Page 32 of Wicked By Design

Miss Foxworthy gestured for them to come forward.

Hawkney allowed Marcus to go first, telling himself that this was the reason they’d come, but he felt strangely impatient as he moved to stand beside him.

An odd silence filled the room as they viewed the portrait. Hawkney could not tell what Marcus made of the portrait as he did not know the sitter. He didn’t know what it was he felt, either, but he absorbed it as one might absorb a punch to the solar plexus.

It was Clara.

There she was.

Plain, certainly no beauty, but there was… something.

Dignity, he decided, but no, it was more than that. The portrait was utterly compelling, making one ask questions about the sitter, even as the skill of the artist answered them. She was poor, alone in the world, perhaps unloved. A spinster. A knot formed in Hawkney’s gut, hard and painful, but he kept looking, unwilling to turn away. God, but she shone through the paint. There was that irreverent little twinkle in her eyes, the one he knew must be there before she wrote him one of her appalling letters, and there was the fierceness of her, the courage, the devilry that made her stand up to him and tear him off a strip despite the discrepancies in their status.

And there, in the way Benny gazed at her, and her reassuring hand laid upon his head, was the kindness that lit her up.

He swallowed.

Well, it was art. It was supposed to make you feel, wasn’t it? That was the point of it. It irritated him all the same.

“Your brother is correct, Miss Foxworthy. It’s marvellous,” he said, aware his voice sounded somehow too loud. It broke the silence, shattering the spell that had been cast over them, for he could tell Marcus was not unaffected.

“Thank you, your grace,” Miss Foxworthy said, though he realised she had not needed his acknowledgement. She knew very well what she had produced here. Her gaze slid to Marcus, who was frowning.

“I told you, I don’t do rose-tinted,” she said softly. “If you want the truth, then you may come to me, but showing the world the truth takes courage of a different sort. You may prefer to go to Mr Lawrence after all.”

Marcus nodded, though Hawkney did not know if he was agreeing with her or not. He stalked from the room without a word.

Hawkney offered Miss Foxworthy a rueful smile. “If he lets you paint him, you’ll understand, I think.”

“I’m not sure Colonel Hamilton is ready for anyone to understand him,” she replied with a sigh. “Which is a pity, for I believe I could do him justice.”

Hawkney nodded. “Yes. I believe you could too. Good day, Miss Foxworthy, and congratulations on your work. It truly is something special.”

He let himself out, making his way slowly to the stables, lost in thought. What was it about the blasted portrait that had made him feel so… so out of sorts? It was only Miss Halfpenny, not The Last Supper or The Battle of Trafalgar.

Try as he might, he could not figure it out.

Chapter 6

The Unveiling

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 10th September 1816

“I thought it was just supposed to be an informal viewing?” Damian muttered as he looked out of the library window at the gaggle of women making their way towards the house.

Celia looked up from the fashion magazine she was perusing. “It’s The Venturesome Ladies’ Club. I told you they would be here. Gee-Gee says they are a decent bunch of women, save one or two whom they could do without, so hopefully they will treat us kindly.”

“But there are hundreds of them,” he grumbled, glaring out of the window.

She laughed. “Hardly hundreds. Damian, don’t tell me you are afraid of a few women?”

“Any man with half the brains he was born with would be,” he retorted. “Women are dangerous creatures at the best of times, but when they outnumber a fellow ten to one, it’s best to make oneself scarce.”

Celia shook her head, setting down her magazine. She got up, came to stand beside him, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Damian wondered when that had become such a natural thing for her to do. They had spent almost every day since the scandal in each other’s company, for there was much to be arranged, but he did not know if he liked her being so comfortable with him. It felt domestic, and if she thought for one moment that he was a tame creature, she was sadly mistaken.

“Have courage, Damian. I will protect you,” she said gravely, steering him to the door. “Gee-Gee is determined to do Miss Foxworthy and Miss Halfpenny proud after Hawkney told her how wonderful the painting is.”

Damian remarked the determined set of her jaw and knew she understood they were both about to run the gauntlet once more. There was nothing more likely to set tongues wagging than being in the presence of a scandal—which was what they still were, lest either of them forget.