Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 4

  That is, until Tobias stepped into my life, tearing down my determination to remain detached and proper. Kissing my fingers, caressing my jaw or playing with my hair until I couldn’t keep the smile in any longer, until I didn’t want to keep it in.

  The countryside blurred as my memories swept me up and away, into the flushed nervousness of being drawn to a man, into the giddy fluttering of his professing his feelings for me. Then crashing down into frustration and anger. Anger at him for being sweet one moment and mocking the next. Anger at myself for letting him pull me into his circle of twisted love and hate all rolled together and impossible to untangle. And as always, my memories landed with a sickening thud back at the fortress where Tobias had chosen to die.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  We arrived in Faria late, and I felt guilty approaching the house when I knew that any rational person would be abed at this hour. However, the door opened before we reached it and I was introduced to Lady Brook, who was warm and round and ecstatic to have my company.

  After a lavish welcome, she wrapped her arm around me and ushered me toward the stairs. “Now, I shan’t talk your ear off tonight, Highness. I’ll send you straight to bed and we’ll have the day to get to know each other tomorrow.”

  I smiled my thanks and followed a maid up the stairs and to a bedroom where someone had already deposited my trunks, and Sarah was waiting for me.

  I fell into bed and greeted the morning with reluctance.

  From what I had gathered last night, Lady Brook was entirely affable, but being a guest—an intruder—in anyone’s home made my stomach tense.

  When I made it down to the dining room, Lady Brook was there, and at her side was a gentleman who could only be Lord Brook. The Lady of the house gave her husband a not-so-subtle nudge and tipped her head in my direction.

  “Ah,” Lord Brook said upon seeing me. He stood and executed a bow. “Princess Lorraina. What a pleasure it is to have you in our home.” He stepped forward and guided me to a seat at the table. “I do hope you will be comfortable here.”

  “Thank you, Lord Brook. I look forward to my stay.”

  A servant stepped forward and the Brooks waited until I had been served before continuing.

  “I’ve corresponded with your father,” Lord Brook said as he cut into a slice of ham. “And I’ve spoken to your guards. Your father suggested that you would wish to walk to Master Sterrino’s studio rather than taking a carriage, unless of course the weather is wet. Your guards will both escort you there, and one will remain with you while you study.”

  I nodded, but inwardly cringed at the idea of my guards sitting around doing nothing. They would get extraordinarily bored—at home they only had to squire me about when I was outside the palace grounds—but at least I wouldn’t be paraded about in a royal carriage.

  “And when you aren’t busy with your painting,” Lady Brook said, “We will have such fun going to concerts and performances. Lord Brook will be thrilled to be able to stay at home once in a while now that I have another companion with whom I can traipse about the town.”

  I smiled, loving the way she spoke of her husband in a conspiratorial whisper. Lord Brook merely smiled and shook his head.

  “Don’t misunderstand me. He does love to go out, just not quite as much as I do.” She gave me a little wink over the rim of her teacup as she sipped at the edge.

  Lady Brook led me on a tour of the house and garden, which matched her cheerful energy. After lunch she took me on a drive around the town, pointing out everything from the bakery to the dressmaker to the blacksmith. We returned to a sumptuous meal, and I went to bed that evening confident that my stay in the Brooks’ home would at least be pleasant. As for my studying with a master painter, I would find out on the morrow.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  We left the Brooks’ home the next morning, my stride stiff and nervous. I wondered if I was forgetting something, but couldn’t think of anything I should have. I was distracted from my nerves as I began to notice the excited murmurs coming from across the lane. I put on my best royal bearing as I realized that passersby had recognized me. Most were content to point my way and whisper to their companions, but a few were bold enough to approach. I was gracious, being sure to nod my head in acknowledgement of their bows or curtsies, but West and Stephen had to intervene a couple times with the reminder that, “The Princess has an appointment for which she cannot be late.”

  We arrived on time, but only because I had insisted we leave earlier than necessary, or at least earlier than what I had thought would be necessary. Hopefully as the people of Faria grew accustomed to my presence, their curiosity would dim.

  I turned from the lane onto the path that led to Master Sterrino’s villa and caught my breath. The path sloped downhill until it met with the lake. The villa sat below me, on the flat bit of land stretching from the bottom of the hill to the water. The top floor was colored a deep, almost orange red, the bottom floor a natural cream, almost yellow. Large portions of the house were covered in climbing ivy.

  The path that led to the front doors was long enough that I was able to see the entire house, as well as the gardens that filled in the land surrounding it, and the lake that sat behind it. Some of the gardens appeared carefully manicured, but the ones closer to the lake were left wilder, freer. I had the feeling that this land had been cultivated for the express purpose of inspiring those who came here.

  I walked forward twenty paces before the path dropped down a dozen stairs, then continued another twenty paces before dropping down again. The last stretch of path was longer and arched over by the lush branches of low trees that had me craning my neck to enjoy the view through the leaves.

  A tiny gate stood sentinel before the steps that led to the front doors, which were framed by the same orange-red of the top floor. I entered and the distinct smells of paint and linseed oil welcomed me before a frazzled housekeeper greeted us. She introduced herself as Carolyn and asked for my name.

  Before my guards could answer for me, I spoke up. “My name is Lorraina Milandaro. I believe Master Sterrino is expecting me.”

  She flushed bright red and sank into a deep curtsey. “Of course, Princess. I should have realized. Forgive me for—”

  “There is nothing to forgive, I assure you.”

  She nodded, but kept her eyes averted.

  I gestured to Stephen and West. “And these are my guards. They will be regular visitors as well.”

  “Yes, of course. I read over your father’s instructions. I will show you to Master Sterrino directly.” She turned and strode down the corridor.

  We followed her right up to a large set of doors. There she stopped, her fingers on the handles, but not pressing down. She spun to face us once more. “I feel I should forewarn you. Master Sterrino has a tendency to insult people. His head is so full of artistry that he doesn’t have much room for tact or…manners.”

  I pressed my lips, trying not to laugh. She was so obviously reluctant to speak ill of her employer, but seemed determined to apprise me of the situation. “I remember him a little from his visit to the castle. I think I have some idea of what to expect of him.”

  She looked relieved and gave me a smile before turning to push the doors open. “Sir?” she called.

  “I am occupied, Carolyn,” came a gruff voice from within.

  I entered behind the housekeeper and caught a glimpse of a man. He was facing away from me, standing back to scrutinize the sculpture before him, his light hair tied back, his stance determined.

  “The princess is here, sir,” she said in an urgent whisper that I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to have heard or not.

  “I am occupied,” was his short reply.

  “But sir,” she tried again but was interrupted by a gentleman I hadn’t noticed before.

  “I believe our honored guest is here.” He stood against the far wall. He was much younger than the master, but he spoke with more surety than the housekeeper did. My brow furrowed, wonde
ring who he was as he moved closer to Master Sterrino, but kept his eyes on me.

  Master Sterrino still hadn’t turned. I wondered if he was really that caught up in his scrutiny, or if he was being purposefully dismissive.

  The young man reached the master’s side and touched his shoulder. “Sir?”

  Master Sterrino’s head turned toward the young man.

  “Our honored guest. Your new pupil. She has arrived.” He inclined his head in my direction.

  Finally, the master painter turned. His face was gently lined. I had expected him to be older. His nose was sharp and angular, his lips thin, but his eyes were dark, striking and full of fire, passion or life. Perhaps all of them, and more.

  Those expressive eyes scraped over me, assessing, taking in every detail.

  “Ah, yes. The…princess.”

  I lifted my chin in defiance, seeing clearly the disappointment on his face.

  “You will have the privilege of studying with my apprentice,” he said, gesturing to the gentleman at his side.

  My cheeks heated in anger, but I held my tongue and nodded. He was foisting me off on his apprentice, unwilling to take up his own precious time with the likes of me. My sole purpose in traveling all this way had been to learn from a master, to be led and molded. To be taught by him, not his apprentice.

  He continued talking in his offhand, dismissive way. “He should be able to answer any questions you have, arrange for some lessons and whatnot.” He waved his hand as if ‘lessons’ were merely a way to humor me. What a disappointment. “You’re excused, Dante,” he said to his apprentice. “I’m sure you’ll be able to do something with her.”

  My eyes widened. Do something with me? As if I were some yapping dog that needed to be put out? I turned to look at Dante, assuming he would be as horrified by this man’s behavior as I was, but Dante only bent his head as if this were an entirely appropriate conversation. He bowed toward me, his hand sweeping in the direction of another door. “Your Highness, if you would come this way.”

  I was so taken aback by the contrast in their manners that it took me a moment to start moving. As I headed toward the other door, I heard Carolyn in her not-quite-whisper hiss, “Remember what we discussed about greetings and dismissals?”

  “What?” the master sounded distracted, then seemed to catch on. “Oh yes, right.” He turned to me and in a louder voice said, “A pleasure to have you here, Your Highness. You’ll do marvelously and whatnot.” It was a recitation. A badly done recitation. He turned back to his work while my mouth was still gaping.

  I didn’t know if I should be offended or laugh. Actually, that’s not true. I was well beyond offended, but I put on a mask of indifference, giving a moderately polite curtsey before following Dante through the door. When it had closed behind us, I thought I heard a snorted laugh from one of my guards. I glanced over my shoulder, piercing West with my glare. He immediately straightened his face and dropped his eyes. I was in no mood to be laughed at.

  Once I had looked forward again, I heard him whisper to Stephen, “That man is completely mad.”

  His assessment pulled a smile from my lips. I tried to shake off my anger and continued to follow the mysterious young apprentice upon whom I had been foisted. I stared at his back, wondering what he would be like. He hadn’t flinched at the master’s abominable manners, but he had been polite. He looked several years older than me, perhaps in his late twenties. He had fine features, perhaps too fine to be considered handsome, and his hair was pulled back in the same manner as Master Sterrino. It was not a fashionable style, but I wondered if among artists it was in vogue.

  We exited the master’s workspace and traversed a corridor before climbing a flight of stairs. A hum of activity caught my attention, but it was different somehow. It wasn’t very loud, but it carried a great deal of energy.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, I expected to enter a corridor or antechamber. Instead, the entire upper floor was one giant room. The walls were filled with windows, letting in more natural light than I had ever seen in an interior space. There were pillars equally spaced throughout the room, dividing it into smaller work areas that were still large enough to work in comfortably.

  I counted about ten people, all at different stages of painting.

  “As you can see, this is the painting gallery.” Dante nodded to the room in general. “This is where you will spend most of your time when you are here, which as I recall will be in the morning hours.”

  I nodded, distracted by the creative current washing through the room.

  “Sculpting students work downstairs. Come, I’ll show you around the gallery.” He walked forward, but I couldn’t follow.

  “I don’t want to distract from their work.”

  He looked back at me as if I were being dimwitted. “A few people walking about won’t ruin their concentration.”

  As much as I didn’t want to bring out the fact that I was royalty, I thought it pertinent to simply have the conversation now. “My presence tends to be disruptive whether I intend it or not.”

  “Ah.” He walked back toward me. “They know who you are, but have been instructed not to bow when you enter a room. You’re right. It would be distracting and interrupt the flow of their work. The social niceties may be observed when formal introductions are made, but otherwise, we do not allow rank and title to interfere with the work we do. I hope you can understand that—”

  “Of course,” I insisted. “That’s actually a relief.”

  One eyebrow shot up. “Really?” From his tone, he might just as well have said, Liar.

  “Yes, really.”

  “Hmm.” He turned and continued walking. “You’ll also notice that other social strictures are suspended here.”

  “Such as?”

  “Most of us use our first names. We don’t bow and hem and haw and waste time with inane conversation. We work, we collaborate, we give honest critiques.”

  I looked forward to it.

  “We have models that come in regularly, and at times, the students also pose for one another if the need arises. And since we strive for emotive work, the poses might be more intimate than you might deem appropriate.”

  My eyes widened, but I spoke calmly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” In fact, I was certain the curiosity would burn a hole through my shoes before the day was out.

  He showed me around the gallery, pointing out the wash stations, the hooks where aprons and smocks were hung, the storage cupboards filled with brushes, knives and palettes.

  Dante had been right about my presence not being disruptive, though I did catch a furtive glance or two, and one gentleman bent his head and gave me a wide smile.

  “That’s Maxwell. He’s been studying here for a couple years now.”

  “Is it usual for students to stay on that long, or is Mr. Maxwell an anomaly?”

  “Not Mr. Maxwell, simply Maxwell. It’s his first name. Just like I’m Dante.”

  “Oh.” Of course he had mentioned the use of first names. No titles. It would take some getting used to.

  “To answer your question, no, he’s not an anomaly, but it’s not exactly the norm either. If students are not dismissed within the first month, then they will stay for half a year or more. Their presence here is dependent on the master’s invitation to stay. Some stay only half a year, others will continue for many years. Each case is different.”

  An uneasy feeling took root in my stomach. “Master Sterrino must be very selective in those he allows to come here, and especially those he allows to stay.”

  “He is.”

  I nodded, trying not to let my panic show. I knew I had not been carefully selected. I didn’t think the master had seen even one of my paintings. He had taken me on simply because I was royalty, because the king had asked it of him. What if I proved to be an utter failure?

  “Did you have any other questions?” Dante asked, his face a mask of politeness.

  “No. Thank you.”

&nbs
p; “Then I will expect to see you tomorrow, just after sunrise. We will set up your space and you will have a chance to show us what you can do.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow down my unease.

  “Will your trusty guards be joining you as well?” There was a mocking tone under the niceness.

  I tried to muster my dignity and not allow his condescending question to cow me. “One is always required to remain with me when I am not at home. It won’t be a problem.”

  Dante gave me a smile. “I hope they enjoy watching painters work.” He tipped his head forward. “Until tomorrow, then,” was all he said before he walked away.

  I bit down on my anger. As if I needed to be reminded that my guards would be forced to sit about with nothing to do while I dabbled with my paints day after day. Father had told me they wouldn’t be bored, that they had much to occupy their minds regardless of what I might be doing.

  I didn’t know if I believed him.

  Turning abruptly, I walked back the length of the gallery and descended the stairs. Halfway down, I was surprised to hear West remark, “I don’t know about you, but I always find the creation of art to be a fascinating process.” He said it to Stephen, but I knew it was meant for me. He knew Dante’s remark had bothered me and was trying to set me at ease. Typical West.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I looked back and gave him a grateful smile.

  During the walk home, I alternated between greeting curious passersby, worrying about my own level of skill, and being furious that the guidance of a master was being withheld.

  I spent the afternoon seething over Master Sterrino’s brushing me aside. If he wanted to be sure of my skill before taking me on, then why not request some of my paintings? Why allow me to come all this way, away from my home and everything I had ever known, if he was simply going to ignore me? It was insufferable and a waste of everyone’s time.