The duke greeted her with a nod and a, “Good afternoon, Miss Sterling.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Is Lord Ashton not coming with us?”
“Tony does not care for art,” Marianne explained.
“My brother can be a dullard, Miss Sterling,” the duke said in a lazy drawl. “I am not even sure we are related sometimes.”
The dowager gasped. “Oh, Warrington, do not say such things about your brother.”
This made the duke’s eyebrows lift. “He does nothing of interest, Mother. He does not read—unless it is the papers. He does not participate in sport or even ride much. He is always scurrying places but none of us know where.”
“His position with Lord Stafford demands a lot of his time,” the dowager said.
“So does being a duke, but no one seems to care about what I do.”
“Edward, dear, we do care, and we all appreciate what you do. Now, hush. Lucinda will think you have no love for your sibling.”
Lucinda kept her head down and her eyes in her lap. She almost felt sorry for the duke. This dynamic was something very new to her, not ever really having a mother or siblings. Marianne grabbed her hand and squeezed. It was almost like communication. As if she were saying,I will explain it all later.
How wrong the duke is about his brother, she thought. She found him fascinating, even if she was mad at him for calling their kiss a mistake. All she could think about was him kissing her again. Sadly, she knew he would not. Her heart ached for acceptance in the only way she knew how, and he had turned on his heel and rejected her. She could not forgive the slight, at least not right now.
Marianne had been fiddling with her reticule. “I wonder if Lord Dunstan will be at the exhibition. I mean, he is an artist, after all.” She looked at Lucinda with concern.
The dowager clapped. “Yes, yes that would be most fortunate, would it not, Miss Sterling?”
Lucinda’s head whipped around to the duchess. “Oh, ah, yes, it would be. He may even have a painting on display. I would like to see some of his work.” Was Marianne still worried he may have been the man who had been rude to her in the park all those years ago?
“That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? I must say I am intrigued to see his art, myself. How about you, Edward?” the dowager asked, but the duke only nodded.
Lucinda turned to the duke. “What style do you prefer, Your Grace?”
The duke slowly turned towards them. “I am fond of botany but only if it is done well. I do like good landscapes as well. If this Dunstan is good, I may invite him to paint Ashtonvale. The gardens are quite spectacular, I hear.”
“Perhaps if you grace us with your presence over Christmas this year, you can see for yourself. Then we need not all travel to London through the snow.” This from Marianne, her tone soothing and quiet.
Warrington raised a brow. “Perhaps, puss. We shall see.”
Studying him in her peripheral vision, Lucinda watched his expression change from fondness to sadness. She wished she knew the story behind that sadness. What had happened at that place for him to find it so difficult to be there? Would Marianne tell her about it, or was it something only family was allowed to know? Tony had warned her not to ask the duke directly, but he never said anything about asking Marianne.
Thankfully, the carriage jolted to a halt and there was a combined audible sigh. Despite the strange trip, her heart skipped a beat as she anticipated her first art exhibition.
The whole place buzzed like a hive of bees with conversation. She could smell the undertone of painting oils, furniture polish, and heated bodies. She was surprised there were so many people and at times it was awkward to try to navigate around the small groups as they chatted. The duke soon left them when he saw an acquaintance and the three women were left alone to wander at will. They bobbed curtseys and nodded as they went around the long gallery. Lucinda had never seen so many sketches, watercolors, and oil paintings before.
“Have you found a Dunstan yet?” Marianne joked. “I know you have been looking at every artist’s name.” She accompanied the statement with a little giggle.
Lucinda blushed. Had she been so obvious? “I have not looked at every one. Besides, what name would I be looking for? I do not know his name, only his title.” Well, that was not a lie, was it?
“Then you must tell me which is your favorite from this wall, and I shall tell you mine.” They moved away from where Marianne’s mother was inspecting a refreshment table.
“Very well,” Lucinda said, scanning the paintings before her. “I like this one of the fishermen pulling in the boat with the storm brewing just offshore in the background. It is extremely dramatic.”
“Oh, that one is nice. I like this one of the views of a country village. The use of light and color is quite stunning. See how the sunlight glints on the water? How do they do that? And there is a dog!”
“I myself find that one particularly appealing,” said a voice from behind them. “Especially the dog.”
Lucinda found herself genuinely happy to see the man who was now bowing in front of them. “Lord Dunstan. We were wondering if you might be here.”
He smiled at both of them. “I had to come; it is the last day of the exhibit. Imagine if I had missed Lady Ashton’s lovely description of this painting. I am glad you like it. It is mine.”
