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“Of course.”
For a moment, she took in the scene. Her friends were here, and Caroline was grinning as if she had been told that a crown prince had offered for Betsy. The sun was shining, and she was having…fun. It was less like work when friends were here. She wasn’t thinking about the money that the portraits would provide, or her dreams of the cottage.
She dipped her brush into water and stroked it across the paints, choosing to lay down the skin tone first, then added hair and lips and eyes and clothes, stroking in a tiny seashore behind her, and adding little seashells to the corners of the page. To capture Maeve’s air of fashion, she paid extra attention to the lace at her throat and the ribbons in her bonnet, dabbing a little paint away with her handkerchief to represent the shine of ribbon and the gleam of jewels on her earbobs.
She was working with finer brushes today and had cut her paper into little squares no larger than the palm of her hand. Her work was detailed but came together quickly due to the small size of the artwork, and she felt like she was finishing almost as soon as she had started.
Maeve leapt from the stool as soon as Arabella said it was done and peered at the page. “I love it!” she declared.
Warmth spread through Arabella. What a joy it was to bring such instant happiness to others.
“Would you like to choose your frame?” Arabella opened a wooden box to reveal the frames that she had purchased, hoping that one would suit Maeve. She had bought a variety of styles of oval frames, from fine filigreed silver to plain gold to carved mahogany. Some were meant to be worn as lockets, with a lock of hair kept tucked inside next to the painting, and others were designed to be hung on the wall or kept in a keepsake box.
Grace looked over her shoulder at the painting. “What a fine likeness, Arabella! It looks exactly like her. Well done!”
Maeve chose a locket frame and Arabella set it aside with her miniature. “If you would be so good as to wait for a quarter hour, the portrait will be ready to frame and you can tuck it into your reticule.”
Lady Edith smiled. “You are wonderfully talented, Miss Seton. Please may I sit next?”
By the time Arabella had finished Lady Edith’s miniature and had moved on to work on Grace’s, a pair of ladies had approached, curiosity on their faces.
“Good afternoon. Pray tell, is anyone free to sit and have their likeness taken?” one of them asked.
Arabella was too surprised to speak. Were they truly interested?
“Anyone with a pair of crowns in their pocket for a portrait and a frame,” Caroline said while Arabella struggled to find her words. “Miss Seton is very accomplished. She has already done portraits for these ladies, and you can see by her current progress how talented she is. All of Inverley has been proud of her artwork for many years.”
Arabella cleared her throat. “I would be delighted to paint such fine ladies as yourselves.”
They stepped behind Arabella, and she couldn’t see their faces as she continued to lay in Grace’s sweet smile and kind eyes on the paper, but she heard their delighted sounds.
“I would love to have a miniature. I’ve never had one done before,” one of them said. “I am Miss Anderson of Dover, and there certainly are artists in residence in my hometown, but they mostly work with oil paints. They are ever so dear.”
“It takessolong for an oil portrait,” her friend said. “I had to sit for several sessions. It is a marvel to have one done so quickly. I have never seen an artist work out of doors before.”
“Ladies, may I request you to give the artist a little space?” Caroline asked. “Perhaps you could stand over here while you wait, if you don’t mind.”
Arabella hadn’t been aware of tensing up, but she felt her shoulders drop and her breath come a little easier and realized Caroline must have noticed and made sure that she was comfortable.
The sun was bright on her work as she finished up Grace’s portrait and moved on to the ladies from Dover. She had chosen her widest-brimmed bonnet to shade her eyes but eschewed a pair of gloves. Her hands would tan by the end of the summer, but she didn’t care. She was no fine lady, after all.
She was something much better in her opinion. A fine artist.
Mr. Worthington strolled up and greeted them. “Why, Miss Seton, I thought you a landscape artist. How charming it is to see that you do likenesses as well.”
“Miss Seton’s work is excellent,” Caroline said coolly, staring at Mr. Worthington. “It is more than just a good likeness.”
Without asking leave, he picked up one of the portraits that was drying in the sun. Arabella was annoyed at his presumption.
“These are superb.” There was surprise in his voice.
“Thank you,” Arabella said, and continued to paint.
Miss Anderson handed over her two crowns, and Mr. Worthington’s eyes sharpened. “A most excellent business. I congratulate you.” He tipped his hat to her before taking his leave, much to Arabella’s relief.
A few more people wandered over to them, and their conversations washed over her as easily as her brush moved across the paper.
Arabella felt like she belonged here more than she did in a ballroom. She was now part of the long string of vendors and singers and people who worked near the sea to earn their bread, to bring pleasure and entertainment to the visitors who wanted a slice of escape.
