Page 26 of Romancing the Artist

The gentleman folded his arms and shared a glance with Mariah and Caroline. “Am I distracting the two of you?”

Mariah heaved a sigh. “You so like being at the center of attention, don’t you? Here.” She put her brush in the crook of his arm. “You try.”

He took the brush and shook his head. “I haven’t any wish to harm your painting, Miss Kimball.”

“Then come have a go on mine,” Caroline offered, gesturing to her painting. “I have no need for this particular piece, so you needn’t protest that you will cause any damage to it.”

From the other side of the fountain, his sister Patience said in a sing-song voice, “Edward is in trouble.”

He waved his paintbrush at his sister and then squared up against the easel Caroline had abandoned to him, as though he meant to box it rather than put brush to paper. “This will not be too terrible. I can simply copy what you have already done.” He dipped the brush in the paint and Caroline said nothing. She only watched.

Like most gentlemen of education, he knew enough to get the general shape of the flower correct. And he didn’t ask for help. Merely went through the motions. But after a few moments of quiet, he asked, “How did you come to be such a talented and patient painter?”

Though she hadn’t expected the questions, the explanation came without Caroline giving it much thought, each word as warm and true as the summer sun. “I have always thought of painting as an act of love. That it is a talent to nurture as much as it is a thing to correct.”

Edward chuckled and dipped his brush into the paint again. “I can understand nurturing talent, but I find I don’t comprehend the rest. Perhaps it is because I do not have the same artistic passion as you do, Miss Clapham. To be in love with your work must change how you perceive it.”

“Oh.” Caroline’s cheeks grew warm and she discreetly checked that her bonnet’s brim still shaded her from the sun. “I don’t mean I am in love with my work. That sounds entirely too romantic. It is more of a nurturing love. Like that of a mother toward a child. My art is something to tend to and take care of, a thing that exists because of my efforts.”

His brow furrowed, but whether the reaction was due to her words or his concentration on the roses, Caroline couldn’t tell.

Mariah spoke before Edward did. “That is a lovely way to put it. When I play a new piece on my harp, I feel that way about learning the music. I am devoted to my harp. I care for it. I treat it almost as I would an extension of myself. Every time I touch the strings, bringing the notes on the page to life, I am determined to have everything turn out well. Even the most difficult pieces, even the music I never quite master as I should wish, I love and devote myself to the music.”

Caroline’s artist heart recognized in Mariah’s a kinship. They were different, of course. They came from wholly unrelated backgrounds and families. But they understood one another perfectly as Mariah’s gentle eyes met Caroline’s.

“I hope I may hear you play someday,” Caroline said, voice soft.

“Whenever you wish it, Miss Clapham.” Mariah nodded her agreement.

Edward took a step back from his painting. “There. What do you think?”

The colors ran into one another, from dark pink to light, and a stem of green that wavered. It wasn’t the worst thing Caroline had ever beheld. But it still took her a moment to say, “There now, Mr. Everly. You are not so terrible as you said.”

Miss Everly put down her brush and came to see her brother’s work, her expression one of puzzlement. “Edward, that looks terrible.” Sisters were not prone to mincing words, it would seem. “I am terribly sorry, Miss Clapham, but I think he is beyond even your assistance. Though I do thank you for helping me. Look, how beautiful my roses are now!”

Caroline came to look over and approve of the other woman’s work, as did Miss Kimball. “This is excellent, Miss Everly. Well done.”

“We were speaking of our devotion to our chosen arts,” Mariah said, giving a brief summary of the subject to Miss Everly before she asked, “Do you have a thing you love to do above all else, Miss Everly?”

“Of course. Dancing.” Miss Everly tossed her head merrily. “But I cannot see how one could relate dancing with handsome gentlemen to motherhood, of all things.” She brushed at her nose with one finger, transferring paint from the brush in her hand to her temple in the process.

“According to our society,” Edward put in, picking up a cloth to dab away the paint on his sister’s face while she made faces at him, “you cannot have one without the other.”

“Cynical Edward,” his sister said with a sigh, brushing aside his help and taking the cloth from him to tend to the matter herself. “What is it you love above all else, Edward? What talent or entertainment?”

Given the way Mariah raised her eyebrows in expectancy, Caroline realized she didn’t know what her friend would say. Curious, Caroline repeated the question. “Indeed, Mr. Everly. To what idea do you devote your heart?”

He met her gaze without reserve, his blue eyes darkening just enough for her to believe him ready to give a serious response. Something lurked in the depths of his thoughts and in his heart. She felt his answer rising, but then he seemed to recall himself. He blinked and turned away from the ladies. “At the moment, I must devote my mind to my book. A Treatise on Seaside Agriculture. Riveting subject.”

“Is that the book Papa put on your breakfast plate?” Miss Everly asked without looking away from her painting.

He picked it up. “Indeed.” Then sat back down on his bench. “A required text to be a landowner, it would seem.”

Caroline blinked at him, then looked to Mariah, whose lips were pursed as though Edward’s reaction had disturbed her. She met Caroline’s gaze and offered a small shrug. She hadn’t any idea what had changed his mood, either.

A pretended courtship between Edward and Caroline would have to be convincing. Thus far, their steps were quite small. But at least they had made a start of it.

Caroline studied Edward’s attempt at a rose. She couldn’t fix it, exactly, but with a few added flowers and more greenery, she could make it blend well into her bouquet. If nothing else, it gave her a bit of a challenge while the others worked on their pieces. Something to keep her hands busy while her mind worked through other problems.