Page 23 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

Lady Wentworth’s exhibition was buzzing with people. The sun was shining outside but the air was still cool – the perfect combination to extract people from their homes and ensure they found somewhere warm to visit.

The grand hall was scented with paint, perfume, and pretension as lords and ladies exclaimed in dramatic voices their interpretations of various images.

With Caleb at her side and Anne and Emmeline following behind, Hannah struggled to disguise her apprehension as they entered. Her eyes darted nervously around the hall, until she recognised the top of a painting – she could not see the full picture, as there was a small crowd gathered around it. She knew the colours visible though and knew the swirls and textures like the back of her hand. Confirming what she already knew, the sign standing next to the painting was the name: Alexander Burton.

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat and she wanted immediately to walk over to that part of the hall, but she had to bide her time and treat every piece of art with equivalent interest. If she were to head directly to the Alexander Burton painting, it would be obvious to her new family members that there was something notable about it.

She feigned interest in the portrait of the prime minister in power; the placid scene of swans on a lake; the country road with a horse-drawn cart, all the while stealing furtive glances across to her painting.

Caleb guided her gently, with a warm, supportive hand on the small of her back. It felt proprietary in a comforting way but confused Hannah as it seemed Caleb swung from caring in this way, to avoiding her totally for three days solid. She allowed herself to revel in the moment and enjoy the connection whilst it was present.

Finally, they were there, in the gathering by her painting.

‘Such a crowd!’ Anne clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Let us bypass this one…’

‘No!’ Hannah panicked, following it with a laugh, to cover her eagerness. ‘If it is drawing a crowd, it must be worthy of our attention…’

‘Hannah is correct, Mother. We must pause and observe…’

Being close now, Hannah focused in on the voices of the spectators.

‘Such innovative effect!’

‘Look how the water seems to move as you stare…!’

‘Who is this Alexander Burton? Quite notable!’

‘I must enquire whether it is for sale…’

Hannah felt she was holding her breath as she listened in, hardly believing those comments could be observations of her work. Voices whispering low were filled with awe and the critics gesticulated wildly, their exclamations rising and falling as they discussed the piece.

It took a moment before the crowd parted and the painting was there in front of the Montwood family, in its full glory.

Seeing it in this setting, it appeared new and brave to Hannah. As if it were an old friend reappearing in a fresh dress and new haircut; familiar, yet so much more impressive than they had previously been. Hannah could not repress the smile – nobody was looking at her, after all, but she tried hard not to let her eyes well up, as that would be a lot harder to justify should anybody see her.

Hannah covertly glanced sideways at Caleb, to watch his reaction to the painting. His sharp inhale was audible and his mouth fell agape as he looked at it. His eyes glittered as they explored every area of the canvas. For a surreal moment, Hannah feared he had guessed her secret – yet, that could not be so, as Caleb had never seen any of her art; there was no risk he would recognise her style. His gasp therefore must be borne of some visceral reaction to the painting.

‘Quite remarkable….!’ He muttered under his breath.

He liked it! Hannah’s heart soared. It was incredible to hear critics and members of the public speaking highly of her work, but she realised at that moment the approval that pleased her the most was that of her husband.

Hannah’s heart hammered in her chest so forcefully that she felt sure it must be visible or that patrons would be able to hear it.

‘Is this a new artist?’ Caleb asked of a renowned critic who had hovered at the painting for a while.

‘It is – one A lexander Burton .’ The suited man nodded.

Hannah pinched her lips together, determined to keep her secret, as it threatened to burst from her mouth. She wanted Caleb to know this piece of art that had astounded him was her creation; that he could not only be impressed but be proud. She so desired his adulation – after days of isolation and evasion, to feel the spotlight of his awe would be enlightening. Hannah promptly reminded herself of the reasons she could not and swallowed back the temptation.

‘A new artist?’ Caleb asked, barely removing his eyes from the canvas.

‘Indeed. There is some speculation over whether he will be here today – nobody seems to know who the fellow is…’ the critic cast his eye across the room.

‘The effect of the waves – and the depth of colour; it is voluminous and rather hypnotic to view, don’t you think?’

‘Absolutely; you note the textures the artist has employed? See here – the layering and dappling to achieve the consistency of the foaming surf.’

Hannah leaned in close and felt the words form on her tongue. She could so easily whisper to Caleb right at that moment It’s me – I am Alexander Burton! This painting is mine! She took a breath that quivered as she released it and felt a flush run up from her neck to her cheeks. Immersed in her emotional turmoil and frustrating dilemma, Hannah neglected to notice the responses of the people around her.

Anne was watching Hannah with a sharp glint in her eye. She saw her look to Caleb for his reaction; she noted how Hannah was honing in to listen on the conversations around her, with frenetic energy; she observed how the girl seemed to hop slightly from one foot to another in an anxious dance and how the blush crept upon her face. This young Duchess could not lie, nor deceive convincingly. Anne supposed this was an asset; truth-telling and honesty were valuable traits in a character, but they had failed Hannah in her pursuit of secrecy.

‘Have you seen the Alexander Burton?’ Nathaniel’s voice rang out from across the gallery as he led an affluent-looking older couple across the hall. Hannah turned and Nathaniel caught her eye with a mischievous twinkle.

‘You really must! It is the belle of the ball and no mistake! This new artist has emerged from absolute anonymity and is certain to be the prevailing, celebrated artist within the coming months, I assure you!’ Nathaniel strutted toward Hannah, keeping her eye contact held. He unnerved her with his confidence and brazenness. Hannah had presumed Nathaniel was aware of how much was at stake and what an enormous risk she was taking, posing under this pseudonym, but she began to worry that he could blow her cover with his demonstrative glances and extravagance.

He arrived at the group where the Montwoods stood by the painting and held his arms wide, dramatically presenting.

‘Here it is! The delectable, obsession-inducing painting from the enigmatic Alexander Burton!’

The couple arriving alongside Nathaniel drew in breaths of wonder as the piece was revealed to them. Hannah dropped her eyeline, stifling an inappropriate giggle. The whole scenario was surreal to her.

Across the hall, Sophia viewed a painting of a dark study; the room gloomy with mahogany wood covered in dust but sunshine blazing through a window, where cloudless blue skies could be seen above inviting green hills. Sophia tilted her head as she considered the contrast of the two stark scenes within the same image and, engrossed, did not notice Albert approach her.

As he neared Sophia, Albert appreciated the delicate curve of her pale neck, her flawless complexion accentuated by the patterned lace of her collar. He whispered something at her shoulder which caused her to pause and smile, recognising his voice next to her ear and turning with a welcoming warmth. They bent their heads low together as they privately discussed the painting. Sophia was yet to reach the Alexander Burton canvas and had not noticed the frantic predicament her cousin was causing for her best friend.

‘If I may be so bold…’ Nathaniel paused, theatrically, revelling in his performance to his gathered crowd and looking across at Hannah before continuing ‘I will confide in you all that the artist wishes to remain unidentified but he will be attending Lady Wentworth’s exhibition here today!’

Nathaniel’s audaciousness attracted the attention of the majority of patrons within the hall and as he revealed this nugget of intelligence, there was a collective breath of excitement, followed by whispers of enthusiasm.

Hannah felt her cheeks redden further, trembling with the fear that Nathaniel’s passionate declarations could inadvertently expose her. She tried to warn him with her eyes, widening them at him with a request for caution.

Anne saw it and the look confirmed to her what she already suspected.

Relishing the moment, the Dowager Duchess spoke loudly, cutting clear and keenly through the buzz of conversation like a newly sharpened knife.

‘Hannah dearest,’ her words dripped with insincere sweetness. ‘This Alexander Burton fellow paints in a fashion similar to yours. Why, I could almost swear I were looking at a piece created by Her Grace, Hannah, Duchess of Montwood!’

The crowd fell silent.

Hannah was suddenly very aware that all eyes were upon her. Expressions were of shock, outrage, and intrigue. The one that mattered most though was Caleb’s and Hannah felt him shift beside her, leaning away to look at her face.

Anne’s implication hung in the air as Hannah turned to look at Caleb. From flustered and hot, she now felt all the colour drain from her face. Caleb’s mouth had fallen open and his eyebrow twitched questioningly.

All around her, Hannah became aware of tittering giggles and whispers behind deliberately placed fans, as the assembled crowd speculated the scandal of a Duchess engaging in such a common pursuit.

Hannah wanted to cry but even as she held the emotion back, she heard murmurs of appreciation, and people commenting on her extreme talent, which was a balm to her tumultuous feelings.

Caleb stood frozen. Hannah had not responded to his mother’s blatant accusation and now was staring up at him, frightened and vulnerable. Had she laughed at the preposterous insinuation or thanked his mother heartily for such a favourable comparison, he would have swiped the possibility away from his mind. But she had not denied the likeness of Alexander Burton’s work to her own. And that cad Lord Bryant had been flouncing about flirting with the idea of the mysterious artist being present here today – surely, Caleb, internally battled, this could not be the work of his wife?

Caleb was entirely conflicted. He looked again at the astounding painting, which had struck him the moment he saw it and, in truth, he had considered bidding for it. It was an incredible piece. At that moment, he felt a swell of regret that he had never shown an interest in actually viewing Hannah’s art – they had discussed her passion at length, but he had never asked her to show him any of her creations. He stared at the extraordinary canvas before him and found it challenging to comprehend that it could have been produced by Hannah and he’d had no idea.

Simultaneously, Caleb was acutely aware of the fans that had risen over the faces of ladies gathered, gossiping about his wife and giggling at their expense. This was a threat to the Montwood name – the family dynasty he committed his life to protect and this scenario of disgrace was exactly the sort of scandal he was dedicated to circumvent. Caleb could not fathom that his newly procured wife could bring scorn upon the family name in such a public and shameful manner.

He looked at her, stepped forward, and bent low to meet her face.

‘Is this true, Hannah? Is this painting your creation and not the work of Alexander Burton?’

Hannah’s eyes watered and her bottom lip trembled as she looked up into his alarmed eyes. She could not find her voice and so simply nodded, assenting.

Nathaniel burst forward, realising he had manifested Hannah’s worst fears.

‘Isn’t she brave?’ Nathaniel prompted. ‘Such a talent – it should be shared with the world and not hidden away! Such valour and boldness! We should all look to Her Grace as a trailblazer for incredible female artists silenced by our culture!’

Hannah looked to Nathaniel, grateful for his words and his efforts to soothe the turbulence but silently begged him to stop. She felt Caleb beside her take a deep, quick breath and then exhale angrily. He bristled and the tension rolled off him in waves.

Hannah dared to look again at his face and his features had darkened; a storm eclipsed his earlier amiable demeanour.

Caleb clenched his fists at his sides. His wife was an incredible artist – better than he had ever anticipated. But he could not celebrate her. Her actions had thrown shame upon the family and that short-sighted, meddling Lord Bryant was further aggravating the spectacle with his histrionic display. Caleb could not stay and endure this humiliation. He turned on his heel and exited the exhibition hall, leaving the crowd behind him aghast.

Hannah stood frozen to the spot, unable to process that her carefully sculpted plan had been completely decimated. That Caleb had walked out on her. She focused all her concentration on not allowing the teardrops to fall. To cry in this exhibition hall with an audience of esteemed members of the Ton would be to disgrace herself to a life of ridicule. She could not believe how suddenly everything had fallen apart and she refused to look at Anne – her manipulative lies to attend the exhibition; masquerading some semblance of remorse over how she had treated Hannah thus far. It was all a deception to lure Hannah into a vulnerable scenario where she could most efficiently sabotage Hannah’s honour.

Sophia and Albert were suddenly beside Hannah, Sophia’s arms enveloping her friend, sheltering her and guiding her away from the crowd. Albert muttered some kindnesses that Hannah could not assimilate in the moment of commotion, but she appreciated his reassuring tone.

Before she had even gotten her bearings, Hannah realised her friends had taken her outside. She was standing on the concrete steps to the exhibition with Sophia clutching her arm and Hannah thought perhaps she might fall if it hadn’t been for that support. Coaches lined up along the pavement awaiting their patrons as Sophia and Albert fussed about Hannah, trying to say all the right things, but Hannah’s bewildered mind could not process any of their sentiments.

In a voice cracking with emotion and barely audible to them, she croaked.

‘Can I go home with you, Sophia?’

There was a flurry of activity as this was arranged and Hannah was helped into the coach bound for the safety and comfort of Sophia’s home.

As the coach pulled away from the exhibition hall, Hannah felt as though she were departing not only her dream of acceptance but also any hope she had to find a harmonious settlement with her new family. All seemed to have been destroyed in a single moment.

‘We have a theory, Hannah,’ Sophia took her best friend’s hand, which was cold and trembling.

Hannah watched the city outside the coach trundle by; a blur, no landmarks recognisable.

‘Cousin Nathaniel and I – we now believe the Dowager Duchess already knew our plan to exhibit your work under a male pseudonym…’

Hannah turned to Sophia with a questioning frown.

‘You see, on the day we attended your town-house to view the artwork in your studio – as we discussed the prospect of Alexander Burton, I saw a shadow pass under the door. I thought it only to be Lucy, pausing to see if she should replenish the lemonade. As the person paused briefly and moved on, I thought nothing more of it.’

Sophia dropped her eyes to her lap in regret.

‘In retrospect, I suspect it was the Dowager Duchess who passed and overheard our arrangement…’

Hannah considered this and it made sense – Anne had been so eager to attend the exhibition, even though it meant declining an invitation from the Fairfax family. This behaviour was unprecedented and perhaps Hannah may have been more suspicious had she not been overwhelmed by the finer details of their plot and concerned over the precision of executing the method consummately.

Fierce anger flooded Hannah’s body – Anne’s loud insinuation about the similarity in styles had been premeditated and she would have revelled in the joy of bringing shame upon Hannah.

Worse still, Anne would undoubtedly believe that she had acted acceptably and would inevitably address Hannah with scorn when next they came face-to-face. Hannah did not believe herself capable of enduring it.

Her mother-in-law had purposely betrayed her but not only her – she had humiliated her own son. Hannah had to accept culpability that she, too, had hurt Caleb. It had never been her intention, but it was her ambition and ego that had brought about such a public disgrace. Hannah did not think Caleb would ever speak to her again and as the city whizzed past her window, she finally allowed the pent-up tears to fall.

***

As the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind Caleb, he heard it echo throughout the Montwood town-house. He had departed ahead of his family and the household staff were not expecting him home yet so nobody attended. For the first time ever, he felt alone in that house. He stood, enjoying the silence and noted that the only sound emanated from the grandfather clock. The steady ticking seemed to Caleb to become louder as he focused on it – each second punctuating another moment he was distancing from Hannah. Determined, he strode down the hallway to the parlour room he had assigned to her.

In wanting suddenly to feel close to her, to understand the woman she was beneath the dutiful facade of the Duchess, he knew he would be most likely to discover this affinity in her art studio. Assertively, Caleb entered the room. And stopped.

He had not considered what to expect, but he certainly did not anticipate a room filled with canvasses – some complete and dazzling, others a work in progress, yet to be perfected. He allotted time to each one; strolling around the room and pausing at each easel.

A sinking feeling settled in Caleb’s stomach as it became abundantly clear to him how much he had underestimated his young wife. Her artwork outshone any of the paintings he had viewed over the years in stuffy exhibition halls. She was skilled beyond his imagination – yet it had never occurred to him to request a viewing. In hindsight, he envisaged Hannah would have generously enthused whilst showcasing her work to him; been keen to share this creative side of herself, and felt so appreciated and grateful that he had shown an interest. Now, he could only wallow in the error of his ways. He had enquired quite formally about her art and chatted as though it were a mere hobby. Now it was starkly obvious to him that it was so very much more than a pastime.

As he appraised each image, he truly saw the passion and talent evident in every brush stroke, every line. The weight of his own blindness, his failure to fully appreciate his wife, settled heavily on his shoulders.

In the corner of the room, a canvas was covered with a heavy black cloth. This intrigued Caleb – it was the only picture that was hidden. Cautiously, he moved between the canvases to reach it. Caleb gasped as the cloth fell away to reveal his own face. It was half-finished but unmistakably the Duke of Montwood. What astounded him was that he was not only looking at an image of himself - the stoic, grand and unsmiling Duke who had responsibilities and duties he took seriously – but he could now see himself through Hannah’s eyes. What she saw in him stole his breath for a moment. The eyes, which she had shaded with depths of charcoal betrayed a twinkle of affection and the slight curl of his lips suggested a fondness; an affection that was reserved only for her. Hannah saw him in a way that nobody else ever could. As powerful as a physical blow to the chest, Caleb felt the force of his inaction impact him. He understood the weight of what he might have lost and suddenly felt the need to escape the house. He could no longer bear to be around Hannah’s beautiful creations, taunting him with what he had been too blind to see.

***

Albert ushered Caleb quickly inside and took him through to his study. As Caleb took his usual armchair, Albert poured them both a brandy.

‘For your nerves, old boy.’ Albert held the glass out for Caleb to take.

‘Appreciated,’ Caleb knocked back a gulp and winced as it burned his throat on the way down.

Looking concerned, Albert settled in the chair opposite Caleb, a small occasional table nestled between them.

‘Hannah has gone to stay with Sophia,’ Albert announced, softly.

The news hit Caleb hard as he realised how disappointed in him she must feel. He did not congratulate her, did not defend her honour – he had walked away and left her to fend off the attention from the crowd, alone. To employ the shelter of her best friend’s family home, she must have been so distressed and anxious to distance herself from him.

Caleb processed the implications of Hannah leaving and as he lifted his glass to his mouth for a second time, Albert leaned forward and gently asked;

‘Caleb, when will you admit to yourself, that you are in love with her?’

Caleb’s glass paused halfway to his mouth as the realisation hit him. The concept seemed so obvious to him now that Albert had articulated it, yet it had not been evident to him until that moment. Caleb placed his glass down on the table as his mind reeled at the revelation.

‘You are not your father and Hannah is not your mother. Not every marriage is doomed to become a festering prison of resentment and bitterness. I know this is your most prevalent fear.’

Caleb’s glassy stare left the bookcase he had been unseeingly focused upon and moved across to Albert’s face. His friend was wise – he spoke such truth. It occurred to Caleb that Albert sometimes knew him better than he knew himself.

‘I also appreciate your fear of neglecting your ducal duties, but never have I known a man so steadfastly committed to seeing through his plans, and delivering on his promises. Why, just last week a Lord in the Commons did not attend due to a heavy night on the liquor the past evening! There are members of the Ton who squander and indulge yet retain their position in the elite. So concerned are you at the prospect of dishonouring your father’s memory, that you will not allow yourself an ounce of happiness! Some of life is to be lived for the joy of it!’

Caleb’s eyes twinkled with wetness as his friend eloquently expressed the conflicts Caleb had not even summarised in his own mind.

Hannah’s face flashed up in Caleb’s mind – how sweetly she would smile up at him, bathing in his attention. But it was always a stolen moment before he whisked it away again from underneath her. He engaged in jolly conversation over dinner then locked himself in his study; he had kissed her in the library and then disappeared for three days to punish himself for allowing distraction into his life. How unfair he had been to her. He realised that she must have no perception at all of how he felt; he was always switching up and changing. How could she possibly know which man would sit across from her at the dining table? His mood was so changeable, she had no stability. Only a fortnight into their marriage, Caleb felt he had already let her down.

‘Your father would be enormously proud of you, Caleb. You have embraced your status despite it having been slung upon you prematurely and with no warning; you have maintained your estate impressively; you have engaged in business with respectability and integrity. You married the girl he selected for you, to honour a decades-old contract. And to sprinkle sugar onto the cake, you have fallen in love with your wife so that you can cherish her and grow old with a precious relationship – something he sadly could not achieve. But you have, old friend!’

Caleb held his face in his hands, overwhelmed by Albert’s generous words but determined not to openly cry. Albert leaned forward, grabbing his friend by the shoulder in solidarity.

Hidden there behind his hands, Hannah’s face appeared in his mind's eye once more, but this vision was of the moment she confessed to him, with a simple nod, that the painting was hers. Her eyes had implored him not to be angry; not to hate or admonish her. That look of pleading and vulnerability, replaced by such sadness and defeat as she witnessed his enraged response when Lord Bryant had attempted to placate him. Caleb shook his head, to rid himself of the memory, knowing that he had failed her and his nemesis, Nathaniel Bryant had championed her in his place. A jealous umbrage rattled in his chest. Lord Bryant’s part in the scenario made Caleb’s own actions even harder to face. Caleb breathed deeply to calm himself down.

‘You have a lot left to fight for, Caleb,’ Albert concluded. ‘You have quite a wife.’

Caleb looked up. His friend was impressed by his wife – he’d never paused to consider what his best friend’s opinion of her was. In secret, they had light-heartedly jested about Lady Lucinda Fairfax’s lack of personality and what a shame it was that she was so pretty; how it was a form of trickery and Albert had once sworn he could not allow Caleb to marry a woman so dull.

‘She is not dull, is she?’ Caleb managed a smile.

‘As far from dull as it is possible to reach!’ Albert laughed, catching on to their shared joke.

Caleb finished his glass of brandy and placed his hands on his thighs, making to leave.

‘Thank you for your words of wisdom, Albert – truly. They moved me and struck certain authenticity. I appreciate you, dear friend.’ Caleb went to stand.

‘You are shaking,’ Albert observed. ‘Here, let me pour you another…’

‘No,’ Caleb declined. ‘I have a life to figure out – I’ll need a clear head.’

Albert’s eyes smiled with approval.

‘I have a love worth fighting for, do I not?’ Caleb asked, puffing out his chest.

‘You certainly do, good man! You certainly do!’

As Caleb jogged down the steps of the Dutton town-house front steps, the cool, fresh night air beckoned to him with new possibilities. He gazed down the deserted London thoroughfare, where the glow of the moon reflected upon the damp, shadowy cobblestones, hinting at the prospect of opportunity. Hannah had been so brave – now it was his turn.