“My sister-in-law knows she is always welcome,” the duke said. They all waited, looking at her.
Were Lord Jeffcoat and the rest of them feeling sorry for her?She was, after all, the last sister to be plucked from the vine of single womanhood.
She smiled at all of them. “Tonight is my art class at Burlington House, and I never miss it. But thank you for inviting me.” She addressed that remark to both her brother-in-law and the two viscounts. “In fact, I must hurry.”
Normally, she would have left Rare Confectionery in the capable hands of one of her family members and hurried off down the street. However, with the madding crowds of London seeking Easter sweets, Charlotte had needed to stay.
“Go, dear,” her mother said. “I hope you’re not too late.”
Late or not, Charlotte intended to go to the academy. All she had to do was walk a little way until New Bond Street became Old Bond Street, and turn left at Burlington Gardens. If the weather was poor or if it were dreadfully cold, she would go through the covered passage of shops known as the Burlington Arcade. If it were fine weather or if she were in a hurry as she was that evening, she would dart behind the arcade to more swiftly reach the Royal Academy of Art, housed in the main building at the northern end of the Burlington House courtyard.
Entering the esteemed academy and attending a painting class was the most exciting thing she did all week, twice a week. And not only because she often met painters in the lobby or got to see magnificent works of art newly displayed, sometimes before the public. No, it was because of a fellow student.
Over the last year, eight times a month, she had made moon eyes at Lionel Evans, while he sketched and painted, and while she half-heartedly and with great distraction did the same. Seeing him were the highpoints of her week, and she approached each class with great expectations. His sister, Viola, rather silly and spoiled but affable, was always ready to chat more than sketch, and when she did turn her attention to her drawing or canvas, she was even less talented than Charlotte.
Occasionally, Lionel joined in their conversation, and Charlotte always made a point to extend the invitation for them to visit the shop. He’d even agreed to do so. Nevertheless, when Viola had come in on two occasions, she’d been by herself.
Once, feeling a little shy, she’d brought a tin of her fruit-shaped marzipan to the class. The teacher and the other students had proclaimed them clever little works of art, but Lionel had not cared for the taste.
Still, after class, while Viola talked to their teacher, Lionel had struck up their first real private conversation.
“You have a talent for sculpture, Miss Rare-Foure. Why do you bother with painting?”
She supposed that meant he didn’t think she had a talent for painting, which was perfectly true. But she could hardly tell him she bothered with it simply to be near him in class.
Instead, tongue-tied, she’s shrugged, but that night when alone, she was at least able to relish his having finally taken an interest in her. Twice a week since then, they’d chatted more. And then, one time, Viola had been absent due to a megrim, and Lionel had lingered after class while Charlotte gathered her things. In the hallowed halls of the academy, which were also quiet and shadowed by that time, he’d leaned close and kissed her — a furtive, splendid, terrifying kiss!
After that, she looked forward to each class with thrilling anticipation, usually ending with her hopes if not dashed, then definitely dimmed. Viola was always there between them, chatting, until a couple of months earlier, just after the new year. At that time, Viola stopped coming entirely without even saying goodbye. Lionel said she’d found another pastime in flute lessons.
Charlotte felt guilty for being pleased and knew it was wrong to be excited at no longer having Viola wedged firmly between them. And that evening, after class, Lionel took her in his arms and soundly kissed her for the first time. Their teeth clacked, and there was an unexpected exchange of spittle. But she was in Lionel’s arms.At last!Surely, he would send an invitation by the morning post to escort her somewhere, such as a concert or play.
But he hadn’t. A few nights later, when next their class met, it took so long to be over, she thought the clocks had all stopped in London.
“You know where I live, don’t you?” she asked him with a degree of timidness that wasn’t like her, but fearing if she pushed him, he would go back to the standoffish person he’d been for over a year.
“Yes,” he said. “Shh.” And he’d started to kiss her, backing her against the wall, which felt cool behind her back.
“Baker Street,” she said when he lifted his head with his long pale hair unfashionably tied back in a thong as if he were from another century.
“And you know where I work,” she reminded him.
“Mm,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers again. “At that sweet shop.”
She’d given in to the sensations of a man’s mouth searing her own. Or rather, warmly and moistly exploring her lips.
At the end of every class for the past month, he’d found a way for them to stay behind. The one time he hadn’t, she’d had to go back for her “dropped” glove, finding Lionel in the upstairs hallway, looking annoyed. His irritation and his frown cleared as soon as he saw her.
“I thought you had left.” His sulky tone demonstrated his feelings for her.
She nearly said, “Never!” In truth, however, she couldn’t help wondering where this was going. If her parents knew of the liberties Lionel took, they would forbid Charlotte going to class. And for her own part, she wanted him to declare his intention to ask her out, to do something with him besides paint or kiss. Surely, he had an interest in seeing her in the daylight, in strolling through the park or even going to the theatre.
Perhaps he would declare himself her suitor that night!
Hurrying into the back room under so many watchful eyes, she thought her cheeks were going to be red as strawberries with guilt over her inappropriate thoughts. Putting on her springtime, pale-gray cloak, she pinned her hat in place and tugged on her gloves. After snatching up her satchel with her art supplies, she emerged to find everyone still there, talking to Felicity.
Charlotte would speak with her mother later when she had time about the offer she’d made to Edward Percy. Bidding everyone good day, she walked toward the door.
Lord Jeffcoat remained at attendance and held it open for her. Their eyes locked, and he gave her a friendly nod.
