Mr. Hardy instructed his staff to bring in the paintings, and they were taken to an empty gallery, unwrapped, and hung by the staff.
“Ah…” Mr. Hardy said as he walked the gallery examining each painting with intense concentration. George could tell the man knew what he was looking for.
George had his hands in his pockets and became very nervous as the man said nothing as he browsed. George took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“Any thoughts yet?” George finally asked.
Mr. Hardy turned to him and smiled. “Another moment or two, please.”
George could barely contain himself, and he began to pace.
Finally, Mr. Hardy turned to him with no particular expression. “Son, walk with me.”
George followed the director around the gallery. They stopped at each of his paintings, and Mr. Hardy pointed out aspects of praise or concern. Some he liked, and with a few he had issues.
“I should like to keep these to show.” He pointed to nine paintings. “The rest I do not believe are suitable for public display. A few you might be able to work on, and the rest are just not up to our standard.”
“I see,” George said, with a mixture of acceptance and disappointment.
“But these others are splendid, and I urge you to take my comments into consideration. Rework what you can and certainly move forward with new work. I believe you are learning and improving. And in time, I believe you will become quite successful.”
“And the subject matter. Do you have any comments on that?”
“Landscapes always sell well. Still lifes are difficult, and portraits are mostly commissioned by the party being painted. However, I would encourage you to find some commissions for portraiture in your area and plunge in. To be a truly successful painter, you must be able to execute a fine portrait. It will deepen your craft.”
George let out a repressed sigh. “Mr. Hardy, I shall take your comments under advisement. And thank you for your time and offering to take the nine paintings.”
“I should like to have a solo exhibition for you eventually, but I do not feel you have enough recognition, nor the depth of work just yet.”
“I understand.”
“Let me know when you have more pieces you wish to show me, and I shall be happy to take a look.”
“Most certainly.”
“Hello, is this gallery room open?” A lady standing at the entrance asked.
Mr. Hardy gave the lady a smile. “Lady Benson-Wright. What a pleasure to see you again. Yes, please come in. I am just reviewing this new work from one of our artists, Mr. Grayson.”
The lady came in and began browsing the room. “Quite lovely,” she said standing in front of a landscape before continuing to view the rest of the paintings.
Mr. Hardy and George stood silently in the middle of the room as Lady Benson-Wright continued her examination. When she had viewed all the paintings, she turned to George. “Charming landscapes. And you are from…”
“Dorset, your Ladyship,” George answered.
She went back to the painting she had previously admired and studied it again. She placed her gloved forefinger against her cheek and tilted her head, taking a few steps backward and then a few steps forward.
“It is a view of the valley where I live. I assure you the cows and sheep are quite genuine.”
Lady Benson-Wright chuckled. “I feel quite certain they are.” She then turned to George and gave him a charming smile. She walked up to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Do you also do portraits?” she asked, running her hand down his arm and giving him a coy look.
“I have done a few. However, they are not my main study—just yet.”
“Hmm.”
She turned back to the landscape. “And what is the price for this painting?”
George turned to Mr. Hardy, for he had no idea what a fair price would be.
“Two hundred and fifty Guineas, Your Grace.” Mr. Hardy replied in a completely cool manner.
Her Grace turned back to the painting and studied it a while longer. “I shall think about it.”
“However, for you, I feel certain Mr. Grayson would accept two hundred, five and twenty.” He turned to George and raised an eyebrow.
George was already speechless at the thought of anything over a hundred pounds. George stammered. “Yes… yes… that would be quite suitable.”
Her Ladyship turned back to them. “Very well. Please have it sent to the Hanover Square address. And put it on my account as usual.”
“Of course, your Ladyship.”
She smiled and turned again to George. “My husband has been thinking of a portrait of me for the Kent estate. Might you consider a commission?”
George turned to Mr. Hardy, who smiled but gave the tiniest shake of his head. He then said to the Lady, “I shall discuss the possibility with Mr. Grayson and let you know of his availability.”
She started toward the entrance, but as she passed George, she gave him another sly smile and said, “I do hope we can come to some arrangement—for the portrait, of course.” Then she left.
George was stunned. His first sale, and at a price that far exceeded his expectations. But he had to ask, “Why did you shake your head when she asked about the portrait? I would have thought you would want me to do that.”
Mr. Hardy put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Oh, my dear boy, Lady Benson-Wright is a notorious hawk.”
George did not understand. “Hawk?”
“She is well known for hunting down and devouring sweet young gentlemen like yourself. Not for your talent with the brush, but for your talent in the boudoir.”
“Oh.”
“I would advise you to stay clear of that assignment—unless you wish to tarnish your reputation before it even gets established.”
This had been quite a morning for George. “Again, I shall accept your sage advice.”
Chapter 10
Modesty barely spoke a word to Lucy the next morning at breakfast, even though she tried very hard to engage Miss Modesty in a civilized conversation. Finally, Lucy just gave up and turned instead to Aunt Hester.
“I should like to visit some shops this morning while George is in the gallery. Would you care to accompany me?” Lucy asked.
Aunt patted her lips with her napkin and said, “I rarely go out, my child. One can never be too careful. It is so easy to pick up a distressing malady in shops. All sorts of people shop there, and one never knows. But perhaps Modesty might accompany you.”
Her ward turned toward Lucy with a sneer. “I think not. That is what we have staff for. Why should I ever go shopping except to be fitted for a new gown?”
“Then I must go by myself—if the shops are not too far,” Lucy said finishing off her tea.
“Oh, yes, within walking distance. Just down the street and then to your left,” Aunt said. “But forget not, I have arranged a small supper this evening in George’s honor. Sherry at seven—dinner at eight.”
Lucy, although unaccompanied, popped into the bookshop with her list of books for Betsy. A charming older woman attended to her, finding all but one selection on the list.
As the attendant was wrapping the books and tying the package with a string, Lucy wandered through the shop just browsing the many titles. She came across a section of children’s books and thought about Isabell’s younger brothers. She found a delightful looking, illustrated book and took it over to the sales counter.
“I should also like this one as well, please. But I shall be paying for this separately.” She did not want to use Betsy’s money for her book.
After leaving the bookshop, she wandered the row of shops, but only browsed as she had no idea what she wanted to buy for herself with the little money Betsy had given her. Finally, she came to a dress shop. As with most such London shops, there were no ready-made dresses. Each dress was individually constructed for each particular client. However, Lucy was curious and went inside.
A charming
looking young shop assistant came to her.
“How might I help you this morning, Miss?”
“Oh, my… I am from out of town and doubt I could afford a new bespoke dress, but I wanted to visit your shop and see if you might have any ready-made dresses available?”
The assistant frowned and said with a great deal of disdain, “I am afraid we do not cater to such a clientele. However, if you were to go to Shoreditch, you might be able to find something from a barrow.”
“I am sorry to have bothered you,” Lucy said, feeling the sting of the attendant’s reply. But as she left, she gazed upon the bolts of beautiful silk and muslin fabrics that were not to be for her with her modest budget.
Even though there were yet more lovely shops to explore, she decided to return to Aunt Hester’s. It appeared that London was not to be as welcoming as she had imagined.
As she returned, she saw George climbing out of the carriage. When he saw her, he gave her a big smile.
“You look happy,” she greeted. “Was your gallery visit a success?” She stifled any disappointment she might have from her morning’s shopping.
“It was,” he said taking her by the hand and leading her up the steps toward the house. “And I see you have been shopping,” he said, noticing her parcels. “Tell me all about your adventure, and I shall tell you mine—over a nice cup of tea.”
Miss Modesty was not at home, but Aunt Hester, always ready for a cup of tea, settled into the sitting room with them to hear their morning tales.
Both ladies were so pleased with the news of George’s sale of a painting. But Aunt Hester had to laugh when George recounted the story of the not so subtle advances of Lady Benton-Wright. “Oh, yes, she is quite well known in certain circles. She may appreciate art, but she appreciates a beautiful young man even more.”
Lucy blushed. This kind of talk was totally foreign to her provincial ways. And even George appeared to be nonplussed by such open conversation.”
“And you, Lucy?” George asked, trying to change the subject. “Did you find everything you were looking for in the shops?”
Lucy told of her visit to the bookstore but was embarrassed to mention the incident at the dress shop, until George insisted she tell him the full story.
“Outrageous. What rude behavior,” he said standing up from his chair. “Come with me.”
He took Lucy by the hand and practically ran out of the house with her.
“Show me the shop,” he insisted as they neared the shopping street.
She pointed out the dress shop, and he barged inside, still holding her hand tightly in his.
“Who was the culprit?” he asked looking around at several shop employees.
“Really, George, this is unnecessary. Let it be.”
“No. Was it you?” he asked pointing at one assistant.
The poor girl looked totally flummoxed. “Sir, what is this about?”
“This young lady came into your shop this morning and was treated with the rudest behavior. And I intend to sort this out right now.”
The offending assistant looked chagrined and hung her head. George immediately identified that she was the one and he went over to her.
“Who is your supervisor?” he asked.
An older lady came from the back of the shop. “Sir, what is this ruckus about?”
George explained his disapproval and the lady considered for a moment, and then said, “You are correct, that was inexcusable. And how may we satisfy you?”
George turned to Lucy briefly then back to the woman and said, “I want a dress made for this young lady—no, wait… two.” He turned to Lucy again. “What would you like? A gown?”
“Oh, George, I have no use for a gown. I only ever wear simple day dresses. But please, this is not something I can do.”
“You let me take care of this.” He turned back to the lady. “I want two dresses—nice dresses, but not gowns—for this lady. Please take her measurements and do whatever is necessary to expedite this order. We are to leave in a few days.”
“Impossible sir, it takes several weeks for us to make up each dress.”
“Then do what you can and ship them when they are ready.” He took out a card with the Grayson Manor address and pulled out a wad of cash from his coat pocket and slapped down twenty pounds. “Is that enough?”
The older lady prevaricated. “Sir, first the fabric must be selected, then the measurements are taken, and a design selected. Only then can we establish a price for the garments.”
“Then do it. Goddamn it. I just sold a painting, and I want this young lady to look like a duchess.”
Lucy was embarrassed—but not too embarrassed—to be accepting two new dresses. They were the first new dresses she would ever own that were not second hand. As she dressed in the best dress she currently owned for dinner, her head was filled with the images of the fine silks, satins, ribbons, lace, and buttons that she had examined this afternoon when picking out her dresses.
But now she needed to focus on getting ready for this evening’s dinner hosted by George’s Aunt Hester. She had no idea what to expect. She had never been a guest at any of the Grayson’s fine entertainments. She had always been in the kitchen and never at the table, even though George had repeatedly urged his parents to include her.
She sat at the dressing table in her room and fiddled with her hair. She had no one to help her dress, arrange her hair, or slip on her shoes—except herself.
But as she left the room to head downstairs, she met up with George who was handsomely dressed in navy blue breeches, white stockings, a mustard yellow waistcoat, and matching the navy jacket with a cravat.
“You look very handsome, George.” She then laughed. “It seems like I never see you dressed up. You are either coming from the fields in your work clothes or in the studio in a paint-smeared smock coat.”
“Believe me—I am much happier in my work clothes. These infernal stockings itch, and I am about to fling them off and dance barefoot in front of Aunt Hester.”
Lucy did not laugh but stopped and looked plaintively up at George. “You must forgive me,” she said, “But I have never been to a formal sit-down dinner before. I am afraid I may behave incorrectly or not know which knife or fork to use.”
George appeared to be astonished. “You mean to tell me that in all the years you have lived with us you have never sat at the table with the family at a formal function?”
“No, George. I have always helped serve or eaten with the kitchen staff.”
“I am truly shocked. I have always considered you as one of the family, not as part of the staff.”
“That may be so for you, but not for some of the others.”
“Then I shall make it known to Aunt that you must sit across from me and you may just follow what I do when the dishes are served. And as for conversation—I am quite certain you can hold your own with the other guests. You are so bright and engaging.”
“Thank you. That puts me at ease—somewhat,” she said smiling shyly.
George linked his arm with hers as they headed down the hallway. “And are you pleased with the design and cut of your new dresses?”
She looked up at him and smiled. “You really should not have ordered those for me. What will your mother and father say?”
“They can say nothing because the money I spent was mine. Earned from the first sale of a painting—with many more to follow.”
“As long as they are not portraits of Lady Benson-Wright,” she said with a sly grin.
That set them both laughing as they entered the sitting room.
“What are you two laughing about?” Aunt Hester enquired, from her comfortable chair sipping a glass of white wine.
“The absurdity of the world we live in, Aunt Hester.”
“Ah… Now on that subject, I am never certain whether to laugh or cry,” she said raising her glass in a toast.
Lucy looked around at a few of the guests who had already arrived.
/> The first to step forward was Sir Harcourt. He clapped George on the shoulder and said, “Son, great to see you again. All my best to your parents.” Then he turned to Lucy. “Miss Lucy, I presume?” he said taking her hand and shaking it heartily as though he was stumping for an election. “Sir Harcourt Oakley, Hester’s absent husband, returned from the wilds of rural England. Great pleasure to meet you.”
“Sir Harcourt. Thank you for your hospitality,” Lucy said demurely.
“Come,” he said and taking Lucy by the arm, and leading her and George to the first guests—an elderly, distinguished looking gentleman and a lady. “And this is Mr. Reginald Simpson, of Simpson, Bradly, and Curzon—publishers. And this is his wife, Horatia. This is Miss Lucy Brighton, a friend of my wife’s nephew, Mr. George Grayson, son of the Duke of Sutherland.”
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 8
