The Art of Love (2 page)

‘From the wrong side,’ Leo conceded wryly

‘Come on,’ Freddie said, topping up Leo’s glass from the decanter on the sideboard, ‘there’s a young lady I must introduce you to.’

‘Oh, really?’ Leo drawled, but he felt a spark of interest.

‘She is charming and really quite special,’ Freddie said. Hulme had drawn the lady in red into an alcove and they were seated together on a sofa, not quite touching. Leo wondered if Freddie intended to break up their tête-à-tête, he himself had no qualms about doing such a thing, but Freddie’s manners were usually impeccable. ‘Over there,’ Freddie said, indicating in the general direction of the sofa. ‘Isn’t she exquisite?’

A beauty she was, but
exquisite
wasn’t exactly the word Leo would have chosen,
magnificent
, perhaps, but he was prepared to make allowances for the fact that Freddie did not possess an artist’s eye. ‘You know I am not in the market for marriage,’ he felt obliged to warn his friend, he had no wish to play such a lady false.

Freddie beamed at him. ‘I know, that is why I am going to introduce you.’ He touched the pale sleeve of a pretty girl with a mass of golden hair piled smoothly on her head. With a start Leo realised that he had not even noticed her, he must have been even more distracted by the dark haired woman in red than he’d imagined. ‘Antonia, I would like you to meet my friend Lord Fosse. Leo, this is my cousin Miss Palmer. I am sure the two of you will find plenty to talk about as you both have a fondness for art.’

‘Miss Palmer, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ Leo said, bowing to hide from Antonia the scowl he directed at Freddie.

‘Lord Fosse,’ Antonia said, ‘how lovely to meet you. I am new to London and have yet to find someone with whom to share my passion.’

For a moment Leo was struck dumb, had he misjudged Freddie’s intention after all? Was his friend helping to set him up with a new mistress? Then he realised his mistake, the girl was so very young, and, worse, obviously in her first season. She had been talking about art and had not even been aware of her double entendre, let alone meant anything by it. From the nearby alcove there came a rich, throaty chuckle and Leo turned instinctively, but the woman in red was engrossed with Hulme and completely oblivious to him. For a moment he had thought her amusement was for him and Miss Palmer, but she did not seem to have noticed his existence, which, Leo had to admit to himself, was not surprising given the understated way in which he was dressed. He resigned himself to spending a few minutes exchanging pleasantries with Antonia. ‘Do you paint, Miss Palmer?’ he asked.

But conversation with Miss Palmer proved to be more long lived than that. Freddie was right, his cousin was charming in a naive, school-girl sort of a way and Leo found he couldn’t heartlessly desert her after only a few minutes.

‘Would you like a glass of… lemonade, Miss Palmer?’ he asked eventually, steering her over to the sideboard where a small group of people not much older than Antonia had congregated. He recognised one as the younger brother of a friend and hastily introduced Freddie’s cousin. Lieutenant Mason’s eyes lit up appreciatively when Antonia was presented to him and he looked even more pleased when he realised Leo intended to leave the girl in his care. Leo grinned to himself as he turned away and looked around the room for the lady in red. But, frustratingly, she had left her alcove and as he strolled through Freddie’s house it became apparent that she was no longer at the party. He tried to put her out of his mind, after all they had never even met, but something about her made her impossible to dismiss. He singled out Freddie. He wouldn’t do anything as gauche as to ask who the lady was, but he chatted to him amicably for a while, determined to secure an invitation to Freddie’s next little gathering.

The following afternoon Tara dressed in a pale yellow muslin dress with a matching bonnet. It wasn’t her most becoming dress, and she had also been tempted to don a faded green serge pelisse which made her look much older than her twenty four years, in an attempt to make herself less appealing to Rodney. But she didn’t wish to embarrass him on his Phaeton’s maiden voyage so she merely packed a light shawl into her reticule and settled for looking ordinary.

Rodney drew up outside her town house promptly at three o’clock, far too engrossed in his vehicle to notice what Tara was wearing. At least that was what she assumed from the way in which he took her arm and rushed her down the steps to admire his coach and horses, without even a token compliment on her appearance. Bemused, Tara made an effort to praise.

‘The Phaeton looks very… sleek,’ she said, ‘and the horses are beautiful.’ They were; the brown of their coats gleamed in the afternoon sunlight and they clattered on the cobbles as they waited as if keen to be off, but at the same time they seemed very even-tempered, nudging each other from time to time as if in conversation and without a hint of aggression. Tara patted the neck of the nearest, glad she had chosen not to bother with gloves today, enjoying the feeling of the warm, dry hair beneath her hand. The animal turned and nuzzled against her as if wanting to get to know her better and Tara had to concede that Rodney knew how to choose horses.

‘The geldings are brothers,’ Rodney said as he handed her up into the carriage. ‘It pays to have good mannered beasts that are happy in each others’ company. But for all that, they’ve plenty of spirit in them as you’ll see.’ He flicked the reins once. ‘Trot on.’

Tara had to admit that the Phaeton was the most comfortable vehicle she had yet travelled in, it was well sprung, with gleaming leather upholstery and the horses worked beautifully together. The result was a smooth ride, whisking through the narrow streets, as if far removed from the cobbles and debris below and on arriving at the park she felt quite refreshed.

In the park Rodney slowed the horses to a walk and Tara sat up straighter, wondering which of her acquaintances she would see first. She was bound to run into some old friends, she was certain; she had never yet been to Regent’s Park without meeting someone she knew. She was leaning over the edge of the carriage, looking at a woman wearing a particularly large hat, trying to decide whether she knew her or if it was simply the hat which had attracted her attention when a hand on her bare arm made her jump.

‘Oh!’ she said, sitting back and eyeing Rodney sceptically. He didn’t seem to notice her discomposure.

‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’ he said, somewhat woodenly, she thought, but agreed that it was. ‘This is very nice, us together, here, alone, in the park.’

‘We’re not really alone,’ Tara contradicted, ‘there must be thirty or forty people in plain sight from here.’

‘But they are not in this carriage.’

‘Well, obviously not,’ Tara eyed him closely, Rodney was not usually so banal; had he not yet recovered from the effects of staying late at Freddie’s party last night?

‘So although we can see and be seen, which is the whole point of this park, we are able to have a conversation which is quite unheard and which is utterly private,’ Rodney said, sounding a little more like his usual self.

‘That is so,’ Tara agreed, wondering uneasily where he was leading.

‘Which is good,’ Rodney said, ‘because there is something I particularly want to ask you.’ Ignoring the horses he took her hand between his own and looked into her eyes. ‘It is something of a rather delicate nature, something which I hope you will not find too forward and something to which I sincerely hope you will agree.’

No, Tara thought in a panic, he is going to propose. A proposal was the very last thing she wanted to hear from Rodney. He was handsome, charming, well mannered, rich, made amusing conversation and she enjoyed his company, but not enough to choose to forgo the companionship of all her other admirers. Freddie, for example, was fun to flirt with and his kiss was yet untried, and dear Philippe, whose gentle and unassuming manner made him so easy to be with. If she settled for all that one man had to offer her she would lose so much. She would never be able to enjoy the flirtatious friendship of a single gentleman again. ‘Isn’t that Lady Cottenham over there?’ she said pointing wildly, hoping to distract Rodney. She did not, in truth, know anyone called Cottenham, but it was the first name that had sprung to mind.

‘Forget Lady Cottenham,’ Rodney said, gazing into her eyes.

‘But I must -’ Tara began when she was interrupted by an indignant quack. The horses had come to a standstill and a train of ducks were crossing the path, annoyed to find hooves blocking their way. Tara laughed, in relief. ‘Oh look,’ she said, ‘Aren’t they sweet? Those ducklings look almost big enough to take wing on their own, but they can’t quite bring themselves to leave their mama.’

‘Yes, very sweet, like a picture, in fact, which brings me back to -’

‘I say, Rodney,’ Tara interrupted him and smiled archly, deciding to try a more direct approach. ‘This Phaeton of yours pulls very smoothly at a sedate pace, but what’s it like at speed?’

‘She’s capital!’ Rodney said at once. ‘Flies like the breeze, near enough to silent except for the horses hooves and – but why am I telling you all this when I can just as easily show you?’

‘Where?’ Tara asked, not needing to hide her pleasure at having distracted Rodney with the thing that was really dearest to his heart.

‘Over there,’ Rodney indicated with his whip at Rotten Row.

‘You want to race along there? With the riders?’ Tara exclaimed before she could stop herself.

‘Oh, they won’t mind,’ Rodney said easily. Tara was not convinced, but she managed to keep her doubts to herself. Besides, the prospect of flying along in a Phaeton at top speed was starting to appeal to her. Rodney made an abrupt turn and shortly they were lined up at the foot of the avenue, the horses stamping and snorting as if they sensed their master’s plan.

Rodney waited until the way was relatively clear then he cracked his whip and the pair shot forward. At once Tara’s hat was blown from her head, but the wind in her face was exhilarating and all she could do was laugh. Rodney skilfully steered his way around a man on a grey, then he cracked the whip again and the horses seemed to redouble their speed. Tara gasped. She hadn’t really thought it possible to go this fast. Ahead of them a horse leapt out of their way and then all too soon they were slowing down, the end of the avenue fast approaching and the horses, blowing hard, settling into a walk.

Tara turned to Rodney. ‘That was amazing!’

‘You liked that, did you?’ Rodney said, failing to suppress a grin of pride which Tara found rather endearing. ‘Then if you’ll consent to what I want to ask you, I’ll take you out racing in the countryside next week.’

Tara’s heart plummeted. In the excitement she had forgotten all about Rodney’s request, but it seemed he had not.

‘My hat…’ she murmured in a half-hearted attempt at distraction, but Rodney merely turned the horses and they walked back down the avenue.

‘The thing is, Tara,’ Rodney said, ‘as I said it’s rather delicate, intimate even… but I would very much like to have your portrait and I wondered if you would consent to be painted?’

‘No, I mean yes!’ Tara said, light headed with relief and feeling a slightly hysterical laugh trying to escape. With an effort she composed herself. ‘You have paid me a great compliment and I would be delighted to sit for a portrait.’ It was quite irregular and might well herald a future declaration of his love, but right at the moment it was just one more move in the game of flirtation and flattery that was her pastime in society.

‘Truly?’ Rodney said, looking up, a pleased smile spreading over his handsome features.

‘Truly,’ Tara confirmed, and wondered if being painted would be fun.

Leo returned home with several sketches of the finer details of St Paul’s and in a good mood. He would fill in the detailing on his painting and then the picture would be finished, ready for exhibition and sale. He was hard at work with his brush and palette in the fading evening light when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. He was tempted for a moment to ignore it, he wasn’t expecting anyone but it was most likely that his visitor was a client. Leo was tiring of portrait work, but his reputation was growing and he was able to charge more for each portrait than the last. Soon, he promised himself, next season in fact, he would use that reputation to launch his career in landscapes. Landscapes were so much more interesting than the bland society faces he had found himself painting. He had a constant struggle balancing the portrayal of character while still ensuring that the subject was depicted with a pleasant face, particularly if she were a woman. Landscapes were so much more honest, he could show a cliff, a castle or a cathedral as he really saw it but women were another matter entirely. It went against the grain but in the early days he had reduced the noses, straightened the shoulders and enlarged the busts of several society ladies. Lady Susannah’s ingenuous comment that she had heard that he preferred to paint only the most beautiful women had its basis in truth. Beautiful women were generally more satisfied with accurate portraits.

‘Come in,’ Leo called, laying down his brush and wondering how long the interruption would last. The door swung wide and a man he recognised from Freddie’s party came in.

‘Lord Fosse,’ he said, ‘I have come to ask you to paint a portrait.’

‘That is what I do,’ Leo said evenly, but the man knew his name and his manner was polite so he was disposed to think well of him.

‘Sir Rodney Hulme,’ the man said, giving him a quick bow. Leo inclined his head in return.

‘Of whom do you wish to have a portrait painted?’ Leo asked. Hulme had a classical look with blonde hair and even features; he would be easy to paint to their mutual satisfaction. ‘Will the portrait be of yourself?’