“However,” Mr. Lawrence continued, “to thetrainedeye, it provides a view to what it will be when the last paint stroke has been applied. I would be delighted to see it.”
The earl fumbled with his spoon and it clattered onto the table. “Now, I—”
“An honor, indeed,” Miss Mayton said. She turned to one of the waiters and said, “Might you fetch it from our carriage? You will know it as the one of the earl’s coaches—the one with the dark blue velvet seats. The painting is just inside, wrapped in brown paper.”
“Do not put the boy to such trouble…” the earl said.
“It is no trouble at all, my lord,” the fresh-faced waiter said, eagerly hurrying out to do Miss Mayton’s bidding.
This was really something. Mr. Thomas Lawrence was moments away from viewing one of her own works!
“While we wait,” Juliet said, “I suppose you’ll want to hear the ode I composed today?”
The earl was pouring himself a large glass of port from the bottle the waiter had so helpfully left on the table. “I am not sure—”
“You are a poet, Lady Juliet?” Mr. Lawrence asked. “I prodigiously admire those who can write such moving phrases, though I have no talent for composing myself.”
“I am inspired by what I see around me, Mr. Lawrence.” Juliet stood and said, “Ode to Chester.”
Bright colored bird, cruellytreated
That rogue of a man must bedefeated
Mr. Ladle was firmly and handilymanaged
And so Chester was forthwith put in ourcarriage.
Viola and Cordelia led the applause. Though, Viola was beginning to wonder if her father was unwell, as he looked pale and had been late to it.
Mr. Lawrence looked a bit stunned. He no doubt pondered how Juliet could have so quickly composed the ode about Chester, as he’d already been informed that they’d only rescued the bird that very afternoon.
Chester, very much liking to hear his name upon a person’s lips, shouted, “Charming Chester!”
The young waiter hurried back in with Viola’s painting. She hopped up, carefully untied the string, removed the paper wrapping, and propped it on the mantel.
Mr. Lawrence had stood and applied his quizzing glass. It suddenly fell from his hand and swung on its chain, making lazy arcs through the silence.
“Now, if I may explain where I am with this,” Viola said.
“Please do,” Mr. Lawrence said quietly.
“The blue in the background is the sky. And those, there, will be trees, though I’ll have to make them bigger. You see this part here, I am aiming for a copper color, that will be hair. I haven’t got to the face yet. So, at the moment, the hair is bigger than the trees. That will have to be fixed.”
“She’s getting very good with proportions,” Cordelia said.
“Viola is really something, is she not, Mr. Lawrence?” Juliet asked.
Mr. Lawrence staggered back to his chair and sat down heavily. “I cannot argue that it is something,” he said, “thoughwhatprecisely, I am not certain.”
“Naturally,” Viola said, “I do not have any professional aspirations. I really look at it as being skilled at sewing or some other household matter. It will be handy to see a blank wall and be able to fill it myself.”
“Viola has already painted a portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Conbatten,” Miss Mayton said.
“Really? The duke?” Mr. Lawrence said.
Viola nodded. “He was quite pleased with it.”
“Really?”
