Page 111

On meeting Dominic, people generally looked nervous—if his reputation preceded him—or awed, depending on where they were in the social hierarchy.

West bowed and said, “Good afternoon.” In short, he acted like a duke, not a plain mister.

But, of course, he was American.

Dominic had given some thought to his strategy. He’d decided to lead with an offer of largesse and follow it up with a demand. “I would like to make a substantial donation to the academy.”

West brightened up and looked more interested.

“In honor of my wife,” Dominic added.

They made their way through two more exhibition rooms into West’s office, a gracious room, its walls covered with art.

“Is this yours?” Dominic inquired, looking at a painting that depicted a couple of fellows in togas walking through a crowd.

West joined him, nodding. “Socrates. The power of expressing historical events in painting—with perspicuity—is one of the most impressive powers that can be given by man to convey useful lessons to others.”

“I see,” Dominic said, moving to the next painting.

“Caesar just after being slain by Brutus,” West said. “Note the exquisite columns in the background. Rome holds the sources of true taste.”

“No flowers.”

“No.”

The finality in his voice suggested that the Duchess of Huntington had been right: flowers and kittens were considered feminine, whereas Caesar covered with blood was masculine. Dominic had a sinking feeling that West might not be amenable to his request.

He had to switch tactics. He’d make the request first and follow it up with money. As he originally conceived the bargain, West would take the bait before giving in. But this man was all about art.

West acted like a duke because presumably he was a duke in the world of art. After all, his office was in a royal palace.

When they were seated on red velvet chairs picked out in gilt—definitely worthy of a duke—Dominic began with a simple question. “Has the Academy ever considered accepting women painters?”

Unsurprisingly, West’s face expressed disapproval. He leaned forward, and Dominic reminded himself that he had no intention of losing his temper fighting with this bantam cock from the former colonies.

“The Academy has ladies among its ruling members!” West stated. “Angelica Kauffman is an esteemed history painter. Mary Moser is known for her portraits. And floral paintings.” He sat back, satisfied. “The vulgar world may consider women to be the inferior sex, but here the only qualification is talent. The art world is a meritocracy.”

“I should like my wife to be a member of the Academy,” Dominic said, putting his cards on the table. “I am prepared to make a substantial donation to the Academy’s endowment in order to facilitate her entrance.”

“Impossible,” West replied dispassionately. “Did you not hear what I just said? Talent is the only means of entry to the Academy.”

“You believe a viscountess could have no talent?”

West’s face twitched, registering the way Dominic’s voice had dropped. Perhaps it also occurred to him that a viscount had direct access to his patron, King George.

Yet he had the courage of his convictions, and he leveled a stubborn American chin in Dominic’s direction. “Talent is possible at any rank. What does your wife paint? Historical scenes, perhaps? Mythological depictions?”

“Flowers and rabbits,” Dominic said. “With the odd kitten, though I haven’t seen any of those.”

The president winced. “With all due respect, my lord, ladies make charming paintings the way cows make milk. More is required of still lifes than to be pretty. Mary Moser is considered the first significant British floral painter. Her work conveys depth and emotion.”

“My wife’s are excellent.” Dominic fixed West with a basilisk stare.

“I applaud your loyalty. If your wife would like to submit a painting for the Summer Exhibition, I will make certain that it receives a fair viewing by the Royal Academicians.”

“Is that the best exhibition?”

“It is the world’s oldest open submission exhibition,” West told him. “We began in 1769. Your wife’s sex would not be a factor.”