‘Oh, you don’t want to hear me!’ Lucinda protested; a delicate hand to her chest, but she was already standing and making her way toward the instrument in the corner of the room.
‘Of course, we do, don’t we, Caleb?’ Anne encouraged and looked over at her son pointedly.
Hannah watched as Caleb shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to respond. Nobody else in the room noticed his lack of reply as they were jostling into positions to enjoy Lucinda’s performance.
It was clear to Hannah that Lucinda had prepared for this opportunity or otherwise had a familiar repertoire she called upon for such occasions, as she did not ponder a moment to decide what to play. She launched instantly into a song that was vaguely familiar to Hannah.
Lucinda did indeed play beautifully – Anne had not exaggerated. Hannah noticed how her long blonde hair swung down her back, swaying in motion to match the rhythm of the tune. Hannah felt as though Lucinda’s display only accentuated her own lack of musical talent. This being her debut evening as Caleb’s wife, it should probably be expected that she might be the one to play; if she had known how or had any talent in that department.
Lucinda then began to sing, to accompany the tune and her audience shifted in appreciation – her voice was a clear, sweet soprano and Hannah experienced a pit of envy in her stomach. She generally hated to compare herself to others, but knowing that everybody in the room was scrutinizing her and must be finding her wanting, Hannah could not help the dark self-assessment that consumed her mind.
As Lucinda’s slim fingers danced effortlessly across the keys, Caleb turned his attention away to consider Hannah’s face as she watched. The edges of her mouth twitched with the attempt of a smile - to placate the others in the room, he’d wager. But the smile did not reach her eyes, which brimmed with sadness. His mother had been successful in causing Hannah to feel inadequate and ashamed. He felt a surge of anger regarding this situation that was being allowed to play out in his own drawing room and resolved that he needed to be more instrumental in protecting Hannah from this sort of degradation at the hands of his mother.
Sensing the weight of his stare, Hannah looked over to Caleb fleetingly and saw him watching her before he stole his glance back away. She concluded he was thinking how deficient she was as a wife, in stark comparison to this skilled beauty his mother had transported here to demonstrate what a true Duchess should look like.
Cursing himself that Hannah had caught him watching her, Caleb fixed his eyes once again upon their performer. He had heard Lucinda play this tune many a time before – it seemed she played and sang just three tunes quite excellently but did not dare to venture outside of her comfort zone in playing others. He knew she lived her life in the same vein; she had a pony named Simeon, but only petted him and wouldn’t dare learn to ride. She lived prettily, safely, predictably and Caleb found her quite dull. There was nothing interesting about Lady Lucinda Fairfax. He silently thanked his father that it had not been Lord Fairfax with whom he had made the marital agreement.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Over there by the window would be quite perfect, I think!’ Hannah pointed toward the brightest wall of the parlour room and Lucy carried the easel over to the directed spot to set it down.
‘Yes! Although I may just angle it slightly this way…’ Hannah adjusted the easel to benefit most effectively from the way the sunlight filtered in the window.
‘It’s perfect!’ Hannah clapped her hands together in joy, smiling gratefully at Lucy.
‘Now where did we pack the oils?’
‘Just here, Your Grace…’ Lucy reached into a canvas bag that housed a myriad of drawing and painting paraphernalia.
‘Pass that here, Lucy and I shall display all the materials to best suit my activities. Mayhap you could roll out the other canvases over on the other side?’
‘Directly, Your Grace,’ Lucy bobbed and went to do as her mistress bid her.
Hannah began to hum a pretty tune under her breath as the two of them sorted the newly prescribed art studio in companionable quiet. It was the happiest Hannah had felt since the day before her debut evening. The week had been fraught with emotional upheaval but at breakfast that morning, the Duke had announced he was meeting with Albert at a coffee room and Hannah instantly knew the best way to spend her morning. In truth, she had been mentally planning it since Caleb had shown her the room the previous day.
After several hours, Hannah artistically displayed her favourite brushes in a pretty ceramic pot Lucy had enquired about in the kitchen and stood back to assess the transformation of the parlour room. It was a morning well spent – she and Lucy beamed at each other across the space.
There were easels dotted about with blank canvases set ready for any moment Hannah’s artistic instincts should take hold and each station was accompanied by a small console table holding various pastels, paints and implements. Hannah had arranged it so that if she entered the room desiring a large, bold painting session, she would know the best location was the canvas in the far corner; alternatively, if she were in an introverted or focused mood, she should sit directly by the window to create something intricate and detailed in the full daylight. Never before had she had a space that afforded her such creative freedom.
Back home at the Haworth residence, Hannah had made her own spaces for her creativity – multiple sketches in her bedchamber; an easel erected in the parlour room, and another in the drawing room. If her mother entered, there would be a display of chiding from her mother and protests from Hannah. It was the only thing they bickered over but it caused Hannah to conceal her painting activities from her parents for the most part. She would find a quiet corner of the house and have Lucy help her set up the easel and canvas, lining the floor with anything she could find to protect any carpet, wooden slab, or marble tile. This would often afford her a couple of hours of creating before she would be found and instructed to pack it all away. It was a well-practised dance and Hannah felt grateful to her loyal maid Lucy who was very happy to assist in her covert enterprise. Evelyn never admonished Lucy for her involvement in Hannah’s mendacity, for she knew a good lady’s maid would abide by the requests of her mistress and Lucy was therefore inculpable.
Artistry was hence a surreptitious endeavour throughout Hannah’s life in her childhood home. Owning a space that could be exclusively reserved for painting and drawing was a dream come true and Hannah felt so grateful to Caleb for making it available to her. She had gone from the soul-destroying possibility that the Montwoods would entirely disallow any engagement in the arts, to being liberated and provided with the ideal environment for her creativity to thrive. Hannah couldn’t stop smiling, with the excitement that she could soon begin to utilise this room, unfettered and free.
Lucy interrupted her thoughts ‘Your Grace; your completed paintings from the Haworth residence; should we hang them upon the walls?’
‘Oh no Lucy,’ Hannah shook her head. She didn’t feel ready for that. Should anybody from the main house enter – which, of course, they were accorded to do at any chosen time – they would instantly be confronted by the inner workings of Hannah’s creative mind. Whilst she was not ashamed of her creations, she knew that they would not be held in positive regard by many members of the household and to display her work would only make her extremely vulnerable to criticism.
‘No, we shall pile them up over by that wall…’ Hannah helped Lucy to carry the existing works over to a blank wall and lean them carefully there. As she did so, she wondered what she kept them for and whether they would ever be really seen.
‘Thank you for your help, Lucy. Now – let us refuel on some food and this afternoon, I simply cannot wait to get started!’ Hannah felt abundant with the joy she always felt at the prospect of creating her art.
***
‘So, how goes it?’ Albert asked as he and Caleb took their seats in the bustling coffee room. In truth, Caleb would have preferred a more private space in which to talk with his friend, but he noted that – despite the many bodies in the relatively intimate room – the tables were well-spaced and groups at each table spoke in low, hushed voices. They too, it seemed, were there for conversation in confidence and so, once their steaming coffees had arrived, the Duke shuffled his chair further forward and leaned his elbows upon the table.
‘Her Grace – my wife…’
‘I’m quite sure she’d be comfortable with her husband referring to her asHannah,’ Albert laughed.
