The Master & the Muses (19 page)

To add to my concerns, Thomas seemed to be getting more and more involved in his own world, a world where he was researching venues of public attack on his critics, while also trying to come up with a project that would elevate his talent in the public eye. The adventure that I'd originally sought was confined to the four walls of this studio. Fortunately, Mr. Rhys was not difficult on the eyes, once he removed the shaggy beard, and
although he spoke little, he did have an appetite for my cooking, which was more attention than I'd received from Thomas.

“This is amazin' stew, Sara.” He held his bowl up for his third helping.

“My aunt taught me well, Mr. Rhys. I have a well-rounded education and hope to travel one day to broaden it.”

He eyed me with a humorous glint in his eye.

“Do you find that an unreasonable goal?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Not if that's the life you want.”

I shifted in my seat, his words unsettling me. “Would you mind explaining your thoughts?”

He glanced up, surprised that I would ask, apparently.

“No disrespect, Sara, but most women these days aspire to one thing only and that is to find a good husband—preferably a wealthy one with title—and settle down to the task of making babies.”

“Well, perhaps I am not like the women you know, Mr. Rhys.”

He slanted me a look. “That much is true, Sara, and would you please call me Edward? I'm a simple man and find that these silly English social niceties are a waste of time.”

“We like to call it etiquette, Mr. Rhys…Edward.” I ducked my eyes before he could pin me with a look, though I felt his gaze as much.

I must have hit a nerve for he did not respond then, nor did he speak to me until several days later when I was pining about the beautiful late fall afternoon, imagining taking a turn in the park, going to the gardens with Thomas, seeing a play. It had been ages, it seemed, since I'd had any social life at all.

“Mr. Rhys, do you think we might stop long enough to have tea? My back is aching frightfully.” He looked at me, then the canvas, then toward the balcony doors, which we'd opened at my insistence. He heaved a great sigh.

“Very well, I can wait,” I conceded not so graciously.

“No, that's fine. We'll break for a few moments.”

He dropped his palette on the table next to him and, stuffing
his hands in his pockets, strode across the room to stand in front of the fireplace.

The heavy robe weighted me down. I had to try twice before I could get to my feet. I stretched, lifting my face to the ceiling to work out the soreness in my neck.

“Wait, that's it…that's what I've been looking for…stay right there.” He ran back to his easel and began to paint

I heard his brush gently slapping against the canvas.

“May I shut my eyes?”

“Yes, yes of course. Just hold still.”

Concerns about where Thomas had run off to this morning swirled in my mind. I heard a carriage stop out front. “Wait, Mr. Rhys,” I pleaded, excited that Thomas was home early. I lifted my skirts, ran to the balcony wall and peered over it to the street below, barely hearing Mr. Rhys's litany of curses following close behind. I beheld the sight below and felt as if someone had slapped me.

Thomas was climbing out of the carriage and seated, holding her hand out for him to kiss, was Grace. I took a step back, knowing neither of them had seen me. Was this how he was spending his time when he said he was with clients? Granted, we had an open relationship, but I always thought…at least I thought it was understood that we were exclusive to one another for the time being.

I shuffled back into the studio, confused.

“Do you think you can pose exactly as you were?” Mr. Rhys asked.

I yanked off the gown, not caring that all I wore beneath was my camisole and pantaloons. “That's all for me today, Mr. Rhys. I must lie down,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. He stood there, palette in hand, staring blankly at me. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Downstairs, I heard the front door slam as I eased my bedroom door shut and turned the key. I was in no mood to be in the presence of the brotherhood just now, especially not Thomas.

Sometime later, there was a soft tap on my door, a pause, and then another tap. I lay on my bed, cocooned in darkness.

I can't keep you forever, Sara.

His words came back to haunt me and hot tears fell down the sides of my face, soaking my pillow.
He never made any promises, you ninny.
I felt angry that I'd allowed myself to think there was more between us than heavenly sex. After all, hadn't I come to the studio seeking my independence? To build enough of a nest egg to be able to support myself? I had managed to set aside a good sum of money, one that would see me through until I could find gainful employment.

I wiped my face and blew my nose, sniffing as I turned on my side and began to weigh my options. There was the possibility I'd misjudged the situation. Perhaps Thomas had been walking home and Grace had passed by in the carriage, offering him a ride. It was possible.

Tomorrow, I would confront him with the circumstances and gauge his reaction. Then I would know what I needed to do.

“HE LEFT YOU THIS.” MR. RHYS HANDED ME THE
slip of paper. “He told me to make sure you received it first thing.”

I held it in my hand, turning it over several times and finally unfolded it. As I suspected, once again he had another meeting that would likely last the whole day. He would see me as soon as he could. In recent days, he'd taken to sleeping again in his own room. I would hear him come in in the wee hours of the morning and wait for him to come to me, but he hadn't for many weeks. I stuffed the note in my pocket, catching Mr. Rhys's side glance.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I replied. My thoughts were muddled by my restless night.

“Is everything all right?” He handed me a cup.

I took a sip of the strong brew and let it soothe my troubled nerves. “I will be fine. Thomas is gone all day, another meeting.” I wasn't about to let it bother me as I had in the past.

“Here, I bought these down the street while on my morning walk.”

He passed me a plate of fresh-baked scones. I broke off a piece of one and placed it in my mouth although I had no appetite. Its
buttery flakiness melted on my tongue, reminding me of Aunt Perdy's scones and the fact that I was not welcome there anymore. Still, I had the greatest urge to be back home—a once familiar place where people knew me, accepted and loved me. I thought of Deven and how he'd wanted me to stay. Twice, since Mr. Rhys's arrival, I'd seen my uncle's carriage sitting down the street. The second time, I'd run outside to try to speak to the driver, whom I strongly suspected to be Deven, but he either didn't hear me or refused to stop.

“Miss Sara?”

His voice jerked me out of my reverie. “I nearly forgot. This came for you yesterday after you'd taken ill.”

I licked biscuit crumbs from my finger and gingerly took the envelope from his hand. “Excuse me,” I said, walking to the far end of the great room to Thomas's writing desk. I sat down and flipped the note over, recognizing the red wax seal stamped with an
A.
It was from a writing kit I'd given to Amelia on her last birthday. I slid my thumb beneath the seal, muttering a silent prayer that everyone was well back home. I forced my mind to focus on the delicate handwriting, something that Amelia prided herself in, even though her penmanship was often difficult to read.

I was puzzled as to how and when the letter was delivered. “Mr. Rhys, did you see the person who delivered this? Did he wish to speak with me?” I asked.

He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Yes, Miss Sara. He did. However, you made it clear that you did not wish to be disturbed.”

My mouth gaped, but I could not find any words. Deven had wanted to speak to me? Why would he insist? I glanced back down at the letter.

I looked up, a cold dread beginning to form in my stomach. If this were about her family's health, she would have spoken of it by now. She was skirting the issue. My heart was convinced of it. I searched for where I'd left off.

Both? Why would I suddenly be invited back for the holidays? I reread the paragraph and flipped over the letter, searching for the part I must have missed. I scanned through the page until my eyes settled on one word.

Married.

I blinked a number of times, apprising my brain of what I thought she was saying and started over, reading the entire paragraph once more—slowly.

Fat tears fell on the page, splotching the ink, and I quickly turned away and brushed my cheek, holding the paper upright, swallowing the lump in my throat, determined to finish.

I let the letter fall to the desktop and leaned my forehead against the heel of my hand. Deven and Amelia getting married? The thought was surreal. I dropped my chin in my hand and stared out at the gray autumn morning. I could not go back now and without Thomas, I had no idea where my future would lead.

“My apologies, Miss Sara—”

“It's Sara, Mr. Rhys. Just…Sara.” I gritted my teeth to hold back the dam of emotions that threatened to break loose at any moment.

“Then I insist you call me Edward.”

More tears stole from my eyes, trickling down my cheek, and I offered a short laugh in response to the irony of my situation. Perhaps, in truth, I had no reason to feel lost or rejected. Hadn't I gotten exactly what I'd wished for? If so, why did my heart feel as though it was breaking?

Edward stood on the other side of the desk looking down at me.

“Is it bad news? If you'd rather not discuss it…” he said quietly.

I tossed the letter on the desk. “No, actually its wonderful news. These are tears of joy.”

Startled, I looked up and met his tranquil jade-colored gaze.
“Yes, Edward, of course. I'm sorry, it's just everything is…well, it's all a bit overwhelming at the moment.”

“Family?” he asked,

I nodded. “My cousin, more like my sister, really. You see, my parents were killed when I was young and I moved in with my da's brother and his family. Amelia is three years younger than I am. We grew up together, went everywhere together. We had wicked, vivid imaginations—oh, my, the trouble we could muster.” I smiled at the memory.

“I'm sorry about your parents. I am an orphan, as well, but spent my youth in an orphanage. It sounds like the two of you are very close.” He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and smiled.

I glanced up at him, finding it a bit odd that we were discussing our intimate lives. Edward was not known for his stimulating dialogue. “We are. I am very happy for her. She's marrying a wonderful man who will—” I paused to let the emotion pass “—adore her.” Pain squeezed at my heart and I closed my eyes against it.

“He is a fool, you know.”

I opened my eyes, puzzled by his statement. “I don't understand what you mean.”

“Sara, I took the note from his hand. I saw his face. He was a fool to let you go so easily. A woman such as you is a rare find.”

I shook my head. “You're wrong, it's not like that. He's no fool. On the contrary, he's marrying a woman who will make him a wonderful wife.”

“I'm a man, Sara. I saw the look on his face when he asked for you.”

“Don't…just don't.” I held up my hand. “I no longer wish to discuss this.”

He scratched his chin. “Fine, if that's what you want.”

“It is. In fact, I've made a decision about something and need your help, if you are willing. Since I won't be attending the wedding, I'd like to send them a nice gift.”

“Are you sure, Sara? I would be more than happy to accompany you to the ceremony, if you wish.”

“Oh, no, Edward, I couldn't ask you to do that.” I gazed at him with wide eyes, holding back my tears. I knew my reasons were shallow, that it was spineless of me not to attend, but although I was happy for both of them, it only made my situation all the more dire. I was pitiful and selfish, and it was easy for Edward to see through me, I was sure.

He waited a moment as if he understood. “Then how can I help?”

“I wish to send a monetary gift, to be used for their honeymoon.”

Edward's eyes narrowed intently on me. “That's very generous of you, Sara.”

I leaped to my feet, hoping that my generosity would somehow appease my own fears and sadness. Fear that I would grow old without someone to care for me as Deven had. I consoled myself that as a model there would be more work, if not with the brotherhood, then perhaps with other artists. I could build up my funds again and, in the meantime, plan my future travels. “Shall we get started, Edward?” I asked.

“You're sure you're feeling up to it?”

I rounded the edge of the table. “I'm fine, truly…at least, I will be. Let's not speak of this again, agreed?” I stuck my hand out, hoping we could shake on it, be done with it. Edward's grip was strong and my hand felt small in his. Then he did something I didn't expect—he kissed my hand.

I pulled it away. “I do not want nor need your pity,” I warned.

“That's not what I meant…” he started.

“No, marriage is not meant for women like me. I want more. I need more. There are places I want to see, things I want to learn.” Tears choked my throat. “How can I expect you to understand?”

“Sara, you don't need to explain yourself,” he stated quietly.

I waved away my concern. “I just need some time to put it all in perspective. Just give me time, I'll be fine.” Perhaps if I repeated the words enough I would truly believe them. “I'll be fine.”

“Of course,” he said, offering me a smile, but his expressive green eyes gave away his true thoughts on the matter.

 

Two weeks before the holidays, Edward sold his painting of the Madonna, for which I'd posed, to a private buyer that Woolner had arranged. Thomas was not happy, however, stating that he should have saved it for the Spring Exhibition where he would have gotten top dollar for it. All the same, the sale had given Edward validation for his work and a boost to his artistic self-esteem.

Frustrated that his protégé did not consult him and notably agitated with his inability to come up with his next project, Thomas announced that he was leaving London for the holidays and going on a trip with his friend, John Millais.

“It will be a grand time, Edward. You should come with us. View the old churches, carouse the streets of Rome. I hear they are filled with stunning women.”

I stood on the balcony watching the first few flakes of snow beginning to fall on the city. Thomas thought I couldn't hear him since the doors were closed, but he was mistaken. I heard every word.

“I have another project I'd like to start, Thomas. One I have in mind for the exhibition,” Edward said.

“Well, fine then, but don't say I didn't offer.”

“What about Sara?” Edward asked. “I wager she'd love Rome.”

“Sara, traveling in Rome with a group of men?” Thomas laughed. “No, not this time. Besides, if you're going to have another project by deadline, you two will be working night and day.”

I was grateful that Edward had tried to persuade Thomas to take me with him. I hadn't yet had the opportunity to tell Thomas about Amelia's wedding, but it was apparent that he wouldn't have gone even if I'd decided to attend.

“Sara?” Thomas bellowed.

I wrapped my coat tight around me and hurried inside, my face
chilled from the cold. “Yes, Thomas?” I said, pretending I hadn't heard their conversation.

“I'm off to Rome, my dear. I'll write of course, and I don't want you to worry. If you need anything, just put it on my tab at the store.”

“May I ask who else is going?” I flung my coat across a chair.

Thomas glanced up as he continued to stuff a few books into a small bag. “Oh, Millais, Hunt…”

“Grace?” I looked away. I felt cheap, as if I'd been discarded for the next best thing.

He lifted my chin. “There are no women joining us, Sara, or I would have asked you first.” He glanced over his shoulder at Edward. “As it is, it appears that you and the great artist have much to accomplish.” He placed a kiss on my forehead. “I'm off, you two. Stay out of trouble. You're a lunatic, of course, for starting a project this late,” he said to Edward. “Happy Christmas!” He tromped down the stairs and the front door slammed.

“Happy Christmas,” I muttered.

 

I dug into the bottom of my dresser and found the stocking where I'd been hoarding my life savings. I carefully counted out half of the total and wrapped it in the brown paper that the art canvases came wrapped in. Spotting a fancy hair ribbon, I tied it around the packet and wrote a quick note to Amelia. Edward hired a carriage and took it himself to the farm. He told me later that he'd left it with a delightful woman with sparkling brown eyes.

I was pleased by his description. “She was happy, then? You stayed with her while she opened it?” I asked.

He cocked his eyebrows in question. “Those were your instructions, were they not?”

“Yes, thank you.” He grinned openly and I felt a small flip in my stomach.

“Over-the-moon would be a better way to describe her reaction, Sara.”