“Yes!” the master announced gleefully. “Return to your station,Mademoiselle.”
Charley was grateful to be dismissed and quickly ducked back behind her easel.
“This fruit. Today,eetis beautiful. The colors, they aremagnifique, are they not? But tomorrow, the banana, it will have streaks and spots of brown. The orange, it will grow green and soft, and the apple will eventually dry and shrivel. But if you can capture it, if you can paint it.” He paused as though he was going to reveal the secret to life itself. “You will capture a moment in time.”
Charley glanced at her blank canvas and then back toward the fruit in confusion. Soft gasps of awe whispered around the circle and a few of the older ladies clapped their hands together.
But to her, the bowl still contained plain, ordinary fruit. She shook her head, feeling utterly out of place.
“And with my words of inspiration urging you to create, you may now select your colors and begin.” He gestured toward the fruit and made a sweeping bow.
As applause filled the room, Charley vaguely remembered how her mother had shown her to load her palette and by the time she was finished, she’d loaded it with more colors than were likely necessary.
When she could delay the actual act of putting paint to canvas no longer, she swirled one of the brushes around in the sticky red clump and then drew the outline of her apple and hastily filled it in. She wiped the red away and filled her brush with orange.
As she utilized the yellow, she wrinkled her nose when orange and red streaks ruined the color of her banana.
She might even have enjoyed herself if no one was present to witness her results.
“Ah, the light,oui, you have captured it perfectly.” The painting master had moved to observe from over Bethany’s shoulder. Charley stiffened when he moved to view her painting.
“What is this? Are you, how do you say? Making a joke?”
“A joke? Oh, Charley. That’s priceless.” Felicity covered her mouth but couldn’t keep her laughter at bay, nor could Bethany.
Heat climbed up Charley’s neck.
Frowning, the art master turned when shuffling sounds at the door inspired an altogether different sort of appreciative murmur from the young misses in the room.
And several of the older ones as well.
“My lords.” Monsieur Jean Luc dismissed Charley to stride toward the newcomers. “You have come to join the ladies,non?”
Charley didn’t turn to see which lords had stepped into the room. She didn’t have to. Even if she didn’t know by the giggles and fluttering of lashes all around, she’d know by the strange prickling that climbed up her spine whenever Lord Westerley was near. No doubt, he’d come along with his rookery of handsome lordlings.
She peered at the mess she’d made on her palette and wished she could throw one of the blasted tarps over her easel. She didn’t want him to see her lousy artwork. Or perhaps it would be best if he did. It would only require a single glance for him to realize that she would never suffice as his wife—as a countess no less.
She raised her brows as she purveyed her portrayal of the bowl of fruit. Stopping time. Ha! More likely her picture would transport the observer back to his or her childhood, when they’d first learned to paint.
Lord Westerley would take one look at it and decide that even his honor would not be worth courting her.
“A most original depiction of still life.” He’d stepped up behind her and she shivered when his breath brushed past her ear.
That sharp awareness she’d felt a few moments ago doubled when he reached around her with his right hand and covered hers, still holding the brush.
“May I?”
She turned to see if he would mock her as the Frenchman had but lost her train of thought when she found his face much closer to hers than she’d expected.
“I’ve never aspired to paint.” Her voice came out sounding a little breathless. “It’s a lost cause, I’m afraid.”
But instead of taking the paintbrush from her hands, he wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted both their hands to the canvas. Charley forced her wrist to go limp as he dabbed at the canvas and then made a few shadowy-looking strokes.
“It is hopeless.” Charley moaned a little and then squirmed as she realized that Bethany watched from where she stood, looking a little curious but also a little suspicious.
“Where there is life,” he spoke softly from just behind her, “there is hope.” He released her hand and stepped backward to reassess the painting.
Charley tilted her head to one side but honestly didn’t think he’d done anything to improve it. In fact, it might possibly look even worse. She felt him laughing behind her before she heard his actual chuckling.
