by Nichole Van
Two, portraiture wasn’t his personal strength. He preferred portraits that also doubled as something more monumental and allegorical in scope.
And three, painting a portrait was often an intimate experience, a time of lingering and looking deep into someone’s soul.
Things this situation decidedly did not need.
Ewan feared for the state of his own heart were he to spend too much time in Lady Kildrum’s presence.
Sir Joshua laughed again. “You look as if someone stepped on your grave, lad. I promise painting her will not be so bad.”
Ewan managed to collect a few of his wits. “You are too kind, sir, to think to trust me with this. But I must ask, why are you yourself not painting her portrait?”
“Bah! I’ve painted Lady Kildrum at least half a dozen times. She needs something new, a different eye, as it were. And after everything she has suffered these past two years . . . well, a clean portrait and a fresh start is not a bad thing, now is it? And it will be good for you, too.”
Ewan paused on Sir Joshua’s words.
. . . after everything she has suffered these past two years . . .
He disliked the thought that someone as kind and effervescent as Lady Kildrum had suffered.
“I thank ye, sir,” Ewan said, “but will this not encroach on the time I have to help yourself?”
“Nay, lad, I think we will be able to find a compromise. I already have plans for the ground and background figures that I’d like you to sketch in for me. And then I was planning on asking you to model for General Parmenion, as your physique will be well-matched to the composition I have in mind. But all this will leave you with time to work on your own projects. Doing a portrait of my niece will give you a chance to enhance your standing among the aristocracy and earn you a tidy sum, as well. If you are to succeed as a painter, you must learn to think in term of finances, not just your artistic heart.”
Ewan swallowed.
Sir Joshua’s reasoning was sound.
Ewan would be a fool to pass up an opportunity such as this.
He would just need to find a way to paint Lady Kildrum’s soul on a canvas without losing his own heart in the process.
6
The weather has been Excessively Fine, as of late, has it not?” Lady Graham nodded her head, taking the cup of tea Violet offered.
“Indeed, it has, Mother.” Lord Graham smiled before resting an elbow on the fireplace mantel.
Violet managed an echoing smile of her own.
Aster and Rose surreptitiously nudged one another, Aster rolling her eyes skyward out of Lady Graham’s sight. Mr. Kerr scowled at his daughters, clearly biting back a reprimand.
Violet’s smile turned strained. “Yes, my lady, the weather has been decidedly lovely. Hopefully, it will hold for your dinner party next week.”
Violet’s father sent his younger daughters one last stern look before turning back to Lady Graham. “We are looking forward to it, my lady.”
Violet poured tea for Lord Graham, adding a dollop of milk and two sugars.
“Precisely as a I prefer my tea, Lady Kildrum.” He accepted the proffered cup with a small bow. “Thank you.”
The warmth in Lord Graham’s eyes caused Rose to titter.
Their father cleared his throat.
Heavens.
Lord Graham and his mother had come calling this afternoon, which was in itself not exceptional.
However, this was their third such visit in the last ten days. Violet was not confused as to why they were calling more frequently. Lord Graham’s interest in her was well known. Aster was of the opinion that Lord Graham, a baron with his own holdings in England, had relocated to their corner of Scotland for the express purpose of courting Violet.
“After all, with you as his wife, Lord G’s son will become an earl,” she had said earlier that week. “It’s all rather calculating.”
Violet, of course, was undecided as to what she should do. Even if Lord Graham had purchased the estate next door in an attempt to ingratiate himself, it did not therefore follow that such an action was reprehensible. It showed a certain sense of determination and perseverance.
Additionally, Violet admitted she found Lord Graham handsome, with his even features and strong jawline. Even the threads of early gray at his temples, despite the man being only thirty-two years of age, enhanced the soberness of his address.
And, to put the matter rather crassly, Lord Graham had the financial resources to pay off the Manna Loan. The cynical part of her worried that his wealth contributed to his apparent handsomeness. Were he poor, would she find him as attractive? Though, heaven knew, marrying for money was a time-honored tradition amongst the aristocracy.
Moreover, his mother would be helpful in sponsoring Aster and Rose through their presentation at Court next year.
All excellent reasons to consider Lord Graham as a suitor.
Decisions. Decisions.
Across from Violet, Aster stirred her tea, shooting wide-eyed looks, as if to say, I cannot believe you are considering marrying this man.
Rose nibbled on a biscuit.
Violet handed a cup to her father as silence descended on the drawing room. Her father’s stern look was the opposite of her sisters’. His blue eyes said, Encourage Lord Graham’s attentions. He is the match your mother and I wished you to make.
She knew that her father wished to see Violet comfortably settled, just as he and her mother had been comfortably settled. The problem, of course, was that her father equated ‘comfortably settled’ with ‘happy.’
Violet was not sure the two were so closely allied.
Though, she supposed her parent’s marriage had been a happy one, as far as aristocratic marriages went.
But it did not follow that Violet was guaranteed such felicity with Lord Graham.
As if reading her thoughts, Lord Graham snared her gaze, giving her a warm smile.
Lady Graham sat primly on the sofa, her black skirts pooling on the carpet. King George III had finally passed away in January, and as such, the kingdom was to observe six months of mourning for the monarch. In other words, black and gray clothing for all.
However, the new king—George IV, the former Prince Regent—had run out of patience with the never-ending bleak attire. After two months of mourning, he had proclaimed an end to it. Violet had happily shed her black garments for jewel colors.
Lady Graham, however, felt that the new king had acted in poor taste.
“A Monarch should be honored to the Fullest Extent,” she had said more than once. Lady Graham had an excellent knack for capitalizing words as she spoke. For example, she was ‘Excessively Fond of teacakes,’ and found the vicar’s sermons to be ‘Delightfully Instructional.’
They all sipped their tea in quiet, a hush settling over the drawing room. Her sisters continued to make small facial expressions, silently voicing their opinions. Lady Graham was no favorite of theirs, which was unfortunate, as her ladyship could be helpful in sponsoring her sisters’ debut at Court. Naturally, the twins were ecstatic over the idea of finally having a London Season. But a Season necessitated being presented at Court first.
The problem, of course, was that as an unmarried lady, Violet could not sponsor her sisters herself. And even if Violet were to marry and sponsor her sisters’ presentation at Court, she did not understand the minutiae of London Society well enough to navigate the Season without the assistance of someone like Lady Graham. One wrong move on Violet’s part could negatively impact her sisters’ future.
This was why decisions were endlessly difficult, why she stalled again and again. Her choices always begat consequences, and how was she to consider and comprehend all the possibilities?
Lady Graham broke the silence first. “I understand you have a Guest in your home, Lady Kildrum.”
“I gather you are referring to Mr. Campbell, my lady?” Violet replied.
“Is that the Man’s name?”
No, his name is Ewan.
Thankfully, Violet managed to keep that bit to herself.
“I have found Mr. Campbell to be an agreeable addition,” Aster said, her smile one step shy of combative.
Violet barely squelched a sigh.
“Agreeable?” Lady Graham’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “I hear the man is a giant. Mrs. Brown said he is a Violent Highlander, a veritable Porphyrion.”
Aster’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I cannot think that Mr. Campbell deliberately chose to become so large—”
“Aster!” Mr. Kerr reprimanded, silencing her.
Aster sat back with a huff.
Their father cleared his throat. “I am sure that Lady Aster merely wished to express her belief that Mr. Campbell, like us all, is one of God’s sheep.”
Violet was quite sure Aster had not meant that.
She sent her sister a quelling look. Please behave.
Lady Graham sniffed, taking a healthy swallow of tea.
As her mourning attire attested, Lady Graham considered herself the self-appointed adjudicator of societal propriety for the entire county.
So, naturally, her ladyship would not let the matter drop until she had said her piece.
“Harrumph,” Lady Graham gave Aster a disapproving look, “Regardless, I assured Mrs. Brown that this Highlander could not be staying at Kilmeny Hall, as such behavior would not be Suitable for Young Ladies. ‘Lady Kildrum would Never countenance such a Man in her household,’ I told her, ‘Not after what happened the Last Time.’ The Outcome of that debacle was only to be Expected.”
Oh!
Violet managed to stifle her own pained inhalation. But it was a close thing.
Rose looked at her teacup.
Aster stiffened and looked away, jaw clenched in silent mutiny.
Even their father looked on in stony silence.
“Mother,” Lord Graham said softly, reprimand in his voice. He shot Violet an apologetic look.
Lady Graham sipped her tea, confident in the righteous indignation of her words.
Violet stirred her tea. It was as useful as any activity when one’s insides were roiling. She bit her inner cheek, fighting to keep her emotions in check.
In a sense, Lady Graham was correct. Dahlia’s actions had tainted them all. Violet and her sisters had to be ever vigilant and guard against even a whiff of impropriety.
But the outcome Lady Graham referred to was Dahlia’s death.
It was an appallingly cruel thing to say to her family. To view Dahlia’s demise—the death of a fellow human being—as proper recompense for ignoring society’s strictures.
Worse, Violet could not scream the defense of Dahlia currently clogging her throat. She could not jab a finger at Lady Graham and shout her furious outrage over the woman’s vicious tongue. She could not recount the thousand ways she had loved her sister, the never-ending pain of losing her far too soon, the guilt that still rode Violet hard . . .
Mr. Kerr met Violet’s roiling gaze, accurately reading her chaotic thoughts.
“As I said, Lady Graham,” he said, shifting his gaze to her ladyship, “we are all God’s sheep and should be afforded His Grace, whenever possible.”
It was as close as her father would ever come to defending Dahlia, Violet supposed.
Lady Graham raised an eyebrow.
Violet took in a fortifying breath, though her tone remained slightly more acerbic than her late mother would approve. “I cannot speak to Mr. Campbell’s origins, Lady Graham, aside from the fact that he hails from the western Highlands. Sir Joshua hired Mr. Campbell to assist him in finishing several canvases.”
“Precisely,” Lady Graham replied, “aside from being Ludicrously Large, Mr. Campbell is an Artist.”
Her ladyship spat the word artist much as one might say criminal or prostitute—with suitable horror and moral outrage.
Aster opened her mouth.
Violet shot her a warning glance. Don’t you dare say a word. You’ve already done enough harm.
The last thing the Kerr ladies needed was to give the local gossips more rope with which to hang them.
Violet turned back to their guest with a tight smile.
“Yes, Mr. Campbell is indeed an artist, my lady. I cannot think that his physical size is of import when discussing his artistic merit.” Violet was proud she managed to keep her tone steady.
Something in her had risen to Mr. Campbell’s aid.
Or perhaps it was more that she could not vocally defend Dahlia, and so she settled her energy on advocating for Mr. Campbell instead. It wasn’t that she believed Mr. Campbell needed defending, per se. The man struck her as more than capable of protecting himself.
It was rather she felt his misalignment. That he was constantly judged for an exterior appearance that did not match his internal life. Others looked at his size and appearance and assumed him to be a threat. Had the man been diminutive and feminine in appearance, her neighbors’ comments would likely be less caustic.
Mr. Campbell deserved to be judged on his actions and words, not simply his appearance. Those who took the time to speak with him would quickly learn that he was a kind and soft-hearted man.
Something of Violet’s frustrated thoughts must have shown on her face, as Lord Graham jumped into the fray.
“Mother, Mr. Campbell is Lady Kildrum’s guest and, as Lady Aster pointed out, can hardly be faulted for his size alone. I am sure she and Sir Joshua would not invite a Philistine into their home.”
He shot Violet an apologetic smile, as if to say, Please forgive my mother. You know she means well.
Violet managed a wan smile in return.
This was why she considered a suit from Lord Graham.
He had always struck her as the quintessential English gentleman: pleasant, gracious, polite, and secure in his place in society. He was the sort of man who would appear a gentleman no matter how he was dressed.
Of course, Violet acknowledged that part of his appeal stemmed from his physical height. Lord Graham was at least three inches taller than herself. Violet had spent her life looking down on potential suitors. It was pleasant to have to look up, if only slightly, for a change.
She ignored the insidious voice that pointed out how much larger Red—Mr. Campbell!—was than Lord Graham, how small and safe she would feel beside him—
“I, for one, rather like Mr. Campbell,” Aster said, unable to hold her tongue a second longer. “Uncle says he is one of the most talented young artists in the country at the moment.” She lifted her chin, as if daring Lady Graham to nay-say her.
“Yes, it is a privilege to have him here,” Rose continued, mouth prim.
Oh, dear.
Lady Graham would surely read her sisters’ defense of Mr. Campbell as being more evidence of the wayward temperament of all the Kerrs—the taint of baseness that had begun with Dahlia and had now spread to her sisters.
Violet could feel a further tirade brewing.
Lord Graham correctly read Violet’s slightly panicked expression.
“We mustn’t pester Lady Kildrum over her guests, Mother,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away from less treacherous waters. “This Mr. Campbell is of little import.”
“Harrumph,” Lady Graham said again. “I suppose this Highlander’s Actual Appearance is beside the point. Surely he is not Lodged under the same Roof as your sisters, Lady Kildrum?”
“In that, you are absolutely correct, Lady Graham,” Mr. Kerr said, answering the question, though it had been aimed at Violet. “My brother and Mr. Campbell instantly recognized the impropriety of Mr. Campbell’s presence and decamped to Old Kilmeny Castle two days ago. We have not seen them since.”
“How sensible,” Lord Graham looked at Violet again. “I am sure it was Lady Kildrum’s virtuous example that led them to make the correct choice.”
Lady Graham sniffed again. “Well, I suppose that is for the best. With such Impressionable Young Ladies in the house—” She shot Aster and
Rose a repressive look. “—one cannot be too careful. Once Scandal has become attached to a family, it can be Difficult to Root Out. Therefore, greater Precautions must be taken, as I am sure you are aware, Lady Kildrum.”
Lord Graham shot Violet another apologetic look. But he did not contradict his mother’s words.
Violet smiled tightly and stirred her tea again.
This also illustrated why she was, as of yet, unsure about Lord Graham.
Despite mild protestations, his opinions gave every appearance of aligning with his mother’s.
Yes, Dahlia’s behavior had violated norms that Society held dear. And yes, the remaining Kerr sisters had paid—and were still paying—a price for them. But it did not follow that Dahlia’s actions were entirely wrong or reprehensible. She had simply made a choice that had led to catastrophic consequences.
And yet, Violet was quite sure Lord Graham did not see the situation this way. Sometimes, he displayed a small-mindedness that belied the elegance of his appearance. A hint that though he was handsome on the exterior and kind when it was convenient, Lord Graham’s interior thinking was not quite so comely.
Lord Graham assumed that Violet would follow in her own mother’s footsteps, becoming the perfectly proper lady—relinquishing the management of her estates to tacksmen and stewards, and retreating to the seclusion of child bearing and running her household.
And even to that, on principle, Violet was not necessarily opposed.
It was just . . . every time she attempted to envision such a life . . . Lord Graham smiling at Violet from the opposite end of the dining room table, Lord Graham lifting one of their children onto his knee, Lord Graham reading to her on a cold winter’s evening as she stitched a pillow cover—
Ugh.
That was the problem.
She simply could not imagine it. She longed for a husband and family, and yet with Lord Graham . . . her brain sputtered and churned and offered up hazy scenes at best.
And how could she contemplate marrying a man without being able to foresee a future with him?
7
