Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (36 page)

“Well?”  Hortense put her hands on her hips.

Averill’s fingers tightened on the brush for a moment before she consciously released her grip. She finally shrugged.

“I
have never seen the like! It’s outstanding. They traveled in a coach and six. Can you imagine? I ran into His Lordship while I returned with your brush, so I was there as the coach pulled up. The earl is a wonderful host! Truly. Why, we were discussing a possible ball. I think he likes me, Averill.”

Averill
didn’t answer that, either. She knew the truth. She’d seen it when she’d painted him. The earl avoided Hortense. If he spoke with Hortense at length, it was because she probably had him trapped.

“Here’s the artist I was speaking to you about, my dear.” 

The door opened, and the earl came in. At his side was a woman. Averill turned her head and knelt to rinse her brush off, hoping they’d leave. She would refuse to paint her. No one could make her do it.

“Why, this is very good, indeed.” 

A glance showed what the earl was referring to. He had his monocle out and was examining the portrait of his wife.

Stupid people!
Averill thought. She wondered if he’d ever see his wife’s look of love. Or cared.
How could they be married?

She
sent a quick glance up at the woman who’d accompanied the earl. She was lovely. Young. It would be easy to paint her. She wasn’t outstandingly beautiful, just small, blonde…and equipped with the proper lineage.

“How do you do?” 

She smiled, revealing perfect, white teeth. Averill fought the impulse to snarl.

“
Averill is very talented.”

The earl was speaking
. Averill continued swishing her brush.

“I daresay,
Averill is going to be very popular in London. Why, my cousin may even commission the entire royal family. I so look forward to introducing you.”

“That would be so exciting, my lord!”  Hortense clapped her hands
. “Averill and I look forward to being your guests.”

Averill
would have laughed at the expression that was bound to be on the earl’s face, but such an emotion was beyond her. She dipped her chin further and tried to ignore all of them. That’s when she decided she really did have the ability to hate. It was a like a cloak of black descending before her eyes, dulling everything. Insidious. Massive.

She could easily hate all of them
.

“I look forward to
posing for you…Averill.” 

Averill looked at her cleaning solution for
another long moment before forcing herself to stand. Lift her head. And face the girl. Averill’s knees shook. Her belly hurt. Her eyes burned. But avoiding Tenny’s fiancée didn’t help matters. Nothing did.

“This is
Miss Petunia Abbington-Withers, Averill,” the earl said. “She’s exceptionally lovely, wouldn’t you say? And near your age. I’m certain both you young ladies will get along splendidly.”

Her name’s Petunia?

Averill would’ve giggled if it wouldn’t quickly turn into tears. She forced herself to continue looking at Petunia, wishing she weren’t so fragile and angelic-looking.

“I saw His Lordship’s painting, Averill, and the one of the knight
. I’m so impressed. You’re very good.” 

The girl smiled
. Averill regarded her without expression.

“Averill
?”

Th
e earl gained her attention. The way he intoned her name was a warning. She didn’t need to ask. His face darkened. He was almost Tenny’s height. That gave him a decided advantage to look down his nose at her with eyes narrowed and brows drawn together. She told herself she didn’t care.

“Perhaps I’m not grand enough, my lord.” 

“Oh. I’m certain Averill won’t find you deficient in any way, my dear,” the earl turned from Averill and smiled down at the angelic-looking Petunia. “She just has paint to clean and brushes to tidy up. Come along. Don’t you worry. I’ll speak with her later.”

The closing door shut out the rest of their words.

“Oh! How could you be so horrid, Averill?”  Hortense shrieked the words. “After all I’ve done for you! You’ve ruined everything! To sit and watch you snub the future countess of Tennison! I should—”

“Shut up, Mother!” 

She couldn’t explain. No one, except maybe Harvey, would understand. She couldn’t paint Petunia. She didn’t know what might come out of her brush.

“Did you just say
…
Mother
?”

The countess asked it
from her perch by the window. Hortense’s face fell. She even looked to lose her color.

“Explain as you will, Mother,” Averill
told her. “That’s what you’re best at. If I’m needed further, my lady, I’ll be in my room.”

She almost made the stairs before tears obliterated them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“I believe I owe you an apology,
Averill, my dear.”

The earl was speaking
. She’d had a two-hour reprieve before the summons came. She was required to attend the earl in Tenny’s study. She was marched there, accompanied by a maid and another tall manservant. It felt like punishment, alleviated only slightly by the presence of the knight, his painted image silently watching from over the earl’s shoulder. He looked so much like Tenny that her heart constricted more than once. But her eyes remained dry.

“
I spoke with Lady Limley. I had no idea she was married before.”

Averill shrugged, met his
glance momentarily, and then moved her vision back to the painting.

“I
heard about your father, this Avery. He was an outstanding painter, just as you are, yourself.”

Tenny’s
likeness looked down at her over his uncle’s shoulder. It felt like he was actually there. It was akin to being wrapped in a down-filled blanket. Held. Calmed. It was almost enough to get through the chilled feeling that was her constant companion anymore.

“You’ll accept my apology?”

“You owe me nothing, my lord.” 

Averill
spoke in a monotone as she waited for him to dismiss her. She kept her face entirely blank. Hortense was unhappy that they were leaving, but Averill didn’t care. Hortense could stay, but Averill was taking Andrew away the moment this interview was over. She didn’t care if she had to walk to the posting house.

“
But you’ve been treated as a paid servant.”

She didn’t answer
. She didn’t even blink.

“I
’m correcting the oversight, immediately. I’m having you moved to a state bedroom, one next to Petunia. Perhaps, when you get to know her, you’ll find her as charming as I do. I do hope you’ll accept this as further proof of my…regret?”

Averill
moved her gaze from the knight to the earl. She watched him through her lashes for a bit. He looked as discomfited as he’d sounded. That was probably an odd feeling for him. She returned her focus to the painting.

“
Miss Petunia’s portrait will grace the gallery alongside generations of Tennisons before her, and those that are still to come.”

Averill stiffened
while the knight smiled down at her with eyes so filled with love, that gooseflesh roved her skin warningly. Averill shifted her glance to the bookshelves to her right before she disgraced herself. It took a few moments to find composure. And her voice.

“You’ll need
to find another painter,” she finally answered.

“No artist
compares! You know that. None could do her justice. I selected you from several other applicants, my dear. I’ve apologized for any other slight you’ve experienced, and now I’m asking you to stay to paint my nephew and his bride. It won’t be difficult.”

If hi
s expression matched his voice, he was smiling at her, his brown eyes looking very like Tenny’s. She didn’t dare look. The thought terrified her.

He sighed
. “You are a wonder, Averill. You just wrought a miracle with my wife. You brought back her former beauty. I’d almost forgotten it existed. Petunia Abbington-Withers will be child’s play to you. As for Andrew…well. I’m not speaking lightly when I say that boy makes me proud. You already know how easy it will be to paint him, however. Look at the knight behind me.”

She felt a twinge under her ribs
, the stab of sobs right behind her eyes, a rush of shivers along her scalp. How could she stay and paint when each moment brought misery? No one understood. And she couldn’t explain.

“If I refuse?”   Her voice shook.

“You have a future, Averill Ben-Masiz. I’m offering to sponsor you. I am not boasting when I say I can assure you many commissions. I can also assure the opposite. Think of what I’m saying. That babe of yours will need the security, even if you toss it aside so lightly.”

Her eyes
narrowed. She watched the book spines blur and distort as she studied them through a veil of unshed tears. She didn’t answer for long seconds that a far-away clock counted out for her.

“You understand
me?”

Of course she did
. If she walked out on Miss Petunia’s portrait, the earl would use his social power to assure she’d never get another commission. He might have enough reach to include the continent. He certainly sounded it. Averill told herself that it didn’t matter. Hortense could be pressured into making certain Averill and Andrew didn’t starve. There was also Avery’s home in Cairo. The Ben-Masiz family could be forced to accept her into their fold.

But it did matter
!

Her son deserved so much more than bribery to keep him hidden
, or an uncertain life in Egypt. Both of them did. The decision was inevitable. Averill’s shoulders sagged. The earl noticed. His tone when he spoke was warm again. Almost grand-fatherly.

“
We’re in accord then?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’ll order your son moved to the Hall nursery immediately. I’ll see he has the best of care. I believe I’ll even accommodate your mother’s continual requests for a party. I daresay you young people would enjoy that.”

“I have
…one request, my lord.” 

Averill took a deep breath and turned
back to him. The knight no longer held any hidden message for her. It seemed to match the air of haughtiness the earl wielded as he smiled down at her. He exuded everything she detested about aristocrats. Their sense of superiority. Their ability to crush opposition and spirit. It didn’t matter what method they used, either. All of them seemed to manipulate and scheme to get others to do their bidding. And if those didn’t work, they’d compel and coerce, and then force. It was easy to envision the Earl of Tennison’s forebear sending a recalcitrant or two to the castle dungeons to reconsider any defiance.

Just as it was
easy to see the other side of him right now; the satisfied, inwardly-gloating one. The magnanimous, almost-friendly aura he assumed once he’d gotten his way. It showed in the warmth of his voice. She knew if she painted him again, he wouldn’t enjoy viewing it.

“Ask it, my dear.”

“I’ll paint the portraits, but I refuse to attend functions. Lady Limley enjoys those. Not me. I am an artist. I will paint and then I will disappear into my room. These are my conditions.”

“
Oh. I don’t think so. All young people enjoy a party. I’ll speak with the countess. It won’t be a large party…something more along the lines of a soiree. I’m certain my lady wife knows of some young men who would be delighted to attend a function at the Hall. Eligible men. You’d enjoy it.”

Her heart stalled
. Restarted. How could she bear it? “I gave you my conditions, my lord.”

“
True. And now, I’m giving you mine. I’m starting to look forward to this party, and I normally end up barely enduring these types of things.”

Because you can force me to attend?

“Please, my lord. Reconsider. I must decline. I...have no wardrobe for such things.”  Her voice was shaking, and she knew he heard it.

His smile w
ent wider. “We have castle seamstresses for such issues. I’ll have it looked into. Immediately.”

“I can’t accept.”

“Oh, please. Reconsider. What is one dress against your future?” 

They were haggling
? Over a dress? It was reminiscent of her conversation with Lady Brighten, and exactly as futile.

“I
look forward to seeing your work, my dear. Thank you for attending me.”

Averill opened her mouth to argue
further, and then shut it. She had more pressing things to worry over, like Petunia’s sitting.

~ ~ ~

“Averill, can I ask you a question?”

Averill
glanced at her subject, and looked down again with a shrug.

Miss
Petunia was sitting in a tapestry-covered chair, the blond woman’s hand resting delicately atop a chair arm. Although the light was adequate, Petunia’s dress was beautifully detailed, and the petal-strewn fabric of the chair was a nice touch, Averill wasn’t inspired. She might as well be painting a rock. At night. In the rain.

Her brush flattened the maroon color on her palette as she tried
to find the chair’s background color.

“Were...
? Oh! I can’t even say it. You’ll think it much too forward of me.”

Averill glanced up
just as the Petunia’s cheeks went a warm peach color. That was it! The maroon could wait. What she really needed was white, ocher, and a bit of salmon pink.

Averill wiped off her brush and grabbed paints
. “I’m listening,” she replied.

Petunia
skittered her glance away. She didn’t move her head just as she’d been cautioned.

“I shouldn’t have said anything
. I’m sorry.”

Averill wanted to slap her
. The fragile-looking aloofness was back, and Averill had just got the color right. “My lady, please. You can ask me. I promise not to take offense.”

“Promise?” 

Miss Petunia had olive green eyes. They’d darkened with her emotion. That would make a lovely contrast to the peach of her blush. If it came again.

“I’ve so longed for someone to talk to.” 

The blush was back. Averill quickly tossed color onto the canvas, shaping cheeks. A mouth. The curve of a forehead. The woman was sweet, young and untouched. Averill almost wished it wasn’t so easy to capture.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Averill lifted the brush, catching a sliding bit of paint. If only her heart was so easily stanched.

“I know that’s a stupid question
. You have a child.”

The
girl’s blush was in a deeper hue this time. Averill sucked on one cheek as she forced herself to consider that instead.

“You loved
your baby’s father, didn’t you?”

Averill swallowed and
looked down, as if studying her palette. She didn’t dare touch the canvas. Her hand wasn’t steady enough.

“I mean...I don’t
really know what happens, but when one is in love…it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Averill couldn’t blink fast enoug
h. Tears slid onto her cheeks as she looked down at the floor. Then to her paint cleaning can. She moved her vision to the door to the left.

“
Oh, Averill. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Forgive me.”

Petunia sounded ready to cry
, too. Averill swiped a forearm across her eyes, drying tears and taking the impulse to cry with it. She set her jaw. She didn’t want Petunia’s pity any more than she wanted Harvey’s that time in the inn’s stable. The thought braced her, stiffened her shoulders, and eliminated any lingering shake. Averill picked up her brush again.

Miss
Petunia would be better off pitying herself. That’s who needed pity. She was set to marry a faithless man. A man little better than Antonio. A man capable of promising all kinds of things just so he could conquer and move on. A man who, despite appearances and assurances, was exactly like his uncle.

“Yes, my lady.”  Averill glanced
at her subject and then back to the palette. “I did love him. Very much so.”

The blond
sighed. “I knew you’d know how it feels!” 

Her voice was filled with joy
. It matched her expression. Averill quickly filled in that look, the perfect bloom on her perfect cheeks. Chin. Neck. The delicate skin of her forehead… 

“I have a confession to make, but you must promise not to tell anyone
. Not a soul. Do you promise?”

Averill looked up again, caught by Petunia’s
earnest words as well as the girl’s expression. If she hurried, she could catch the light touching Petunia’s perfectly formed lips, pouting just now with a wistful downturn. It would be perfect!

“I’m in love, too.”

Averill’s breath caught in agony. It matched her next heartbeat. And the one that followed. She clenched the brush, the move lifting paint-soaked hairs from the canvas. She couldn’t do this. She
couldn’t
. And she’d been stupid. She could go to the
Dona
Francesca in Venice. She would sponsor Averill. She should have enough social power to counteract whatever penalty the Earl of Tennison issued. Averill wouldn’t even have trouble with Antonio anymore. She knew exactly what he was and what his words were worth.

Nothing.

“I mean…he’s not as important as Captain Tennison, but I was so certain he was going to offer for me. Oh, Averill! How can I bear it?”

Averill looked up in surprise as Petunia buried her face into her hands
.

“What did you just say?”  She slowly set down the palette.