Hannah laughed heartily and then noticed that Nathaniel’s expression was reverent and honest.
At the realisation that Nathaniel was being absolutely serious, Hannah caught her breath. The silence that hung in the room as Nathaniel and Sophia awaited Hannah’s response was loaded with possibility. The potential to showcase her work was tantalising, but the prospect of exposing it to public critique was equally terrifying. Hannah was overwhelmed by Nathaniel’s generous reception to her work, while simultaneously feeling that it couldn’t really be as good as he advocated.
At that moment, there was a light knock at the door and Lucy stepped forth with a tray on which stood a pitcher of fresh lemonade and three glasses.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Your Grace. I considered your guests may be parched after their journey across town…’
‘You are a mind-reader Lucy, thank you!’ Hannah grinned, happy for the interruption.
The three friends did not continue their discussion as Lucy poured and distributed the glasses. Nathaniel pulled some stools together so they could all take a seat to enjoy their drinks.
Once Lucy had pulled the door closed behind her, Nathaniel pounced on the opportunity to convince Hannah.
‘I have a friend, Lady Wentworth, who is hosting an art exhibition. I am one-hundred percent positive that she would be euphoric to showcase your collection,’ Nathaniel advised in a hushed voice.
‘But I-’ Hannah began to protest.
‘You could remain anonymous by employing a male pseudonym. May I suggestAlexander Burton?’ Nathaniel proposed.
Hannah and Sophia exchanged a glance of amusement.
‘It rather suits you!’ Sophia giggled, teasing her. Hannah nudged her with an elbow in playful response.
‘What do you say?’ Nathaniel remained serious and this prompted Sophia to adopt solemnity.
‘Truly, Hannah. You cannot continue to keep your talent hidden away. It is an injustice not to share the joy it will inevitably bring…’ Sophia reached out and squeezed Hannah’s hand in solidarity.
As Nathaniel continued to express his infatuation with her work, Hannah’s mind whirled with possibilities and potential obstacles. The idea of showcasing under a male pseudonym resolved the issue of discretion; additionally, she would be able to hover about her art and listen to genuine impressions as the general public discussed her work – it would allow her an authentic insight into how her pieces were interpreted. This excited her immensely.
However, Hannah panicked at the idea of being discovered and the shame that would bring upon the Montwood family would be irreparable. The Dowager Duchess was already seething even at the idea of Hannah investing time into painting in her own house, within the privacy of one, sheltered room. The prospect of showcasing out in London town would be appalling to her and Hannah would then have proved her right; that she was not fit to be a Duchess. Whilst Caleb had shown an interest in Hannah’s art and enjoyed discussing the topic with her, he had never actually asked to see any of her work and so, she derived from this that his interest was superficial – there was no possibility he might embrace the concept of openly exhibiting.
‘The collectors and critics likely to attend Lady Wentworth’s exhibition are really the cream of the crop. The opportunities are endless should you impress a person such as they…’ Nathaniel gushed.
Sophia’s eye was attracted to movement by the door – she noticed a shadow passing beneath the door out in the hallway. It moved slowly and close-by. She blinked as she watched it and concluded it was probably Lucy listening to see if their lemonade glasses needed refreshing. The shadow paused and continued on its way and Sophia looked to see if the others had noticed it. Nathaniel was too occupied convincing Hannah to jump aboard his idea and Hannah seemed to be adrift in a dream, her eyes focused and steely, yet off in the distance somewhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Duke sat in his large leather wing-backed chair at the desk which he’d inherited from his father. He had long abandoned his plight to form sentences on his opinions on the agricultural tariffs, which had been requested of wealthy landowners across the country. He would need to revisit it at some other point, since his attention was entirely distracted.
He brought his fist down heavily onto a leather-bound portfolio as it occurred to him that the fear of his work and ducal duties suffering due to preoccupation with his new-found affection was already materialising. Whether or not he gave into his emotional instincts, his mind was presently distracted and there seemed to be no method of successful avoidance.
He turned in his chair to look at the large framed painting of his father mounted upon the wall. He wondered what his father’s advice would be. A man who had entered into a marriage with hope of love and togetherness and found himself entangled in bitterness and assaulted each day by a barrage of harsh words from a woman who seemed only to have malice and resentment for him. Even now, Caleb struggled to understand how his mother had such antipathy for his father, who was a kind, strong, respectable man. Though he confessed that he viewed the deceased Duke from the perspective of a small boy and had to admit that his mother would have viewed her husband through very different lens. Even so, he felt the blame must have fallen very much at the feet of his mother who continued to be cantankerous and petulant, when all he had ever witnessed from his father was tender guidance and support.
Caleb sighed heavily. He wondered if Hannah might become like Anne – whether his mother had too once been sweet and compliant, but changed into her contrary, obstinate self through years of captivity with a man she couldn’t love. It frightened him so that his future with Hannah could potentially echo that of his parents. He had to avoid it at all costs and evading such a sad union may mean eluding a relationship in totality. He nodded morosely as he accepted this may be his dismal reality.
Caleb’s eyes were drawn to the blank space next to his father’s portrait where his father proudly sat. This was the area reserved for Caleb’s portrait one day, should he be deserving of it. For a moment, Caleb considered all the practices and regimes he had to commit to and administer in order to merit such an honour and felt good that he was embracing his usual ducal line of thought – this gave him positivity that his business brain was still active. He wondered if perhaps Hannah might be the one to paint his portrait – and then kicked out at a wastepaper basket as he realised that once again his affection had provoked his brain to change gear.
He had been taking all his meals in his office since the accidental kiss, as he now liked to frame it. Staff had been informed that he was incredibly busy and should not be disturbed other than for bringing in meals and removing the plates. He found himself now thoroughly bored of the four walls surrounding him and felt a sudden impulse to go for a walk.
*
Hannah hushed her friends as they left the Art Studio parlour.
‘Indeed, we must be quiet, in case Her Grace is still resting – I should hate to disturb her,’ Hannah whispered, finding herself to be tiptoeing, which was quite ridiculous as her friends took confident strides across the marble hallway which rang out acoustically throughout the house.
They had just reached the front entrance when the door to Caleb’s office flew open. There he stood, broad and proud, yet with a similar stoicism to his face that Hannah remembered from the first night they met. It seemed to her that his darkness had returned.
Caleb looked stunned to see a small gathering collected outside his door. His face took on an expression of alarm and regret, before he composed himself, but did not prepare a smile. His eyes immediately found Hannah’s and there was a crackle of tension in the atmosphere, which had the two of them standing ramrod straight and staring at one another and Sophia noticed, watching between them both. Nathaniel, however, seemed oblivious to any shift in mood and strode forward gregariously extending his hand.
