Page 21 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

The Duke sat in his large leather wing-backed chair at the desk which he’d inherited from his father. He had long abandoned his plight to form sentences on his opinions on the agricultural tariffs, which had been requested of wealthy landowners across the country. He would need to revisit it at some other point, since his attention was entirely distracted.

He brought his fist down heavily onto a leather-bound portfolio as it occurred to him that the fear of his work and ducal duties suffering due to preoccupation with his new-found affection was already materialising. Whether or not he gave into his emotional instincts, his mind was presently distracted and there seemed to be no method of successful avoidance.

He turned in his chair to look at the large framed painting of his father mounted upon the wall. He wondered what his father’s advice would be. A man who had entered into a marriage with hope of love and togetherness and found himself entangled in bitterness and assaulted each day by a barrage of harsh words from a woman who seemed only to have malice and resentment for him. Even now, Caleb struggled to understand how his mother had such antipathy for his father, who was a kind, strong, respectable man. Though he confessed that he viewed the deceased Duke from the perspective of a small boy and had to admit that his mother would have viewed her husband through very different lens. Even so, he felt the blame must have fallen very much at the feet of his mother who continued to be cantankerous and petulant, when all he had ever witnessed from his father was tender guidance and support.

Caleb sighed heavily. He wondered if Hannah might become like Anne – whether his mother had too once been sweet and compliant, but changed into her contrary, obstinate self through years of captivity with a man she couldn’t love. It frightened him so that his future with Hannah could potentially echo that of his parents. He had to avoid it at all costs and evading such a sad union may mean eluding a relationship in totality. He nodded morosely as he accepted this may be his dismal reality.

Caleb’s eyes were drawn to the blank space next to his father’s portrait where his father proudly sat. This was the area reserved for Caleb’s portrait one day, should he be deserving of it. For a moment, Caleb considered all the practices and regimes he had to commit to and administer in order to merit such an honour and felt good that he was embracing his usual ducal line of thought – this gave him positivity that his business brain was still active. He wondered if perhaps Hannah might be the one to paint his portrait – and then kicked out at a wastepaper basket as he realised that once again his affection had provoked his brain to change gear.

He had been taking all his meals in his office since the accidental kiss, as he now liked to frame it. Staff had been informed that he was incredibly busy and should not be disturbed other than for bringing in meals and removing the plates. He found himself now thoroughly bored of the four walls surrounding him and felt a sudden impulse to go for a walk.

*

Hannah hushed her friends as they left the Art Studio parlour.

‘Indeed, we must be quiet, in case Her Grace is still resting – I should hate to disturb her,’ Hannah whispered, finding herself to be tiptoeing, which was quite ridiculous as her friends took confident strides across the marble hallway which rang out acoustically throughout the house.

They had just reached the front entrance when the door to Caleb’s office flew open. There he stood, broad and proud, yet with a similar stoicism to his face that Hannah remembered from the first night they met. It seemed to her that his darkness had returned.

Caleb looked stunned to see a small gathering collected outside his door. His face took on an expression of alarm and regret, before he composed himself, but did not prepare a smile. His eyes immediately found Hannah’s and there was a crackle of tension in the atmosphere, which had the two of them standing ramrod straight and staring at one another and Sophia noticed, watching between them both. Nathaniel, however, seemed oblivious to any shift in mood and strode forward gregariously extending his hand.

‘Your Grace! How wonderful to see you, my friend! We were unaware you were home!’

Caleb’s gaze shifted to Nathaniel and he only now seemed to notice that it was his romantic nemesis here in his house. He looked, quite shocked, between Hannah and Nathaniel, then to Sophia, before remembering himself and necessitating the expected formalities; shaking hands with Nathaniel.

‘Lord Bryant, a pleasure. Pray, what brings you here today?’ His tone was friendly, but Hannah sensed impudence underneath.

‘We have been visiting your wife’s new art studio and I have been borne the honour of viewing her art work for the very first time!’ Nathaniel revealed dramatically.

Caleb looked to Hannah questioningly.

‘You must be overwhelmed with pride to have such an exquisitely talented and perceptive wife!’ Nathaniel gushed.

Caleb looked between Hannah and Nathaniel, seemingly unsure of how to respond.

‘Hmm,’ he agreed with an air of indifference. ‘Of course.’

There was no enthusiasm in his voice and Hannah dropped her eyes to the floor, despondent.

Hannah watched Caleb, feeling bereft. Sophia watched Hannah’s face and felt such a sadness for her friend.

The group said their goodbyes and when Hannah had waved Nathaniel and Sophia off, she closed the door, acutely aware that it was now just Caleb and herself alone together in the foyer.

They stood metres apart and stared at one another. Caleb opened his mouth as if to say something and seemingly thought better of it, closing his mouth and blinking.

Hannah so desperately wanted to know what sentiment had almost been expressed.

He was unable to speak and afforded her a curt nod before striding purposefully away down the hall.

Hannah watched him go, her enthusiasm and excitement of the last hour evaporating. She had been swept away by Nathaniel’s tall tales of showcasing, recognition and accolades, but realised now, standing in the cold hall with her husband walking away from her that she should shelve this dream as delusional. The life of an esteemed artist was not a path available to her. The authorities over her would never approve and she felt foolish for having invested any time in believing that she could.