Once she was seated, wine was served, of which Sophia did not partake as she had been raised not to drink unless in celebration. With the wine came the first course, and she was happy to have that to focus on.
“You’re not drinking?” the Duke asked across the table.
“I am not,” she said as she focused on her food; it was a leek and pea soup, too hot to eat immediately, she took a spoonful and blew on the lip.
“That’s a shame,” he sighed as he had a sip of wine. “An artist as yourself, I would have thought you’d enjoy a glass or five…” He laughed and had another sip. “After all, I find that the best art is created when one is given the chance to switch off their brain and work from the…” He was looking right at her. “…heart.”
“Perhaps,” she said without looking. Her cheeks were burning though, and she wished he would leave her alone. “When it comes to music, however, I find a clear head is preferable.”
“What of other types of art?” he asked immediately.
She frowned and very nearly looked up but forced her attention on her soup. “Such as?”
“Painting, for example,” he said. “Sebastian…” He turned to address the host. “You used to enjoy painting, did you not?”
Sebastian pulled his attention from his food and frowned at the question. “As a youth, I was known to covet the brush. Why do you ask?”
“It is a debate Miss Sophia and I are having.”
“Not a debate,” Sophia corrected, a little more sharply than she wanted to. “Merely a discussion.”
“Discussion or no, my claim is that the best art comes from moments of… not divine intervention,” he chuckled. “But from those moments where one lets go of proclivities and allows passion and feeling to take over. Don’t you agree?”
Sebastian considered the question. “It depends on the art. My dear wife is the writer, perhaps she has a better view on these things.”
“No need for that,” Sophia said with relief. “In my opinion, great art needs precision and exactness. Music especially.”
“But what of raw emotion?” the Duke continued as he had more wine. “Surely, that is where magic is created?”
Sophia shrugged and had a mouthful of soup. “Perhaps when you create anything worthy of praise, you can tell us how you did it, and we will assess.”
She had not meant to say it. She had tried so hard to keep her lips tight and her emotions to herself. But the Duke’s constantpressing had forced her hand, and before she could help herself, she’d snapped.
Her eyes widened when the words left her tongue and she very nearly apologized. The only thing that stopped her was the delight shown in the Duke’s expression. He could not have looked more pleased.
“I will remember that,” he chuckled. “But the same to you.”
“What…” She looked away, her cheeks flushing red as she felt him watching her. “What do you mean?”
“If you let your hair down just once, be sure to let me know the result…” He smirked as he took another sip of wine. “The result of such a thing…” Soft laughter. “Who knows what might happen.”
Sophia offered a sharp smile and then did everything she could to ignore the Duke for the rest of supper.
Which she managed to do, as he was pulled into further conversations, allowing Sophia to sit in silence and disappear. Not the way she envisioned spending the evening, but for the best. Too much more of the Duke and who knew what she might say.
Why do I let him get to me like that? Why do I care? He is wrong, and he knows he is wrong. What does it matter what aman who has created nothing thinks about art… or me, for that matter.
When supper ended, Sophia could not have been more relieved… that was until Helena reminded her that they would be having drinks in the drawing room.
“Oh… I really should be getting home…” Sophia looked toward the foyer as if she meant to escape.
“Nonsense.” Helena took hold of her arm and dug in. “Stay for a little longer, Sophia. I have hardly had a chance to speak with you.”
Her gaze followed the other guests as they wandered toward the drawing room, and among them she found the Duke, who was sure to look over his shoulder and flash his eyes when he saw her watching.
“Perhaps for a few minutes,” she found herself saying. Which surprised her. If anything, she should have turned and fled, but when she saw the Duke…I am not even sure what I feel.
She did not like the man. She hated what he stood for. Yet there was something about him that she could not ignore. Perhaps it was just the urge to prove him wrong? Likely, it was curiosity that did it, the lingering question of how he was able to act the way he did, without care, without concern for perception and expectation. How did he do it, and how did he get away with it?
