A Lady of Talent by Evelyn Richardson

Street to Change Alley, and enlivened only by the occasional lecture at the Royal Society or an evening at the theater. And how very dull she must think him after having been raised in the company of artists like Kauffmann, Canova, and amateur archaeologist Sir William Hamilton.
    Sebastian envied the sculptor and his casual references to Cecilia’s Sunday conversazione which sounded as though it was one of those gatherings of interesting people bent on seeking out intelligent conversation that had been such an integral part of her childhood and her education. It was not the intellectual stimulation Sebastian envied, for he could certainly find that at the Royal Society, as much as it was the informal camaraderie. What would it be like to be surrounded by a circle of friends with whom one shared such similar interests that one looked forward to getting together with them on a regular basis?
    “Ahem, are you still with us, Charrington?” His partner’s voice broke in on Sebastian’s reverie.
    “Thinking, Trevelyan, just thinking.” Sebastian frowned at the cards in front of him and hoped desperately that the rest of the players attributed his lapse in attention to strategy rather than woolgathering. He took the trick with a trump and forced himself to concentrate on the hand in front of him.
    But somehow the game failed to offer the challenge and diversion he sought. Giving up in disgust, Sebastian left early, hoping to clear his head with me stroll home.
    The crisp night air did nothing for him either, and he soon found himself sitting in his chair by the fire, meditatively sipping a glass of brandy and staring at Cecilia’s portrait.
    She could not have been very old when she had painted it, yet there was a gravity in her expression even then that showed her to be a young woman of great determination as well as talent. Talent was all very well and good, but without the will to succeed and an ever-present goal in front of her, she would never have achieved a place for herself in the Royal Academy’s exhibits, or what appeared to be a steady stream of commissions for portraits.
    Sebastian admired that will tremendously, which was why he had mentioned the possibility of a project to her—a project that just might further her in her chosen career of becoming a history painter. Tonight, however, as he looked at her portrait, he found himself wishing that he could give her some enjoyment in life, as well as success.
    And what did she enjoy? Not the usual round of routs and balls that were the stuff of most young ladies’ dreams. Both Cecilia and her brother had made that infinitely clear. Intelligent conversations with like-minded individuals appeared to be something she sought out, but she already had her conversazione.
    Sebastian’s eye fell on a copy of The Times he had tossed onto a table earlier that day.. Of course! The theater. He had been so busy lately that his box at Covent Garden had sat empty more often than not. He riffled through the pages until he found the theater announcements. A School for Scandal might not appeal to a woman whose bookshelves included Tasso and Ovid as much as Shakespeare would, but surely it could not fail to divert her for an evening. Having seen Cecilia and her brother’s adequate but modest lodgings in Golden Square, Sebastian felt it safe to hazard a guess that their finances were limited, as least as far as Cecilia was concerned. The exquisite fit of the Marquess of Shelburne’s coat, the immaculate whiteness of his cravat, and the boots that could have only been made by Hoby made it clear that her brother felt himself under no similar economic constraints. As a man of business, however, Sebastian was well aware that it was far easier to ignore dunning letters from tradesmen than from a landlord, and thus, their lodgings were a far more accurate indicator of their financial status than Neville’s accoutrements—a financial status that probably did not allow for much indulgence