The Art of Love (32 page)

Suppressing a sigh, Tara applied herself to looking at a painting of Christ in his manger, surrounded by animals which looked even more unnaturally docile than the two schoolgirls who had been brought here presumably as a treat and a break from their lessons. Improving one’s mind was frustratingly difficult, Tara thought, winking at the taller of the two girls and getting a shy smile in return. She had looked at this painting for at least five minutes and saw nothing in it other than what she had first perceived.

In the middle of the room was a table, littered with some piles of paper. Tara wandered over to it. Perhaps one of the things people did in galleries was look at the advertisements for upcoming exhibitions at which they could idle away another two or three hours of their empty lives. One of the bills was promoting the exhibition currently on the walls, a collection of religious art by English artists. The other flyer was entitled
Modern Landscapes
. Leo would be interested in that, Tara thought. If he were in London she could perhaps accidentally meet with him here and he would see that there was more to her than just the veneer of a London socialite. She looked more closely at the advertisement.
Paintings by artist Lord Leo Fosse…
Tara read the words again in disbelief, and again once more.

The exhibition, she saw, was due to open next week, on the first of September. Did that mean that Leo would be here on that day? She had no idea how these things were organised. Hastily she glanced around but none of the other patrons of the gallery looked as though they would be able to tell her. However the man at the front desk who had accepted her sixpence when she came in might know more.

There was no one attending the small desk in the foyer of the gallery, but a small silver bell rested invitingly on top of it. Without hesitation Tara picked it up and jangled it. It made more noise than she had expected, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the older couple in the gallery raise their eyebrows at each other. But she did not care. A bell like that was bound to be heard even in the basements of the building. After a moment a man appeared. ‘May I help you, madam?’ he asked.

Tara brandished the flyer she had picked up. ‘About this exhibition,’ she said. ‘Will Mr… I mean Lord Fosse be present for the opening.’

‘I’m not sure,’ the man said. ‘Some artists choose to be present for the openings of their exhibitions and some do not.’ What an ineffectual little man, Tara thought, no wonder it had fallen to his lot to man the front desk, it was a role that could not possibly be demanding. ‘I don’t know what Lord Fosse intends,’ the man continued. ‘If you will excuse me for a minute, I will go and ask him.’

It took a split second for the man’s words to register and then they struck home. Leo was here, in this very building, right now. Tara reached across the desk and grabbed the man by the lapel of his jacket just as he was turning away. ‘Madam!’ he said, looking more than a little alarmed, but she ignored that.

‘Is Leo here? Take me to him at once.’

‘Madam, I couldn’t possibly… they are hanging his paintings… I cannot take a member of the public…’ the man shook himself free of her grasp, but did not seem to take any reassurance from his new found freedom. Tara decided she had to try and appear a little less scary.

‘Leo is a very good friend of mine,’ she said, ironing the breathlessness out of her voice and gradually bringing in a purr. ‘I have not seen him for quite some time,’ it was five days since she had last laid eyes on Leo, but it seemed like an eternity. ‘I would very much like to surprise him. It’s his birthday,’ she added on impulse. She had no idea when Leo’s birthday was, but she would put money on the belief that the man she was talking to did not know either.

Leo’s birthday seemed to sway the man. She saw his shoulders relax and he looked relieved as he turned back to her once more. ‘In that case… I did not realize… please let me escort you to the west room, where Lord Fosse is currently hanging his paintings.’

‘Thank you,’ Tara said and tipped the man generously. She had no idea how Leo would receive her and she wanted it to be worth the man’s while if he were later upbraided for acceding to her wishes. She also had no idea what she was going to say to Leo. All she knew was that knowing that he was in London, not Italy, she could not bear to wait a moment longer than she had to until she saw him.

The picture hanging had gone well. Leo had always thought that the placement of paintings in an exhibition was critical, and Lord Seaforth agreed with him. But contrary to his expectations, it did not take long for them to agree on the final arrangement. ‘Good, good,’ Lord Seaforth said as Leo prepared to hang his last painting. ‘I have some matters I must attend to, but perhaps you would care to join me for morning coffee in my office shortly.’ He departed and Leo picked up his picture of St Paul’s. A footstep behind him made him set the heavy work down again, and he turned, expecting to see that the curator had returned to give him one last piece of advice.

But there, standing in the doorway, the picture of beauty in a white muslin dress, the sheerness of which was just the right side of decency, and tendrils of her dark curly hair escaping from their chignon and falling down to frame her face, was Tara. For a moment Leo couldn’t breathe. Tara had come to find him, she had sought him out. Goodness knew how she had known where he was, but it did not matter, she was here. Perhaps Mark and La Monte meant nothing to her after all. She had come to him.

‘I… I thought you were in Italy,’ Tara said rather mystifyingly.

Leo felt himself compelled to cross the gallery and take her hands. They felt both strong and delicate in his own. ‘Why on earth did you think that?’ he asked, not letting go.

Tara looked up at him trustingly. ‘Mark said you had always wanted to go.’

‘I have,’ Leo said, not at all enlightened, but not really caring, Tara was here, that was all that mattered, but he forced himself to continue with her chosen topic of converation. ‘Italy is the only place to seriously study art.’

‘Oh,’ said Tara, and he felt her grip on his hands tighten even while the look of trust faded from her eyes.

‘I thought you were in Bournemouth,’ Leo said, wanting to rebuild the tenuous connection that had so briefly been between them. ‘What brings you to London?’ He hoped against hope that she would say she had wanted to see him, but Tara had already told him she had thought he was in Italy, so that could not possibly be her reason.

What had brought her to London? The utter unbearableness of Bournemouth without Leo, Tara thought. It was the truth, but telling Leo that would be unthinkable. ‘Your cousin proposed to me,’ she said instead. Retreating from the scene was a time honoured way of dealing with an unwanted proposal, and although that had not been her reason for coming up to town, it had certainly been a sensible move.

Leo’s eyes narrowed. ‘So I heard,’ he said heavily. ‘I gather you agreed to consider his offer.’

‘He is very nice,’ Tara said hastily, she did not want Leo to think that her intended rejection of Mark meant that she did not like him.

‘He is,’ Leo said neutrally, then for the first time since she had come into the room he broke eye contact with her and Tara felt bereft without his dark eyes boring into her soul.

‘Men do propose,’ she babbled, wishing she knew what he was thinking. ‘They can’t help it, it’s in their nature. Why I received another proposal only on Friday.’

‘From Philippe La Monte,’ Leo growled.

‘Yes,’ Tara said after a moment. ‘How did you know?’ Leo did not answer her directly. Instead he gazed down the end of the gallery at a blank wall, looking perhaps at unseen pictures that would hang there in the future. Almost idly he ran his thumbs over the back of her hands and Tara was struck by the sudden, awful feeling that he was saying goodbye.

‘Did you come here to ask my advice on which one you should accept?’ Leo asked.

Tara snatched her hands away, feeling as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘That is… no! Not unless you think I ought to choose either one…’ cold wisps of despair seemed to wind their way around her heart. The awful knowledge that even when confronted with the information that she had had two proposals of marriage from other men, Leo was not going to claim her as his own descended on Tara like a suffocating fog. It was all she could do to remain upright, staring at Leo as he slowly turned back towards her.

‘So why did you come to see me?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t,’ Tara said wildly. ‘I came to the gallery to look at pictures and I found the advertisement for the next exhibition with your name on it.’

‘But you did come to find me,’ Leo said, moving a step closer so that his face was in shadow and she could not read it at all. ‘This room is off limits to the public, yet here you are.’ He reached out as if to brush one of Tara’s curls away from her face and then he froze. ‘Did you simply wish to let me know of your conquests? To let me know, despite my being a lord, how far out of my reach you really are? This is it, Tara, I have my title, and I live by my art and this is all I have to offer.’

‘I didn’t come to boast of my conquests!’ Tara cried, pushed almost to breaking point and unable the fathom the riddles in which Leo persisted in talking.

‘So you are seriously contemplating these two offers?’ Leo demanded and despite her anguish, Tara wondered why he looked so horrified.

‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I have to…’

‘But why?’ Leo asked, running his hands through his hair and Tara had the sudden feeling that they had at last got to the heart of the matter.

‘Because they
asked
me!’ she said and let her words fall into the long silence that followed. Then, to her utter amazement, Leo began to laugh.

‘Because they asked you?’ he repeated. He closed the gap between them and took her hands with an infinite gentleness which was as disconcerting as his amusement. ‘My dear and darling Tara, you of all people cannot possibly marry for as mundane a reason as that. You know, and you have known since the first time we met, that we are meant for each other, it is undeniable. That is why, with two proposals up your sleeve you are alone here with me. However, as you imply, I have never actually proposed to you.’ Tara looked into Leo’s eyes and all humour faded from his face, to be replaced by a look of such love that she could no longer doubt his feeling for her as he took her other hand and went down on one knee. ‘Lady Tara, will you marry me?’

Tara stared at Leo, incredulous, drinking in the fact that the one man, the only man she loved with all her heart, had, at last, asked her to marry him. She felt overwhelmed with love and she knew that she would remember this moment for all time; Leo down on one knee, both her hands clasped in his, and the sun streaming in through the tall windows at the end of the room, gliding him with its light as he gazed up at her. She was speechless with happiness.

‘Well?’ Leo asked, though she suspected he already knew the answer, had known it forever, ‘will you marry me?’

‘Yes!’ Tara said, ‘Yes, oh yes!’ and in one fluid movement she was in his arms being kissed with a passion which excelled all that had gone before. Life was utterly perfect and so was Leo.

THE END

Also by Lilac Lacey

Picture Perfect