Joanna patted her hand. “I did not ask to make you uncomfortable. I, of anyone, understand. Though I will say that my wifely chores are much more enjoyable than I had anticipated.”
She ignored the gleam in her sister’s gaze. She was happy for Joanna, truly happy for her, but was not interested in wedded bliss until she’d achieved her masterpiece.
The men returned to the table with plates for each of them. She smiled her thanks to Lord Sommerset and reviewed her plate. He’d given her healthy helpings of all her favorites as if he knew what she liked. Glancing at his plate, she smirked. It appeared they had similar tastes. “You enjoy the blancmange, too.”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “I have a certain weakness for it. I’m not sure if it is truly the flavor, or the fact I enjoyed it so much in Marseille.”
“The confluence of memory and flavor is also my reason. I cannot think of a better one.” She quickly took a bite of the soft and savory dish to keep herself from saying more. Best to stay with things mundane and polite, not personal.
“Did you travel much when you were on the continent?”
She finished swallowing and took a sip of the wine he’d poured for them from the decanter on the small table. “Only France, Greece, Holland, and Italy. I traveled with my aunt as her companion, but she encouraged my painting.” She grimaced. “I believe she thought if I saw the great masters that I would be inspired. But to be honest, they stifled my creativity for a very long time.”
“Why?” He took a spoonful of blancmange himself.
“Why? Because they were so talented. I spent far more time studying them than practicing my own art. Once I recognized their brilliance, it made it hard to even attempt such a feat.”
He gave her an encouraging smile. “But you did attempt, and I have to guess with some success if you exhibited at the London Art Academy.”
“Yes, eventually.” Only because her aunt had forced her to take up paint and brush with a strict tutor, keeping her dream alive even when she’d abandoned it. She’d been very thankful for such stalwart support, but her gratefulness had dulled considerably after reading the letter left for her upon Aunt Mabry’s death. Swallowing the betrayal, she glanced at her dinner companion.
He took a sip of wine, his Adam’s apple rising and falling in his corded neck. He set down the glass, and she quickly averted her gaze.
“It sounds as if your time spent studying the great artists helped you achieve some success of your own and a talent for recognizing forgeries of said artists. Have you ever been asked to determine if a painting is authentic?”
“I have, usually by my friends or my mother’s friends. It’s not a talent I want to make known since it’s not necessarily smiled upon.”
His brows furrowed then lifted as understanding must have dawned. Men rarely had to worry about their reputations, yet women must watch every word spoken and every act undertaken. It was this simple fact that had her understanding Joanna’s need for equality between the genders, though to undertake to change it was far braver than she could ever be.
He set down his fork. “Would you consider…” His gaze moved away as he eyed the duke and her sister before returning to her. “Would you consider examining the paintings I have here in London?”
Before she could respond, he continued in a lowered voice. “My mother is hosting a small dinner party this Friday before we leave Town. If you would deign to attend, you could perhaps arrive early?”
What a creative solution to his dilemma regarding his collection. That he sought her expertise had her filling with pride, but she quickly set it aside. He was simply being practical. Who else could he find to review them without the promise of a purchase? “I would be pleased to see what you have and give my opinion.”
His lips formed a brilliant smile that had her envisioning him as Apollo in his golden chariot pulling the sun across the sky. She grasped her fork to keep her fingers from noticeable movement as the need to paint him struck hard.
“I am in your debt.” He gave her a nod. “I will have my mother send an invitation to you in the morning.”
Forcing her mind back to the room filled with people took her a moment. She gave a nod of her own before turning to her food again, wishing she were in her studio where she could sketch the vision that had burst upon her. It would no doubt fade as it always did, leaving her frustrated.
She was spared further conversation as the duke engaged the earl in the latest bill that passed in parliament. It gave her time to refocus on the evening and her purpose for being there, mainly to enjoy herself. In her opinion, her intensity about her artwork had no place in polite society and after two conversations with the earl that dove deep into her personal feelings on the subject, it was difficult to find the lightness in the evening.
“Amelia, I thought you liked salmon.” Her sister nodded toward her plate where she’d not yet touched the cold fish.
She raised her right shoulder. “Oh, I do. I was just enjoying the conversation.”
Joanna glanced toward her husband. “I never thought I’d see the day that the weather and politics would be equally valued.”
She gave her sister a chuckle, hiding how out of sorts she felt. “I’m sure there have been stranger bedfellows. Didn’t you mention Lord Bromley is courting Lady Warren’s daughter? Now who would have expected that? I doubted very much that she would give him any time at all, considering his lack of wealth, and yet they are expected to announce a betrothal any day.”
As her sister launched into the many reasons the two would hardly do, Amelia half listened. Who would be her next dance partner? That is what she should be thinking about, not painting her dinner companion. It would be hours before they arrived back at Craymore Hall and by then the images of the rest of the evening would wipe away any thoughts of the Greek god bursting with sunlight.
“Amelia, please accompany me.”
At the sound of her name, she blinked before giving Joanna a smile as she rose. “Of course.”
The two men rose, and her sister linked their arms as they made their way to the retiring room set aside for the ladies of the ball. After attending to necessities, Joanna sidled up to her as she pinned up a wayward curl.
