maids never knew who it was that continually stole bread from the windowsills, but she would take it in order to feed the ducks at the pond behind their estate, insisting the ducklings were famished.

  I smirked as she clapped along with the other guests as the song came to an end. A loose auburn curl hung from her tightly wound plait behind her head, but she didn’t notice or care. And even if she did, I knew that she wouldn’t attempt to right it.

  It won’t matter; my hair is entirely rebellious. I could simply cut it all off of my head and it would still find a way to be out of place.

  She wound her way through the crowd until she had reached me, bowing at guests as she passed by them. I folded my arms over my chest and smiled as one particularly obstinate guest pursued her, detained by a particularly oblivious group of women who were caught up in an excited discussion. Entirely oblivious to it, she came to my side and collapsed against the wall, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

  “Well aren’t you just the picture of tall, dark, and brooding?”

  I smiled. “Whatever do you mean? Do my garments not please the lady?”

  “Not when the color of them and your hair are one in the same. Did you bathe in ink before you arrived here this evening?”

  I shook my head, unable to suppress a laugh. I turned my attention back to the room. The gentleman still struggled with the obstacle, and his face grew more and more distressed. “Your father must be pleased with the turnout this evening.”

  Her playful smile was quickly replaced with a scowl. “Not unless he gets his way–”

  “Miss Fletcher!” The young man reached us finally and folded himself into a low bow. She glanced up at me, a small smile disappearing from her lips the moment that he looked up at her. “Miss Fletcher, I hoped that I might have the next dance with you.”

  I tried not to laugh as she replied with a wide smile. “My good sir, I greatly appreciate your offer, but I am weary from the last few
dances, and must apologize that I am already spoken for this evening.”

  I felt the soft touch of her gloved hand as she placed it against the sleeve of my jacket.

  “Truly, I am honored that you asked me,” she added.

  I reached over and placed my hand over her gloved one, a small sign of affection. Those who knew us would recognize it as an innocent gesture of our childhood friendship; those who did not would assume it to be more.

  How often had we enacted the same scenario? Time and time again, when participating in these grand balls that her father arranged, we silently aided one another when approached by a possible suitor. It frustrated her father to no end, since the entire point of these balls was to find a proper husband for her and her sisters.

  You can’t hide behind Oliver forever, my dear, he would say. Someday you will be married, and you will have to say goodbye to him.

  But she would just laugh and kiss him on the cheek, her long hair hanging loosely over her shoulders and walk away. He would look up at me, and sigh. I understood. She was just not to be reasoned with.

  The suitor blinked a few times at her before regaining his composure. He bowed his head once more, far less extravagantly than before. “I see. Well, thank you, my lady, for your time.”

  And then he turned away, and made his way back through the crowd.

  She sighed once more and blew a stray curl from her face. “I do wonder if there is an end to all of these men my father has found.”

  I smiled. “Who was this one?”

  She shook her head. “I believe this was the banker from London with a garden as big as our entire estate.” She watched as he continued to walk away, her brow furrowed. I allowed a few moments of silence to pass.

  “What are you thinking, dear lady?” I questioned.

  She slowly looked up at me.

  “When was the last time you called me a lady? I’ve now heard you speak the word twice in a matter of moments!” she retorted.

  I laughed. “Well you certainly are playing the role well this evening,” I replied. And she was. Her dress was a pale yellow, like a tulip in late April. It was simple, which she would have demanded of her seamstress, and was adorned with ivory ribbons and lace. “You look quite handsome.”

  Suddenly I saw a six-year-old Grace staring up at me, her face contorted into an expression of playful shock. “Such unabashed flattery, Mr. Gale. How dare you lie to me so?” She laughed into her gloved hand, the sound as familiar to me as my own breathing. “Truly, those are kind words. Thank you, Oliver.”

  “There you are!” Grace and I turned, and discovered a haughty looking Mrs. Fletcher standing before us. She barely came up to my shoulders, with dark hair like freshly tilled soil tied behind her head in a tight knot. Her cheekbones were prominent on her wide face, giving her the appearance of an irritated bird.

  “Mother,” Grace said flatly, and curtsied slightly. Her mother’s brow furrowed.

  “Why, pray tell, have you turned down yet another man? Your sister said the mason was such a pleasant fellow. Your father insisted that he was amiable and the heir to a large sum!”

  It was with obvious effort that Grace refrained from rolling her eyes. “Mother, my dear father has introduced every man he wishes me to marry in such a manner.”

  Mrs. Fletcher scoffed at her daughter. “Really now, you act as if there is a line out of the door of suitors for you.” She sighed and tucked a loose dark curl behind her ear, She looked down at the embroidered kerchief in her small hands. “At least you can still be introduced to the banker –”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I have met him as well.” She tensed slightly as she awaited her mother’s response.

  Having known the Fletcher family for as long as I had, prepared me for the interactions gone awry with Grace’s mother. Her eyes had grown wide.

  “When did you meet him?” Her voice remained calm, however I assumed it was due to the number of guests in the room.

  Grace looked up at me for a moment. “Just a moment before you came to speak with me.”

  The restraint was evident on her mother’s face. “And what about him was not agreeable?”

  Grace shrugged her shoulders, her eyes not fixing on any particular place. “He’s not the right type.” She hesitated. “His hair was too neat.”

  Mrs. Fletcher blinked once, then twice. “I beg your pardon?” Her cheeks grew red.

  Grace folded her arms across her chest. “It was too perfect. Surely he then must execute that level of care on many levels, and then he would expect it of me as well. There is no earthly way I can live up to such stands. I’m far more fit for a lowly farmhand who expects little and has little.”

  Exasperated, her mother threw her hands into the air. “You cannot be serious!”

  “Perfectly,” Grace replied, the picture of composure.

  Even I was not certain if Grace was simply toying with her mother.

  A few moments passed where the only sound was the general hum of the voices of the guests and the music mingling together. Mrs. Fletcher cleared her throat, and surprisingly, turned to address me.

  “Mr. Gale, it has come to my attention that you are acquainted with a certain physician who lives in Brighton?”

  My heart skipped. “I believe that you are speaking of Mr. Montgomery?”

  Mrs. Fletcher beamed, her recent frustration fading like the mist on a bright morning. “The very same. Your mother informed me of his presence here this evening, and of his temporary residence with you and your family.”

  It was puzzling; if she already knew him, then why did she ask me?

  She turned back to Grace, who had become quite still, her eyes fixated on the hem of her dress.

  “And, I have been happily informed that he is also single.”

  Grace’s eyes snapped up, her hands curling into fists. “Mother, you haven’t.”

  “Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Her mouth curled into a wry smile. “He seems very interested in meeting Oliver’s old childhood friend.”

  Grace looked indignant.

  “Come with me, he is waiting with Mrs. Gale over with your father.” And she promptly grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her along back through the crowd of people.

  I felt a sudden, tight grip on my own wrist, and before I fully realized, I was being pulled along after the two of them. Grace looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide and her mouth in a taut, thin line.

  *****

  As she dragged me along through the guests, entirely without her mother’s knowledge, I realized that Mrs. Fletcher must have anticipated Grace’s refusal of all of the men they had lined up for her to meet this evening. I realized that it must be why she had set up an introduction with Mr. Montgomery, and why she wasn’t giving her a choice.

  Her cunning knew no bounds, I thought. For all of the things she did not understand about her daughter, she certainly was perceptive of her evasive nature, and of her opinion of men in general.

  I felt Grace’s grip on my wrist tighten as her father came into view in the corner of the large ballroom. A grouping of lounges surrounded a round glass table, with thin glass flutes of golden wine scattered around. Her father, a tall, thin man with a balding head sat beside my mother, a short, blonde woman wearing a dress of unconventional red. They laughed at something the handsome, green-eyed man had said. He appeared as if he had just arrived from Ireland.

  He was a man very different from me, and not just in the way we looked. He was poised, successful, and naturally gifted in the art of socializing. He traveled, and he had experienced many other cultures. Women always seemed to be drawn to his amiable character. He was by no means a simple man.

  So it surprised me when Grace’s hold on my wrist slackened.

  As we approached the settees, the three who sat rose to their feet.

  “Ah, there is my dear friend!” Edwin said and held his glass up to me. “Where have you been hiding all evening? There have been so many nice young ladies to d
ance the night away with!”

  All those gathered laughed, and I smiled. But Grace remained silent. Her eyes were fixed on Edwin’s face, and for the very first time in my life, I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  Mr. Fletcher crossed to us, even as Edwin did, and gestured to the gentleman beside him. “Mr. Montgomery, may I present to you my daughter, Miss Grace Fletcher.”

  Grace presented her hand, and Edwin took it in his own. He was gentle, and smooth. He bowed down until his face was just above her hand. But his eyes were fixated on Grace’s face. And Grace never looked away from him. He ever so softly kissed the top of her hand, and smiled a wide smile.

  Something in the pit of my stomach tightened.

  “It is an honor to meet a lady of such high regard,” he said.

  Grace’s face split into an easy, relaxed smile, and I could only stare at her. What on earth was happening?

  “Truly the honor is mine, Mr. Montgomery.” And I could not detect even the smallest amount of sarcasm or hesitation in her voice. She seemed genuinely…pleased.

  I was baffled, and I could not understand why. The gentleman certainly was handsome and very charming. There were few who met him who were not affected by his ability to make others feel comfortable. Even I had instantly found him a perfectly decent companion when we first had met. We had spent quite a few winters together when his parents came up from the coast to be able to wait out the cold months away from the icy ocean winds and weather. He was a hard worker, and would help me with whatever work had to be done when he was around. And he was someone I genuinely enjoyed spending time in the evenings with after spending the dark, cold days in town when the women desired to stay in.

  Edwin stood up and straightened his jacket. He clapped me on the shoulder, which took me entirely off guard.

  “Mr. Gale, how have you not introduced me to your delightful friend before now?” He gestured to Grace who stood beside me. She smiled again. And was that…color in her cheeks?

  Something was very peculiar.

  I turned my attention back to Edwin. “I – I don’t quite know. I suppose that we just never crossed paths, nor had it crossed my mind.”