Page 10 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

Nine

JULIA

T he days turned into weeks, and the household at Brookview Hall settled back into its routine. Cornelius had become one of the family, so to speak, his presence as accepted and normal as that of the housekeeper or the steward, or Julia herself.

He had produced two large paintings—both outstanding to her untutored eyes—in the time he had been there. He claimed both were yet unfinished, still needing the addition of some details which he would add once the paint had cured a little more, but Julia admired them as they were.

His work was expansive and Romantic, with the expressive mystery of Turner brought together with just enough careful and realistic details as to make one imagine, for a moment, that one could step right into the painting and become part of its world.

Julia loved them. A restless, persistent murmur deep within her suggested she might be coming to love him as well, but she kept that voice dampened.

She was a governess who must do everything to retain her position, and engaging in any sort of dalliance of the heart could end only in misery and penury.

And so, she forced her attractions to the man’s art if she could not allow herself to admire him.

As well as these two mostly completed works, he had begun two more great works—one the vista from the cliffs over the crashing ocean towards the small rocky island offshore and the other the house itself from beyond the pool, as Mr Derriscott had requested—as well as the portrait of herself.

These were very much still in progress, with broad swaths of colour and charcoal sketches suggesting future shapes and refinements.

Julia suspected very much that Cornelius was taking far longer on her portrait than he might, for their sessions involved much more discussion and friendly arguing than painting.

Still, she did not object. Even if she could not allow herself to form an attachment to him, she could enjoy his friendship.

And yes, how much she was coming to depend on his friendship, on these long conversations.

She had not realised how much she had missed the friendships of her youth.

Unbidden, memories slid through the walls she had erected, those cherished hours wandering through the meadows with Marianne and Susanna, the giddy visits to the modiste with Dorothea in preparation for their first balls, the cosy winter evenings, curled up in overstuffed chairs sipping chocolate and talking until dawn about their dreams…

No. She slammed the gates closed. That life was over, those friendships ripped from her, and wallowing in memories would do no good. The dreams had become nightmares. This, being governess to the children at Brookview Hall, this was her life now, and she was grateful for it.

But oh, how she relished this tentative friendship with Cornelius, and how she would suffer when, as he surely must, he eventually left.

For about three weeks, they enjoyed their accustomed routine, with long conversations after the day’s lessons were over and before dinner.

At times, Cornelius would join the family; at other times, he preferred to work late in his studio, to catch the final rays of the sun or to paint by candlelight, and on those evenings, he ate there, returning very late to the house.

Then, one day, he was not there. As had happened before, Selina and Harriet appeared at the schoolroom door when they ought to have been at the studio, claiming that it was closed up, and again, Cornelius did not appear for the younger children’s instruction after luncheon.

Less worried now than frustrated, Julia could do nothing but stew beneath her placid governess’ exterior.

He had promised to inform her, at least, of any planned absences.

Well, not promised, perhaps. She had to admit that he had most explicitly not promised, although he had suggested he would do his best.

Anger simmered where annoyance had previously held sway.

She had spoken to him about this, and he had agreed.

He knew that she sought not to control his time and actions, but wished only to know how to arrange her routine and not worry.

How could he call himself a friend if he could not even grant her this small gesture of respect?

She made no attempt to visit the studio after lessons, and made arrangements to dine with Miss Kingstone and the children that evening. She refused even to think of him, although her dreams were unsettled and she slept very ill.

Then, the very next morning, there he was at breakfast, acting as if he had never been away and suggesting that Selina and Harriet come early, since he wished to paint by the mid-day light.

What an annoying man!

Julia did not go to the studio that afternoon either.

If Cornelius could not offer her the respect of informing her about his absence, she could no longer sit for him.

If he had suitable sketches, he must rely on those, or otherwise abandon the work.

She had done enough, and she would inform her employer that she had so many other duties to discharge that she could no longer afford the time.

Yes, it was a decision born of annoyance and frustration, but it was, perhaps, past the time to cool this friendship they had begun.

It could only end in misery, so better to end things before her heart was truly engaged.

This, she determined as she took the stairs to the room where the children were accustomed to dine, must be so.

Her resolution lasted for three hours.

There came a tap at her door as she was sitting by the fire, mending a tear in her petticoat that one of Charlie’s rambunctious games had caused.

She did not really blame the lad, although she had given him a stern talking-to, as her position required.

The tap came again, and she slid the needle into a fold in the fabric to keep it secure.

It must be Miss Kingstone, come to sit and talk for a while now that the night nurse was on duty.

Pulling her shawl about her shoulders, Julia went to open the door.

But it was not Miss Kingston who peered at her through the open doorway, but rather, Cornelius.

She moved to slam it shut, but he stopped it with a booted foot.

“I have no wish to talk to you. You must leave.”

He pushed the door with his hip, forcing it a crack wider.

“Please, Julia, listen to me. Why did you not come today?”

Giving up all attempts to close the door on him, she stood, hands on hips, and glared.

“Why did I not come today? Why did you not come yesterday? Were you gallivanting about the neighbourhood again? I understand that this is what you feel you must do, but surely, nothing is so immediately dire that you cannot leave a note with a servant, for the sake of the children if not for me. Furthermore, you should be nowhere near my personal chambers. How did you even know which was my door?”

He gave a little grin, which might have swayed a softer heart.

“I asked one of the maids. No, do not get all flustered. I merely told her I had something to give to you, and that I had no wish to disturb anyone else.”

“Well, you cannot stay.” She started to close the door again.

“Come and walk with me. I will try to explain.” His voice, low and melodic, was hard to resist.

“I cannot. It is late and it is dark…”

“It is a full moon and beautiful. Come with me to the cliffs, and I will show you the silvery orb of Diana caught in Neptune’s mirror. Please.”

It was a losing battle. Julia protested once, and again, but before long she was lacing up her boots and pulling on her warm grey cape to protect her against the fresh September night. She would, at least, give him the chance to explain himself. She was under no obligation to forgive him.

They slipped out the door near the kitchens.

This one was seldom locked, for a servant was on duty at all times to watch the fire, and it was not unknown for the residents of the house to creep in and out at all hours.

Julia herself, when unable to sleep, had crept out into the gardens to wander among the roses before tiptoeing back up to her bed.

Crossing the lawns, they soon entered the embrace of the surrounding woods, and then, skirting Cornelius’ cottage, followed the track towards the cliffs.

Bright moonlight danced between the trees, lighting their way just enough to walk without worry, and the air was calm.

It was not yet nine o’clock, and it was, indeed, a beautiful night.

They walked almost the full distance to the cliffs without any unnecessary words, past the wood storage shed, past the birdwatchers’ hide that Mr Derriscott sometimes used, past some other small outbuildings scattered between the trees.

And then, stepping out from the mottled woods, they were there.

Julia had been to this spot many times during the day, but never before after the sun had gone down.

In the moonlight, it seemed quite a different world from the one she knew.

Stripped of colour by the fingers of night, the panorama was transformed into a mystical world delineated by a tracery of silver outlines and shadows.

The low shrubs and bushes that were, by day, soft variations of greens and browns, blending into each other and melting into the earth, were now black and white gnomes, lumbering low, guarding the open area.

The stones on the ground, by days insignificant pale shapes, all but ignored and avoided, now shone like pearls, white against the black earth.

The rocks below were jagged teeth, ripping up from the fathomless black ocean, itself split in half by the brilliant long reflection of the glorious shining moon.

Julia shivered.

“Are you cold?” Cornelius broke the silence.

“No. Only awed. I have never seen it like this.”

He beckoned to the rock where they had perched on their first walk here and they both sat, staring out into the vastness.

Julia was the first to broach the topic that had brought her out here. “You wished to explain yourself. I am listening.”

“First, look,” Cornelius answered. He spread his arms into the gathering night. “See the moon, the sea, the stars, the clouds. Look, really look. Let it seep into you, become part of you. You sense the beauty; I know you do. Let it fill you with its wonder.”

His voice, so low, wove through the shafts of moonlight, pulling at her in ways she could not understand.

So tempting, and yet…

“No, do not do this. These are your tricks, and they are effective, but you asked me out here to talk, and that is what I wish for you to do. You just left again, with no word.”

Not taking his eyes from the infinite expanse before them, he answered slowly.

“I did not mean to do so. I ought to have come with a note. But…” He paused to take a breath. “I was outside, watching, and I saw something. A bird, something I had not seen before. I had to follow it.”

Julia nodded, although he was not looking at her. “Mr Derriscott watches birds from time to time.”

“I knew of the hide. I hoped to find where this creature went. And I left and walked. I did not find my bird, but I found more places to sit and draw, and I forgot all about the time, until the sun was high in the sky.”

She let out a huff of frustration. “You remembered to take your sketching paper and charcoal, but not to send a message?”

He shrugged. “I am sorry. I say that a lot. But my satchel is always ready, and I needed only to grab it and leave. I had no notion of being gone for long. I walked and drew, and walked some more, and was rather lost and needed to ask several farmers in their fields for directions back here. It was late when I returned, almost sundown. I had to beg in the kitchens for a scrap, for I had not eaten all day. It was quite unplanned.”

What was she to say to that? If he had, truly, left so impulsively that he had not even taken something to eat, surely his actions were not ill-intended, but merely foolish. He was an artist, after all, and some accommodations must be made for the unsteady temperament that fed such genius.

She could be lenient. This time.

“Very well.” The words came out in a whisper. “I can accept that you meant no harm. But please?—”

“Yes, I know,” he interrupted. “Try harder next time. I shall do my very best, Julia. I shall try.”