Page 16 of Wicked By Design

Defiance. Strength. Yearning.

A lump thickened Clara’s throat, tears burning in her eyes. The woman in the portrait had survived disappointments, she had endured, and yes, she was a little uncertain of herself, her place in the world—her posture showed that much—but she was going to claim that place anyway. She still had hope.

“Clara?”

Clara’s hand went to her mouth, too late to smother the sob that rose there. It was too much, too much to take in. She ran for the door, tugged it open, and fled.

For a moment, Eustacia stood motionless, too shocked to react. She looked back at her beautiful painting, the masterpiece she had slaved over all year, and knew that if Clara hated it, no one but her would ever see it. The portrait was everything she had said it was, and it would make her name, but nothing was worth hurting Clara.

Picking up her skirts, she ran for the door.

She paused on the threshold. Benny had run after his mistress, and she could hear his agitated barking. Eustacia followed it, running as fast as she dared, slipping on loose gravel as the steep hill wound sharply down towards the town.

“Clara! Clara!” she called, her heart thudding anxiously.

There was a pained cry ahead of her and Eustacia exclaimed with fright, terrified in case Clara had come to harm. She ran on, finding Benny barking and barking beside Clara, who was sitting on the grass verge, her head pressed to her knees.

“Clara! Oh, my dear. Oh, I’m so… so very sorry. Are you hurt? Good Lord, but I’m such a wretched, selfish creature, I never thought—no one will ever see the painting, Clara. If you hate it that much, I-I shall put it away and n-never—” Eustacia’s throat hurt with the pain of her promise, for it truly broke her heart, but better hers than Clara’s. She had been such a frightened little thing when Eustacia had first met her, but little by little her confidence was growing. It was that Eustacia had been so proud of capturing, and so much more, but Clara was weeping and—

“P-Put it away?”

Eustacia hesitated at Clara’s words. Her dark lashes were spangled with tears, her cheeks blotchy, but she was gazing at Eustacia in horror.

“Yes, if that’s what you want?”

Clara blinked and then gave a sniff. “Why on earth would I want that?”

Eustacia sat back on her heels. “You ran away. You were weeping,” she said accusingly.

A flood of colour turned Clara’s already blotchy complexion the colour of a lobster. “I was… overwhelmed,” she said tautly.

Eustacia regarded her, hardly daring to hope. “Overwhelmed?”

That seemed like a good word, positive even.

Clara nodded, she reached out and soothed Benny, who quieted and sat down beside her. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and met Eustacia’s eyes. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Eustacia asked.

Clara gave a short laugh and shrugged. “Everything.”

Eustacia sat down beside her on the grass and looked out at the sea, at the view that had drawn her to Seagull Heights. “I just painted what I saw, Clara. I just painted you as I saw you. The rest is all you, I had very little to do with it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“So, you don’t hate it, then?” Eustacia asked slowly.

Clara did not answer at first. When she did, her words were hesitant. “N-No, but it… it’s so exposing. It makes me feel like, oh, I don’t know, like I’m parading about town in my shift.”

Eustacia’s eyes widened and Clara laughed. “Very well, not quite that bad, but… but you see me, all of me, and that’s… that’s rather terrifying.”

Eustacia nodded, dejection flooding her once more. She had known at once that there was far more to Clara than perhaps even Clara knew, but she was shy and modest at heart. If she did not wish to be exposed to the world, Eustacia would not be the one to force her.

“I understand.”

Clara glanced sharply at her. “You must show it.”

“What?” Eustacia’s heart gave a little leap as Clara grinned at her.