Lady Horatia Cynster, Vane’s mother, the Dowager’s sister-in-law and most frequent companion, was less overtly intimidating, but almost equally dangerous. “I remember meeting your mother, my dear, many years ago at a ball. She was exceedingly beautiful-there’s much I can see in you that I remember in her.”
“Really?” Eyes lighting, Jacqueline sat in the armchair before the chaise. “Other than from Lady Fritham, our neighbor who was Mama’s childhood friend, I’ve never heard much of Mama before she married Papa.”
“Ah, I remember.” The Dowager nodded. “It caused quite a stir, that marriage-that she, such a diamond, chose to leave the ton so completely and retire to Cornwall. Horatia, do you recall…”
Between them, Helena and Horatia recalled a number of stories of Jacqueline’s mother during the short time she’d graced the capital’s ballrooms. Leaning forward, asking questions, Jacqueline eagerly absorbed all they said.
Gerrard found himself redundant. Found himself swallowing a certain surprise at how easily Jacqueline had found her feet with such ladies.
He wasn’t, of course, at all surprised by their eager embracing of her.
From the moment Barnaby had suggested visiting London, he’d known he’d have no chance of disguising his interest in Jacqueline as purely professional. Within the family, it wasn’t even worthwhile making the attempt; they’d see right through him, and laugh and pat his cheek-and tease him even more unmercifully.
It was bad enough when Horatia turned from the conversation to smile up at him, and say, “Dear boy, such excitement! The whole tale is so romantic. Of course, none of us will breathe a word, not until the deed is done and all settled, but you’ve certainly enlivened what was shaping up to be a deathly dull summer.”
Her eyes twinkled up at him; he inclined his head-she could have been talking about the portrait and his rescuing Jacqueline, or about his impending nuptials-it was impossible to tell. To his relief, sounds of an arrival heralded the return of Patience, Minnie and Timms, and spared him having to answer. They all bustled in, ready to tell Helena and Horatia about their visit to the unusual dressmaker-and even more eager to quiz Jacqueline on all that took place in Helen’s workroom.
The level of feminine chatter rose, blanketing the room. Minnie called for tea; Gerrard seized the opportunity to make his excuses and escape.
Before he could, Patience stopped him with a raised hand. “Dinner tonight,” she informed him. “Just the family.” She saw the look in his eyes and smiled, understanding, yet in no way relenting. “It’s so quiet at present, everyone is only too glad to have an excuse not to eat at their own board.”
By “the family” she meant any of the wider Cynster clan in town; during the Season, most lived in London, but during the summer, they came and went as business and family affairs dictated.
He could refuse, citing his work on the portrait, but…He glanced at Jacqueline, then looked back at Patience and nodded. “Usual time?”
She smiled, an all-knowing older sister. “Seven, but you might come a trifle earlier and visit the nursery. There have been complaints regarding your absence.”
The thought made him grin. “I’ll try.”
With a general nod, he turned away, and made good his escape. Within that circle, Jacqueline clearly needed no protection.
He, on the other hand, needed to protect his sanity. Climbing the stairs, he took refuge in his studio.
17
Later that night, Jacqueline stood in Gerrard’s studio, and watched him sketch her into the portrait. Everyone else had retired to their beds.
In the front hall when they’d returned from dinner, he’d explained the routine he intended to follow, working through the nights as the scene was set in moonlight, then sleeping through the morning before rising to reassess and prepare through the afternoon, so that at night he could paint again. His clear aim was to complete the portrait as soon as possible.
Everyone understood why that was desirable. On the journey to town, they’d discussed and agreed that while there was no need to bruit the purpose behind the portrait to society at large, it was necessary that Gerrard’s family understood both the urgency and importance behind the work. As he’d explained, their discretion could be relied on, and their knowing would ensure that no vestige of scandal attached to her because of her attendance in his studio, whatever the hours, regardless of the privacy.
Having met his family, she now fully understood. It was comforting knowing they were so supportive, indeed, so interested and determined that all would go well for Gerrard and their endeavor, and her, too.
He’d posed her beside a plaster column, her right hand raised, palm placed lightly to the column’s surface; in the portrait, the column would be the side of the archway that was the lower entrance to the Garden of Night. Her hand would be holding aside a piece of creeper.
He’d shown her what he’d done so far; she could see the effect he was aiming for. It would be powerful, evocative. Convincing.
All she needed the portrait to be.
She stood unmoving, her gaze fixed as he’d instructed, to the left of where he worked behind his easel; her mind roamed, to all else she’d seen and learned that day.
The visit to Helen Purfett’s salon had been interesting; they would return tomorrow afternoon, and the three afternoons after that, for fittings, but it would be just the two of them. Millicent, Minnie, Timms and Patience had lost interest in the process, although they were still exceedingly keen to see her in the finished product.
She hesitated, then remembered Gerrard was not yet sketching any details, just the lines of her body, her limbs. He’d promised tonight would be a short session, a training for the hours that would come; for now she could let her expression relax-let her lips curve as she recalled the rest of her day.
During their journey, she’d wondered whether she would find his relatives, especially the ladies, intimidating; they were, after all, members of the haut ton, and had been all their lives. Admittedly, she wasn’t all that easily intimidated, yet the transparently warm welcome they’d accorded her, and the ease with which she’d found herself relaxing into, as it were, the bosom of his family, had not just surprised her, but left her feeling amazingly buoyed.
Not just reassured, but more-as if she was one of them, accepted and embraced.
Millicent, too, seemed happy and gratified. Her aunt had already formed a bond with Minnie and Timms; they were much of a kind, absorbed with observing the lives of those around them.
By the time she’d gone up to dress for dinner, she’d lost every last trepidatious reservation. She’d looked forward to the prospect of his family dinner with genuine anticipation.
To her surprise, he’d arrived at the house while she was dressing. He’d paced in the drawing room, then whisked her into his carriage the instant she was ready, leaving Millicent to follow later with Minnie and Timms. They’d driven to Patience’s house in Curzon Street-and gone straight to the nursery.
Her smile deepened. She hadn’t until then thought of Gerrard with children, but the trio who’d yelled and come pelting toward him had been totally sure of their reception. With, it had proved, complete justification. He’d devoted half an hour to them. After quelling their rowdy greetings, he’d introduced her; the children had smiled and accepted her in the same, trusting manner their parents had-as if, because she was with Gerrard, she was beyond question a rightful member of their circle.
He’d filled their ears with tales of the gardens of Hellebore Hall. She’d sat quietly and listened; the little girl, Therese, had climbed onto her lap with sublime confidence that she would be welcome. She’d smiled and settled the warm bundle of soft limbs and body, then rested her cheek on the child’s head and listened to Gerrard paint her home as she’d never seen it.