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“Which would be what, exactly?”
“Miniatures! It solves everything, does it not?”
“Does it?” Caroline asked, frowning.
“Yes! The painting I did of you on the beach took over an hour, and it was still wet when I was done. People might not want to sit for so long—they want something immediately. That’s the beauty of the seaside. They can buy a handful of nuts, or go up to their ankles into the water, or listen to the musicians, all at the drop of a hat. Life is a holiday for them, with everything offered up to them at the ready. I need to offer the same thing.”
“And a miniature would accomplish this?”
“Yes. Something small is quick to dry, and it creates a keepsake that they can take out now or again. It’s more personal than a landscape.”
“And it’s something that they could secretly gift a lover,” Caroline said, grinning. “It’s discreet.”
Arabella laughed, her face shining. “I can’t wait to get started.”
* * *
Although Arabella steadfastly continued to bring her novels every Wednesday, Caroline loved visiting the lending library now that she could afford the subscription. She had brought Susan and Betsy to meet Lady Edith and Grace.
Betsy had refused to speak to Caroline since the party, and instead huddled with Lady Edith and Susan and shot Caroline dark looks whenever she chanced to glance her way.
Caroline stood with Grace at the other end of the room.
Grace frowned at the books in front of them. “I enjoy a verse or two in the evening, but I confess to being sick unto death of Lord Byron. Some days, it’s all the conversation I have from Lady Edith.”
Betsy was sitting in an armchair, Susan was sitting on one of the arms, and Lady Edith was leaning over the back. She could hear them giggle amidst lines fromChilde Harold’s Pilgrimage.
“His verse makes me want to cover my ears,” Grace confessed. “Would that be unfathomably rude in a library? I suppose one ought to encourage literacy, even if I don’t care for the source.”
“I advise you to encourage it in other ways,” Caroline said. “Otherwise, you end up with young ladies who go so far as to naming the neighbor’s cats after aggravating poets.”
“Is that how Arabella’s cats received their names?” Grace smiled. “That’s dear of them.”
“Susan found them when they were kittens, abandoned and half-starved, and brought them home. Arabella wanted them as soon as she saw them—she has a soft heart—and her brother relented, hoping that they would at least be good mousers. Which they are not,” she said, laughing.
“How are things with Arabella?”
“She is working on a new artistic project—she is painting miniatures for the visitors on the beach.” She was so proud of Arabella for taking the risk of painting in public. She knew how private Arabella was, and that it had taken a great amount of courage for her to do this.
“That’s a splendid idea.”
Caroline struggled to express the delight she felt when she looked at Arabella’s portraits—the clever expressions, the wonderful attention to detail, the delicate touch she had with color—but words failed her. “They’re the best,” she said finally. “Simply the best.”
She told Grace about her plan to help Arabella at her next portrait session and was happy to have her support.
Grace leaned closer. “And what of your relationship?”
“Perfect.”
“Really? How wonderful!”
Caroline felt a warmth deep inside as she thought about confiding in Arabella last night. Nothing had felt so right.
“Really,” she said firmly. “If you are tired of poets, might I suggest looking for something besides books?” she added. “The lending library has a good many other things to loan, if you have need of anything.”
“Oh, yes. That reminds me—Lady Edith!” she called out.
Lady Edith straightened, looking self-conscious at having been caught leaning over the chair like a schoolgirl. Caroline wished Susan and Betsy had such concerns, but they kept giggling together.
