“Of course, Miss Carter.”
Sophie held out her hands to the lady. “Mrs. Spooner, it’s a delight to see you.”
Mrs. Spooner took Sophie’s thin hands into her plump ones and gave them a squeeze. “The delight is all mine, Miss Carter.”
“We’re friends, you must still call me Sophie!”
Mrs. Spooner laughed. “I will then, Sophie. And I should, as a friend, give you leave to use my given name, but I would much rather you didn’t. It’s Prudence. Even shortened to Prudie, it’s insufferable. What were my parents thinking?”
Sophie laughed with her and gestured for her to sit. “I still believe I should call you Lady Watergate.”
“Me, a lady?” Mrs. Spooner said, shaking her head. “I haven’t the manners to be called a lady, nor the birth, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
“Your manners are much better than your husband’s,” Sophie persisted. “And he’s called Sir Thomas.”
“He was born into a higher class.”
“But it’s your money that makes him the artist he is.”
Mrs. Spooner shrugged. “Money can’t buy birth. I know you mean well, Sophie, but I wouldn’t wish to embarrass him or myself.”
Sophie took her hand and gave it another small squeeze. “You wouldn’t embarrass Sir Thomas. I don’t think anyone could.”
Mrs. Spooner gave a loud chuckle. “I trust you’ve received Sir Thomas’s invitation to the premier of Joan of Arc at the Royal Academy of Arts?”
“Yes, indeed!” Sophie replied. “And I’d be delighted to see Lady Watergate there as well.”
“Who is she?”
“You are,” she said. “And London society will know it, and they’ll adore you just as you are.”
“I suppose I could come,” Mrs. Spooner said reluctantly. “I wouldn’t have to speak to nobody.”
“Except for Ethan and myself,” Sophie said. “He’s been eager to see the painting ever since I first told him about posing for it. He can hardly wait—I daresay we’ll be there so early that the doors will still be locked.”
Mr. Jenkins entered the room with a tea tray. He set it on the sofa table and bowed deeply to the ladies. Sophie nodded regally. He stood up straight and walked out of the room.
“His manners would put a duke to shame,” Mrs. Spooner remarked, putting a hand to her bosom.
Sophie laughed so hard, she spilled the tea she was pouring. “I know! It quite disconcerts me. But he’s so very efficient and really quite kind. Unlike my Aunt Bentley’s odious butler, Mr. Taylor.”
Sophie handed a teacup to Mrs. Spooner.
“Your sister’s painting will be displayed that night as well,” she said.
“Yes, I’m equally eager to see it.”
Mrs. Spooner lifted her cup to her lips, but she didn’t drink. Instead she placed it back on the saucer. “Is Mariah still pining for Lord Bentley?”
“Charles?” Sophie asked incredulously. “How could she fancy him?”
Mrs. Spooner laughed. “Different tastes, my dear, different tastes. She seemed quite despondent when I saw her in Oxsham’s Bookshop yesterday, despite her fancy new clothes.”
“Oh,” Sophie said, looking down at her cream lace gloves that were so delicate a spider could have spun them. She felt dreadful. She’d been so wrapped up in Ethan and finding an apprenticeship that she hadn’t noticed Mariah’s melancholia.
“Speaking of wardrobes,” Mrs. Spooner said. “I’ve a notion that I believe will cheer her up and make Mariah’s painting unforgettable. But I need your help.”
“Please, tell me,” Sophie said, leaning forward.
TWENTY-THREE
“WE’LL BE DREADFULLY LATE!” Mariah cried, stamping her foot impatiently. “Ethan already left with his mother and grandfather!”
“I won’t be more than a minute now,” Sophie called. “Miss Barker is finishing my hair.”
Mariah looked down at her white silk dress. The sleeves went all the way to her wrists, and the collar was high on her neck. The waist was pointed with a bell-shaped skirt and two ruffles. Mariah’s lady’s maid, Miss Hansen, had parted her hair down the middle and braided each side into a bun at the back of her head. It looked rather plain, but Miss Hansen assured her that it was very fashionable and how Queen Victoria wore her own dark locks.
At last, Sophie opened the door, and Mariah’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Around Sophie’s face were countless red ringlets. Her black dress combined velvet and silk, complete with pointed bodice, scooped neck, and lace-trimmed skirt and sleeves. It was as ornate as Mariah’s was simple. They were foils of each other, just like in Mariah’s painting.
“Good gracious!” Mariah exclaimed. “But you haven’t seen my painting yet … How—?”
Sophie spun in a circle so that Mariah could see the full effect of her gown. “It was Lady Watergate’s idea, and I thought it was an excellent one.”
“I had no idea!”
Sophie linked arms with her sister. “What an entrance we’ll make.”
“A late one,” Mariah grumbled.
“Lady Watergate suggested we be late,” Sophie explained. “Although, I didn’t mean to be quite this late.”
When they arrived in Trafalgar Square, Mariah saw the familiar National Gallery building with its domed roof and Roman pillars. She thought instantly of the last time she’d been there—with Charles. She felt a pain, as real as any physical injury, somewhere between her chest and her heart. She had not seen him in over a month, but the separation did nothing to ease the bitterness of their parting. Aunt Bentley had called on Mrs. Miller once to tell her that Charles had not sailed to America. He’d taken ill and traveled to his estate in the country to recover.
She hoped he was well and wanted to see him again—and yet dreaded it.
The Royal Academy of Arts occupied the east wing of the National Gallery. The footman assisted the sisters from the carriage. Sophie linked arms with Mariah, and they proceeded up the stone steps and into the building. When they entered the main gallery, there was a sudden hush, and it seemed to Mariah that every eye in the large room was upon them.
The quiet didn’t seem to daunt Sophie, because she immediately began to walk through the room, pulling Mariah alongside her. She nodded to several acquaintances as the crowd seemed to part for them. Sophie led them first to Joan of Arc—framed, it looked majestic, and Mariah would have followed the woman in that painting into any battle.
“It turned out rather nice,” Sophie remarked.
Mariah touched her heart. “It’s a masterpiece! I daresay people will still be coming to see it in one hundred years.”
“I’m sure Sir Thomas thinks so,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Let’s go over and talk to him and Lady Watergate.”
Mariah was surprised to see Mrs. Spooner looking plumper and prettier than ever in an elaborate velvet dress, a shade somewhere between maroon and crimson, with large bell-like sleeves. Sir Thomas looked decidedly less elegant in a black suit with a rumpled cravat. They stood alone, several feet away from his painting.
“Lady Watergate, always a pleasure,” Sophie said in a loud voice with a wink. “And Sir Thomas, I believe your Joan is quite the hit.”
Mariah managed to add, “Lovely to see you, Lady Watergate and Sir Thomas.”
Sir Thomas only grunted in response. Ethan came up to them, and Sophie released her hold on Mariah’s arm to take his arm instead.
“Sir Thomas, your painting is exquisite,” he said.
“It is indeed,” said another voice from behind them.
The group turned to see who had spoken. He was a young man with brown curly hair, soulful eyes, a mustache, and a goatee. On his arm was a tall young woman with abundant coppery-gold hair, a small mouth, a distinct chin, and a long neck. Mariah thought her entirely paintable.
“Gabriel,” Sir Thomas said. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Lady Watergate cleared her throat. “Allow me to introduce
Mr. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, one of the founders of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and Miss Elizabeth Siddal. Like you, Sophie, um—Miss Carter, she has been a model for paintings.”
Mr. Rossetti gave a curt bow, and Miss Siddal curtsied. “Watergate, you are a man of real genius,” Mr. Rossetti stated. “Your painting has the marvels of finish and imaginative detail, unequalled by anything except perhaps Albrecht Dürer’s finest works.”
Mariah looked at Sir Thomas and was shocked to see him blushing. He tried to speak, but she couldn’t understand his sputtering in Gaelic.
“Come, Miss Carter,” Lady Watergate said, pulling the focus off Sir Thomas. “Allow me to show you where your painting is. I hope you like the frame I selected.”
Mariah allowed herself to be led to the corner of the room. The frame Lady Watergate had chosen was gold with ornate carvings of grapevines and six-inches thick. It made the painting appear larger and more significant. Mr. Eustace Miller, Mrs. Miller, and Aunt Bentley stood observing her painting.
And so did Charles.
Her heart pounded most uncomfortably at the sight of him. But Mrs. Miller held out her hands to Mariah and embraced her, and the thudding in Mariah’s chest calmed a little.
“A triumph, my dear Mariah, a triumph,” Mrs. Miller said loudly.
Mariah felt the tears rise. Mrs. Miller, upon whom she had no claim whatsoever, had welcomed her into her home and treated her like family. She turned to Mr. Eustace Miller, who gave her arm a squeeze. “We’ll have to be buying you more painting supplies, girl. You’ve got talent and I’m not too blind yet to see it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Mariah said, wiping a tear from her eye with a gloved hand. “You’ve been so kind.”
“Here, please take my handkerchief,” Charles said quietly. He held out a familiar white cloth with the Bentley family crest embroidered in the corner.
Mariah’s hand brushed his as she accepted the handkerchief, bringing it to her eyes and dabbing at the tears on each side.
“Very creditable,” Aunt Bentley said. “You and Sophie both seem to be blessed with artistic talents.”
Mariah was already blushing, but at this comment, she felt her face go positively fiery. She heard Sophie’s laugh. She and Ethan had come to join them in front of her painting.
“But I am sure you’ll agree with me, Aunt Bentley, that Mariah is greatly my superior in talent,” Sophie said. “Her work has so much life in it. I may be slightly biased, but I’ve never seen a better painting.”
“The colors and contrasts are incredible,” Ethan added.
“Sophronia,” Mrs. Miller said, “I see Mrs. Heathcote over by Sir Thomas Watergate’s painting. Shall we go speak to her?”
Mrs. Miller didn’t wait for Aunt Bentley’s assent, but took her arm and steered Aunt Bentley away. Over her shoulder, she added, “Come, Father, Ethan, Sophie.”
Sophie laughed again and winked at Mariah before obediently following Mrs. Miller.
Mariah and Charles stood alone before the painting. The hammering in her chest was so wild she wondered if Charles could hear it.
“I’m so glad that you are recovered … again,” Mariah murmured, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes. “I was so worried.”
“You needn’t worry anymore,” he replied, and Mariah could feel his gaze on her.
She folded the handkerchief and held it out to him. He closed his hands over hers and said in a low voice, “Keep it.”
Mariah finally found the courage to look at him. “I’m afraid that I’m obtaining quite a collection of your handkerchiefs.”
“There is no person to whom I would rather give them,” he said, letting go of her hand.
Then why have you not called on me? But Mariah wasn’t bold enough to ask. She tucked his handkerchief into her pocket. “Will you be at Mrs. Miller’s party the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“I was only wondering … supposing … perhaps that you might have plans to return to New York. Now that you’re well.”
“No,” Charles said, shaking his head slightly. “I have no immediate plans to return to America.”
“Oh. Well. If it’s not too impertinent for me to ask,” Mariah said in a breathy voice, “what are your plans?”
Charles rubbed his neck tiredly. “While I was recovering at my estate, I had plenty of time to contemplate my life. Who I was. What I wanted. And not what others wanted for me.”
“And…?”
Charles let his hand drop and he gave her a smile that warmed her whole body.
“I discovered that I liked living in the country,” he said. “I liked the view of the English Channel from my south fields. I liked the trees. I even liked the dirt. I liked the business of the estate and the duties of a landlord. And I loved the quiet—the seclusion of a country life.”
“Do you mean to give up your place in your grandfather’s business?”
“Yes,” Charles said simply. “I inherited many business shares from my mother, and I intend to keep up with the business world and invest in it but give my days to something that I care about. Something that makes me happy. And I have you to thank for it.”
“Me?” Mariah echoed in surprise. “What did I do?”
“You made me think about my life and about why I was on the path that I was on. I wasn’t happy. The family business wasn’t making me happy—competing with my cousin wasn’t making me happy. I thought long and hard about what brought me joy, and that’s when I realized that it wasn’t London but rather my estate, my books, and everything that I’d taken for granted in my pursuit of accomplishments. You went out into the world to find yourself; I had to go home to find myself.”
“I’m delighted for you,” Mariah said, unable to contain her smile. “Have you told your family? Your grandfather?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m in disgrace. They think it’s a result of my fever, that my brain must have been addled.”
Mariah laughed and then covered her mouth with her gloved hand.
Charles grinned. “But I keep telling myself, if Miss Mariah Carter can be a painter, why can’t I be a farmer?”
“Do you mean to farm the land yourself?”
“The home farm at the very least, Mar— Miss Carter,” Charles said. “Possibly more of my land as I improve at it.”
“Please, call me Mariah.”
“Mariah.” He said her name slowly, caressing every syllable. “I’ve wanted to speak to you—”
“Charles,” Aunt Bentley’s voice sounded from fifteen feet away. “Come and meet Mr. Rossetti. A most interesting young man.”
Charles sighed and then took Mariah’s gloved hand and lightly kissed it. “Au revoir.”
As he walked away, Mariah clutched her own hand as if she were afraid it would fall off.
Charles kissed my hand!
The fluttering in her chest expanded to her whole body, and it seemed a medical miracle that she was able to remain standing at all. She turned away from Charles and Aunt Bentley, to find Mrs. Miller at her elbow.
“Trust Sophronia to interrupt a promising conversation,” the older woman said with a sigh. She took Mariah by the arm and began to walk with her, nodding to several acquaintances and introducing Mariah to countless more.
Mariah managed to smile and mutter polite nothings, but her mind was on Charles. What had he been going to say when Aunt Bentley had interrupted him? Could he possibly still care for her after she had deceived him? After her harsh words the night of the party?
TWENTY-FOUR
MARIAH PICKED UP HER CHARCOAL pencil and slowly practiced outlining leaves depicted in Baxter’s British Flowering Plants. Mr. Ruskin’s letter said the next step was to lay the tracing paper over the book and see how accurate she’d managed to be. She was carefully lining up her sketch with the printed one beneath it when Mr. Jenkins came into the room.
“Lady Bentley to see you, Miss Carter,” he announced.
&
nbsp; Mariah instantly stood and curtsied as her aunt swept in behind Mr. Jenkins.
“Miss Car— Mariah,” Aunt Bentley said with a curt nod. “I’m actually here to speak to Mr. Eustace Miller about Charles. Do you know when he will be home?”
Mariah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Aunt Bentley. He went out visiting with Mrs. Miller, and I’m not sure when they’ll be back. Is there anything I can assist you with?”
Aunt Bentley’s hat was slightly crooked, and her shawl barely clung to one arm. Mariah had never seen her aunt look anything but polished and felt alarmed by her disarray. She led Aunt Bentley to a sofa.
“Shall I call for tea?” Mariah asked.
“No tea,” Aunt Bentley said. “Tea will not make one drop of difference.”
“What are you hoping to talk to Mr. Miller about?”
“Charles,” Aunt Bentley said, taking her handkerchief out and sniffing into it.
“Has his sickness returned?” Mariah asked anxiously.
“No, no,” Aunt Bentley said with a wave of her hand. “Worse! He has proved to be just as headstrong and foolish as my sister, with no thought about his adopted family and the sacrifices we’ve made for him. Only about what he wants.”
Mariah stiffened at the mention of her mother but attempted to soothe her upset aunt. “What does he want?”
“To be a gentleman farmer, of all things,” Aunt Bentley said reproachfully. “After all my efforts to ensure his place in his grandfather’s company and in the highest society, he plans to forsake it all.”
“Sometimes we have to love people for who they are and not for who we want them to be.”
“He was my ward. He inherited my husband’s estate. And all my plans for his future will come to naught,” Aunt Bentley continued, as if she had not heard Mariah at all.
“Do you wish for his happiness?”
Aunt Bentley scoffed. “His happiness? He refuses to offer for Miss Penderton-Simpson. He says he has no regard for her. What more could he possibly desire? She has birth, beauty, breeding, and is an heiress to add to the bargain.”
“Miss Penderton-Simpson is very lovely,” Mariah agreed, “but we can’t always help our feelings. And if he has no regard for her, you would not, I’m sure, wish for him to marry without some affection.”
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 19
