Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 15

  “Then why?”

  “Lylin was afraid for Lord Fallon.” I dropped my eyes, knowing now how wrong we had been. “She didn’t want to take the risk of going against Tobias’s demands.”

  “And what about you? Why did you go along with it? You were never one to be led by your sisters.”

  I looked up and gave a pathetic shrug, because I had no excuse. “I thought I was safe from Tobias, that no matter his threats, he would never hurt me.” I didn’t look away as West studied my face, seeming to scrutinize every bit of me. “I’ve never been more wrong.”

  “And you nearly got yourself killed because of it.” Long pent-up frustration and worry soaked his words.

  “It wouldn’t have come to that.”

  “You cannot claim that with any surety.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “I can’t.”

  He stepped back, running his hands through his hair, then scratching the back of his head with both hands. “Do you know how maddening it was to watch you with him?”

  I turned my gaze away, not wanting to think about the things West might have seen. I didn’t want to know how much he might have observed of my interactions with Tobias. The thought of him seeing any of it was humiliating.

  “The way he looked at you,” he said, and I turned back to see frustration carved in the wrinkles of his forehead and the set of his jaw. “The way he treated you. The way he spoke to you. He was never overtly rude, and even his meanness was cloaked in civility. He never did anything to warrant my interference, but I knew, I knew…” He turned away, running his hand down his face before turning back. “I hated watching you with him, but I didn’t dare leave you with him because I knew he wasn’t safe.”

  I stood there, thinking I should defend myself, but knowing I didn’t have the right. Everything he said was true. It wasn’t his fault I had been so easily manipulated by Tobias. So I simply stood in my shame, knowing I deserved his censure.

  “Not only that, but Stephen had told me of your betrothal to Lord Fallon, so I couldn’t make sense of it. Why him? Why feed his ego when you were bound to marry someone else?”

  “Because he saw me,” I defended with a crack in my voice. “And I know that’s no excuse and I know it makes me pathetic, but I was so used to being overlooked in favor of my more vivacious sisters. They were soft and appealing and I…wasn’t. I couldn’t be, I didn’t know how. I didn’t understand.”

  “You think you weren’t appealing?” He sounded surprised.

  “Why else would Tobias be the only one to ever see me?”

  His eyes were fixed to mine, seeing everything. “I saw you.”

  “Not back then.”

  “Yes, back then.”

  I fell back a step at the vehemence in his words, at the fire burning in his expression.

  “You put on a facade for everyone to keep them at bay, but I was there.” He tapped his chest with three fingers. “I was always there, in all those moments when you let go of your mask. Whenever you would escape to a corner to cry, I was there to hear it. Whenever the crowd would leave and that look of utter exhaustion would cross your face, I saw it. I saw you. I saw the actual you.”

  I shook my head, trying to blink the tears away and swallow the ache in my throat. After a shuddering breath I asked, “Then why didn’t you knock some sense into me?”

  He reached out, resting his hands on either side of my neck as he rested his forehead against mine and let out a sigh. “Because you wouldn’t have listened to me. I may have been able to see you, but you never saw me—not as an equal—not as someone who could advise you.” He kissed my forehead before pulling me into his arms. “You would have hated me for saying anything about it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing the tears past my lashes.

  He ran his fingers through the ends of my hair. “You are always forgiven.”

  The words were so simple, but so meaningful because I knew they were true. I allowed myself to rest against his chest for several moments before it rumbled with his words.

  “Enough talk of him. I have something more pleasant in mind.”

  I smiled a little. “And what is that?”

  He hooked a finger under my chin and I tilted my face up. “This,” he said, lowering his head toward mine.

  I blushed furiously, but went up on my toes to meet him.

  West’s lips were just about to meet mine when Lady Brook’s call of “Princess?” reached my ears. We froze, breathing the same air.

  “I guess it’s time for you to go in,” he said, though he didn’t back away.

  “Should we return separately?” I asked as I fiddled with the heavy fabric of his sleeve. “Or would that be even more suspicious?”

  He chuckled, the vibrations sending a chill down my spine before he closed the space between us, giving me one firm, lingering kiss before letting me go and tilting his head toward the house. “I won’t be far behind.”

  Admittedly, I was still in a bit of a daze when I slipped into the house, both from the unexpected conversation and from the kiss.

  “Ah, there you are,” Lady Brook sang out as she saw me. “You have a visitor, Your Highness.” She looped her arm through mine and led me toward the drawing room.

  “A visitor?”

  “Yes, she tells me her name is Ingrid. Do you know her?”

  A smile crossed my lips. “Yes, I do. She’s another student of Master Sterrino.”

  “How lovely. Well, she is waiting for you. I shall make myself scarce and leave you to your visit.” She patted my hand and turned toward the staircase.

  Entering the drawing room, I found Ingrid examining a small statue that stood in the corner. That it had caught her eye was no surprise. It was one of Sterrino’s.

  I didn’t think that Ingrid had even noticed my entrance until she spoke. “Is this what I think it is?”

  I chuckled. “Do you mean to ask if it is a statue formed by none other than our illustrious master? Yes, it is.”

  “Incredible.” She straightened and let out a sigh before turning to me. “Did you ever consider sculpture?”

  “Never. I find it much more intimidating than painting. It seems like such a different discipline; I truly admire those who can master both.”

  She nodded, then seemed to break from her musings. “You’re probably wondering why I am here.”

  “I was curious.” I got the attention of the butler who stood outside and asked for tea, then gestured toward a chair, inviting Ingrid to sit as I took my own seat.

  “Well, my mother is a firm believer in the virtue of afternoon visits. However, I gave up on them quite a while ago. There didn’t seem much point when I kept having to explain over and over why my hands were stained and I constantly smelled of linseed oil.” She waved her hand as if it was of no consequence. “However, when my mother fussed at me this afternoon, I realized I might be able to visit you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I appreciate the company.”

  “I realize it’s quite presumptuous of me to think I can simply invite myself to sit with a member of the royal family, especially without a chaperone. I blame it on my artistic education. It’s turned me into a complete heathen.”

  I let out a laugh, more glad to have her consider me a friend than I would have expected. “So then, visiting usually requires a chaperone?” I asked.

  Her face twisted in confusion. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “While I know every rule of etiquette as a princess, I don’t know all the rules for nobility or gentry. Royalty don’t go visiting. I only know it’s a common practice amongst the gentry.”

  “Hm,” she said with a thoughtful turn of her chin. “Do you have gentlemen callers come to the castle?”

  “No callers. Just guests. You have to be invited to the castle for one reason or another.”

  “Doesn’t that make it difficult for a man to make his interest known?”

  “They find ways around it. Balls are
an excellent chance for suitors to press their suit. And if a suitor is determined, he’ll usually find a reason to come to the palace for business. Whenever that happens, we take full advantage of the moment of arrival and the moment of departure. There are always a few moments of waiting for a carriage or a horse to be brought around. Or if we happen to be wandering in the garden where we can be seen, most gentlemen are smart enough to ask for a stroll.”

  “And I’m guessing you’ve been too occupied by your paints to do much courting. You’re twenty-two, aren’t you?” Her question was so honest and so innocent, but it still took me off guard.

  “Um,” I stammered, searching for an answer.

  Ingrid slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That came out sounding so very rude. You see, this is another reason I’m terrible at visiting. I’m too adept at saying all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.”

  “No, it’s all right.” I tried to wave it off and was grateful for the arrival of the tea tray.

  Ingrid sat across from me, clearly nervous and worried about what she’d said. As difficult as it was for me, I attempted to be as honest in my answer as she had been in her question. I poured tea for both of us as I explained. “It wasn’t painting that made courting difficult. I got in my own way. I realized early on that I didn’t want or need a love match; I merely wanted someone respectable.” I added cream, trying to order my thoughts. “I asked my parents to choose someone for me, and they did. After I met the man who was to be my husband, both of our lives took some unexpected turns and we broke the contract.”

  “So, you’ve never been in love?”

  I gave my tea a pensive stir before answering. “I…thought I loved someone. But I think I’m only just learning what that sort of love really is.” I pressed my lips against a smile as West’s face came to mind.

  Ingrid stared into her cup. “I’m almost twenty and I’ve never even had a beau.” She grabbed a biscuit and bit into it, chewing aggressively. “Mother says it’s because I can’t see past my paintbrushes.” Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “But I do see people. They just don’t seem to see me.” A humorless chuckle escaped her mouth.

  I swallowed at the reminder of how it had felt for me for so many years. How I had followed all the rules and perfected all the etiquette and danced each step in time with the music, only to be overlooked by those I admired. “I know the feeling.”

  She let a sad smile tug at her lips and we both sipped and stirred until we were able to shake off the melancholy of the conversation.

  “So,” she said, pulling her shoulders back. “How is it to be working with the master? You must tell me everything.” She grabbed for another biscuit and I happily launched into an explanation of what I was working on.

  More than an hour passed as we sat, talking, and laughing more than I’d ever laughed with any lady of my acquaintance. When the time came for her to depart, she donned her hat and gloves before giving me a quick curtsey and skipping down the front steps.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  Of course the next morning I escaped out to the garden as soon as I awoke. It didn’t take long for West to join me.

  “Oh good, it’s you. I keep wondering if Stephen is going to take a turn making sure I don’t get myself into any trouble.”

  “So far, he is more than happy to let me indulge your early morning whims.”

  “Is that what he calls them?”

  “Yes. He was grumbling about it this morning. I actually gave him a chance to come out himself so that I wouldn’t appear too eager. Fortunately, his grumbling gave me the perfect opportunity to save the day by volunteering.”

  “Do you mind the early hour?” I asked, suddenly realizing that he might not be as keen to cut his sleep short as I was.

  “Hardly. The earlier you come out here, the more time we have.” He gestured to a bench and we sat together. “How are your plans for the new painting coming along?”

  “I’m happy with the concept, but it’s difficult not to get ahead of myself. After so many weeks of working for speed rather than perfection, I find it harder to pace myself.”

  “Will you tell me what it is you’re painting? Or better yet, allow me to see it when we go to the villa?”

  “I’m sure you’ll see it eventually,” I hedged.

  “You were sketching in front of the lake yesterday. Will that be included?”

  I breathed deep to fortify my courage. “Yes. The lake will be in the background. The bushes, in full bloom will frame the scene. A girl in white will be sitting on a bench, her body turned toward the water, but her torso twisted to see what is behind her. She’ll have a look of surprise and joy on her face because of what she sees.”

  “And what does she see?”

  “That’s not part of the painting. It is left to the imagination of the observer.”

  The corners of his mouth pulled up, as if he knew some secret. “Why will she be dressed in white?”

  “To represent innocence.” Only that wasn’t quite right. “Or perhaps redemption is a better word.”

  “And what will you call it?”

  I questioned him with a look.

  “Don’t all grand paintings have a name?”

  I let out a breathy chuckle. “I thought I would actually finish it before I proclaim it grand enough to warrant a title.”

  “And what else will you be working on when this grand painting needs time to dry?”

  “Master Sterrino approved several sketches. I’ll rotate between them over the next month.”

  I told him a little more about the process and he updated me on his family, especially his mother’s health.

  “Will you tell her about our morning walk?”

  “That would be an adventure. ‘Dear mother, I just had a clandestine meeting with our fair princess this morning. That’s not a problem, is it?’”

  I laughed and laid my head on his shoulder, happy to be in the moment with him. Then I jerked my head up, realizing how long we had walked. “Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?”

  “Blast. Run inside. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I went up on my toes and kissed his cheek before gathering my skirts and hurrying to the back door. I slipped into the kitchen and snuck a pastry from the cook, who gave me a grin and a wave.

  As I left the kitchen, my mouth full, I almost ran into Stephen.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed to be caught eating while walking, not to mention coming from the kitchens, which was more than a little bit unheard of in my case.

  He did well at hiding his surprise. “Are you ready to go, Highness?”

  I nodded and swallowed. “I’ll just grab my cloak.” I tried to skirt past him.

  “Where is West?”

  I tried not to look guilty, which I was fairly certain made me look very guilty. “I don’t know.”

  “Wasn’t he escorting you in the gardens?”

  “Oh…yes.” Guilty, guilty, guilty. “But I don’t know where he went after I came in.”

  He gave me a bow. “I’m sure I’ll find him by the time you come back down.”

  I gave him a smile, appreciating his unsuspicious nature, and scurried up the stairs where Sarah was waiting with my cloak.

  West was there at the door with Stephen when I came down, and we all set out, just like any other morning.

  Stephen elected to stay in the studio with me, but I managed to give West’s hand a squeeze before he left to return to the Brooks’ home.

  I had finished outlining my painting onto the canvas when Sterrino came to check on me. I held my breath as he looked it over. If he approved, I would be able to start dead-coloring right away.

  He stood up straight and gave one quick nod. “It’s a solid start. The scene is well balanced and if you can do what you’ve planned with the subject, it could be successful.” High praise indeed.

  I thanked him and got back to work, getting lost in the color mixing, brush selection and details of dead-coloring. The
morning passed in a trice and I gathered my brushes, taking them to the supply corner.

  When I returned, I was brought up short by the sight of Dante standing in front of my painting, scrutinizing the canvas as well as several sketches that he held in his hands.

  I approached and pulled the sketches from him with a not quite polite, “Excuse me.”

  “You’re continuing with this scene?”

  “Yes. And I’m doing so with Master Sterrino’s approval, which makes me wonder why you are here. Did he ask you to check on me?”

  He shook his head like he didn’t know what to make of me. “You have talent, Lorraina.”

  “Thank you?”

  “But this?” He waved a hand at the canvas. “Is this really the work you want to do? Forgive me, but I’m afraid it lacks the depth captured by your other paintings.”

  “That’s because I was miserable when I painted those others. But now I’m not. Does that offend you? Would you relegate me to unhappiness so that you can continue to be entertained by my tragedy?”

  “So you’ve recovered, have you?” He searched my face, no doubt looking for the truth. “The death of the man you loved no longer affects you?”

  How dare he question something I was so proud of? “Don’t be daft. Just because my experiences still affect me doesn’t mean they have to continually dominate my emotions.”

  “They are a part of you.” His vehemence brought me up short.

  “But they don’t consume me anymore. Can you not see that as a good thing?”

  He just shook his head. “I can understand that you want to paint a range of emotions. I applaud it. But as someone who has seen your talent emerging, I worry that you are allowing this tryst with your guard to strip you of your honesty.”

  I sucked in a breath. This wasn’t merely a comment about an improvement in my mood. Did he really know?

  “You’ve only just captured the ability to be vulnerable. Why allow a doomed liaison to interfere with that?” His words were too steady to be truly cutting. It sounded as if he was chiding more than anything, but I knew it likely wasn’t that simple. Dante had proven to be anything but simple.

  I didn’t answer. I refused to answer, and eventually he left me alone.