Page 16 of Coloring a Silent Earl’s Heart

Sophia stood rigid before the dowager’s sitting room, her knuckles poised to knock. The bruises encircling her wrist—courtesy of Silas Fletcher—throbbed beneath her sleeve, a physical reminder of last night’s disaster. Taking a steadying breath, she rapped sharply upon the polished oak.

“Enter,” commanded Lady Aldeburgh’s voice from within.

The Dowager Countess sat enthroned in a high-backed chair, her silver-streaked hair arranged in severe coils beneath a cap of Brussels lace, her mourning dress relieved only by a cameo brooch at her throat.

“Lady Sinclair.” She did not rise, nor did she invite Sophia to sit. “I trust you have recovered from last evening’s... exhibition.”

“Entirely, Your Ladyship,” Sophia replied, refusing to be cowed despite standing like a schoolgirl awaiting punishment. “Though I regret the disruption to your gathering.”

“Indeed.” Lady Aldeburgh’s mouth tightened. “Lord Shropshire’s behavior was most irregular. I wonder what might have provoked such marked attention toward a portraitist.”

The implication hung between them, as delicate and dangerous as spun glass.

“My late husband knew Lord Shropshire.” Sophia kept her voice steady. “His lordship has occasionally presumed upon that connection in ways I have consistently discouraged.”

“How fascinating.” Lady Aldeburgh’s tone suggested it was anything but. “That a military man of his standing should pursue acquaintance with the widow of a mere lieutenant.”

Sophia remained silent, recognizing the trap laid before her. Any defense would only entangle her further in Lady Aldeburgh’s web of suspicion.

“Regardless,” the dowager continued, “this incident has forced me to reconsider our arrangement.” She gestured toward a nearby table where a letter sat waiting. “I have written to Lord Camden suggesting the portrait might be concluded within a fortnight.”

“A fortnight?” Sophia could not entirely mask her dismay. “The work remains unfinished. The background elements require—”

“The essential likeness has been captured,” Lady Aldeburgh interrupted. “The rest is mere embellishment, surely accomplishable by an artist of your professed talents.”

The dismissal of weeks of careful work stung, but Sophia swallowed her pride. “As you wish, Your Ladyship. Though Lord Aldeburgh might have his own opinion regarding the portrait’s completion.”

“My son’s welfare remains my foremost concern.” Lady Aldeburgh’s voice sharpened. “His... condition renders him vulnerable to emotional attachments formed through extended proximity. I would be remiss as a mother if I permitted such entanglements to develop.”

There it was—laid bare at last. No longer content with subtle disapproval, Lady Aldeburgh now openly acknowledged what she perceived growing between Sophia and her son.

“I have conducted myself with complete professionalism,” Sophia stated, her cheeks burning despite her effort to remain composed.

“Perhaps in your own estimation.” Lady Aldeburgh rose, her height adding to the imposing effect. “Nevertheless, until your departure, certain adjustments to our arrangement are necessary. You will conduct your remaining sessions in the drawing room, where I shall provide appropriate supervision.”

“The drawing room lacks the northern light essential for—”

“The drawing room offers perfect visibility,” Lady Aldeburgh cut in. “Your materials have already been transferred there.”

“You moved my supplies?” Sophia could not prevent the indignant question. Her paints, brushes, and canvases were tools of her livelihood, arranged with careful precision.

“Only those required for immediate use.” The dowager’s tone suggested the matter was settled beyond appeal. “The remainder can await your departure. Now, I believe it is nearly time for today’s session. Alexander expects punctuality.”

Dismissed like a servant caught pilfering silver, Sophia had no choice but to depart with as much dignity as she could muster. The corridor to the drawing room stretched endlessly before her, each step carrying her further from the comfortable routine established over weeks of artistic collaboration.

Lord Aldeburgh stood by the tall windows when she entered, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the morning sky. He turned at her approach, his expression brightening momentarily before registering her formal demeanor and the drawing room’s unfamiliar setting.

“Good morning, Lord Aldeburgh,” she greeted him, her eyes cast downward. “I trust you slept well?”

Confusion flickered across his features at her sudden formality. Before he could respond, Lady Aldeburgh glided into the room, settling herself in a chair positioned to observe their every interaction.

“The light here presents different challenges,” Sophia continued, moving toward the hastily arranged easel. “But we shall manage admirably, I’m certain.”

Lord Aldeburgh’s gaze moved between Sophia and his mother, comprehension dawning in his blue eyes. He retrieved his notebook from his coat pocket, scribbling swiftly before extending it toward Sophia:

What has happened? You seem distressed. Did my mother say something to upset you?

Sophia glanced toward Lady Aldeburgh, who watched their exchange with undisguised scrutiny. “I am perfectly well,” she assured him, focusing on arranging her brushes with exaggerated care. “Though the drawing room’s aspect requires adjustments to my technique.”

He frowned, clearly unsatisfied with her evasion. Writing again, he presented his notebook:

Mother’s interference. I should have anticipated this after last night. Please tell me what she said.

“The drawing room provides excellent visibility,” Lady Aldeburgh remarked from her position. “One can observe all proceedings with perfect clarity.”

Lord Aldeburgh frowned at this, though he made no direct challenge to his mother’s statement. Instead, he took his position with military stiffness, the relaxed posture Sophia had coaxed from him over weeks of sessions entirely vanished.

The painting session progressed with painful awkwardness. Every glance exchanged, every necessary adjustment of position, every minute of companionable silence now occurred beneath Lady Aldeburgh’s relentless gaze. The easy rhythm they had established in the converted music room evaporated like morning dew beneath a harsh sun.

Sophia worked methodically despite these constraints, focusing on technical aspects that required minimal interaction. The portrait had progressed significantly during their weeks together—Lord Aldeburgh’s likeness captured with remarkable accuracy, not merely in physical appearance but in the quiet intelligence and sensitivity she had discovered beneath his silent exterior.

A knock at the drawing room door provided momentary respite from the strained atmosphere. Gregory Camden entered, his expression suggesting immediate comprehension of the situation.

“Lady Aldeburgh!” He executed a perfect bow toward the dowager. “What an unexpected pleasure. I had not thought artistic pursuits engaged your interest.”

“One’s obligations occasionally supersede personal preferences,” she replied with frigid dignity. “As Earl of Aldeburgh, my son’s activities merit appropriate supervision.”

“Indeed?” Gregory’s eyebrow arched slightly. “And does this supervision extend to all of his lordship’s affairs, or merely this particular artistic endeavor?”

The veiled challenge hung between them; Gregory’s usual good humor momentarily replaced by something sharper. Lady Aldeburgh’s lips thinned almost imperceptibly, though her posture remained unwavering.

“All matters concerning the Balfour name fall within my purview,” she stated. “Until my son establishes his own household independently, of course.”

The suggestion of continued dependence clearly struck a nerve, for Lord Aldeburgh set down his notebook with unusual force. Though unable to participate verbally, his expression conveyed volumes regarding his assessment of this characterization.

“How fortunate we are to benefit from your vigilance,” Gregory remarked with barely concealed irony. “I am looking for Miss McLeod. I hear she has some knowledge of Scottish botanical traditions that might assist with my current studies.”

“I believe she is attending to my chambers,” Sophia said, a small smile playing around her lips at the transparency radiating from him. “She mentioned pressing gowns for our departure.”

The words escaped before she could consider their impact. Lord Aldeburgh’s head turned sharply toward her, his expression transforming from controlled irritation to genuine alarm.

He seized his notebook, writing rapidly before thrusting it toward Sophia:

Departure? What departure? The portrait requires more time yet for proper completion.

The dismay evident in both his expression and the pressure of his pencil strokes against paper pierced Sophia’s composure. She had not intended to disclose Lady Aldeburgh’s ultimatum so abruptly, particularly not while its architect observed their exchange.

“Lady Aldeburgh has kindly suggested that the portrait might be completed within the coming fortnight,” Sophia explained, striving for professional detachment she did not feel. “I shall endeavor to meet this timeline without compromising artistic quality.”

Lord Aldeburgh’s gaze shifted from Sophia to his mother, comprehension hardening into anger. He wrote again, deliberately turning the notebook toward Lady Aldeburgh rather than Sophia:

You arranged this without consulting me? The commission is mine, not yours.

“The arrangements were made with Lord Camden, who initiated the commission,” Lady Aldeburgh replied with unruffled composure. “As Lady Sinclair has made significant progress, establishing a conclusion date seemed entirely reasonable. Artists often extend projects unnecessarily when compensation is based on time rather than results.”

Heat rose to Sophia’s cheeks at this, and she dropped her head. Before she could respond, however, Lord Aldeburgh rose abruptly and wrote briefly before extending his notebook toward his mother. Though she tried to avert her eyes, she found herself catching a glimpse of the clear writing:

This session is concluded for today. We will discuss these arrangements privately.

The statement, though politely phrased, contained unmistakable authority—the Earl of Aldeburgh asserting precedence over the Dowager Countess in a manner that transformed the drawing room’s atmosphere. Lady Aldeburgh’s spine stiffened, though social constraints prevented open confrontation before witnesses.

“As you wish,” she conceded. “Though I maintain that practical resolution serves all parties’ interests.”

Sophia began gathering her materials with careful movements, her mind racing with implications. The conflict between mother and son had escalated beyond subtle manipulation to direct opposition—a development promising no easy resolution regardless of outcome.

“I shall return tomorrow at our usual time,” she said, addressing Lord Aldeburgh with professional courtesy that inadequately masked deeper concern. “Unless you prefer to adjust our schedule?”

His expression softened as he met her gaze, something in his eyes conveying reassurance beyond written communication. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, the gesture somehow more intimate than words might have been.

As Sophia departed the drawing room, Gregory fell into step beside her with calculated casualness. “A rather illuminating morning,” he observed when they had moved beyond Lady Aldeburgh’s hearing. “Though perhaps not in ways Her Ladyship anticipated.”

“Lord Camden,” Sophia began carefully, conscious of servants potentially within earshot, “I find myself in an increasingly difficult position.”

“As does my friend,” he replied gravely. “Though I suspect his determination may surprise even those who believe they know him best.”

The cryptic observation offered limited comfort as Sophia made her way toward the east wing, uncertainty clouding what had previously seemed a path of increasing clarity. Whatever developed between mother and son would undoubtedly affect her own precarious situation at Balfour Abbey.

Approaching her chambers, Sophia found Abigail in animated conversation with Lord Camden… their heads bent together in conspiratorial closeness suggesting matters beyond ordinary servant interaction. They sprang apart at her approach, though not before she noted Abigail’s flushed cheeks. Lord Camden quickly bowed and departed.

“My lady!” Abigail curtsied hastily. “I was just... that is, Lord Camden was explaining...”

“No explanation necessary,” Sophia assured her, suppressing a smile despite her troubled thoughts. “Though perhaps you might assist me with these materials? The dowager has decided our painting sessions shall occur in the drawing room henceforth.”

“The drawing room?” Abigail’s dismay echoed Sophia’s own feelings. “But the light is all wrong, and your supplies—”

“Have been transferred without consultation,” Sophia finished, entering her chamber with Abigail close behind. “Lady Aldeburgh has also determined the portrait shall be completed within a fortnight.”

“A fortnight!” Abigail exclaimed, closing the door firmly behind them. “But…

“Apparently all that is left are mere embellishments, easily accomplished by an artist of my ‘professed talents,’“ Sophia quoted, her composure finally cracking. She sank onto the edge of her bed, the morning’s confrontation catching up with her at last. “Oh, Abigail, what am I to do? Lady Aldeburgh clearly believes I have designs upon her son, and Lord Aldeburgh himself seems increasingly distressed by our situation.”

“If I may speak plainly,” Abigail said, setting down the materials to take Sophia’s hands in her own, “His Lordship’s distress stems not from your presence but from the threat of your departure. Anyone with eyes can see his regard for you grows daily.”

“A complication neither of us can afford,” Sophia sighed. “Even if such feelings are mutual, what possible future could exist? He is an earl with responsibilities to his bloodline. I am a widow dependent upon the goodwill of others for mere survival.”

“Perhaps Lord Camden—”

“Is his friend, not mine,” Sophia finished. “His loyalty properly belongs to Lord Aldeburgh, not a portraitist of reduced circumstances.”

Abigail squeezed her hands gently. “Then what shall we do, milady?”

“What we have always done,” Sophia replied, straightening her shoulders with determination. “Complete the task before us with dignity and professionalism, then depart with our integrity intact. The portrait must be finished regardless of Lady Aldeburgh’s interference.”

Though the words sounded admirable even to her own ears, Sophia could not ignore the hollow ache spreading beneath her ribs at the thought of leaving Balfour Abbey—of leaving him. What had begun as a mere professional commission had become something far more complicated, something she dared not name even in the privacy of her thoughts.

“And Lord Shropshire?” Abigail asked, her voice dropping to a whisper despite the closed door. “His appearance at last night’s dinner party was no coincidence, I’ll wager.”

“One problem at a time,” Sophia murmured, though Fletcher’s presence weighed upon her like a physical burden. “For now, we focus on completing the portrait before Lady Aldeburgh invents further reasons to hasten our departure.”

The determination in her voice convinced even herself, at least momentarily. Yet as Abigail helped her arrange the painting supplies salvaged from the drawing room, Sophia could not escape the growing certainty that their precarious situation at Balfour Abbey approached crisis—with neither clear escape nor resolution in sight.