Chapter Thirty-Two
“How did you sleep?” Leah asked.
“Well. A proper bed was a nice change from a thin mattress on the hard floor. How about yourself?”
James was sitting outside in the garden on a large stone step. He liked this particular step; it afforded him an uninterrupted view of the Tresillian River which lay far below. The warm morning sunshine was a balm for his tired body.
The trip from London had been mentally draining for him. The horse and carriage he had hired, had been easy to manage. But the fear that Tobias Shepherd was lying in wait for them just around the next bend had made every day of travel long and stressful. The constant rain had not helped. He was grateful for the clear skies of Cornwall.
He sipped at his tea, his gaze fixed on the blue and grey waters down below. Farther to the right, he could see a constant swirling of water where the Tresillian and Truro rivers met. The sun danced across the water, sparkles of light reflecting off its surface.
Leah came and sat by his side. She held a half-eaten piece of toast in her hand. It was good to be someplace where the hard and fast rules of London society could be set aside. They could sit and spend time together without those worries.
“I slept well enough; it was nice to sleep in a proper bedroom. Though I missed hearing your breathing in the room during the night. I kept waking up and wondering where you were,” said Leah.
The tea in his mouth caught in his throat at her words, and he fought to keep from choking. If only she knew how many times, he had looked over at the bed in whatever inn they were staying at and smiled as he lay listening to her breathing as she slept. It was nice to think that they had both experienced the same feelings of comfort from knowing the other was close by.
She nodded toward the rivers. “It is so beautiful here. My greatest wish is that my father decides I am too much of a bother and having me stay far away from London suits his purposes. If I have any say in it, I will never go back to London,” she added.
More than once James had thought the very same thing about never going back. Mopus Manor was an oasis of calm. “I can see why. The view from here is stunning. I was actually thinking of making the trek along the river and seeing what other places of interest there are so I could get some more sketches finished.”
James had already made several drawings of the river landscape. They would be a welcome addition to his portfolio once he started working in earnest on his paintings. His plans to return to Derbyshire had been quietly shelved for the moment. In the meantime, he would have to rely on his sketches and memory to begin work on theDerbyshire Twins.
His father would not be happy with the change in plans. Hugh Radley was a man of habit and structure. He didn’t like people making sudden alterations and disturbing his world.
He would be especially disappointed when he discovered that James had not onlynotgone to Derbyshire, but that he had fled to Cornwall with Leah. But James would deal with his father when the time came. Right now, he had other priorities which concentrated his mind. Winning Leah’s heart was what truly mattered.
“Why do you have to make sketches?” she said.
He turned and gave her a shy smile. Many people assumed that painters just started working on a blank canvas without any preliminary work. Sketches were an integral part of the process. “It helps to have drawings to refer to when you are creating a piece. Especially landscapes. I struggle with getting things into the right perspective and composition when I am first creating a new piece of work.”
“Have you always wanted to be a painter?” she asked.
“In my heart of hearts, yes. I undertook some art classes at school, but never got to work under a true master. Most of what I know I have learned from books or watching other painters,” he replied.
“But your father wants you to follow him into the church? Claire told me that there had been some ongoing tension between the two of you,” she replied.
James hesitated. He did not want to say unkind things about his father. Hugh had relented on his demands and agreed to support James in his efforts, but it had not been an easy task. “I understand my father’s point of view. He wants me to be able to make my way in the world. To have a profession that will enable me to support a family. He worries that painting will not allow that,” he replied.
“I see. But . . .”
“But what?”
Leah turned to him; quiet determination showed on her face. “But what if you could? There have been plenty of painters and artists in the world who have made a living from their work. What is the worst that could happen if you didn’t sell enough paintings? You may have to find paid employment. But at least you would have tried,” she replied.
He reached out and placed a hand over one of hers before giving it a gentle squeeze. Her support of his work meant the world to him. “Thank you. Very few people understand the passion of wanting to be an artist. I have tried to explain what it feels like to hold a brush in my hand and set paint to canvas, but most people just give me an odd look.”
Leah pointed toward a collection of neat buildings which sat at the front of the estate. One small building stood apart from the others, close to where the path from the steps ran. “If you wish to paint while you are here, I could speak to my grandfather and see if he will allow you to use the old cottage which overlooks the water. It has a better view than from here and you would be able have your things with you and work without being disturbed. I don’t think anyone has used it since my grandmother died.”
The idea of being able to set himself up and paint caught James’s full attention. If he was able to complete some works before the inevitable journey home to London, he would be in a stronger position with his father. And if he could secure a buyer for those paintings, it would finally put paid to the notion of his going back to university. “That sounds wonderful. Could we please take a look at the cottage, and then go and talk to Sir Geoffrey?”
Leah got to her feet. “Of course. And if you think it would suit, I know a shop in Truro that sells artist supplies. I take it you will need some canvases.”
The cottage proved perfect for James’s needs and Sir Geoffrey readily agreed to allow him to make use of it. Sir Geoffrey also confessed to a long-abandoned painting pastime, after which he showed James the two large easels which had been stored away in the attic.
The easels were soon moved and set up in the cottage. A quick trip in the barouche into the nearby town of Truro saw James returning with new pieces of canvas, frames, and some linseed oil.
He was almost beside himself with excitement at the prospect of having a small, though temporary, painting studio at his disposal. It also added weight to his decision to remain at Mopus Manor for as long as possible. James was biding his time before he would speak to Leah about any plans for the future.
