A Most Unconventional Match (15 page)

Recalling the easy grace with which he'd swung David to his seat and climbed up after them and his long, confident stride, Elizabeth marvelled that the man had ever been thought clumsy, so at home he now seemed in that large body he inhabited. Hadn't Nicky once told her he was a fencer? Perhaps that accounted for the fluidity with which he moved, the ripple of muscle in the arms that lifted her son so effortlessly.

Were his other limbs equally muscled? Elizabeth found herself wondering about the size and contour of his back, his legs, his torso. What a marvellous subject he would be to paint! To touch…

The hot, heady, giddy feeling intensified. Enough thinking about Hal Waterman's manly attributes! Fanning herself, she tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere.

All too soon for David's taste, the equestrian events ended and they joined the crowd exiting the amphitheatre. ‘Thank you for sharing the experience with us, Mr Waterman,' Elizabeth said, warmed as much by the firm pressure of his hand on her arm as by her genuine gratitude. ‘David, did you not enjoy the performance too?' she cued her son.

‘It was wonderful!' David enthused. ‘Better even than playing soldiers! Thank you so much, Uncle Hal. Oh, Mama, I do so want a pony. I want to stand on his back and ride at a gallop like the acrobats!'

Mr Waterman chuckled. ‘Best learn on saddle first.'

‘Can I have a pony? Please, Mama!'

Mr Waterman had already recommended that she provide one for her son. Giving Hal a pointed look that said ‘now look what you've done!' she temporised, ‘I expect you will have one soon enough.'

‘Hoorah!' he cried, bouncing up and down. ‘I'm almost as old as Aubrey when Uncle Nicky got one for him. I take good care of Max, don't I? I'll take good care of a pony too. You'll help me learn to ride, won't you, Uncle Hal?'

Not wanting her enthusiastic son to impose any further on their host, she cautioned, ‘Now, David, you mustn't implore Mr Waterman to give up any more of his time. He's a very busy gentleman.'

‘He's not too busy for me, are you, Uncle Hal?' David asked, turning his beaming face towards his benefactor.

Hal smiled and ruffled David's hair. ‘Never, scamp.'

‘See, Mama! Only say I may have one, please?'

‘When Mama says so,' Hal cautioned the boy. ‘Mustn't tease her.'

He nodded gravely. ‘I won't, Uncle Hal, I promise. I'll be very patient. Capital!' he cried, giving another little leap. ‘I'm going to have a pony!'

As they reached the hackney stand, Elizabeth recalled Hal mentioning that they might stop to get David ices after the performance. Not wishing to put him into a position to be implored by a pleading David if he no longer had the time or inclination to do so—which might very likely be the case considering he had just spent several hours with her energetic son, an endeavour one not used to dealing with young children might well find exhausting—she said, ‘'Tis growing rather late. I suppose we ought to return home.'

‘No, Mama!' David protested. ‘Not yet. We needn't go home yet, must we, Uncle Hal?'

Enjoying the outing and the tantalising presence of their escort even more than her son, Elizabeth had just as little desire to see the afternoon end, but she didn't wish to impose too far on their host's kindness. Damping down her own feelings of regret, she replied firmly, ‘London has many wonders, my son. Now that you are growing older, we can explore more of them. But not today.'

‘Best not go through Mayfair tonight,' Hal replied, giving her a significant look. He obviously wished to avoid even the rather remote possibility that they might encounter his mother. Which meant no ices at Gunter's. She suppressed a sigh. Home it would be then.

Before she could voice her acquiescence, Hal continued, ‘Ever been to Royal Academy?'

‘The Royal Academy of Art?' she asked, surprised. ‘They sponsor an exhibition in the summer, don't they? Everitt sometimes mentioned bringing me to see it, but, with one thing or another, we never went.'

‘Summer exhibition huge, impressive. Permanent collection smaller, but fine. Located in Somerset House, on the Strand. Not too far. Like to see it?'

‘They have pictures, like the ones Mama paints?' David asked. ‘I like her paintings. Can we go, Mama?'

‘Have fine portraits. Gainsborough, Lawrence, Sir Joshua Reynolds. Student works too,' Hal said. ‘Painter yourself, find interesting.'

How kind he was! Elizabeth marvelled again. Not only had he already offered them a treat her son would be sure to delight in, he'd evidently thought to discover a destination that would match her interests as well. The mere thought of viewing works by artists considered as the masters in their field sent her already high spirits soaring further.

‘If you are certain it would not be an imposition, I would be delighted,' she said, smiling at him.

For an instant he stood very still, as if absorbing into himself the glow of her gratitude and enthusiasm, his ardent gaze once again capturing hers. ‘Be honoured,' he said softly, the word like a caress.

A spiral of sensation started in her belly again, accelerating and intensifying as he clasped her hand to help her into the hackney. Savouring the intensity of the feeling, she held on a bit longer than necessity required while he handed her in.

David scrambled in after her, filling the carriage with questions about the building, the paintings and descriptions of his favourites among his mama's works, the most current being the sketch of Max she'd done for him the day before. And so, a short hackney ride later, Elizabeth found herself being handed down before a large, handsome building, its ground floor comprised of nine archways supporting a range of Corinthian columns surmounted by an ornamental balustrade.

‘It's so big, Uncle Hal!' David exclaimed, looking upward in wonder. ‘They must have even more pictures than Mama does.'

Smiling at David's awe, Hal said, ‘Not just pictures. Government offices too. Clerk, courts, Navy, tax office. Visit here often. We go this way.'

Escorting them through the centre archway into a vestibule adorned with Doric columns, Hal led them to the entrance of the rooms occupied by the Royal Academy.

Hal walked in to consult with a man sitting just inside the doorway. After pressing a coin in his hand, Hal turned back to them. ‘Students already gone for day. Locking up soon, but let us have half an hour.'

‘Permanent collection in here,' he said, leading them down a hall flanked by sculptures and into an enormous room hung with canvases of all shapes and sizes. ‘Exhibition here in summer. Walls covered floor to ceiling, hardly a space between. Artists from all over England, Europe. Impressive.'

Elizabeth stopped short inside the doorway, her eyes going wide with awe, amazement and then delight. For a moment she forgot everything, even the tantalising presence of Hal Waterman, overcome by the sheer majesty of artistic genius ranged on the walls before her.

Slowly she walked forward to pause before a landscape by Gainsborough…a portrait by Lawrence…another by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Oh, how she wished she had her pastels, or at least charcoal and a sketchbook! To try to capture something of the perspective, the posing, the Caraveggian play of light.

‘President of Academy now,' Hal said, gesturing towards the portrait by Reynolds. ‘Each member elected to Academy contributes one of best works.'

‘They're magnificent!' Elizabeth said softly, finally finding her voice. ‘I can't imagine what it must be like during the exhibition, with the walls completely covered.'

‘Crowded,' Hal said.

She looked up, startled, to catch him smiling at her. He was teasing her! she realised. Making a little face at him, she continued walking down the room, studying how each artist had handled his subject, the choice of colour, the character of the brushstrokes. Oh, that they had hours for her to just stand and observe!

Seeming content to watch her, Hal kept pace with her slow promenade around the room, leaving at times when David tugged at his hand to take him to see some picture that had caught the boy's eye.

‘Why that one great?' Hal's voice coming from behind startled her as she studied a Gainsborough portrait.

‘See how natural and unpretentious the figure is, fitting so well into the pastoral landscape behind? How realistic, yet elegant the gentleman looks. And the light! How translucent and fluidly he applies the paint!'

‘Mama, Mama, look at this one!' David ran over to take her arm. ‘It's a storm!'

So it was, Elizabeth saw, surprised and immediately drawn in by the small canvas that portrayed a storm approaching a small boat at sea, dwarfing the vessel and the tiny figures manning it. In style and subject it was about as far from the academic elegance of the perfectly posed Reynolds portrait as an artwork could be, yet in its swirling imprecision was enormous power. She could almost feel the wind upon her face, the roiling of the waves, the desperation of the sailors reefing the sails. It reminded her a bit of her own efforts to capture the elusive breath of smoke above the London rooftops…only the present work displayed much superior skill and execution.

As she bent to try to read the label, Hal said, ‘Work by William Turner. Former student here, now a member and sometime professor.'

‘Mr Turner seems both audacious and brilliant,' Elizabeth said. ‘I should like to see more of his work.'

Just then the man from the hallway entered, wagging a finger at Hal. ‘Afraid we must go,' he said. ‘Light fading anyway. Come back another time, if you want.'

‘I should love it,' Elizabeth said, reluctantly taking his arm as he walked her slowly out of the room, pausing on the threshold for her to take one more longing, lingering glance back. Then, David loping beside them, they retraced their steps down the hallway.

‘Mama's paintings are just as nice,' David pronounced. ‘But I'm glad to go now. I'm hungry, aren't you, Mama?'

‘We'll be home for dinner soon,' Elizabeth told him.

‘But I'm hungry now,' David replied, looking up at Hal hopefully.

‘Expect might find meat pastie on way home,' Hal said, holding his hand out to the boy. ‘For 'sponsible young man soon to have pony.'

‘Thank you, Uncle Hal!' David cried, beaming up at him. ‘We can go, can't we, Mama?'

Still filled with a lingering wonder after her gallery visit, Elizabeth couldn't make herself reprove him as sternly as she ought. And she, too, was happy to linger in Hal's company as this magical afternoon faded into evening.

‘Meat pies it shall be, then,' she said.

A
fter leading them out of the Royal Academy grounds, Hal summoned a hackney and instructed the driver to set them down in Covent Garden. The square was bustling with traders hawking their wares, flower girls offering posies, and theatre-goers hurrying to reach their seats before the beginning of the evening's performances. After purchasing some meat pies from a vendor, they strolled the length of the square, enjoying the savoury taste of beef and crusty pastry and watching the activity around them. After reaching the hackney stand, Hal gave David a coin and told him to buy Elizabeth a bouquet from a flower girl.

‘Important to show appreciation to ones we love,' Hal told the boy. ‘Express thanks to those who care for us.'

David presented the flowers to her with a flourish. ‘I hope you like the violets, Mama. I thought they were prettiest, just like you. And I do love you so!'

‘As I love you!' Elizabeth replied and drew him close for a hug. As she cuddled David, over his back she saw Hal Waterman watching them. The tenderness and yearning in his eyes sent a little shock through her.

Was he thinking with regret about the motherly love he'd never had? Or…did he long for something more?

Then a hackney arrived and he was handing them up, putting an end to her speculation. There was no need to worry about beginning a conversation; David chattered through this drive as he had through the others, leaving Elizabeth to simply hold her bouquet, watch and enjoy.

Between herself and Hal Waterman, something sensual continued to sizzle, but that unnerving reaction was now overlayed by a calming sense of peace and happiness. At least for this moment, she refused to be upset or alarmed at the effect induced in her by the thoughtful, dependable, so very
masculine
man who had expressly crafted this wonderful afternoon for their pleasure.

Finally the long hours of fresh air and excitement began taking their toll. David's rapid chatter slowed and finally stopped as he leaned against her and dozed off.

‘How can I thank you enough for this marvellous day?' Elizabeth asked Hal softly.

‘Your, David's pleasure only thanks needed,' he murmured.

Though they lapsed into a companionable silence, still Elizabeth remained acutely aware of Hal sitting beside her, his size, strength, virility both reassuring and alluring. Blessing the near-darkness that allowed her to watch him more openly, she studied the angle of his head, his neck, the way the curls feathered over his collar. She marvelled at how his shoulders filled the space against the cushions, his large legs the narrow area between the forward and backward seats. The outline of his lips when he turned in profile sparked another little thrill, as did the thought of his bent knees, braced against the carriage seat so tantalisingly close to hers. A treacherous, dangerous desire continued to simmer.

She'd never watched a man like this before, she realised. Certainly she'd never looked at Everitt like this. What was happening to her?

A quick flash of panic made her wish the drive would end, that she might flee his disturbing presence. Yet the lure of him, the desire to remain close to him was more powerful still. She wished both that the excursion might be over and that it might never end. She could have eased further from him on the seat…but she didn't.

Indeed, she realised, she'd prefer to move closer still, while the lips he hadn't kissed, the nipples he hadn't even glanced at, burned.

She almost sighed with regret to have that alluring tension end when the hackney pulled up before her house. While she composed herself, Hal roused the sleepy David and helped him down from the vehicle.

After Sands ushered them in, she handed David over to the footman. ‘Nurse will get you ready for bed,' she told David. ‘I'll be up directly.'

‘Thanks, Uncle Hal,' David said drowsily. ‘And 'night. You're wonderful!'

Hal patted the boy's shoulder. ‘You too.'

Her heart warmed by Hal's continuing kindness to her son, Elizabeth stood beside him and watched as the footman carried the boy upstairs. After he'd successfully reached the landing with his precious burden, she turned to Hal.

‘I had hoped to ask you to stay to dinner, but…' Her voice trailed off. With David going up to bed and Miss Lowery still confined to her room and unable to accompany them, it wouldn't be proper. With a deep sense of disappointment, she knew she would have to bid him goodbye.

He nodded, as aware as she that his dining here unchaperoned would cause the servants to gossip. ‘Another time.'

‘I certainly hope so.' Now she should thank him and say goodbye—but she still couldn't seem to make herself utter the words. Nor did Hal voice them, as if he, too, didn't wish to put an end to this magical interlude.

He took one reluctant step towards the door, then turned back. ‘Would you show me paintings? David very enthusiastic.'

She smiled. ‘He would be, since I just completed a sketch of Max! After viewing the works of the masters, I'm not sure I want to let you view my poor efforts.'

‘Gentle critic,' he reassured her with a smile. ‘Would like to see them.'

Flattered that he'd expressed an interest in her work—even if it was probably just an excuse—one she welcomed!—for him to linger a bit longer—after a moment longer of hesitation, she nodded. ‘All right, if you insist. But I warn you not to expect too much of me!'

He made a crossing sign with his finger, as if sealing a child's pact. ‘Duly warned.'

Nodding to Sands, who'd been waiting to either relieve the gentleman of his coat or escort him back out, Elizabeth said, ‘Take Mr Waterman's things and bring another brace of candles to my workroom. And ask Betsy to put these in water, please.' She set the violet posey down carefully on the hall table.

After turning over his coat, hat and cane, Hal followed her down the hall to her workroom. Though David had led him into her sanctum previously, she had received them at her desk near the door. Several of her paintings hung on the walls over the desk, but the canvases on which she was currently working were kept on easels by the north windows, not visible from the desk area.

The last of the daylight shone faintly through the large north windows as they walked in. Elizabeth paused to light several candles.

Now that Mr Waterman was here in her private space, poised to inspect the work that, except for her family, had been the central focus of her life, Elizabeth found herself suddenly nervous. Of course, it mattered not at all whether he admired her work. But she couldn't suppress a fierce hope that he would approve it.

She gestured to the large portrait over the desk. ‘That one is of my husband, Everitt Lowery, painted last summer. The small piece below it is a colour study of some roses from our garden; the one to the left, a study of David I did last winter.'

His eyes widening, Hal approached closer to the paintings. ‘You did these? Thought professional painter had. Likeness of David particularly fine.'

A rush of relief, gratification and delight filled Elizabeth. ‘Thank you! I am rather fond of that portrait of David.'

Hal bent his head, studying it, then nodded. ‘Captured angle of head, expression of eyes.' He turned to her and smiled. ‘Almost hear chattering.'

Elizabeth smiled back. ‘He does chatter! “How” and “why” and “when”, until one can become quite weary with him! But you have been all kindness and patience.'

‘Intelligent, interested. Like his chatter,' Hal affirmed. ‘Have other works?'

‘I've given most of the other oils to my family. A few are upstairs, but there are several more here, plus a number of drawings. If you would like to look?'

‘Very much,' he said.

For the next half an hour, after a frowning Sands brought in two more braces of candles, Elizabeth showed Hal several more oil works, four sketchbooks full of pastel and charcoal drawings as well as the two unfinished oil paintings on which she was currently working, the cloudy rooftop and another portrait of David.

Hal examined them all with what seemed to be keen interest. Finally, she summoned Sands to bring wine and they walked back to sit by her desk.

‘Work excellent,' Hal said, taking a sip of his wine. ‘Much better than expected, meaning no offence.'

‘None taken,' Elizabeth said. In addition to the ever-simmering connection between them, his enthusiasm for her work filled her with joy and gratitude. Sharing it with him seemed a fitting conclusion to the most wonderful day she'd experienced since before Everitt's death.

‘Ever thought to show it?'

‘Show it?' she repeated, not certain what he meant.

‘At exhibition. Royal Society. All artists able to submit work. Committee decide what to accept. Several female artists accepted.'

‘Submit my work for possible inclusion at a Royal Academy exhibition?' she breathed. ‘No, of course I've never considered it! Do you really think my work is skilful enough?'

Hal nodded, his expression both serious and enthusiastic. ‘Portraits especially good. Natural, unaffected. Capture spirit of subject. Good as Gainsborough.'

‘Now you flatter me too much!' she said. ‘I do think I'm improving, but never imagine my skill comparable to one of the great portrait painters of our age.'

‘Mean it,' Hal insisted. ‘Ever think to do portraits on commission?'

‘You mean…have clients who would pay me to paint them?' She shook her head. ‘No, I've never considered painting anyone but family.'

‘Think about it. Don't need income. But work beautiful. Many pay to have portraits. Especially of children.'

By the intent light shining in his eyes and his rapt expression, Elizabeth realised that, incredible as the prospect seemed, Hal was entirely serious. ‘You really believe that people outside my own family would pay me to do portraits of their children?'

‘Without doubt. Have gift. Should share it.' He gestured to the portrait of David. ‘Parents treasure picture like that, long after child grown. Especially after child grown.'

Sipping her wine, Elizabeth considered the possibility. Though the prospect still seemed incredible, a little kernel of excitement began growing within her. Might she actually be, not just a genteel dabbler, but a true artist? Daring to show her paintings to the world, submitting them to the Royal Academy exhibit, taking commissions?

The possibilities, the challenges of such a venture, energised her.

It would certainly be a more fulfilling way to spend her day than choosing between twenty different ways of preparing chicken!

‘Very well,' she said slowly, almost afraid to voice the words aloud. ‘I will think about it.'

Finishing his wine, Hal set down the glass. ‘Good.'

For a moment they stared at each other, both seeming reluctant to end the evening. Then, with a sigh, Hal stood. ‘Will be wanting your dinner. Best go now.'

Reluctantly Elizabeth stood as well. ‘I've had a wonderful afternoon. A wonderful evening. Thank you so much.' Laughing with a light-hearted glee she'd not felt in a long, long time, she added, ‘I shall be forever grateful to your mama and her protégée for desiring you to attend Lady Cowper's ball.'

‘I also,' he replied, smiling.

She walked with him to the hallway. ‘Goodnight, Mr Waterman,' Elizabeth said softly, catching herself at the last moment from calling him ‘Hal'.

‘Mrs Lowery.' As he had this afternoon, he took her hand, simply holding it for a long moment before bending down to brush his lips over her knuckles. Spirals of heat, giddy, intoxicating, radiated out from the infinitesimal pressure of his lips. Elizabeth had to curl her toes in her slippers to resist the roar of desire that she throw herself at his chest, claim the comforting, exhilarating, intoxicating feel of his arms encircling her.

Finally he released her hand, retrieved his things from a fortuitously appearing Sands, and, with another bow, walked out.

‘Do you wish dinner served in the dining room?' Sands asked, staring with a frown at the door that he had closed behind Mr Waterman.

‘No, I promised to tuck David in. Have Cook fix something light for me and I'll take it upstairs.'

Sands bowed. ‘I'll have it sent up directly, ma'am.'

As she mounted the stairs, Elizabeth looked thoughtfully after Sands. He was pacing away, his back and shoulders still stiff with disapproval.

Did he frown upon her spending time with Mr Waterman, with Everitt less than two months gone? It was possible, she supposed. Sands had been with her husband for many years and would be very particular about her observing every rule of mourning etiquette.

Which, of course, she had every intention of doing. Just because she'd spent a lovely day in company with a man whom she was coming more and more to like and admire didn't mean she loved her husband any less, or intended to do less than honour to his memory.

No matter how oddly her treacherous body was reacting. After pausing to drop a kiss on the forehead of her sleeping son, Elizabeth returned to her chamber and let her maid help her into a dressing gown. Finally alone, she curled up on the sofa in her sitting room to analyse her unprecedented reaction to Hal Waterman.