Page 22 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)
Hannah breathed out as she stood back to review the painting she had just completed. She had been caught up in the inspiration of it and now wondered what stories it told of her inner turmoil. The image depicted a haunting landscape of rolling hills and a distant, mist-shrouded manor house, almost Gothic in the deep greys and shadowing she had layered in oils. The tumultuous clouds swirling over the turrets on the bewitching house disclosed the turbulent agitation in Hannah’s heart and mind.
The small figure she had added, holding a hood over its head, shielding against the storm and battling through a field in the foreground of the painting, divulged the conflicting way Hannah felt she must battle on despite all adversity, feeling that her environment was hostile and inhospitable.
Hannah grazed the border of the frame with her finger, unintentionally leaving behind a smudge of grey. She stared at that grime on the otherwise flawless frame, wondering if it symbolised her – the smudge on the Montwood family’s name.
She briefly looked over her shoulder at the charcoal station across the room – she had not revisited the sketch of Caleb since she had felt so let down by him. She knew that to return to sculpting those eyes would bring up too much raw emotion for her. He barely looked at her now and when he did, it was as if he were a stranger – the affection and warmth had been stolen away, leaving her bereft and questioning everything she had previously considered to be true.
The blank page still covered the canvas of his face and Hannah wondered if she would ever allow it to see the light of day again.
Sophia’s voice broke the silence.
‘All done? It looks chillingly compelling!’ She stood from where she had been seated, slightly behind Hannah. Lucy and Hannah had established that if Sophia was met outside the house and entered quietly, there was really no need for the Dowager Duchess to be aware of any guests and this meant that Hannah could retain her close friendship and regular visits from Sophia, just as she had back home at the Haworth residence. Sophia’s presence was a comfort to Hannah and introduced one aspect of normality that she was severely lacking in this new lifestyle.
‘Another masterpiece from Alexander Burton !’ Sophia jested and waited for Hannah to turn and deliver her sardonic expression.
‘I told you, Sophia – there is far too much risk involved. I fear it would not end well.’
Sophia clicked her tongue and gazed out the window, wistfully.
‘You should paint the blossoms; they are beautiful just now,’ she mused.
‘I shall. They are next on my list,’ Hannah agreed.
‘Then what shall you do with it? Hide it in a box? And what of the Gothic house on the hill? Face it to a dark corner?’
Hannah’s face fell at her friend’s reprimand – she was unused to an attack from Sophia and it felt as though she were being accused of having done something wrong when her head told her that avoiding the exhibition was the only correct way of proceeding.
Sophia immediately noticed the melancholy on Hannah’s face and went to her, holding out her arms.
‘I do not intend to chastise you, my dearest friend. I am merely concerned that you pour all your effort and passion into work that will never be seen. It seems such a waste to me…’
‘I enjoy the process immensely; does not that make it worthwhile?’ Hannah defended her decision.
‘It does, but I know there is a part of you that hungers for recognition. It is only natural in all of us. I ride my horses for the joy of it but oh, when Mother attends and tells me how graceful, poised, and controlled I appear as I ride, it fills my heart with such pride and I feel utterly fulfilled! I know that you need that acknowledgment also…’
Hannah dropped her eyes. It was true and perhaps the reason she so delighted in having Sophia there as she painted, championing her along and supporting her achievements.
‘I confess, it is deeply satisfying to receive positive critique on my work – of course. And that perhaps there is a muted part of my psyche that yearns for the accolades…’
Hannah paused and crossed to the window, where a breeze had picked up slightly and blew the fluffy pink blossoms off the branches of the next-door neighbour’s tree so that they floated into the air, racing each other down onto the Montwood lawn. They had the opportunity to release themselves and fly; exposed and liberated. When they landed in the Montwood garden, they would inevitably attract the complaint of the Dowager Duchess and become victim to the groundsman’s gardening rake. But as she watched, Hannah noticed that when a buffeting breeze came along, a few of those pink blossoms drifted further on the wind – they wafted onward, and who knows where they would eventually land; the opportunities were endless. They just had to make the jump and trust that their leap of faith would be rewarded.
‘They’re brave,’ Hannah muttered to herself.
‘What was that?’ Sophia followed her to the window.
‘You believe I need to be brave,’ Hannah clarified. ‘And I am frightened of risking the Montwood family name – afraid of potentially tainting them with shame. They do not approve of me painting, let alone exhibiting my art. As a Duchess, it is simply not acceptable…!’ Hannah implored Sophia to understand her predicament and then dropped her eyes. ‘I am not brave, Sophia.’
‘Not brave!? Not brave!?’ Sophia laughed as she tugged at her friend’s hand. ‘In just this last fortnight, you have debuted at your ball, married a man you do not know, and moved your entire life into his home, with his meddlesome mother. And truly you have done it all without a squeak of complaint and with a reassuring smile for all around! You are brave, Duchess Hannah Montwood!’
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears as her friend lamented, desperate for Hannah to regain her self-belief.
‘And your art is brave! It is bold and adventurous, innovative and inspiring. Let it go out there into the world and be brave!!’
Sophia flounced dramatically into the centre of the room, indicating all of Hannah’s art surrounding her.
Hannah watched and then turned back to the window, blinking back her tears and taking a deep breath.
There was a long silence in which Sophia was about to give in and suggest she departed for home, when she heard a barely perceptible whisper from Hannah.
‘I shall do it.’
Sophia’s head whipped around to look at her friend, believing she was hearing things.
‘What?’
Hannah turned and stood tall, poised, and composed. She lifted her chin and nodded once.
‘I will pose as Alexander Burton. I will submit one painting for critique in Lady Wentworth’s exhibition.’
‘Oh my goodness!! Oh my goodness!!’ Sophia galloped over to Hannah and embraced her. The two of them giggled and began spinning in circles.
Even as Hannah had asserted herself and even as she celebrated with Sophia, Hannah attempted to swallow the anxiety that rose in her throat. There was so much to lose – but if she didn’t try, she would never know.
‘I promise you Hannah, the risk is minimal! It is only you and I, and cousin Nathaniel of course, who know that you will be Alexander Burton. Nobody else will suspect a thing. It is perfect! Oh, I cannot wait to tell my cousin…!’
‘Please ensure you are discreet, Sophia!’ Hannah warned.
‘I will be, I will! Oh, I am so proud of you!’ Sophia danced her way out of the art studio, readying herself to go and share the exciting news with Nathaniel.
***
The dining room was thick with tension and even Emmeline did not seem to have sociable quips to break it. It was the first evening Caleb had rejoined his family at the dinner table, but Hannah noted that he had still not looked at her.
Anne persistently threw him looks like daggers, as though silently accusing him of causing unrest in their home. Emmeline’s eyes flitted nervously about the table, engaging with each face but with no reciprocity. Caleb’s eyes consulted his plate and the food upon it and Hannah found it impossible to think of anything much other than the clandestine arrangement she had made earlier in the day. She never had secrets and this one was enormous – it was a wonder that she didn’t just blurt it out and tell everybody, so jangling were her nerves.
‘Tomorrow, I will be attending afternoon tea at the Fairfax residence,’ Anne announced. Her voice held a question; an expectation that family members should join her and that this was their space in which to volunteer.
Hannah could only attribute it to her high energy, but she summoned from somewhere deep within her, the courage to say.
‘My apologies, Your Grace, but I will be unavailable to attend tomorrow. I will be visiting an exhibition being held by Lady Wentworth.’ As the words left her mouth, her heart raced in panic at the outrage this declaration might provoke.
Hannah saw something shift in Anne’s eyes – not the entitled, angered response Hannah had expected, but rather an expression suggesting her interest was piqued by Hannah’s activity.
Caleb’s eyes were finally on Hannah. He grabbed at the napkin next to his plate and dabbed at the corners of his mouth as he softly suggested.
‘I will accompany you to the exhibition, Hannah, if this is agreeable to you.’
To Hannah, this appeared more as a statement than a request, so she simply nodded, a little wrong-footed by his sudden attention. Following days of solid avoidance, his voice was warm; an offering of peace, and Hannah was not likely to rebuff his goodwill.
Emmeline looked subtly over at Hannah and gave her a small, conspiratorial smile.
Caleb nodded and returned to his breakfast. He had not planned on engaging with Hannah, but when she spoke up to his mother in the way she just had – boldly asserting her preference, he recognised that this was a brave stance and he wanted to support her in her courage. She deserved a husband who stood with her. Additionally, any location was preferable to another tiresome afternoon spent with Lady Lucinda trying to impress him with her watery superficial performances. Overall, Caleb had come to realise that days spent in his study had not rid his thoughts of Hannah, neither had his reclusive nature encouraged his brain to engage in business pursuits in place of emotional inclinations. It seemed that he could not be cured and so indulging in her pleasurable company could not harm him any more than his solitude.
Hannah felt quite buoyed by Caleb’s generosity of spirit – she dared to allow a glimmer of hope to reignite that perhaps they might, if not find love, at least be friends. A husband who attended galleries and exhibitions, in support of her passion would be such a blessing and reinforced that her love of art was not a frivolous waste of time. A warmth blossomed in her chest as she thought of strolling around the exhibition on his arm.
Then she recalled how tomorrow’s exhibition was not the relaxed, leisurely affair it might normally be. Lady Wentworth would be exhibiting a piece by the new artist, Alexander Burton. Hannah’s cheeks burned at the prospect of viewing her own painting, standing next to Caleb. It felt very much like a betrayal and she hated the idea of it, but to confess to him what her intentions were would be to extinguish the whole plan and to sabotage herself, so she had to simply go along with it.
‘On second thought,’ Anne declared, ‘I too, will attend Lady Wentworth’s exhibition with you both. Won’t you come, Emmeline?’
Before Emmeline could respond, Caleb dropped his fork upon his plate and protested;
‘Mother, surely you should be more comfortable at the Fairfax tea party? Why, they are terribly close friends of yours and should be disappointed if you decline…’ Caleb looked worriedly over at Hannah as he said this.
‘On the contrary,’ Anne affirmed, ‘I rather feel that dear Hannah and I may have gotten off on a wrong start and I should like to rectify the situation by demonstrating my support of her interesting avocation.’
Anne smiled falsely and Hannah could not help but detect a saccharine sweetness that seemed misplaced in her mother-in-law’s usual disposition. It set her nerves on edge, especially when she noted how Caleb shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of his mother joining them and Emmeline looked equally unsettled by the unconventional turn of events.