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“I am just finding out about these paintings myself. You can imagine my surprise when I knew that my grandmother did these.”
She smiled. “Such exquisite paintings need to be shown off. And not sitting in some musty room and covered with a tarp.”
Together, they reviewed every painting, laughing as their discussion became interspersed with jokes. That day, Helen made it all about Theodore. She asked him personal questions about his family and lifestyle, everything she deemed fit to ask. It surprised her when he answered every question, sometimes with a huge smile, and at other times with a frown.
“Tell me how a day at Wallington is,” Helen said. “It must be interesting to be a Duke.”
He groaned. “If I could, I would hand it over to Sebastian. The work is tedious, but I am used to it by routine — except my Grandmother’s grand plan for my marriage.”
“My aunt does the same thing,” she replied, staring at another still-life. “In fact, she is pressuring me to ask you for a proposal. Imagine the shock on my face. Perhaps we are playing our parts a little too well?”
“You would be shocked to marry me? I am very much hurt by your words. Do you deem me that beastly?”
Helen hit his arm playfully. “Ladies of thetonsay that your rakish grin is enough to sweep them off their feet. And you are very handsome indeed.”
She watched him lift his chin high playfully and strut towards the window to stay in the sunlight. Helen did not know what he had in mind, but he looked more than handsome. Chestnut curls danced around the sides of his face, blue eyes shining. As he adjusted his cravat, Helen wondered what his fingers would feel like under her petticoats. She wanted to suck on them after kissing him.
“My rakishness is known through the entirety of the London society,” his soft tenor said, dashing through her thoughts. “And I must say that I am not quite proud of it.”
“Not proud? Almost every rake is proud of their status. Are you just different, or you are trying to hide it?”
Theodore smiled, liking the banter between himself and Helen. He looked forward to their discussion every day, sometimes whipping up conversations in his head and answering them. As she ran her hands on the paintings, his eyes were fixated on the fingers that strummed such beautiful music.
“Who might that be?” Helen asked, pointing to the masterpiece on the farthest corner of the room.
Memories started rushing in, and it was all too much for Theodore. On the canvas was a painting of his sister, Isadora. It was almost an exact copy of the one in his bedroom. The only difference was that she was smiling more and wearing a dark blue gown that brought out the Simmons family’s eyes. Also, she was wearing the sapphire earrings that Theodore got for her when she turned sixteen.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked when Theodore’s face turned pale.
He just stared at the painting, unable to say a word. Theodore never anticipated that he would have to answer a question like that. Since Isadora passed, he refrained from speaking about her to anyone except his grandmother.
“T— That is my sister. Isadora,” he said, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks.
Helen was surprised that Theodore was stuttering. He was an eloquent man, versed in speaking. It was why the ladies of thetonwere enamored by him. Theodore knew how to keep a conversation going without awkward silences. He once told her that it was an art he learned in Oxford.
“She’s beautiful,” Helen commented, crossing over tins to paint to get a better look.
“Yes, she really was,” he said, standing there and staring into nothingness.
“But you never told me that you had a sister. Just like you do not talk to me about your brother.”
“She passed. Two years ago when the fever plagued London.”
Helen sensed the change in his mood and went back to him. “I am so sorry for what happened.”
“Her death changed my life forever,” he said. “Tore my only brother away from me. I have been unable to smile ever since.”
“It is okay to cry, Theo,” she said, wrapping her hands softly around him. “Being a man does not mean you know how to take care of everything.”
“But it does, Helen. Society cracks down on weak, fragile -”
“None of it matters. We are not bound by the rules of society when we are in private, Theodore. It is why I choose to be here instead of seeing the other suitors in our drawing-room.”
She felt him melt into her arms, his body heaving with silent sobs. They stood there together for a while, suspended in time, space, and sunlight. It meant a lot to Helen that he was opening up to her. She pulled him tighter into her embrace, consoling him in the way she could.
“Thank you, Helen,” he said softly. “For being a friend.”
Theodore felt her breasts against his racing heart, the heat of her just surrounding him. She made him feel taken care of, and it only made his heart pound faster. He was soon drawn to the slight part of her cherry-red lips, the smooth sound of her breathing, and the pools of blue that pulled at his senses. When he tucked her hair behind her ear, she looked even more beautiful.
