“James, I don’t think Lord Sommerset needs a lesson in astronomy right now.” The duchess pulled her husband further away from them.
Lady Amelia shook her head. “Don’t mind the duke. He’s quite intelligent, as is my sister, but they cannot appreciate true beauty.” She sighed. “They subscribe to some ancient philosopher’s definition of beauty.”
He watched the other couple, hoping they wouldn’t move too far. “I imagine that would be Aristotle.”
“Why yes, I do believe that was the name. Do you agree?”
He turned back to face her, not wishing to be rude. “I understand Aristotle’s concept of symmetry, but I often find vistas that are not symmetrical quite beautiful.”
“Yes!” Her eyes practically glowed. “That is what I have tried to tell them, but they will hear none of it.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “What would some old, dusty, philosopher know about beauty anyway?” She cocked her head before spinning about to gaze at the sky again.
Did he just see light freckles sprinkled across her nose? He couldn’t be sure because her blue, almost violet eyes had completely distracted him. He felt an odd sense of privilege that she had included him in what seemed to be her secret observation.
“Already the beauty is fading.” Her voice was sad, as if the scene in the sky had been what she’d hoped to see all evening.
He lifted his gaze once again to find she was correct. More clouds had joined ranks and seemed determined to shield the moon from their view. He didn’t care for the disappointed sound of her voice. “That may be true, but isn’t that what makes the beauty of the moment that much more special?”
This time when she turned back to him, she appeared to study him. “You are correct. I have often thought that. The first time it occurred to me, I had just set up my easel by the River Seine when the sun began to rise upon the flying buttresses of Notre Dame. I was so spellbound by the play of light that I failed to capture it with my brush.”
So she had traveled to Paris. That made sense if, as she’d mentioned, she’d traveled abroad to study art. Perhaps that was why she was so well-versed in the artwork of the masters. “I too have seen the sunrise on Notre Dame, but from the opposite vantage point.” He had been about all night drinking with friends and had yet to go to bed, but she needn’t know that. He felt far older and wiser now. “It was a rather symmetrical experience until the light reflected off the Rose Window.”
She nodded sagely. “Yes, I have witnessed that view as well. I was able to capture it in paint until that exact moment happened.”
“Do you think not capturing such a sight makes it more personal?”
“I do. I call it the mystic moment. It’s that happening that speaks to your soul and can’t be replicated or even shared unless witnessed with another.”
Surprised that he knew exactly what she meant, he couldn’t keep silent. “I would call it a moment beyond human comprehension. It’s less that you understand it, and more that you feel it.”
Her eyes widened for a moment in shared understanding before she looked away, as if embarrassed.
He understood because he felt similarly. Better to steer their conversation into other avenues. He offered her his arm again so they could stroll closer to her sister. As they approached, a half-smile played upon her lips, which was not how she’d appeared while looking at the moon. Though nothing changed in her visage now, he sensed her withdrawal as if she had retreated back into her shell, much like Botticelli’s Aphrodite may have if she didn’t wish to be seen. Had the moon’s appearance behind the clouds invited the lady artist to reveal herself, and could it be that now, like the moon, the profound woman scurried back into hiding, only she did so behind smiles?
It was a curious thought. As Lady Amelia conversed with her sister, nothing changed. She was much like she had been every other time he had danced with her. But he had seen something else. Had it been a single moment of thoughtfulness, or did she indeed have other weighty observations? Or were they only in relation to art like her counterproposal? If so, he should be more flattered that she wished to paint him.
“Lord Sommerset, do you have any thoughts as to why we have had such a dreary, cold summer?” The duchess held both hands out as if to indicate the chilliness of the air about them.
“I have not. I have been more concerned about the results of this cold on my tenants, and their ability to survive the winter. Not much has grown, and I fear food shortages in the coldest of months.”
The duke nodded. “As do I. I have been making alternative plans and would be happy to share them with you.”
To have the Duke of Northwick share his ideas would indeed be a boon. “I would be very interested. This is my first year not having my father to discuss such matters with, and I appreciate any experience you can share with me.”
The duke’s eyebrows rose. “I doubt I have as much experience as the late earl, but I may have read a bit more about the subject than you.”
“Of course.” He held back a grimace. He’d just intimated that the duke was as old as his father when he was no more than maybe eight years his senior.
The duchess gave an exaggerated shiver. “I do believe I’m growing quite chilled. I’m sure the supper dance should be ending soon.”
Lady Amelia grinned wickedly. “Are you sure it’s not your penchant for sweets that calls you in, Joanna?” She turned to him to explain. “Lady Dulac makes my sister’s favorite trifle.”
“I was not aware.” Nor did he find it of grave importance. She had returned to trivial topics.
Her grace answered. “Oh yes. If you haven’t tasted Lady Dulac’s cook’s Citrus Trifle, then you must be sure not to eat your fill at dinner. It is well worth the wait.” She shivered. “And as much as I love it, I really am quite chilled.”
The duke’s brow furrowed. “Then let us return to the ballroom posthaste.” He did not wait for anyone’s agreement as he guided his wife toward the brightly lit open doorway.
Andrew followed with Lady Amelia on his arm. “Are you also chilled?”
