Page 33 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

J ulia Robertson beamed as she wandered through the crowded halls of the art gallery.

More people than she had imagined had come for the opening night of the exhibition, and from the comments she heard as she walked, they were impressed.

All society seemed to have come: a viscount whom she had once met, an earl, even a marquess, scattered in the crowds of London’s wealthiest and most passionate art lovers.

Cornelius’ first solo exhibition was a success, and she could not be prouder of him.

She saw him, even now, standing by one of his Cornish landscapes, deep in conversation with a gentleman who, it was whispered, spent a good deal of his considerable income on art. From the smile on her husband’s handsome face, Julia imagined it was a productive discussion.

What a time it had been after Mr Derriscott and the smugglers had been taken away by the excise men. What great fortune that Mrs Derriscott was at home, for the children had been distraught and sorely needed their mother, for all that she was a poor exemplar of the title.

Julia had remained at Brookview Hall only long enough to see the children somewhat settled and to pack her trunks, before bidding them a tearful goodbye.

Miss Kingstone had decided to stay, and Julia was thankful for that.

Cornelius had taken that same time to pack up his own supplies and carefully arrange his paintings for travel, and by the time the week was out, the two of them were in a hired coach on their way to London.

And now, here they were. Cornelius was the current favourite amongst the ton’s art lovers, and the couple had been invited to more salons of the first circles than ever Julia had been to as the daughter of a baron.

If anybody remembered her from then, or from the terrible scandal that had sent her fleeing, not a word was said.

Perhaps they never thought to connect the vibrant wife of an artist, clad in rich crimson that set off her dark hair, to a disgraced young thing in pale silks; or, perhaps, they simply forgot or did not care.

No matter. She was Julia Robertson now, and she had never been happier.

From behind a cluster of admirers, somebody called Julia’s name, and Selina Derriscott walked over with a smile.

“What think you?” Julia asked her former charge. “Is it not wonderful?”

The young woman was almost bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. “Oh, it is more perfect that I could have dreamt. All these people, all here to see Mr Robertson’s paintings. How exciting! Do you think that one day they will come to see mine?” Her blue eyes were wide with anticipation.

“I do not see why not. Mrs Mulready is most pleased with your progress, and I know she has spoken to Mr de Wint about your continued tutelage. Will your mother permit you to remain in London with us?”

Selina shrugged one shoulder. “I hope so. She seems not to care as much as I believe she ought, but we are accustomed to her absence. She was happy enough to allow me to live with you once she learned your father was a baron, since you outrank us. It hurts my sister more, I believe, but I am pleased enough to be allowed to study.”

It had been an awkward transition, accepting the young girl, just turned sixteen, into their household, but Selina had become a pleasant companion and spent as much time in Mrs Mulready’s studio as at the small house the Robertsons called home, and they had settled into a comfortable life.

Julia also enjoyed the company during those times when Cornelius was called to some great house or another to do a portrait or some other commission.

Harriet Rowse, sadly, had been forced to break with her friend when Selina moved to London. No young lady of repute would associate with artists, her father announced. It had been a sore disappointment for both girls, but Selina hoped, one day, to attempt a reconciliation.

Somebody else, a plump young woman in an elegant frock, came walking up from another room, catching Julia in a quick embrace.

“Dorothea! How delightful of you to come. What think you? Have I not found a clever husband?”

To her great joy, Dorothea had replied to Julia’s letter.

Now married with an infant son, she had the freedom to associate more liberally than when she had been under her parents’ roof.

Her husband was a wealthy businessman, whose income compensated for his lack of connections, and who cared little for the affectations of the first circles.

If renewing her friendship with Mrs Robertson made Dottie happy, then he was pleased for it.

Entertaining Cornelius Robertson on a regular basis improved his own social cachet as well, and both couples were pleased for the friendship.

Any further conversation was curtailed as a hush spread over the crowd.

Cornelius stepped forward to the centre of the great hall to take his place by a tall easel, currently draped with a deep red velvet cloth.

“Good evening, Lords, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends. I cannot adequately express my appreciation at your presence here this evening. I am overwhelmed by your support, and I hope you like what you see.”

This was met by elegant but enthusiastic applause.

“And now, I am delighted and honoured to reveal for you the centre of this evening’s collection. This is a piece not only close to my heart, but a part of it. Behold, my portrait of the most beautiful woman I know, my beloved wife.”

With a smooth gesture, he whipped off the velvet, for all the world to see the portrait that had changed his life.

THE END