“It is not intended for viewing,” she said. “A sketchbook is much like a journal, and full of private thoughts.”
“It is full of pictures, not words. If you cannot bear the thought of anyone seeing your work, you will never be successful as an artist,” Jasmine said.
“Miss Russell does not want you looking in her sketchbook, Jasmine,” Ophelia said with exasperation. “Nor did she say she sought success as an artist. She dabbles because she enjoys it.”
“She says she does not want success because all women say that and think that. It is bred into us to have no ambition. She may be a brilliant talent, not a middling one, and not even be aware of it. How could she know?”
Rather than open a new argument, Ophelia accepted Jasmine’s scold. Chagrined, she looked at Eva. “Do not show it if you do not want it viewed. However, my sister is very knowledgeable about art. She has many artistic friends, some of them famous. If you do have a brilliant talent, she would spot it.”
Seeing an opening, Eva pointedly looked around the library’s walls. “Did you choose the pictures here, Miss Neville?”
“I did. Some. My father and his father bought many of them.”
“I have heard it said that students of art are encouraged to copy their betters. I wonder if that would help me improve.”
“That depends on whether you even can improve. There is no point in copying great art if you cannot even draw decently, for example.”
Eva looked down on her sketchbook. She had hoped that the sisters Neville would open their home and art to her much as they had opened their library holdings to Rebecca. She had not expected to have to prove herself worthy, as if she were applying for a position as their portrait painter.
She lifted the sketchbook. “I think I draw quite well. You can decide for yourself.” She handed it to Jasmine.
Jasmine opened the book on her lap. Ophelia moved to sit beside her. From her chair, Eva could see which pages they viewed.
Jasmine quickly paged past the earliest sketches, the childish ones done many years ago. She stopped right where she should, however, at the first sketch done when Eva was more mature and confident.
Slowly the sheets turned. The views, the flowers, the flurry of horses from the two years when they enthralled her. It had beena long time since she had taken the time to peruse these herself, so she eyed them almost as objectively as the sisters did.
Another pause. A long one. Jasmine and Ophelia looked with great interest at a portrait done in pencil. Eva’s heart fell. It was a drawing she had done of Charles one lighthearted summer afternoon in the garden.
He appeared more rakish in her picture than he did in her memories. He never wore his cravat loosely tied like that. His blond hair almost never blew in the breeze.
“I do not recognize him,” Jasmine said.
“He left Langdon’s End before you arrived. Over five years ago.”
“Where did he go?” Ophelia asked.
“America.”
“Only after that stupid war ended. Sheer idiocy,” Jasmine muttered. “To fight the French and the Americans at the same time. If I could vote, I would never vote Tory again.”
Ophelia looked over, right into Eva’s eyes. Her gaze communicated a special comprehension, and sympathy. The younger sister had seen more in that drawing than Eva realized was there.
Jasmine paged through the rest—the drawings that became less ambitious, and limited to small views of their own property during the years caring for her brother. Also less frequent, until, one day, the sketchbook had resided in its drawer for an entire year without being touched.
“Goodness, what are these?”
A scattering of buildings covered the two pages open on Jasmine’s lap.
Nostalgia gripped Eva’s heart. “Those are not mine. My brother, while ill, distracted himself for a few days. Those peculiar views were the result. He soon lost interest.”
“Perhaps he assumed if you could do it, he of course could too. The talent did not run in the family, however.” She quickly moved on.
“Middling, as you say.” Jasmine closed the book when nothing but white pages showed. “Not hopelessly so. Unschooled, however. If you lived here all your life, you have had few opportunities to see really good art, so how could you learn? I think we should invite Miss Russell to make use of our paintings, sister, so she can try her hand at some copies and learn. There are tomes with engravings, too, Miss Russell. They reproduce the very best examples of art. Not the colors, of course, but you will learn much by studying the compositions.”
“You are too generous. My sister and I will be making a visit to London very soon, and I will have the chance to see the masters there, but that is not the same as being allowed to take the time to truly study them.”
“London! Are you giving Rebecca a Season?” Ophelia asked.
