Page 25 of Romancing the Artist

Still anxious and impatient after the conversation about Sir Thomas’s preferences, Caroline couldn’t muster more than a brief smile for him. He would have to carry the weight of the ruse today. She had other things to concentrate on. Even if his charming smile tempted her to take a second glance at him.

The expense of all the supplies made the party a unique one, and the sort of thing only someone of a generous mind or large fortune would think to invent. Lady Inglewood presented Caroline with a polite reintroduction. “You have all met my dear friend Miss Clapham by now. She has graciously agreed to take part in your instruction today. Miss Clapham is an apt student, and a talented artist. We will benefit from her artistic insight, I am certain.”

Whether the ladies had the usual level of expertise one could expect from females of gently bred households, Caroline couldn’t say. She hadn’t worked with anyone outside of Lady Inglewood, her mother, grandmother, and an instructor her mother had hired two years previous. Having few to measure against her own abilities, Caroline couldn’t be certain what the ladies themselves would consider well done or in need of improvement.

Edward Everly settled on his bench, one leg crossed over the other, his book in hand. He didn’t appear the least interested in the painting party.

For a time, Caroline strictly observed and worked upon her own paper. Settled as she was between Miss Kimball and Miss Everly, she had an excellent view of their work. Lady Fox and Miss Patience were on either side of Lady Inglewood. It became apparent at once that Miss Everly over-saturated her color with water, making her reds into pinks and all other colors into pastels. Was it on purpose? She also had a difficult time adding detail to her roses. Miss Kimball had started her work with the blooms, too, and her chosen hues were perfect. Yet she had the tendency to linger overlong on a brush stroke.

First Caroline went to Miss Everly’s aid. “Your technique is lovely,” she said first, and the woman’s cheeks turned the same shade of pink as her roses. “May I make one small suggestion?” She held her hand out for the other’s brush, then showed how to remove excess water from the bristles after taking in some color.

“Oh, thank you.” Miss Everly said, beginning a new rose. “I much prefer quilling, but my mother assures me it is no longer in fashion.”

Lady Fox sniffed and spoke with confidence from her side of the fountain. “And what do we care for fashion when it comes to our artistic pursuits, Miss Everly? Quilling has long been a favorite of mine, along with inking wood in the deepest blacks. Shall I invite your mother to come and play at quilling with us some afternoon?”

Miss Everly’s cheeks turned pinker still. “I would enjoy that, my lady. I believe my mother would, too.”

Lady Fox nodded firmly, as though that settled things, and Caroline stepped behind her easel to hide her smile. Then she peeped over at Mariah’s work. The other woman had continued her slow, steady progress, and her mistake took effect. Her colorful wash of red dried, uneven and with small, dark streaks.

Caroline laid her brush down. She walked around Miss Kimball to stand on her side furthest from Miss Everly. She watched for a moment in silence, contemplating how best to explain the problem to the other lady.

Mariah, not looking up from her work, spoke before Caroline made up her mind on what to say. “The paint dries too quickly for me,” she murmured softly, glancing briefly to where her mother worked on the other side of the fountain. “But when I add more water, it dilutes the color, as you saw with Miss Everly.”

“Watching you, I don’t think your problem is in the amount of water you use. The colors are perfect. Quite vibrant.” Caroline offered a sympathetic smile to the other woman, noting the dimple that appeared when Mariah sucked in her cheeks. The woman was an absolute beauty. No wonder Mr. Edward Everly’s parents wanted her for a daughter-in-law.

“Is my brush the wrong size?” she asked, looking at her work critically.

“No, indeed. Your strokes are even, precise. You are using the same brush I would use.” Caroline pointed along the heavy, dark line of one rose petal. “Your handling of the brush is near perfect. I can only find fault with the speed at which you work. While I understand the desire to move slowly, to perfect each detail, it is not a supportable way to work with watercolors. The paint dries before you finish with it, creating edges that will only grow darker if you attempt to correct it. You will overwork the area and compound the problem. You must move faster, Miss Kimball.”

The other woman chewed on her bottom lip, looking from Caroline to the paper. “But what of the lost detail? Or a blunder? Hasty work can lead to mistakes,” she added, softer still.

Perhaps she wasn’t truly speaking of the painting. Caroline glanced over her shoulder and noted Edward Everly had lowered his book to watch them, his eyebrows raised.

“In some cases, that is true. You must strike a balance between hurried work and efficiency.” Caroline nodded to the thick paper before Miss Kimball. “Create another petal. A different rose. But think only of making one, fluid motion with your wrist first one direction, and then the other, drawing the paint along with the brush rather than trying to place it exactly where you wish it to be.”

Mariah took the brush and drew in a slow, deep breath. “Very well.” She checked the color in its well, adding more pigment to the water until satisfied with the hue, and then held the brush close to the paper.

A movement at the corner of her eye heralded Edward’s rise from the bench. He approached them without sound and stood just behind them both. Caroline sensed his watchful gaze on the back of her neck the same as she would feel the sunlight warming her.

“One fluid motion, Miss Kimball,” Caroline repeated softly, ignoring the man.

Miss Kimball, with her delicate wrists and long, tapered fingers, gracefully gave shape to a rose petal the color of her shapely lips. Her lips parted with surprise as she drew the brush back the opposite way, and then she released her breath in a small, cheerful puff. “That looks much better.”

“Watercolor can be concerned with the details, of course,” Caroline admitted, smiling to herself. “But more often it is about the proper feel of the thing you wish to paint. Roses are less bothersome about having perfect edges than we are. If you work with the colors before they dry on the page, you have time to correct mistakes, too. Once they dry, things are less amendable.”

“One would think the passage of time makes it easier to mend mistakes,” Miss Kimball murmured, her gaze on the painting. Her sunny smile returned, though Caroline realized it did not quite reach the woman’s eyes. She looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened. “Mr. Everly. When did you creep up behind us?”

Edward chuckled. “When I sensed an important lesson being taught.”

“I thought you hadn’t any enjoyment in painting,” Caroline countered, her eyebrows raised at him. “Of what use is instruction on the subject to you?”

“I said I haven’t any talent for it,” he corrected with a crooked grin. “I am an admirer of art, though. I can appreciate the work that goes into the creation as much as I do the final product. Thus I find your instruction to Miss Kimball enthralling.”

“Enthralling,” she repeated, letting skepticism drip from each syllable. His grin appeared, and Caroline chanced a look at his sister nearest them to find her watching with interest. The show had started.

“Interesting,” he amended, the grin still in place.

“Edward,” Miss Everly said, eyes on her canvas again. “Stop being a distraction.”