Her brows lowered. “At first, while small, it was a way to distinguish myself from my sisters. As the youngest, they all wished to baby me.”
“And you didn’t welcome that?”
“Absolutely not.” She set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “I wanted to be their age, though I was so much younger. My mother encouraged me as she used to paint, so I was indulged, but I never felt I truly had talent until my Aunt Mabry.”
He remembered her mentioning her relative before. “She’s the one with whom you traveled to Europe.”
“Yes. Joanna used to read to her, which actually helped her to sleep. She was supposed to travel with Aunt Mabry to Europe, but the Christmas before they were due to leave, I did a painting of Aunt Mabry’s dog.”
He couldn’t help smirking. “Her dog?”
She wagged her finger at him. “She loved that dog. Bushel was his name. Or maybe Peck. I can’t remember. The point was, she loved that dog and when she opened my gift she was stunned. At first, I was afraid I had created such a horrendous likeness that she was appalled, but it wasn’t that at all.”
An unreasonable pride swelled in his chest. “She was stunned by how well it was done.”
“Yes.” She smiled at the memory, a true smile with no amusement in it, and it was breathtaking. “She said I had talent, and determined at that very moment that I must accompany her to Europe.”
“How did the Duchess feel about that?”
“Duchess? Oh, Joanna. She was relieved. She and Aunt Mabry had very opposite views on everything.” She leaned in closer. “To be honest, Joanna would rather have her nose buried in a book about the great colosseum than actually visit it.”
“Blasphemy.” He grasped his chest as if appalled and widened his eyes.
She chuckled. “My feeling as well.”
He dropped his hands, a new understanding about her growing. “You say it makes you happy. So will you always paint?”
A sadness filled her eyes and she looked away. “I had thought so, but it cannot be.”
Confused, he placed his fingers under her chin and turned her face toward his. “Why?”
Still, she didn’t look at him, but her right shoulder lifted before dropping. “It’s of no consequence.”
“Amelia, look at me.” He had to know what had changed for her.
She finally lifted her gaze to meet his. Resignation seemed to radiate from her eyes. “Aunt Mabry had promised that when she passed, I would inherit Silver Meadows, her estate. She said there were only two roads for a woman of my standing. I could either be wealthy in my own right and pursue my painting to my heart’s content or follow my mother’s path and marry and give up my art to be a lady of a household.”
Knowing that she had agreed to marry him if he posed for her, his stomach clenched at what that meant, but he needed her to tell him. “But you didn’t inherit Silver Meadows, did you?”
This time, she turned away from him and lifted her paintbrush. “No. Aunt Mabry left it to Joanna. She felt Joanna had become so unmarriageable that she needed it more. So I may never know what I’m capable of as an artist.”
She dipped her paintbrush into the black, mixing it with some of the linseed oil then stroked the color into his hair on the painting, which in his opinion did not make it better.
He felt dismissed, as if she didn’t wish to talk to him, but he recognized her action for what it was, self-preservation. Dwelling on the past was painful, so she turned to what gave her joy to assuage her hurt. He wanted her to know that he could be a source of comfort as well. If he could somehow help her be at peace with her decision to marry him, then—suddenly the pieces fell into place. She wanted one more chance to paint before taking on the duties of a wife. But he had to be sure.
Laying a hand on the bare skin between her neck and shoulder, he leaned in. “Why did you want me as the subject of your artwork?”
He felt more than heard the intake of her breath as she reacted to his touch, but she continued to add to the painting.
“If you must know, I think that you could be what I need to create a masterpiece.”
Stunned, he didn’t move. Him? In a masterpiece? He studied her profile, looking for any hint of a smile, some sign that she jested, but there was none. “Many great artists don’t reach the pinnacle of their talent until they are older.”
“I know.”
When she didn’t elaborate, understanding dawned. She didn’t look to him for comfort. He was her source of hope. The realization struck him to the core. The responsibility of that place in her life was immense, and yet he was honored with her profound trust that his presence could bring forth her greatest work.
Not knowing what to say, he stroked his hand down her back to the top of her pale green dress and kissed the base of her neck.
