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Margot let out a shuddering breath.
She wasn’t brave enough to fight for Ara…but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t stand up for what those pieces of art represented. A love story.
“Leave them,” she said softly.
Honoria peered at her with concern. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The exhibition was unquestionably one of Honoria’s greatest accomplishments for her small, independent gallery, lauded by the public, by her peers, and even Prince Bertie himself, who had proclaimed the identity of Venus to be one of his past mistresses because he recognized the hair and the freckles. Margot had laughed quietly into her glass of champagne.
Good thing one could always depend on Bertie’s sexual intrigues in a pinch.
She remained in the gallery, perusing the rest of the art when the reception began, knowing that Ara would be there. Honoria had confirmed her attendance, and Margot didn’t quite know if her heart could survive a second injury this evening. By the time she’d made the rounds for a third interval, getting something different each time from the pieces on display, most of the guests had already left, but she would stay until the end. Honoria would like that, she knew.
Without realizing it, her feet had led her back to The Fall of Venus.
The room was empty except for a tall and very familiar young man, staring at the seven pieces to the right. Margot held her breath for a long second and then exhaled. “Percy,” she said, walking toward him. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
He glanced down fondly at her. “I wanted to support Aunt Honoria.”
Nerves flickered in Margot’s belly at her son’s uncharacteristically pensive silence. He was normally so exuberant, saying the first thing that came to mind. God, had he recognized her as the artist’s model? Had he seen that final painting? Should she tell him? Her mind was reeling with doubts and indecision. He knew her well enough to guess, and the truth was, she didn’t want him to be hurt by any of this. “Percy—”
“Miss Vaughn is very talented, isn’t she?” he interrupted softly. “Her use of color and shading is rather exceptional.”
Margot swallowed. “It is. She is.”
They stood in silence, walking from each of the seven pieces. “I can’t imagine ever being in love, and feeling this much,” he murmured. “Every one of these paintings makes me feel like I’m intruding on something exceedingly private. Like I’m seeing the inside of a soul.”
“She’s an evocative artist,” Margot said carefully.
“Who loves hard.”
For a second, she thought she had misheard the last and heard him say who loves you, but then her son was staring right at her. His hands fell gently to her shoulders.
“Mother, I am only going to say this once because you are a stubborn, infuriating, incredibly resilient woman, and I am so proud to call you my mother, but you need to get the hell out of your own way.”
She stared up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Blue-gray eyes glowed with affection. “Life is too short to mince words. But if someone loved me the way this artist loved whomever that is in these paintings, I would not hesitate for a deuced second.”
This boy. Her heart felt too big for her chest. “Percy, you don’t understand—”
“I’m sixteen, Mother, not ten. I am a man.” He grasped her hands and squeezed gently. “And the truth is, I am a man in a society that diminishes women for no good reason…other than stupidity.” Her son grinned. “Trust me when I say that I will be fine, no matter what gossip bubbles up in the ton. I could gallivant naked through the middle of Mayfair and be forgiven in a week. I will eventually choose a charming partner who loves me for me, which is all anyone can ever ask for.” Percy pulled her into an embrace. “And I want that more than anything for you.”
“But she’s—”
“But nothing. Love is worth every inch of the fight, no matter how bloody you get.” Margot hadn’t even realized she was crying until she felt gentle fingers swipe the wetness away as her proud, compassionate son gazed gently down at her. “You have to put yourself in the round to even have a chance because if you don’t, you’ve already lost. This is your time, Mother. How will you use it?”
She had an idea…but first, she had to hug her son.
“I love you, Percy,” she said, and reached up to embrace him. “You are and will always be the best thing in my life.”
He grinned, folding his arms about her. “Love you, too,” Percy said, his voice low and full of amusement. “Now, not to ruin a rather pleasant moment, but we might want to think about hiring an excellent alienist to deal with all the emotional suffering that seeing my mother in the nude has wrought.”
Her cheeks flamed as he backed away, chuckling, hands in the air.
Oh, she loved him so.
