“Perhaps your mood was brought on by a bout of peckishness,” she said. “That’s why I always go straight to the breakfast table when I awaken. A cup of chocolate and something nourishing staves off any bad moods or headaches.”
Although he knew his lack of food had little to do with his earlier anger, he nodded.
“I went to the salon and had some toast and coffee. And you are correct, I am much improved.”
“And yet, here you are amongst the ladies instead of with the gentlemen. Are you going to claim an easel, too?”
“No, I shall not. I haven’t the patience, nor the skill for it.” He wished he hadn’t mentioned skill. For she glanced at her painting and then back at him, her expression clearly questioning.
Vincent hated to lie to her, so he said nothing. He merely rocked on his heels, put his hands into his coat pockets, and squinted into the distance as if something had caught his attention.
“You haven’t yet remarked upon my painting,” she said. “Where are your eye-glasses?”
Perhaps they would help, but he feared his spectacles would only bring her disaster-in-oil into clearer focus. Withdrawing them from his pocket, he donned them and looked at her work of art once again, trying not to flinch.
“Aninterestingcomposition,” he said. “I particularly like the orange. You’ve captured the fruit’s roundness and color.”
Her eyes widened, and she studied her own painting in silence for a long moment. Stepping back, he did the same from his vantage over the back of her bonnet. When her shoulders began to shake, Vincent feared the worst.
Lady Brilliance was devastated, sobbing and distraught.It was all his fault!
Chapter Six
“Lady Brilliance,” Vincent began, wishing he’d eaten his own shoe rather than insult her.
Suddenly, her laughter burst forth, bringing him instant relief. In fact, she laughed so hard she dropped her paintbrush onto the grass and covered her face. He feared she would convulse with the heartiness of her humor.
Finally, she lifted her head and gave herself a little shake.
“That, my lord, is the sun,” she managed to say. “Truly, I thought it the best part of my dreadful creation. Make no mistake, I am fully aware that I have less-than-no talent for oils. Or watercolors, for that matter. I would have been insulted had you tried to flatter me and make a silk purse from my sow’s ear of a painting.”
“If you tell everyone it is an orange, then it shall be a triumph,” he suggested.
Should he tell her that she now had even more paint upon her face?It didn’t diminish her beauty at all, but females were fussy about such things.
“But what of these terrible roses?” She retrieved her brush and used it to point at one of the ugly blooms.
“Sadly, there is nothing you can say about those that will make them appear any better.”
The painting master chose that moment to come over.
“I hear merriment from this quarter, usually the happy sounds of tri —”
He broke off when he got a good look at Lady Brilliance’s painting. “Triumph,” he finished flatly, glancing at Vincent who shrugged.
“It is magnificent,” the master added. “Like a primitive cry of rosy passion.”
Lady Brilliance was chuckling again, and Vincent couldn’t contain a snicker. It earned him a warning glance from the painting master.
“Any attempt must be encouraged,” he said. “Besides, the orange is well done. The large citrus looks positively juicy.”
The laughter that burst out of them both seemed to offend the instructor, for he immediately strode away to another guest.
“I think I would like to try my hand at fishing,” Lady Brilliance said. “If it’s not too late.”
With that, she dipped her brush into the black daub of paint on her palette and in a shaky hand scrawled the word “Brilliance.” It took up the entire lower right corner and even curled up the side.
He would have sworn a child had painted it.How delightful!
