Page 14 of The Pursuit of Elena Bradford

14

Vanessa was every bit as beautiful as Ivy said. When Elena, properly corseted and with hair in neat buns, knocked on the door next to theirs, the woman opened it at once as though standing there waiting. Without the slightest hesitation, she slipped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut, not giving Elena so much as a glimpse of the room behind her.

She wore a light-blue patterned morning dress with a lacy white shawl draped around her shoulders and a bonnet adorned with blue ribbons. Its wide brim at least allowed her to see more of her surroundings. Elena had left her bonnet on the bed and carried a pink-and-white parasol as defense against the sun instead. The color didn’t match her yellow dress, but she didn’t care. She wanted to see around her.

“You must be Elena.” The woman spoke in a breathless rush before Elena could say a word. “I’m Vanessa, but I’m sure your sister told you that. I am so glad you knocked. I was just considering if I should venture out on my own, but it will be ever so much more enjoyable with a companion. And less worrying.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine.” Elena wasn’t sure why she would be worried.

“You can never be certain with so many men around.” She went on in a near whisper. “Not all—even those claiming to be—are gentlemen. A lady alone must be vigilant.”

“I suppose that is best.”

“But Ivy said you went out early this morning. By yourself. She didn’t seem surprised at that. She says you are very independent.” Vanessa adjusted her bonnet. “It must have been very early, before I arrived.”

“I wanted to be in the gardens when the sun rose.”

“The sunrise was lovely. I saw the rosy glow of the eastern horizon as I arrived. Such a gift.” A full smile lit up the woman’s face and made her even more beautiful.

Any men they met along their walk would not even notice Elena beside Vanessa. Not that Elena cared if they did or not. “A gift?”

“Did you not think it such when you walked in the gardens?” Without giving Elena time to answer, she went on. “You must have. The first rays touching the flowers. Were there roses?”

“Many roses,” Elena said.

“And bees and butterflies flying about them?”

“There was a black-and-blue swallowtail butterfly.”

“Oh, I do hope I see one today. And a hummingbird. Don’t you simply love hummingbirds?”

“I didn’t see one this morning.” Elena could add one to her drawing though.

Almost as if she read Elena’s mind, Vanessa said, “Your sister told me you are an artist. That you paint beautiful things.” She looked at Elena as they went outside. “Do you paint portraits? I would ever so much love to have a portrait of myself.”

“I’m not that accomplished with faces.” Elena hesitated a moment before she went on. “But there is an artist here. I could introduce you.”

She didn’t know why she hesitated. Kirby Frazier was doing portraits of women more beautiful than Elena every day. And what did she care if he did? Even if her pulse did speed up a bit when they were dancing, that hardly meant his did. Besides, what did she really know about him? Except that he was handsome. Brave. And a talented artist.

“That would be delightful.” Vanessa rose up on her toes and clapped her hands. “Do you think he could do it today? I’m not sure how long I will be here.”

“We can ask him.”

“But don’t portraits take days? Even weeks?”

“Perhaps some do, but Mr. Frazier works very fast with his brushes and pens and chalk.” She had watched him a couple of days before. Not close behind him but from a distance. He’d had a small board on his easel and had filled the space with alacrity. When he gave her the painting, the lady appeared to be excited. Elena had waited for her along the walkway to the hotel to ask to see the portrait. The woman had been more than happy to oblige.

Elena had looked from the painting to the lady’s face. It looked like her but at the same time didn’t. She was not a young woman, every bit as old as Elena’s mother. But Mr. Frazier had used a slight shading to erase some of her years and given her soft and generous lips to contrast her patrician forehead. With an economy of brushstrokes he’d copied her hairstyle and silvered only a few streaks through the brown.

What might he change or not change about a truly beautiful woman like Vanessa? Elena hoped he would do the woman’s portrait since that would give her the opportunity to watch him work close at hand without seeming too forward. She would be with her new friend.

They found him at his easel down by the lake. The water was nearly as blue as the sky and glittered in the sunshine when a light wind slipped across its surface. A few ducks floated on the far side. Another place of beauty here at the Springs.

Elena wondered if the lovely grounds might do as much healing as Dr. Graham’s spring water. If she somehow enticed a wealthy man into marrying her, she might also entice him into coming back to this place every summer. She should attempt to number the advantages of her mother’s grand scheme as well as the disadvantages. Money would be an advantage.

She studied the woman beside her as they walked toward the lake. She must have money to have made a trip alone to this place. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, her dress the latest fashion. Her waist was so narrow, she had to be wearing a corset tightly tied, but Ivy had said nothing about her arriving with a lady’s maid. And no sister or mother to take the place of one, like Elena had.

Elena touched her own waist that was almost as small. One could manage the corsets if the laces were long enough to tie in the front. Not as tightly as her mother jerked them but tight enough.

“Elena.” Mr. Frazier looked up from positioning his paint box. “I hope you have come to let me capture your beauty on my canvas.”

Elena felt her cheeks flush with pleasure at the man’s words and how he used her given name. “I fear not, Mr. Frazier. My mother would never approve.”

“Please, can’t we be friends enough for you to call me Kirby?”

In one day she had two men asking to be friends. Perhaps there was some sort of magic in this place. “Another thing my mother would not approve.”

He moved closer to her. Close enough to touch. Her heart pounded up in her ears. “Didn’t you once tell me that while you might always listen to your mother, you then set your own course?”

If only a man like Kirby Frazier would have those deep pockets her mother desired. She took a breath to steady herself. “I can at least agree to call you Kirby since you seem determined to speak my name.”

He did reach out and touch her cheek very lightly then. It was good she wasn’t the type to swoon. Instead, she very sensibly stepped back and motioned toward Vanessa, who had lagged behind as though shy of being seen. “I’ve brought a friend who wishes to have a likeness of her face.”

“Oh?” He turned his gaze from Elena to Vanessa.

“This is Vanessa.” Elena hesitated and looked at the woman. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you mentioned your last name. Not that it matters to Mr. Frazier, er, Kirby. He seems to prefer a more familiar address.”

“So I do.” Kirby smiled at Vanessa. “An artist needs to see beyond names to the spirit of the person. But it’s good to know a name as well.”

“Hasting,” Vanessa said quickly. “Vanessa Hasting.”

“Vanessa. Your name matches your beauty. Beauty I would love to attempt to capture on my canvas board since our Elena doesn’t seem ready to pose for me.”

Our Elena. She needed to get her emotions under control. She was not his Elena and could never be, even if his touch had sent shivers through her. Perhaps she had at long last met a man who would make her look favorably upon marriage. What a trick of life. A man she could not entertain as a suitor, even if his words were more than simply a way to charm her into posing for a portrait for which he would expect payment.

Now his focus was entirely on Vanessa, who stepped closer to him. “Oh yes. If you have the time to do so.”

“Time stops for no man, but if it did, I’m sure it would stop to soak in your lovely visage, Miss Vanessa Hasting.” He shot a look back at Elena as though to make sure she knew he hadn’t forgotten her. “Two beautiful women to make this day even finer.”

He led Vanessa over to a bench in the shade. “The light will be better here. This close to midday the sun can be too bright.”

Once she settled on the bench with her skirt straightened, he adjusted her shoulders slightly at a slant. Then with his hand under her chin, he turned her face toward him. Elena could almost feel his fingers under her own chin tilting her head to find the perfect light. She brushed the idea away. She was there to observe his technique with his brush or pencils, not to wish for his touch.

“Do you think you can sit like this for a little while?” Kirby kept one finger under Vanessa’s chin.

“If that is what needs to be done.”

“Then we are all set as soon as I mix some paints.” He moved back to his easel to take a couple of tiny bottles out of his box. He looked at Elena as he made sure the lids were tight and shook them. “You should have brought your sketchbook.” He turned back to Vanessa. “Our Elena is an artist too.”

“So her sister told me.” Vanessa spoke the words stiffly without moving her head. “Elena was out today at sunrise to catch the beauty of the morning.”

“Impressive.”

Kirby murmured the word, but Elena couldn’t tell if he was responding to Vanessa’s comment or to the sight of the woman on the bench with the lake behind her. He picked up a brush but stood without moving for a long moment as he studied Vanessa.

Elena started to ask if he would be bothered by her watching over his shoulder, but she didn’t. She somehow knew he might not even hear her, that he was scarcely aware of her being there at all. He was lost in the vision he wanted to capture with his brush. She had felt something the same that morning as the sketch of the roses had flowed from her pencil. But roses were one thing. A person’s face another.

With the confidence of a professional, he made a few swift brushstrokes to form the shape of a face. At first it could have been anyone’s face, but then with a few deft lines, Vanessa began to appear. Once, then twice, he made a mark with the brush that seemed wrong, but he quickly adjusted with a little shading.

Once he had the outline of the face, he took a brush that made lines as precise as a pen to paint the eyes. That was the part of a face Elena always struggled to capture truly when she tried to do a portrait. Kirby’s brush brought the eyes to life in a few strokes. Not any eyes, but Vanessa’s. It made Elena wish she could pose for a portrait by him.

Perhaps if she could find enough coins on the ground, she could ask him to do her portrait. A silly thought. That wouldn’t happen. She would be fortunate to find any pennies for Ivy. She had simply been trying to give her hope.

Ivy deserved her chance with Jacob. What they had might not last, but then again, it might. Elena’s heart was softening to the idea of romantic love now that she had doubts she would ever have the chance to embrace such feelings. But perhaps her sister could.

There seemed to be romance in Kirby Frazier’s movements as he painted. She moved a little to the side to see his face. She had thought he would be too engrossed in his art to notice, but he smiled over at her while still moving his brush as though he didn’t even need to see what he was doing.

He did pause then to ask, “What do you think, my artist friend?”

“That your brushes are miraculous.”

“My brushes?” He had a teasing look as he put one down on the easel stand. “They don’t seem to be doing much now.”

“My mistake. Not the brushes. The hand holding the brushes, the eyes seeing the picture.”

“Oh, please, may I come look?” Vanessa asked.

“Certainly not,” Kirby said. “Not until I’m finished. You must stay where you are, Miss Vanessa, until I say you can move. Until then, you will have to trust our Elena’s word that it is becoming a passable likeness.”

There he was with our Elena again. She should tell him not to say that. She wasn’t anybody’s Elena. At least not yet. She did sort of like it, but at the same time she was aware that Kirby was performing and making her a part of the show he was putting on as he painted Vanessa’s portrait. He made some flamboyant moves with the brush, but she noticed that none of those movements ended with lines or colors across his canvas.

Others had gathered around to watch, perhaps drawn as much by the beautiful woman on the bench as to Kirby’s painting. Or perhaps not. Kirby was just as attractive in his manly way as Vanessa was in her womanly one. His shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, and his curly hair dipped down onto his forehead. As he stepped back to eye his canvas and then Vanessa, he almost looked as if he were dancing to music only he could hear. The music of his art.

Elena pulled her gaze away from Kirby to look around at those drawn to the artist’s show. She was surprised to see General Dawson among them. Somehow she hadn’t expected an old soldier like him to be drawn to the arts.

She turned away quickly when he noticed her looking at him, but too late. He started making his way over to her. Maybe she should do as Ivy suggested and feign illness. But no, she wouldn’t make a spectacle of fainting, and she had no intention of leaving here until she saw Vanessa’s finished portrait.

She could talk to General Dawson. What she couldn’t imagine was standing at a marriage altar with him. Her gaze slid to Kirby.

On the other hand, matching up with a man like Kirby Frazier didn’t take much imagination at all. Ah, if that were only possible, romance might truly be singing in the air.