Page 85 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness

“I’ve changed my tune about the stuff, you know. It’s not so bad. I’m not about to go buy up a gallery, but… it has its uses. Your art, in particular I’ve always liked. It was about us, silly and smart and—”

“Do shut up, Raph. You’ve gone soft.”

Raph chuckled. “Not necessarily a bad thing, I think. Your art was colorful. Full of life.Ourlife.”

“Cordelia thinks art can heal.”

Raph shrugged. “Maybe it can.”

“It destroyed us.”

“No.” Raph leaned forward. “And here’s the hard thing to admit, but the thing Father pleaded with me to understand in the letter he wrote me. Art didn’t destroy us. He did. Art was merely his weapon. Above all, he wanted to take all the responsibility so we did not misplace guilt on something… good.”

Theo slumped in his chair. Where was some of Pentshire’s excellent whisky when needed? “The old man was—”

“Very ill at making decisions,” Raph offered.

“More than a bit thoughtless.”

“Not at all prepared for the responsibilities of a title.”

Theo snorted. “Horrid at finances.”

“Absolute fact, that. And… and he loved us. Was proud of us, even when we turned on him.”

“Hell.”

“Quite.”

They sat in silence as the clock on the mantel ticked louder and louder.

Theo stood, his ascent lighter than he thought it would be. “I can’t buy the house from you.”

“But you can use the funds from the sale of your Rubens to buyahouse. Will that be good enough?”

Damn but he hoped so. “I must leave for London.” He strode for the door, pivoted, returned to Raph. “No. First I must speak to Mother.”

“Do you have something prepared to show her?”

An entire box of things, starting with a kiss that was a closed eye. He nodded. “Then to London. As soon as can be.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you can meet the buyer of the Drury Lane house. He wishes a tour before he purchases. I thought I’d have to travel, what with you languishing here, but—”

“I wasn’t languishing. I was plotting. And yes, I’ll meet him.”

“I’ll have the details of our last correspondence sent to your room.”

Theo walked to the door but faced Raph once more before leaving. “What if… how would you feel if… I made a career of art? Not the sort I do now but… I don’t know. I… I’ll…” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t quite say it, though the unsaid words felt right.

Raph ran his thumb back and forth over his nails as if inspecting them before dropping his hand in his lap with a shrug. “Your art is not bad, nor is it worthless. It can do good in the hands of a man with good intentions.” A pointed raise of a single brow. “Now, should I tell Mother to begin planning a wedding?”

How could he know? The last time he’d seen her, she’d been livid, determined, and—no. He’d borrow Cordelia’s optimism for once.

“I think she’ll understand well enough after I speak with her. But have a horse prepared so I can make a quick escape.”

Raph grinned.

And Theo marched toward his room, sorted through the art he’d drawn for himself on parchment piece after parchment piece over the last fortnight, then went in search of his mother.