No signature but then sketches rarely did.
Upwards.
A skirt roughly outlined in black, fluid and graceful, shadows smudged to perfection with a meticulous thumb.
Such skill. A privilege to view the unadulterated work of an artist.
Upwards.
Waist and bosom met his eyes, lush and warm despite the lack of colour. A feat so few artists could achieve. His hands clenched in profound anticipation.
Up.
The fingers of her right hand were not detailed, just curved strokes of charcoal, yet those mere strokes dallied in awkward innocence at her neck, the ribbon that encircled it a stark slash of black.
Up.
No background had been added, just the figure and a few shaded areas to show where the light should hit.
It was real. Natural and raw.
And smiling, Casper dared to confront his defiant beauty at last.
Evelyn.
Those eyes stared straight at him, both bold and unworldly – pointed chin, fulsome cheeks and wild curls.
This was her.
Perfection.
And yet what he hadn’t expected in all those months of imagining, was the slight upward curve of impertinent lip, a frankness to her tilted jaw, and demure slant to her eyes, all melding to signify a fiery, forthright yet innocent whole.
“Do you like it?”
Casting his gaze left, he watched Evelyn peruse the sketch with pensive eyes. He saw the girl within her, but the years since had created a woman – compassionate, resourceful and loyal.
He glimpsed their life together – a duchess who would work tirelessly for the forgotten, a wife who would bring joy, a lover to embrace.
Casper cupped a hand to Evelyn’s cheek, to vibrant colour and sensation, to life and love. “Beautiful…” he murmured. “Thank you.”
“When your study is repaired, you can replaceThe Fall of Innocence Unveiledwith this.”
Casper shook his head. “All three shall take pride of place. For they are our story and each one is precious. And in return for your gift…”
Ignoring Evelyn’s protest that she wanted for nothing, he reached within his pocket to withdraw a folded piece of paper with an attached seal dangling from a cotton.
“This is a special licence for our marriage in St George’s five days hence.” A gasp, and he placed his lips to her throat, traced soft kisses to her ear, lightly bit her lobe and whispered, “I will wait no longer.” He drew back and cocked a brow. “Is one free, perhaps?”
“Well, ’tis awfully soon,” she demurred, tapping finger to chin, “but I believe that within my schedule I could allot you…one hour.”
Casper grinned and hauled her near, kissed that brazen mouth, fierce and wanting. “I so yearn for you to be my duchess.”
Upon a canvas of porcelain, and framed by tumbling titian, green eyes gleamed with unbridled delight. “As I so yearn for you to be my duke…” She trailed those impudent fingers upon his chest. “…so swift of wing, my dearest love.”
Epilogue
Freedom.
