‘Always,’ Hannah confirmed.
‘Why do I feel as though I am lying in the grass?’
Hannah laughed and turned fully around on her stool to face Sophia.
‘My interpretation of the meadow is as I saw it the other day, laying down in the field – the thick stalks above my head, the sky far beyond that. Imagine how it might appear to a field mouse. This perspective is far more interesting to me than from the height of a mere man overlooking the meadow as one might expect it to be depicted.’
‘It’s terribly clever,’ Sophia blinked, impressed.
‘I’m grateful that you consider it so,’ Hannah smiled shyly.
‘You are bold on the canvas. Where is that boldness in the dinner conversations or the ballroom?’ Sophia teased her friend.
Hannah responded only with a raised eyebrow before turning back to her easel.
‘Speaking of bold personalities, I took afternoon tea with my cousin yesterday afternoon,’ Sophia continued.
‘With Nathaniel?’ Hannah clarified. She had been fond of Nathaniel since they had been children together, naturally mixing in mutual circles of friends and acquaintances.
‘Indeed,’ Sophia confirmed. ‘We dined together. You wouldn’t believe the art work he has procured!’
This piqued Hannah’s interest – she turned in her seat to give Sophia her full attention.
‘What does he have?’
Sophia relished being centre-stage, breathing deeply, her chest rising to match the proud smile upon her face, she announced;
‘An original Sir Thomas Lawrence portrait!’
‘You jest with me!’ Hannah squawked, almost falling from her stool.
Sophia shook her head rapidly back and forth causing the ringlets around her face to bob about, her lips in an amused pout and her eyes animated and bright.
‘An original Sir Thomas Lawrence!?’ Hannah exclaimed.
‘He invited me to see it one day next week – you must come along. I’ll have my maid contact his steward.’
‘Please do. I should be captivated to see it!’
‘Very well. Nathaniel also should be enchanted to see you, Hannah.’
Hannah paused at this, uncertain as to whether there was an underlying insinuation in her friend’s comment, but not deciding to interpret it straightforwardly. She smiled and nodded curtly, just once before returning once again to her easel.
Content to be in the presence of her friend, Sophia calmly watched each stroke of Hannah’s brush. It had been this way since they had been children – Hannah would be lost in her creation and Sophia was happy to witness the magic as it developed. For any other morning caller, Hannah would be obliged to step away from the canvas; abandon the oils, and engage her full attention upon her guest; only a discreet embroidery may be permitted in her hand if anything at all. But she knew that Sophia neither expected nor appreciated this. To the contrary, she had told Hannah on numerous occasions that simply watching her paint was a form of therapy that calmed her soul. Therefore, it was a mutual symbiosis they experienced as they sat in the bright drawing room, indulging in the peace.
Both Hannah and Sophia bristled as they heard the clomp of forthright footsteps approaching the room from the other side of the door, on the wooden-floored corridor. This was not the sound of a meek maid attending to some duty nor of the valet delivering a message. There was no doubt in their minds who the footsteps belonged to and in response, they both took a sharp breath and sat up a little straighter.
The solid wooden door flew open without a knock of announcement and revealed the statuesque figure of Marchioness Evelyn Haworth. She stood with an arm on either side of the door frame, observing the scene with her eyes before taking a deep breath of frustration.
‘Hannah Elizabeth Haworth!’
She’d used her full name. Hannah felt a rhythm of beating panic begin to drum in her chest.
‘Painting!?’ Evelyn shrieked in consternation.
Hannah narrowed her eyes in a gesture of acquiescence and apology.
Evelyn looked over to Sophia for solidarity but Sophia simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged, signalling that she didn’t recognise there to be a problem.
