Page 3 of Romancing the Artist

Victor, younger by a quarter hour, swiped up the lion before it could meet an ill fate.

Caroline didn’t pause to watch the rest of the scene, though she heard the children’s indignant tones and her mother’s soothing voice as she took her things up the stairs to her room. She entered her bedroom, which had once upon a time been her mother’s room, and opened the wardrobe that acted as storage for all her art supplies. She tucked her paints and brushes away with tenderness equal to a mother caring for a babe. Then she removed her paint-covered smock and went to work cleaning her hands and nails in the basin of water on her nightstand.

Sometimes, she wished she had a lady’s maid. Her mother had told her all about how a servant of that sort would see to the ladies of the house. Helping them with their hair, their clothes, drawing them baths. It sounded like an incredible luxury, though why someone would want help to do something as simple as bathing she couldn’t imagine. The life Caroline had lived since the death of her father—her mother’s first husband—hadn’t included many servants.

Even years after her mother remarried and their farm grew prosperous, they hadn’t “taken on airs,” as her friend Jill Martin liked to say.

Jill had a lot to say on all matters concerning Caroline. What she had said about Caroline leaving for the summer had stung. “You’re only going to confuse yourself, spending time with nobility when you’re nothing more than a farmer’s daughter.”

Caroline checked her hair in the mirror above her modest dressing table. Though born a gentleman’s daughter, she couldn’t remember what life had been like before her father’s death and her move to the farm. Though technically incorrect about her station in life, perhaps Jill was right about something else. Perhaps Caroline’s dreams were too far removed from her upbringing.

She tucked a loose, curling strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and patted the rest to ensure it would stay put. When all appeared in place, she left her bedroom with a light step.

When she walked into the room, her father sat on the floor with the children, marching the animals back into their wooden box. The boys giggled as their father purposefully made the wrong noises for the wrong animals. He roared for the ducks, squeaked for the lion, and crowed for the horse.

Amelia sat on one of the chairs, watching, and pretending to be above it all. Though she giggled as Caroline made eye contact with her.

Mama had resumed her place in the chair, the book tucked in her lap. Caroline found a place on the sofa and released an inelegant sigh as she leaned back into the cushion. There was nothing left for her to do, to prepare for her journey in the morning, other than wait. But the minutes felt like hours when one anticipated something especially exciting. She closed her eyes and willed the sun to set faster.

“What is Caroline doing?” Alfie whispered. “She looks bored.”

Caroline popped one eye open to look at her little brother, then to her papa, who stared at her with feigned surprise. He tipped his head to the side, regarding her with unconcealed curiosity. “Teresa? Does it seem to you as though our eldest is bored?”

“Is that what she is?” Mama’s eyes twinkled, and Caroline opened both eyes to look from one parent to the other as they spoke as if she was not present. “I cannot imagine what would cause such a thing.”

Amelia jabbed a needle through the sampler she had picked up. “It’s because she’s leaving tomorrow.”

Papa crossed his arms and leaned his back against his wife’s chair. “Is that true? Caroline, are you leaving us tomorrow?” He shook his head, his eyes wide. “You would never!”

She glared at him while the twins snickered. Her papa was excellent at acting out scenes for the family’s amusement. She didn’t mind joining in the fun at all. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Oh, Papa. I am afraid I must. I cannot stay here on the farm another day.”

He covered his heart with both hands. “But why, child? Have your mother and I not given you a roof over your head? A warm bed? And…” He trailed off, looking at the twins with wide eyes, asking for them to supply the words.

“Puppies,” Victor said with a decisive nod.

“And her cat,” Alfred added.

“Yes. We’ve given you puppies and a cat. What more could we do to induce you to stay?” Papa asked, both hands now clasped before him.

Mama watched with a mild smile, her posture correct and her eyes gleaming. Mama was everything a lady ought to be: lovely, kind, and compassionate. Everything Caroline hoped to be, someday in the future. After she became a real artist.

With pursed lips and a finger tapping her chin, Caroline finally delivered her next line. “Perhaps if you could secure an elephant, I would be tempted to stay.”

“An elephant?” Papa repeated, then looked at both boys. “Do either of you have an elephant?” They both shook their heads, solemnly. “And you, Amelia? Do you have an elephant?”

“Of course not.” The little girl frowned at him. “And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to Cara. I’d use it myself, to ride around the country. And I would paint it blue, so everyone would want to come and see it. I might even let other people ride it.”

“Would you?” Mama asked, amusement coloring her words.

Blonde ringlets bobbed as Amelia nodded. “I would charge a penny for each ride.”

Papa broke character and laughed, the sound rich and rolling and one of Caroline’s favorite things about him. “You would be a rich business woman in no time.” Then he nodded to the twins. “What do you think? Since we haven’t any elephants, should we let Caroline go on her visit?”

“Will she come back?” Alfred asked, while Victor stilled to hear the answer.

“Yes, at the end of summer,” Caroline said, her heart beating an excited rhythm once again. “And I will bring you presents.”

Alfred nodded, as though that decided everything. “She can go.”