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Beatrice giggled. “Oh, Your Grace, you are too droll!”
She was still giggling when Mr. Prescott joined them and curled a hand around his wife’s elbow.
Leo acknowledged him with a nod. “We were just discussing the portrait of your wife, and what a talented,valuableartist Miss Bell is.”
“We are very pleased with the portrait,” Prescott said blandly. “It is my opinion that England has not seen so fine a woman artist since Angelica Kauffman.”
Angelica Kauffman, one of the two female founding members of the Royal Academy. In the half-century since, the Academy had not seen fit to admit another woman, although some, such as Mrs. Green, Mrs. Carpenter, and Juno, had paintings accepted for exhibition.
“I do not wish to detract from Miss Bell’s accomplishments, but there are many talented artists among England’s women,” Leo said. “Miss Linwood’s embroideries are admired as far as Russia. On a more modest scale, consider the artistry of my own waistcoats.”
“Such women’s skills are useful,” Prescott opined. “But it is laughable to imagine one would ever find a true artist among uneducated, low-born women who can hardly spell their own names.”
Their corner of the garden suddenly became very chilly, as Leo studied their host.
“What a fascinating perspective,” he finally said. “I do hope you’ll publish one of your essays on the topic, for all of society to pretend to read.”
Mr. Prescott’s face tightened. Juno hid her gloating smile.
“Will you hold any further art exhibitions?” Leo went on easily, as though he had not just insulted their host. “Your personal collection is much famed, but it’s a tragedy you do not show it. I understand you recently acquired a Botticelli, which I am eager to view.”
Prescott’s chin lifted. “I regret that will not be possible. It is not here.”
Beatrice frowned at her husband. “But Prescott, darling, I promised—”
“I regret it is not possible.” He bowed slightly. “If you will excuse us, Your Grace, Miss Bell, I have come to collect my wife on a matter that requires our attention.”
Leo released them with a nod. Beatrice mouthed “I’m so sorry!” to Juno, bobbed a curtsy, and then they were gone.
Juno sighed at their retreating backs. No Botticelli, no fee. She felt childishly disappointed, as if a promised treat had been withheld.
“Well. Mrs. Prescottdiscoveredyou,” Leo said. “What does she mean to do now she has discovered you? Patent you?”
Juno had to smile, his nonsense melting her hurt. “Present her findings to the Royal Society, perhaps.”
“Just as well she didn’t discover you in a foreign country,” he added. “She might have put you in a museum and charged everyone a shilling to gawk at you.”
“Just as well I’m not a foreign country. She might have stuck a flag in me and populated me with criminals.” But her humor didn’t last. She sighed and shook her head. “And insult to injury, no Botticelli either. I was so looking forward to seeing it.”
“I remain unconvinced this Botticelli exists,” Leo said. “Prescott has been boasting about it for weeks, yet no one has seen it.”
“I believe it exists.”
“Yes, but you believe fairies exist.”
“And you’ll never prove they don’t.” She wrinkled her nose at his teasing. “I also believe he told you a bald-faced lie and it is sitting in this house now.”
A rueful expression crossed his face. “My fault, I suppose, for insulting him like that. Still, does anyone actually read his essays?”
“He wields considerable influence. With a single letter toThe Times, he can endow half of London with firm opinions on a matter that, until then, they had not given a moment’s thought.” She made a sound of irritated frustration. “Now I long to see it even more.”
“Your longing is childish and irrational.”
“Exactly. A sensible longing is easily put aside, but an irrational one is not. I fear there is nothing to be done but to indulge the desire or to sulk.”
“I cannot bear to see you sulk, so let us indulge it.”
She laughed. “And what do you propose, Your Grace? He’ll have it locked away. Will you break down his study door? Or scowl at it menacingly?”
