Page 42 of Romancing the Artist

“All right. We needn’t worry about proper costuming yet.” Caroline stood and went to where several empty picture frames leaned against the wall. All of them were circular, found in attics and corners by the Inglewood servants. They differed in size, from small diameter to large.

“I thought these would do well enough to find the right pose and size for the globe.” She picked up a middling-sized frame, the wood heavier than she liked but still lighter than trying to put an actual globe on Edward’s back.

She turned around to face him, and found Edward slipping off his coat, revealing the crisp white shirt and waistcoat beneath. Though she had already seen him in shirtsleeves the first time they met, there was something different about watching the act of a man sliding a coat from his shoulders—something that made her grasp the frame tighter and her throat constrict.

She swallowed away the strange feeling as Edward put the coat over the back of a chair, then came to her with arms outstretched to take the frame.

He hesitated, giving her an odd look. “I hope you do not mind. Gentlemen’s coats are not made in a way that makes it easy to reach overhead and behind. Not without angering my valet and tailor both when the seams split.”

“Of course. Not at all. Here.” She thrust the frame toward him, grateful that she hadn’t blushed. Men in shirtsleeves had never bothered her before. Ever. She grew up on a farm, with both her father and laborers working in their fields and orchards in their shirtsleeves.

However, Edward was neither employed by her family nor related to her. And they weren’t in the fields.

After assuring herself that Lady Inglewood remained quietly reading her book, Caroline shook her head at her own silliness. “Upon your back or shoulders, I think, would be best. Try something that feels natural. Imagining you must carry that frame on a long walk.”

Edward gave the frame a spin against the floor, then hefted it up and over his head. She couldn’t help but notice how his broad shoulders filled out the fabric of his shirt, and how easily he lifted his arms to hold the large round frame on his back.

“It’s not too heavy, is it?” Caroline asked, concerned.

Edward shook his head. “No, I can manage it. But could create something lighter for me to hold for the longer sessions? I don’t want to tire too quickly.”

Caroline nodded in agreement. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I will think of something before our next session.”

Edward rolled the frame upon his back from one shoulder to the other with ease, settled it in the center of his back, but then shook his head. “This is too small. It would be easier to hold it in place if it was larger. My arms wouldn’t have to stretch up as much. Have you another frame?”

They went up in size, and Edward’s arms and shoulders appeared less taxed. From there, Caroline picked up her sketchbook and sat in a chair, hastily forming a human shape holding a circle. Edward stood upright, frame above his head, bent only slightly forward.

Caroline shook her head. “I think kneeling will be better, both for the painting and for your sake as you pose.”

Without a word, he went down to one knee, balancing the frame in the hollow between his shoulders, his head tilted up to look at her.

“Better?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together. His deep blue eyes didn’t waver from hers, and she read sincerity and determination in their depths. He wasn’t laughing at her, nor was he annoyed. The wonderful man genuinely wanted help, to do his best on her behalf.

Her heart skipped. With delight, she told herself. Because she finally had an exciting project to work upon. “Yes. Now, I need only find the right angle.”

“Keep in mind what it is you wish to convey to your viewer,” Lady Inglewood said, voice raised to carry across the room. Caroline nearly jumped, having forgotten the countess was there.

Edward must have noticed, because when Caroline met his stare again, his expression had changed. His eyes danced, and he smiled crookedly. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he winked in response but said nothing.

Let him think her silly for getting wrapped up in things. He certainly wasn’t the reason for her distraction. No. Her work had taken hold of her. And she would prove it.

Caroline approached, sketchbook in hand, and circled Edward where he knelt on the carpet. First clockwise, then counter-clockwise, asking him to make small adjustments as she went. Tilt his head this way, now that. Could he move the leg he knelt on a little more forward. What about shifting his hands a little more? How did that feel? Switch knees. No, switch back.

To his credit, the man obeyed every instruction she gave him, and spoke only when answering a direct question. Until, finally, Caroline thought she had it right.

She angled herself in a way that allowed her to sketch him in profile, his face toward her. Details were not yet important. The pose was what mattered. Then she moved a little more to his front and sketched some more. That was it. Nearly perfect.

Again, she moved to sit directly in front of him. “Now, lift your head to look at me. Imagine, if you please, that you are Atlas facing Zeus as he declares this your punishment for eternity.”

Edward lifted his head—the angle couldn’t be comfortable given the frame on his back—and raised both eyebrows at her. The puzzlement in his look was so incongruent with what she had asked for that Caroline giggled, then covered her mouth.

Serious artists didn’t giggle.

Caroline cleared her throat and tried to school her features into something more serious. “I doubt Atlas appeared confused. Remember, he knew what was coming when his mutiny failed.”

The gentleman shifted the weight of the frame, then put it down on the ground with care. He stayed kneeling, though. “What is the emotion you want to convey?”

Thinking of the book’s description, of her goals, Caroline lowered her sketchbook to her lap and considered the question carefully. “Defiance,” she said, voice soft as she spoke through her thoughts. “Pain. Anger. Rebellion. Everything Atlas wanted had been taken from him. Even his daughters, if I remember the myths correctly. He was a Titan, older than the Greek gods, and struck down when they took control of the heavens and the earth.”