Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  ‘Yes,’ Lorene gave her that forced smile again. ‘Do enjoy yourself.’

  Genna always enjoyed herself when in Ross’s company.

  She raced to her room and had the maid help her into her pale pink pelisse and bright blue bonnet. She hung her reticule over her arm and pulled on her gloves as she hurried down the stairs.

  When she entered the drawing room, Ross stood with another man.

  ‘Look who will accompany us today,’ Ross said, gesturing to the man standing next to him.

  ‘Mr Vespery!’ She smiled at the artist who’d been so kind to her at the Duchess of Archester’s ball. ‘How lovely to see you.’

  The artist blew a kiss over her hand. ‘Miss Summerfield, it is my pleasure to be in your company.’

  She turned to Ross, even more excited than before. ‘Where are we going?’

  Instead of answering her directly, he said, ‘Somewhere you will like. But first I have a gift.’

  He handed her a package wrapped in brown paper. She looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘Open it,’ he said.

  She removed the paper. It was a beautifully bound book. She opened it and found the title page. ‘A Treatise on Painting by Leonardo da Vinci,’ she read aloud, then words failed her.

  ‘It is the only book on art I could find,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘It is wonderful,’ she finally managed, leafing through the book and glancing at da Vinci’s words.

  ‘A classic work,’ Vespery added.

  ‘And a hint about where we are bound today,’ Ross said. ‘We are going to look at art.’

  Genna looked up and grinned. To be with Ross gazing at art and learning from Vespery. This day was going to be wonderful.

  * * *

  Ross had come with one of the Duke’s carriages so they all sat comfortably for the short ride to their destination. When the carriage stopped and Ross helped her out, she was even more puzzled. They were in front of Carlton House, the residence of the Prince Regent.

  ‘Here we are,’ Ross said.

  ‘But this is—’

  He threaded her arm through his. ‘This is our destination.’

  The palace of the Prince Regent.

  As they walked through the portico and up to the door, he explained, ‘With His Royal Highness’s permission, we will meet one of his art advisors, Sir Charles Long, who will take us on a tour of His Royal Highness’s collection.’

  Before Genna could form a coherent thought, the door opened and they were greeted by a line of four footmen and a nattily dressed gentleman.

  ‘Ah, you must be Lord Rossdale. Welcome.’ He bowed to Ross and turned to Vespery. ‘Good to see you again, sir.’

  Vespery bowed.

  The gentleman then regarded Genna. ‘And you must be the young lady who Rossdale insisted be shown the collection.’

  Ross stepped forward. ‘Miss Summerfield, may I present Sir Charles Long, one of His Royal Highness’s art advisors.’

  Genna curtsied. ‘Sir Charles, I am in awe already!’

  They stood in the entrance hall, which was as bright as daylight with its white marble floors, white walls and domed ceiling accented with yellow-gold columns and statues in alcoves.

  The footmen took their coats.

  ‘His Royal Highness is quite a collector of fine art. There are one hundred thirty-six paintings in the principal rooms and another sixty-seven in the attics and bedrooms. We will not see those, of course. We will not intrude on His Royal Highness’s private rooms,’ Sir Charles said. He gestured for them to follow him. ‘Come.’

  Genna lost track of time as they walked from one spectacular room to another. The architecture and decor rivalled the paintings on the walls. So opulent. So beautiful. So much like pieces of art in themselves. The grand staircase deserved its name as it rose in graceful, symmetrical curves. Gilt was prominent in almost every room. Light from the candles and the fireplaces reflected in the gold, making them seem to glow from within. There were rooms of all colours and styles. Round rooms. Blue rooms. French rooms. Gothic rooms. She wished she had a sketchbook with her to record the unique beauty of each.

  Then there was the art. Almost every wall displayed a painting or several. Vespery and Sir Charles pointed out the different styles and time periods and artists. There were old paintings, many of them by the Dutch masters—Rembrandt, Rubens, Van Dyck, Jan Steen. And newer ones like Reynolds, Gainsborough and Stubbs. And countless others. Genna tried to keep everything they said in memory, but she knew she would forget half of it. She listened as intently as her excitement allowed her.

  When it was possible, Vespery had Genna look closely at the brushwork of the paintings. He explained how the artists created the effects, some of which were so real looking that Genna thought the people would come alive and join them on the tour. Sir Charles spoke of how the Prince Regent was able to purchase so many paintings so quickly. In the aftermath of the French Revolution, a glut of paintings came on the market, paintings once owned by aristocrats.

  Genna gasped. ‘The owners must have died on the guillotine!’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Sir Charles, his expression sombre. ‘Or drowned at Nantes.’

  ‘At least the Prince Regent rescued the art,’ Vespery said.

  ‘Because one could not save the people,’ added Ross.

  * * *

  Snatches of memory came back to Ross, memories of the Terror—or what he’d heard of it from his parents or other adults who seemed to have spoken of little else during that time. What he remembered was mostly feeling their fear and anguish. His mother had known some of the aristocrats who’d been executed. A cousin had been killed. That whole time was fraught with upheaval and tension. His grandfather had just died and his father disappeared into his new role as Duke. His mother, so carefree and gay, turned fearful of an uprising in England such as had happened in France. She feared she, his father and even Ross would be targets if the people rose against aristocrats, high aristocrats especially, like dukes and duchesses.

  His mother never recovered from that time, Ross realised later. She tried to fulfil her duties as duchess, but without any pleasure whatever. His father did not help, always too busy with Parliament and running the estates. Ross had been sent to school by that time. On holidays, his mother seemed even more anxious and withdrawn.

  When she became ill, she simply gave up.

  He was at school, his father in town and she in the country at Kessington Hall when the last fever took her away for ever.

  He’d vowed then to live as his mother had once lived, for adventure and enjoyment, like his family used to do. He’d succeeded, too, until he realised men like Dell and other friends were putting their lives at risk fighting in Spain. Then he tried to do his part, meagre as it was, transporting men across the Channel.

  He’d been thinking more about his mother lately. Since meeting Genna, actually. Like his mother, Genna embraced new experiences and was not afraid to let her enjoyment of them show. He liked that about her.

  Genna, though, was brave. She was unafraid of a very uncertain future.

  He was perhaps a bit more realistic about what she would face trying to support herself as an artist, but he was determined to help her succeed.

  Vespery, Genna and Sir Charles continued to discuss the paintings in these rooms while Ross stood nearby. Afterward Sir Charles returned them to the entrance hall where the footmen were waiting with their things.

  ‘I do not know how to thank you, Sir Charles,’ Genna said, her voice still ebullient. ‘And please convey my thanks to His Royal Highness. Tell him you have made a lady artist very happy.’

  ‘I will do so at my first opportunity,’ Sir Charles said.

  Vespery also bade him goodbye.

  Ross extended his hand to Sir Charles.
‘Thank you, sir, and convey my regards to His Royal Highness.’

  When they went out the door, their carriage was waiting for them.

  Genna clasped Ross’s arm as they walked to the carriage through the portico with its Corinthian columns. ‘I do not know how to thank you, Ross. Nothing could duplicate that experience!’ She reached one arm out to touch Mr Vespery’s hand. ‘And to you, sir. I learned so much by listening to you.’

  When they were seated in the carriage, Ross said, ‘There is more planned, Genna. Not for today, though.’

  ‘Good.’ She sighed. ‘I do not think I could endure any more today. I am already bursting with new knowledge.’

  The carriage first took Mr Vespery to his rooms in Covent Garden.

  When he left the carriage, Genna said, ‘Thank you again, Mr Vespery.’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘I will see you again soon, my dear.’

  ‘I hope so, sir.’

  When the carriage pulled away she turned to Ross. ‘What did he mean by “I will see you soon”? Do you have another outing planned?’

  He grinned. ‘Perhaps.’

  She leaned against his shoulder. ‘You could not possibly please me more than you have done today.’

  He could try, though. He could try.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next day, Genna eagerly watched out the window for Ross’s arrival. This time he drove up in his curricle with his tiger seated on the back. She rushed down the stairs and was in hat and gloves by the time he was admitted to the hall.

  ‘I am ready!’ she cried.

  His ready smile cheered her. ‘Then we shall be off.’

  The footman held open the door as Ross escorted her out of the house. He helped her on to the curricle and climbed up beside her. The tiger jumped into his seat.

  When they pulled away, Genna could not resist asking, ‘Where are we bound?’

  Ross grinned at her. ‘Do you actually think I would tell you?’

  She pretended to be petulant. ‘I had hoped you would not be so cruel as to leave me in suspense.’

  ‘But that is my delight,’ he countered.

  She spent the rest of the time guessing where they might be bound.

  He turned down Park Lane to Piccadilly. ‘Are we to visit the shops?’

  ‘No.’ He looked smug.

  ‘Westminster Abbey!’ she cried. ‘Are we headed there? I’ve always wanted to see Westminster Abbey.’

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ he said.

  He turned on Haymarket.

  She had a sudden thought, one that made her heart beat faster. ‘Somerset House?’

  Somerset House was the home of the Royal Academy of Art.

  ‘Not today,’ he said.

  She gave up and felt guilty for being disappointed, but her hopes grew again when they turned down Vespery’s street. ‘Will Vespery accompany us again?’ If so, where would he sit? This curricle sat two comfortably; three would be a crush.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  He pulled up in front of the building where Vespery had his rooms. The tiger jumped down and held the horses. Ross climbed down and reached up to help Genna. He held her by her waist and she put her hands on his shoulders. She felt the strength of his arms as he lifted her from the curricle. When her feet hit the ground she lurched forward, winding up into his arms. Her senses flared at being embraced by him and she did not wish to move away. Ever.

  It was he who released her. ‘We are calling upon Mr Vespery.’

  That was the surprise? She’d enjoy spending time with Vespery, especially because he was so filled with helpful information, but her mind had created something grander. How nonsensical was that? To be disappointed in whatever nice thing Ross created for her. What an ungrateful wretch she was.

  ‘Calling upon Vespery will top Carlton House?’ she said in good humour.

  ‘Oh, indeed it will,’ he assured her in a serious tone.

  He must be making a jest. What could top Carlton House?

  The housekeeper answered the door. ‘He is in his studio.’ She turned and started walking. ‘This way.’

  Genna’s interest was piqued. ‘I’ve never been in an artist’s studio before.’

  His studio was in the back of the building with a wall of large windows facing a small garden patch. As they entered, he turned from his canvas to greet them. ‘Ah, Miss Summerfield. Lord Rossdale. Welcome to my studio.’

  The housekeeper left.

  In the corner of the room was a chair behind which was draped red velvet fabric. Obviously this was where his clients sat for him. Facing that area was a large wooden easel with a canvas on it large enough for a life-sized figure to be painted upon it. The painting in progress, Genna noticed right away, was of the Duchess of Kessington.

  She approached the painting. ‘Oh! Am I to have the honour of watching you work?’

  Next to the easel was a table stained with paint of all colours. Vespery’s palette was equally as colourful. Several brushes of all sizes stood in a large jug.

  ‘You will watch me work, my dear,’ Vespery said. ‘And you will paint, as well. Lord Rossdale has asked me to give you lessons in oil painting.’

  She swivelled around to Ross. ‘Painting lessons?’

  ‘As many as you need,’ Ross said. ‘You said you had much to learn.’

  She ran to him and clasped his hand, lifting it to her lips. ‘Ross! How can I thank you?’

  He covered her hand with his. ‘When you are ready, paint my portrait.’

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘It will be my honour.’

  ‘Come,’ Vespery said. ‘I have a smock to cover your dress. Let us begin.’

  * * *

  Ross found a wooden chair in the studio and sat in it, stretching out his legs in front of him. He watched as Vespery showed Genna the easel, palette, brushes, paints, canvas, and other necessities Ross had purchased for her at Vespery’s direction.

  Vespery started by teaching Genna about the paint. How the colours were made. How they could be mixed to create any colour she wished. She seemed to pick up the concepts quickly from her knowledge of watercolours and Ross learned more than he’d ever known before about this basic element of oil painting. She practised mixing the colours and then she practised putting them on a canvas stretched on a wooden frame. Vespery showed her how to draw on the canvas, either with paint or with a pencil. It seemed that artists did not make detailed drawings on the canvas, but rather bare outlines.

  Next Vespery taught her about the different brushes and the effects produced by each and she practised with each one.

  ‘You are quick enough to begin a painting,’ Vespery told her. He wiped the paint off her canvas, though an imprint of the colours remained. ‘With the oil paints, you are able to paint over them. You can scrape off your mistakes and start again. You can change what you don’t like in the painting.’ He set a plain bowl on a table covered with a dark cloth. ‘Try painting this.’

  Ross watched her with pride. She painted a credible likeness of the bowl, although she was not satisfied with it. She scraped it off with a palette knife and started over.

  * * *

  The time passed with impressive speed. From a distant room, Ross heard a clock chime. ‘By God, we’ve been at this for three hours. I believe I must return you to your home and leave Vespery to finish the Duchess’s portrait.’

  ‘Oh!’ She dipped her brush in the turpentine and cleaned it off with a nearby rag. ‘I had no idea we were here that long! I hope I did not take you too long from your work, Mr Vespery.’

  ‘The light is always better in the morning,’ the artist said. ‘That makes the afternoon perfect for your lessons.’ He took her palette and covered it with a cloth. ‘That should keep your pai
nt moist until tomorrow. Let me show you how to clean your brushes.’

  When Vespery finished instructing her how to clean up at the end of a session, they retrieved their hats and gloves and overcoats. Vespery walked them to the door.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Vespery,’ Genna said, shaking the man’s hand.

  ‘My pleasure, Miss Summerfield,’ he responded.

  Ross said his goodbyes, as well.

  When he and Genna stepped outside, the curricle was not there.

  ‘We are at least a half-hour later than when Jem was told to bring the carriage here,’ Ross explained. ‘He will be walking the horses around the streets, I expect.’

  ‘I do not mind waiting,’ She met his gaze. ‘That was—’ She paused as if searching for words. ‘That was—marvellous.’

  ‘I am glad you thought so,’ he responded. ‘You will have as many lessons as you need.’

  She blinked. ‘I should not accept this. I am certain it is costing you dear.’

  ‘I have wealth enough to afford it.’ He wanted to spend it on her. ‘Think of it as a betrothal gift.’

  She gave a nervous laugh. ‘But we are not really betrothed.’

  ‘Then think of me as being a patron of the arts. That is a long tradition, is it not?’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Then I accept.’

  His tiger appeared at the end of the street. ‘Ah, here is Jem now.’

  During the drive back to Mayfair, Genna kept hold of his arm and sat close to him. He found it a very comfortable way to ride.

  ‘Where do you go after you drop me off?’ she asked.

  He paused, uncertain of what to say. ‘Somewhere I cannot take a lady.’

  ‘Oh.’ She let go of his arm.

  He glanced at her, but she turned her head away.

  ‘I am sorry.’ Her voice was strained. ‘I did not mean to pry into your—your affairs.’

  Did she think he was going carousing? He certainly did not wish to give her that impression. ‘I—I do not make a habit of speaking of this,’ he began. ‘I am driving to a workhouse. There are some soldiers there. I am paying their debts so they can be released.’