Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 8

  When Lady Brook saw me she gasped and fluttered her fan. “Your Highness, you are exquisite.” She shut her fan and tapped her husband’s stomach with it. “Charles, isn’t she just a vision?”

  “Quite so. Nearly as lovely as you.”

  She blushed madly and employed her fan again. “Charles, don’t tease me so.”

  “I’m certain he is not teasing, Lady Brook,” I assured her, “for he speaks nothing but the truth. You look delightful.”

  She blushed and shooed us along to the carriage. The drive was short, and I was glad to arrive with hair still smooth and my dress unrumpled. I descended from the carriage with all the grace that had been drilled into me over twenty-two years of living in the royal palace. At the same time, I tried to remind myself that I needn’t play the part of a royal. It was imperative that I treat everyone as my equal; otherwise working in the studio would become uncomfortable, I was sure of it.

  Lord Brook took his wife’s arm and then offered me his other. I was happy to take it. Entering with a group instead of on my own would create far less of a stir. We walked down the long path that led to the villa and I caught my breath as I looked out over the water with the starlight sparkling off the surface.

  I would have to paint a night landscape, with the stars both in the sky and reflected on the water, as well as the torches burning to light the way through the grounds. The house was beautiful in the moonlight, but it was the pin pricks of light themselves that would be the focal point of my next painting.

  I allowed the Brooks to pull me inside, already plotting how I would escape onto the veranda to admire the view later in the evening. However, I was quickly distracted from my goal by the party that was in full swing. There were musicians off in a corner, but they played mellow, sweet songs instead of lively and sweeping dancing tunes. The music was surprisingly easy to hear and I realized that there was far less chatter than I was used to. Everyone was socializing to be sure, but there was also a great amount of attention paid to the paintings, drawings and sculptures on display. The talking was hushed, respectful of the art, and many people went about admiring the pieces in awed silence.

  Stephen trailed several paces behind me and West slipped off to watch from a distance. I happily joined in the current of people walking from piece to piece, and gained a greater understanding of what made Master Sterrino a master. His work was intense and emotional. His use of light and color was bold, his strokes almost brash in their surety. I was so caught up in my study of the pieces that I had wandered several rooms before I realized the Brooks were not with me. I reluctantly went in search of them, entering another room, and knew in an instant that these paintings had been done by a different artist.

  It took but a moment to find the little card that read Dante Mateo. So this was Dante’s work. It was subdued in comparison to Master Sterrino’s, but there was a lightness to his strokes, a delicate touch that whispered the painting’s meaning instead of shouting it.

  I was impressed. Perhaps he could teach me something after all.

  Moving to another piece, a smile crossed my lips as I took in a scene that looked all too familiar. The foreground portrayed an artist, sitting on a stool, his body facing the canvas. His brush was poised midair, but his attention was not on his work. Instead he leaned to the side, admiring another artist—a female artist who sat painting in the background.

  I stifled a giggle. It was such a lighthearted piece, so very unlike what I would expect of Dante.

  “Are you laughing at my work?”

  I turned to Dante, who stood behind my shoulder, and couldn’t help smiling a little more. “Not at all. I’m simply enjoying it.” I looked back to study the painting as I continued. “You surprise me, Sir Apprentice.”

  “Likewise.”

  I turned to him once more, raising my brow to ask his meaning.

  “I didn’t expect you to look quite so different.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t the purpose of these evenings to admire one another?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted as he narrowed his eyes. “Have you admired anyone this evening who was actually flesh and bone? Or have you admired only those on canvas?”

  I let myself smile. “Paintings don’t make me nervous. People do.”

  “I find that…surprising.”

  I returned my attention to his painting. “Now, tell me. Why is the artist in the background female?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Yes, I realize he’s admiring her, but to make her a fellow artist seems odd. After all, there are not many artists here that are women.” I cut my eyes over to him. “Is the master averse to teaching them? From my experience, Ingrid and I are the only ladies studying here, and we have both been assigned to you.”

  He stepped forward and turned so that he could face me, giving me a look that could only be described as roguish. “Master Sterrino knows that I never mind working with the ladies.”

  I pursed my lips. “And he does?”

  He studied my face, no doubt recognizing my anger. “All students, both men and women, are tried by me first before he will take them on.”

  “But you don’t work with the men as long as you do the women, do you? Ingrid told me the trial period seems to be nearly twice as long. Weren’t you the one who emphasized the importance of ignoring social rules?”

  “Don’t be put out. He’s seen too many young ladies come here with only a vague inclination to dabble. He wants to be sure of a student’s commitment before investing time in them, especially the ladies.”

  “And how often has he actually taken on a female student?”

  “Rarely,” he admitted.

  I let out a huff of frustration. “I came here with the understanding that I would be working with a master.”

  He looked me over with a one-sided smile. “Should I be insulted?”

  “Should I?”

  He tilted his head to look at me. “Perhaps you should. But instead of merely being insulted, you could do something about it. Use me to prove to Master Sterrino that your education would be worth his time.”

  “And how do you propose I do that when I never see him? Ernest and Gregory have been assigned to you as well, yet Master Sterrino checks in with them regularly. Whereas he hasn’t spoken a single word to me since he foisted me off on you.”

  “He may not strike up a conversation, but he sees your work, Lorraina. He sees everything that is painted within these walls, and he gives credit where credit is due.”

  I hoped that was true as I moved on to study the next painting. “Has there really never been a young lady who was allowed to work with the master?”

  “I didn’t say there never had been, only that it was rare.”

  “Do those rare occurrences ever result in a successful artist?”

  He didn’t respond and I turned to look at him. He was studying me, perhaps debating how much to say. “Once,” he finally said.

  “Only once?”

  He nodded. “Now perhaps you can understand why he is hesitant.”

  “Do you really think that men are that much more naturally talented than women? That’s difficult for me to believe.”

  “You have to remember that it takes a great deal of courage for a young lady to come here. Most consider art something to pass the time; that’s what people tell them. I think it likely there are plenty of girls out there who have the natural talent, but the idea of pursuing it further never enters their heads.” He stepped past me, moving on before turning back. “And remember. We ignore society’s conventions, but everyone else clings to them.” He turned and kept walking, leaving me to consider the unfortunate situation. Yet I was oddly impressed by Dante’s understanding. At the door, Dante turned back again. “Have you seen the statues yet?”

  I shook my head and he crooked his arm and held it out toward me, a clear invitation to go with him. I walked over and curled my hand over his forearm, allowing him to lead me down the corridor. It was dif
ficult to think that just yesterday morning, I had found Dante infuriating.

  I was surprised when we stepped outside. There were enough torches to light this portion of the garden fully, allowing us to see the statues and sculptures that had been set up throughout.

  My feet halted as I looked over one statue, then another. I knew the style. I recognized the way the emotion of each piece came through in each part of the figure.

  “Are these Sterrino’s?” I asked in a shocked whisper.

  “Yes,” he affirmed. “Magnificent, aren’t they?”

  If these were Master Sterrino’s statues, then he was the sculptor of the statues displayed in the garden maze of the Dalthian palace, the ones I had admired after Ella introduced me to them. I shook my head in awe and disbelief. “He is the artist?”

  “Yes,” Dante repeated, sounding unsure this time.

  “I’ve seen his work before. Admired it.” I breathed deep, surprised to find that the statues which had reached into my soul and left their mark had been created by a man I disliked, a man who had dismissed me so easily. “How can someone so callous create something with such intense feeling?”

  “You misunderstand him. He is anything but callous.”

  Grudgingly, I had to agree. Perhaps the master was unable to express himself in any way but through his artistry. I continued to wander, taking in more statues that appeared to float or writhe or wilt despite being made of stone. Dante stayed at my side, sometimes explaining the story behind the work, sometimes watching my reaction.

  “I see you are enamored.” I turned at the sound of Lady Brook’s voice.

  Dante looked flustered, muttering, “Oh, I—” before Lady Brook gestured to the statue before me.

  “Exquisite, aren’t they?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, turning back to the statue before me, and wondering why Dante was looking so uncomfortable. “They are exquisite.”

  “Come along, Highness,” she said, taking my arm. “The master is about to reveal his latest piece.”

  I pulled my gaze from the statues and allowed her to lead me into the house as Dante and Lord Brook trailed behind us.

  The gathering in the main hall was large enough that I only caught a glimpse of the revealed painting. It was enchanting, and I hoped it would be here when I returned to my studies on the morrow so that I could admire it further.

  As the Brooks and I climbed into the carriage and made our way home, I leaned my head against the side and thought how different it had been to attend a gathering as simply a guest, instead of being a representative of the royal family. I was leaving happy instead of drained, and for that I was grateful.

  “That Dante fellow,” Lady Brook broke the silence. “He is the apprentice you’ve been working with?”

  “Yes.” I continued to gaze out the window. “It’s been somewhat of a challenge to take his directions.”

  “I hope that isn’t because you’re being drawn in by his handsome face and form.”

  I pulled myself erect and swung my shocked gaze to meet hers. “Not at all, Lady Brook. What would make you say such a thing?” Perhaps Dante wasn’t the villain he had made himself out to be in the beginning, but that did not mean I found him attractive. “Dante and I have only just begun to tolerate one another. I assure you that I am in no way drawn to him.”

  “I do apologize, dear princess. Of course I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve seen the way you interact with your guard and I do worry that you may be allowing those who serve you too many liberties.”

  “Oh, darling,” Lord Brook interrupted. “Let the girl be. I’m certain she’s capable of looking after herself.”

  “I realize it’s not my place, but—”

  “West and I are friends, Lady Brook. And while that may seem inappropriate to you, I assure you it isn’t. I have very few friends, and even fewer that I’ve allowed to truly know me.” I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure and my conviction that what I was saying was true. “Believe me, I’m very conscious of what may be inappropriate.”

  “I know you are, dear. I merely felt it prudent to mention my concern.” She reached over and patted my knee. “I’m glad to know you’ve given it some thought.”

  Chapter Nine

  “WAS DANTE STILL his oddly charming self last evening?” West queried as we set out the next morning.

  “Oddly charming?” Stephen questioned, though his eyes remained trained on our surroundings.

  West turned to address Stephen. “The princess finds his sudden affability odd.”

  Stephen nodded. “I can’t say I disagree. Quite an abrupt change for him.”

  “Yes, and he was still just as charming last night,” I said. “He even showed me around the exhibit for some time. It made me wonder if he is not so immune to my title as he claims to be.”

  “Have you considered,” West began slowly, “that it might be your beauty, and not your title, that he is drawn to?”

  My face flashed hot and I quickly shook my head. “No, but even if that were the case, why would his change be so abrupt? I think perhaps he realized the advantage of being on good terms with me.”

  “Ah, you think he sees the benefit of befriending royalty?” West asked.

  “Or at least being seen with me.” I thought about that and wondered, “Have you ever found it beneficial? The relationship you have with my family?”

  “There is certainly an amount of respect given to any royal guard, because we’ve earned a trusted position with the royal family,” West said.

  Stephen nodded. “Having the trust of the king is no small thing, and it’s not something that we take lightly.”

  “What about merely being seen with me? Do you think others admire you simply because of your proximity to one of the king’s daughters?”

  West laughed. “People don’t tend to notice us when we’re with you. Our job is to remain part of the scenery unless a threat arises. And I will say, I usually do an excellent job of it.”

  Stephen shook his head at West’s arrogant act.

  “You are very good at your job, but I don’t think that’s because you blend in. I would rather think it’s because you’re an intimidating presence.”

  “Either reason works in my favor.”

  I smiled, giving up on getting a serious answer from him.

  We arrived earlier than usual. Due to the exhibition, I had not had as much time to adjust the landscape I had taken home, instead opting to come to the villa before my usual time so that I could work on it this morning.

  I had not been there long when Dante stepped up behind me and placed his hand over mine where it gripped the brush before bringing both of our hands up to the canvas. The contact made me want to pull away, but I fought against my instinct for maintaining proper distances and allowed the demonstration. “I admire your attention to detail,” he said. “But I see you getting distracted by each tiny part of the canvas, when you need to pull your focus back and see it as a whole—paint it as a whole. The background still needs to be lighter.”

  “It is lighter.” I had been sure about that. I had paid special attention to his lesson and had carefully reworked the entire background in lighter tones.

  He directed my hand to pull the brush in a wide arc over the top of the canvas, brushing a thin layer of light blue-gray over the details of the sky I’d already painted. I panicked, knowing he was going to undo all of my work, but I forced it down and tried to trust that he knew what he was doing.

  The brush went back and forth, obscuring all the details of the clouds and trees that I had worked so hard on.

  “Now,” he said, removing the brush from my hand and replacing it with a palette knife. “We’re going to remove much of the blue we just applied to reveal the details underneath.”

  I took a deep breath and did as he asked, while he crouched behind me. As I began removing the blue-gray, leaving only a shade of it, my worry fled. The details I had established were still visible, b
ut now they really did appear farther away, perhaps even hidden by a layer of mist. I had tried to do it on my own, but hadn’t been willing to go far enough. His technique lent the painting an ethereal quality that I had often striven to achieve in my work, but before now had failed to attain. Joseph had always focused on the details, on getting them right, on being true to the subject before you, and I’d become very good at painting accurate details in full color. However, what this required was a lack of color.

  I smiled, happy and even relieved to see the success of the technique.

  “You thought I was ruining it, didn’t you?” Dante asked as he straightened.

  I dropped my eyes, embarrassed that my doubt had been so obvious. “Yes, I did. But I can honestly say, I am happy to have been wrong.”

  “Perhaps you will find a way to give me the benefit of the doubt.” He was teasing, but I could hear the note of sincerity. He was likely tired of being second-guessed by a spoiled princess.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He stepped in front of me and his smile turned conspiratorial as he looked at me. “Were you able to see the master’s new painting last evening?”

  I sighed. “Barely a glimpse of it. I don’t suppose you know where it is?”

  “As it happens,” he began, taking the palette knife from my hand, “I know exactly where it is. What say you, Lorraina? Are you up for a little clandestine snooping?”

  I hesitated, having to remind myself that I had agreed to suspend societal rules within these walls. Plus, I really did wish for an up-close look at the master’s new work. I nodded and he motioned for me to follow him.

  He led me to a corner of the gallery, around a little wall that revealed another set of stairs going upward. I had never been to this side of the third floor before. He took my hand and pulled me up the stairs, his step light, his mouth curved in a grin. Reaching the top, he turned to me with a finger to his lips. “We’re not really supposed to be up here, so we must be fast and quiet.”