Felicity’s father.
Jules straightened the index finger on his left hand until his knuckle made a satisfying cracking sound. He would need to have a discussion with the man, who’d been a good friend to his father for as long as Jules could remember. Now that Charley had consented to his courtship, Jules would have to have that difficult conversation soon.
“Damnedest thing.” Chase crossed one leg languidly over the other from across the room, where he sat near the hearth. “Your betrothed having an acquaintance with the American president. And then to mention it in mixed company.”
“Is Miss Jackson your betrothed yet?” Mantis lumbered away from the felt-covered table and looked over at Jules.
“Not yet.” Jules poured himself an early morning drink. “But she will be.”
Chapter 12
CAPTURING TIME
“If this was a summer house party, all of us would travel to some ideal picturesque location on the estate and paint outdoors.” Bethany took Charley’s arm as the group of mostly young ladies strolled through the foyer. “But seeing as it’s only March, Mother has had the ballroom converted.”
“What if one doesn’t paint?” Charley remembered the few attempts she’d made under her mother’s tutelage when she’d been younger. By the sixth or seventh lesson, her mother had given up on her completely and they’d moved on to the pianoforte. Charley had envied the music her mother had been able to coax from the instrument so effortlessly.
But for Charley, the proper keys had always eluded her fingers and the notes on the page danced chaotically before her eyes. That particular exercise had proven an even less successful endeavor than the painting.
It had not been long after that that Charley had begun making excuses to visit her father in his office and at the stills. Her mother had resisted at first, but Charley knew that she’d also been secretly relieved.
“Of course you can paint!” Felicity glanced over at her. “All young ladies do.”
Not this one, Charley corrected her silently.
For today’s activity, tarps had been draped on the floor and over easels set up in a circle on the far side of the room. A wooden block was placed in the center of the circle.
“Everyone, please select your easel and prepare to create your masterpiece. Highly esteemedMonsieur Jean LucLemaitrewill be available to offer his assistance.” Lady Westerley stood beside a small man with a beret cocked sideways on his head and wearing a paint-covered smock. “This will be an excellent opportunity for each of you to improve your skills.”
Bethany stopped at one of the easels, where she released Charley’s arm, allowing her to claim the one beside it. Felicity took the one on the opposite side. Farther around, Tabetha was giggling with Lady Lucinda, and on the other side of them, the other Blackheart twin, Lady Lydia watched in earnest.
“Here you go, Miss Jackson.” A maid appeared at her side. “To protect your gown.”
Charley inhaled nervously. She hadn’t bargained on taking art lessons today. In fact, if Bethany had not appeared at her chamber shortly after Lord Westerley left her there, Charley had planned on finding a good book and a quiet place where she could hide.
From the other guests but also from Lord Westerley.
When she’d first met him, she’d expected to find him boring, annoying. And then he had proven to be neither. What had she been thinking to consent to his pretend courtship? Surely, that would mean exposing herself to more of his charming company. Would he pretend to show her affection? Because that was what a courtship was, after all.
Only in the case of a real courtship, there was no pretending.
Ours won’t be a pretend courtship.What did that even mean?
He was just so certain of himself. Charley buttoned up the large smock and watched as two manservants rolled a table into the circle. Whatever had been stacked on it was presently concealed with another of the ubiquitous tarps.
“MadamsandMademoiselles.” The Frenchman cleared his throat. “May I have your attentions'il vous plaît?Maintenantwe are going to journey deep into the historical importance of paintingnature morte. Or as the English say, the still life.” He turned to nod at the servants who carefully folded the sheet off of the table.
They revealed a large bowl of fruit placed on a velvet-covered block so as to be visible to everyone. “What do you see here?”
“Fruit.” Charley stated the obvious and a soft murmur of laughter echoed in the room. She hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself, but the question was such an obvious one that it would have been silly not to answer.
The painting master pinned his gaze on her, a thrill of excitement in his expression. “Ah, but is it? Is it really? Come forward and look closer.”
Charley shifted a moment but then stepped around her easel to peer more closely at the bowl. What sort of a trick question was this? “An orange. A banana. Grapes. A pineapple.” She shrugged. “Apples?”
“Look closer,” he urged.
“There is light and color. The fruit is a moment in time,” Felicity provided from where she stood at her canvas and Charley sent her an appreciative glance.
