The crowd fell silent.
Hannah was suddenly very aware that all eyes were upon her. Expressions were of shock, outrage, and intrigue. The one that mattered most though was Caleb’s and Hannah felt him shift beside her, leaning away to look at her face.
Anne’s implication hung in the air as Hannah turned to look at Caleb. From flustered and hot, she now felt all the colour drain from her face. Caleb’s mouth had fallen open and his eyebrow twitched questioningly.
All around her, Hannah became aware of tittering giggles and whispers behind deliberately placed fans, as the assembled crowd speculated the scandal of a Duchess engaging in such a common pursuit.
Hannah wanted to cry but even as she held the emotion back, she heard murmurs of appreciation, and people commenting on her extreme talent, which was a balm to her tumultuous feelings.
Caleb stood frozen. Hannah had not responded to his mother’s blatant accusation and now was staring up at him, frightened and vulnerable. Had she laughed at the preposterous insinuation or thanked his mother heartily for such a favourable comparison, he would have swiped the possibility away from his mind. But she had not denied the likeness of Alexander Burton’s work to her own. And that cad Lord Bryant had been flouncing about flirting with the idea of the mysterious artist being present here today – surely, Caleb, internally battled, this could not be the work of his wife?
Caleb was entirely conflicted. He looked again at the astounding painting, which had struck him the moment he saw it and, in truth, he had considered bidding for it. It was an incredible piece. At that moment, he felt a swell of regret that he had never shown an interest in actually viewing Hannah’s art – they had discussed her passion at length, but he had never asked her to show him any of her creations. He stared at the extraordinary canvas before him and found it challenging to comprehend that it could have been produced by Hannah and he’d had no idea.
Simultaneously, Caleb was acutely aware of the fans that had risen over the faces of ladies gathered, gossiping about his wife and giggling at their expense. This was a threat to the Montwood name – the family dynasty he committed his life to protect and this scenario of disgrace was exactly the sort of scandal he was dedicated to circumvent. Caleb could not fathom that his newly procured wife could bring scorn upon the family name in such a public and shameful manner.
He looked at her, stepped forward, and bent low to meet her face.
‘Is this true, Hannah? Is this painting your creation andnotthe work of Alexander Burton?’
Hannah’s eyes watered and her bottom lip trembled as she looked up into his alarmed eyes. She could not find her voice and so simply nodded, assenting.
Nathaniel burst forward, realising he had manifested Hannah’s worst fears.
‘Isn’t she brave?’ Nathaniel prompted. ‘Such a talent – it should be shared with the world and not hidden away! Such valour and boldness! We should all look to Her Grace as a trailblazer for incredible female artists silenced by our culture!’
Hannah looked to Nathaniel, grateful for his words and his efforts to soothe the turbulence but silently begged him to stop. She felt Caleb beside her take a deep, quick breath and then exhale angrily. He bristled and the tension rolled off him in waves.
Hannah dared to look again at his face and his features had darkened; a storm eclipsed his earlier amiable demeanour.
Caleb clenched his fists at his sides. His wife was an incredible artist – better than he had ever anticipated. But he could not celebrate her. Her actions had thrown shame upon the family and that short-sighted, meddling Lord Bryant was further aggravating the spectacle with his histrionic display. Caleb could not stay and endure this humiliation. He turned on his heel and exited the exhibition hall, leaving the crowd behind him aghast.
Hannah stood frozen to the spot, unable to process that her carefully sculpted plan had been completely decimated. That Caleb had walked out on her. She focused all her concentration on not allowing the teardrops to fall. To cry in this exhibition hall with an audience of esteemed members of the Ton would be to disgrace herself to a life of ridicule. She could not believe how suddenly everything had fallen apart and she refused to look at Anne – her manipulative lies to attend the exhibition; masquerading some semblance of remorse over how she had treated Hannah thus far. It was all a deception to lure Hannah into a vulnerable scenario where she could most efficiently sabotage Hannah’s honour.
Sophia and Albert were suddenly beside Hannah, Sophia’s arms enveloping her friend, sheltering her and guiding her away from the crowd. Albert muttered some kindnesses that Hannah could not assimilate in the moment of commotion, but she appreciated his reassuring tone.
Before she had even gotten her bearings, Hannah realised her friends had taken her outside. She was standing on the concrete steps to the exhibition with Sophia clutching her arm and Hannah thought perhaps she might fall if it hadn’t been for that support. Coaches lined up along the pavement awaiting their patrons as Sophia and Albert fussed about Hannah, trying to say all the right things, but Hannah’s bewildered mind could not process any of their sentiments.
In a voice cracking with emotion and barely audible to them, she croaked.
‘Can I go home with you, Sophia?’
There was a flurry of activity as this was arranged and Hannah was helped into the coach bound for the safety and comfort of Sophia’s home.
As the coach pulled away from the exhibition hall, Hannah felt as though she were departing not only her dream of acceptance but also any hope she had to find a harmonious settlement with her new family. All seemed to have been destroyed in a single moment.
‘We have a theory, Hannah,’ Sophia took her best friend’s hand, which was cold and trembling.
Hannah watched the city outside the coach trundle by; a blur, no landmarks recognisable.
‘Cousin Nathaniel and I – we now believe the Dowager Duchess already knew our plan to exhibit your work under a male pseudonym…’
Hannah turned to Sophia with a questioning frown.
‘You see, on the day we attended your town-house to view the artwork in your studio – as we discussed the prospect of Alexander Burton, I saw a shadow pass under the door. I thought it only to be Lucy, pausing to see if she should replenish the lemonade. As the person paused briefly and moved on, I thought nothing more of it.’
Sophia dropped her eyes to her lap in regret.
‘In retrospect, I suspect it was the Dowager Duchess who passed and overheard our arrangement…’
