The Art of Duke Hunting (25 page)

March put aside her brush and rushed forward to meet her mentor. “William, it is wonderful to see you,” she said warmly. “Lily? Your Grace?” She beckoned his sister and mother to come forward. “Do let me present to you my longtime mentor, Mr. William Topher.”

He bowed with a flourish.

“William, I am delighted to introduce Her Grace, the Duchess of Norwich, and—”

Roman’s mother interrupted with a correction. “The Dowager Duchess of Norwich, sir.”

His wife blushed and looked at his sister. “And this is Lady Lily Montagu, His Grace’s sister.”

“I am honored beyond words to meet you both. The reports of great beauty at Norwich Hall pale when faced with it in person.”

His mother beamed. “Thank you for the compliment to my daughter, sir.”

He smiled like a weasel. “I was speaking of you, Your Grace.”

Lily clapped her hands. “Oh, Esme was correct. I like you very much, sir.”

“Do call me William. I shall die a happy death if we can all be intimates.”

Roman looked at all four of the ladies surrounding his wife’s sodding mentor and decided the world had gone mad. Did they not recognize a simpering sycophant when they saw one? He shook his head in disgust.

“Ah, Your Grace,” Topher said bowing toward him. “I did not notice you against the shade of the tree. It is such a great honor and pleasure to see you again. I promise not to disturb this tranquil repast
en famille
, very long. I just have very important news to impart and then I shall decamp to the room I have taken at the hotel near the docks.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Topher,” his mother instantly said. “You must stay here. Will he not, Roman? This townhouse has nearly a dozen empty bedchambers.”

Five pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly.

Where was a duck when one needed one?

It took every ounce of self-control to modulate his voice. “Of course you must stay with us. Delighted to accommodate you, Topher.”

The man’s eyes brightened. “I do apologize to arrive without notice. Terrible of me, isn’t it?” He could not meet Roman’s eye. “But you see, the thing of it is, a letter arrived for me from Vienna.” He nodded his head and his eyes almost bulged with excitement. “Yes, yes, yes . . . it contains the most marvelous news. It is as I hoped, although with a slight alteration. It concerns you, Esme.”

“What is it, William?”

“The exiled Duc d’Orleans very much liked the works of yours I secretly sent to him.”

“What?” Esme said, shocked. “Why would you have sent my work to the duke?”

“Do you not remember that I have a regular correspondence with his daughter, whom I taught the year before I came to know you, my dear?”

“But how does that signify?” Esme asked, still taken aback.

“Well,” William began, “his daughter wrote to me and suggested her father was looking to commission a rendering of his new grand estate. I immediately proposed you, and promised I would be on hand also to guide you. But, and I hope you will pardon me for saying so, after I sent your portfolio, he changed his mind as many great men do.” Topher’s eyes darted to Roman in a most unguarded fashion. “For some odd reason, the duke now wants you to paint a portrait of himself, instead of the castle. Imagine, Esme! While it is vulgar to discuss payment, the amount he suggests stunned me to near speechlessness.”

Too bad Topher was only
near
to speechlessness, Roman thought darkly.

“What?” No less than three of the ladies said it at the same time.

“I am so glad I caught you before you sailed, Esme, I mean, Your Grace. I will, of course, have to go with you now. This is the most important piece of work you will ever attempt. But, never fear. I will be there to help you.”

Roman shook his head. He would
never
trust the man. There was something about his manner. And he was certain—all jealousy aside—that the artwork Esme produced in the presence of Mr. Topher was not as good as the work she created on her own. Had not anyone else noticed it?

He cleared his throat. “March? I should like a word with you in private.”

She swiveled her head toward him, her gray eyes excited beyond recognition. “Of course.” She crossed the space between them and Roman offered his arm, which she accepted. They walked toward the mews, where their words would not be overheard.

“What is it, Montagu?”

“First, I congratulate you. You have unparalleled talent. And now you have an important first commission which shall prove it to the world.” He felt guilty. He should have arranged a way for her art to be displayed before now. He could have helped her more in her artistic endeavors instead of allowing that toad, Topher, to do it. “And I also want to tell you that I was wrong all those weeks ago when I suggested that artists are dreamers with little value. I was a fool to think it and I can’t even tell you why I had formed such an irrational opinion. Just the expression on my mother as you painted her likeness confirmed what an idiot I’ve been.”

She grasped his face between her hands and stroked his sideburns in the manner that sent a flood of tenderness through him. “Thank you, Montagu. Your approbation means a great deal to me.” Her eyes were shining with happiness.

“But there are two things I must add.”

“Yes?” Curiosity did not mar the happiness in her expression. She was so beautiful right now. So vibrant, so happy, so alive. But it would not last when he spoke the truth to her.

“First, while I hate to admit that your dear Mr. Topher is right about anything, he was correct to suggest that payment is vulgar for people of our class. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Thank you for asking my opinion, Montagu. Most husbands—in truth or in name only—would play the tyrant and demand obeisance to their decisions.”

“We have always had a gentlemen’s agreement, March. I shall always treat you as an equal.”

“I shall accept any monies proposed with the understanding that they will be set aside as a donation to the city from our family to help in the creation of your water project when you complete it.”

Our family
. Whose family was she referring to? Something in the back of his throat prevented him from replying. This was the perfect opportunity to tell her his news. But he would not take away the excitement of her moment to shine. “That is very kind. The people of London will be grateful when and if the project is seen through.”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. You will accomplish it. I know you will, Montagu. And I assure you that I am thinking only of you when I suggested the monies be donated to your work. In any case, it will be but a mere drop—I’m sorry for the metaphor—of what will be needed, I’m certain.” She was gazing steadily at him in that forthright manner of hers. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

He was no good at communicating with finesse. And so he said what had to be said. “Do not trust William Topher to guide your talent any longer, March.”

Her jaw dropped. A few moments later she collected herself and stood up very straight. “You have never liked him.”

“You are correct.”

“You got off on the wrong foot. I realize his way with people can be off-putting, but his character and his heart are in the right place.”

“Our opinions are at odds, March.” He paused, desperate to find the words to convince her. “There is sometimes a moment—a very awkward moment—when a student’s ability surpasses a teacher’s. A poor mentor is blind to it. A great teacher recognizes it and knows when to step away.”

She stared at him, all color leaving her face.

“Do not take him with you to Vienna.”

“I see. And so I am to go without the person who arranged for my first commission? But I may take your mother?”

“Of course you should take my—”

She interrupted. “But essentially, I am to meet the Duc d’Orleans alone, negotiate the commission, paint his portrait without any direction from a man who has devoted a good portion of his life guiding me?”

This was the moment he had dreaded when he opened this discussion. It was when he would either do what a man should do when he loves a woman—something a husband would do for a most beloved wife—or he would not. He should offer to go with her. He should be there to reassure her and to advise her. His project was finished. He knew Prinny would embrace his plan with tears of joy—and orchestrate the entire financial undertaking. If anything would win over the hearts and minds of an unhappy populace, it was the promise of something so basic and necessary to every person’s life here in the city—clean water. And he would be back in time for the construction.

Roman knew he should just get on that blasted yacht with her and go. Instead, he met her gaze and blinked. “Topher cannot even recognize that your forte is portraits, not landscapes. He might even be jealous of your talent.”

“Jealous? You believe
William
is jealous? Of me? How ridiculous. Perhaps you do not like the idea of a gentleman traveling with me. Is that it?”

“Of course not,” he lied. “Look, even the Duc d’Orleans deduced after seeing your work that you are a superb portraitist.”

She did not accept his argument. He could see it in her eyes. “March, I realize I do not have the right to tell you what to do, considering . . . But, I hope you know I will always have your best interests at heart.”

She did not form a reply as the man Roman least wanted to see walked toward them.

“Esme,” Topher said on his approach. “I do apologize for interrupting. But the hour grows late and I must pop down to that marvelous shop near Bond Street to replenish my own art supplies to prepare for our trip. Shall we not go together? I should like to advise you on a few things such as the exact shade of Orlean’s flesh. What say you?”

Roman held his breath.

She looked between the two men.

“If you don’t mind, William, I would like to finish the portrait of Her Grace today before the light changes. Perhaps we can go tomorrow if you are willing to wait. Otherwise, really, I will not be put out at all if you decide to go alone.”

“Absolutely not,” Topher blustered. “Of course, we will go tomorrow. Just now I took the liberty of studying your likeness of Her Grace, and it is lovely, my dear. Perhaps the mouth and nose need a bit more work, but other than that? The gloss on the hair is extraordinary as always.” He paused. “It really is too bad that the Duc d’Orleans does not want you to do the landscape for him. His portrait is sure to be a difficult commission.”

Esme glanced at Roman. “William?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I’ve not thanked you for arranging this first commission. I am, as always, very grateful to you.”

William bloody Topher smiled like the victor that he was.

Chapter 18

In which, dear reader, we skip Chapter
Seventeen
as Roman Montagu would prefer it and he should have a say in his own story, should he not?

V
auxhall at night was always something to behold, Esme thought as she entered the small boat that was to carry the Norwich party to the famed gardens. She was seated in front of the oarsman, all alone while the others were seated behind. This was by far the most beautiful way to see the approach. Everyone from the Norwich townhouse in Wyndam Square had taken the boat, except, of course, Roman Montagu. He had taken a carriage, and his mother had thanked him by suggesting that it might very well rain and they would all crowd in the carriage with him for the journey back.

Esme had not hesitated to go by boat. Oh, she knew she would have to have a private word or three with her husband. They had been interrupted. But now was not the moment. And she needed time to think and reflect on what he had said. She trusted him. Blindly, for some ridiculous reason. There was not a single doubt in her mind that when it came to her passion in life, he would be her greatest champion.

But aside from her father, William Topher was the man who had taught her everything she knew. If she had talent, it was William who had nurtured it. It was William who had pushed her to new heights. And she liked to think that she had a backbone, and knew how to form her own opinion. There had been times when she had disagreed with William’s advice, and she had created pieces the way she had wanted.

Since her private words with Roman in the rear garden, she had been trying to remember all the many canvases in her possession. Which were her favorites and what had been William’s suggestions during their creation.

Of one thing she was certain. If they had ever had a difference of opinion, William had never had any malice or jealousy. He was not that way. No matter what her husband thought. The only question was whether William’s guidance was indeed of great benefit to her now. Or was she just depending on him because she didn’t have the courage to trust her own instincts at times?

She studied the way the light of the many lanterns in the night-darkened trees of Vauxhall bounced off the water’s wavelets as they approached the dock. Perhaps her husband was correct. Perhaps she did not require a teacher any longer.

She made ready to exit after her mother stepped onto the dock with William’s aid.

“My dear,” her mentor insisted, stretching out his hand to her. “Do let me help you. Is your ankle bothering you at all?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good. Then I shall claim the first dance, if I may?” William smiled in the darkness. “But first there must be strawberries, no? I long for the famed strawberries of Vauxhall almost as much as I miss the watered-down lemonade and rataffia. It has been an age since we were here. When was it?”

She thought back in time. “It must be nearly three years now.”

“How could I have forgotten?” he replied. “Although I remember why we did not return to Town sooner. I did not find the artists we met or the lectures we attended particularly inspiring. We do better when it is just the two of us in Derbyshire, don’t you think, my dear?” His large, beautiful brown eyes stared directly into hers. He then turned abruptly toward her mother.