Nothing I say applies to my boys. They are unexceptionable. I kept my mouth shut for the twenty-five years I was a wife. If I don’t talk now, when will I ever do it? Pass the mustard, Mr. Singleton.”
Mr. Singleton passed the mustard, and the conversation turned to the dancing party.
As they left the dining room, Lady Penfel took Abbie’s elbow and drew her aside. “I know you want to get the gels into the gallery for a lesson, Miss Fairchild. This afternoon is the time to do it. I plan to have Johnnie take me to the circus to snoop around and see what I can discover. We won’t want the gels underfoot. They might give the show away. Such fun!”
She went twittering off abovestairs to prepare for her outing, and Abbie took the young ladies to the gallery. Mr. Singleton accompanied them, hovering at Annabelle’s shoulder like a shadow. Inspired by her presence, he uttered a few words. “Pretty,”he murmured in front of an Italian painting of a madonna. “Looks like you, Miss Kirby.”
Abbie kept looking to the doorway, hoping Lord Penfel would bring her the cherished key, but after half an hour she gave up. Perhaps he had gone to the circus to give a trinket to his dancing girl. She wondered if the girl was smiling and making herself agreeable, and told herself the burning in her chest was disgust for Penfel’s wretched morals. But at least he was ashamed of his behavior to a lady. And he had not lifted a finger to repeat it during the whole of her second visit to his study. She felt a wistful sense of regret that the incipient flirtation had not blossomed into something more. Perhaps a slap had been too great a reaction to a little kiss.
Chapter Ten
The young ladies proved tobe about as interested in art as in the construction of a drawbridge. They yawned as Miss Fairchild pointed out the mastery of Van Dyck’s portraits, the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio, the bravura design of Rubens, the sheer magical artistry of Rembrandt. Their notion of art appreciation was to spy out a resemblance to some acquaintance in every face, or a fault in the model’s features, or clothing, or lack of it.
“What a horrid long nose the Penfels had in those days”was Kate’s admiration of the Van Dyck of an early Lord of Penfel.
Even Lady Susan failed her. “When in doubt as to the country of origin of the artist, one has only to look at the nose,”she informed them. “All the Flemish subjects appear to have noses like parsnips. It has often been remarked upon at Wycliffe.”
“That lady with her hair falling down looks quite like my Aunt Lavinia. How fat the ladies are!”Annabelle cried, when she stood in front of a Rubens tangle of well-endowed female forms in various states of undress, being harried by robust gentlemen in capes and helmets.
“Notice the repetition of the curved forms, making an S-shaped pattern with the human bodies, drawing the eye around the composition. And the rich, nacreous hues of the flesh tones,”Abbie said, pointing to a rotund naked haunch done in opalescent pinks and cream tones.
“No wonder they can’t afford gowns,”Kate said. “It would cost a fortune to cover all those pounds of flesh.”
Not even the sublime Rembrandt portrait of a woman looking over a half door was spared their insightful criticism. “One would think the model could have taken off her apron and brushed her hair before having her portrait done,”Annabelle tsk’d.
“Lovely curls. Soft,”Mr. Singleton murmured, referring, of course, to his beloved. He clung like a barnacle to Annabelle throughout the tour.
The ninety minutes of the lesson seemed very long to them all, not least to their instructor. It was a great relief when Lord John appeared in the doorway.
Kate immediately escaped the tour and went running off to drag him forward. “Did you learn anything at the circus?”she asked.
His glinting smile revealed that he had. “I took a close look at O’Leary’s wagon. You can see the traces of
Mr. Singleton passed the mustard, and the conversation turned to the dancing party.
As they left the dining room, Lady Penfel took Abbie’s elbow and drew her aside. “I know you want to get the gels into the gallery for a lesson, Miss Fairchild. This afternoon is the time to do it. I plan to have Johnnie take me to the circus to snoop around and see what I can discover. We won’t want the gels underfoot. They might give the show away. Such fun!”
She went twittering off abovestairs to prepare for her outing, and Abbie took the young ladies to the gallery. Mr. Singleton accompanied them, hovering at Annabelle’s shoulder like a shadow. Inspired by her presence, he uttered a few words. “Pretty,”he murmured in front of an Italian painting of a madonna. “Looks like you, Miss Kirby.”
Abbie kept looking to the doorway, hoping Lord Penfel would bring her the cherished key, but after half an hour she gave up. Perhaps he had gone to the circus to give a trinket to his dancing girl. She wondered if the girl was smiling and making herself agreeable, and told herself the burning in her chest was disgust for Penfel’s wretched morals. But at least he was ashamed of his behavior to a lady. And he had not lifted a finger to repeat it during the whole of her second visit to his study. She felt a wistful sense of regret that the incipient flirtation had not blossomed into something more. Perhaps a slap had been too great a reaction to a little kiss.
Chapter Ten
The young ladies proved tobe about as interested in art as in the construction of a drawbridge. They yawned as Miss Fairchild pointed out the mastery of Van Dyck’s portraits, the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio, the bravura design of Rubens, the sheer magical artistry of Rembrandt. Their notion of art appreciation was to spy out a resemblance to some acquaintance in every face, or a fault in the model’s features, or clothing, or lack of it.
“What a horrid long nose the Penfels had in those days”was Kate’s admiration of the Van Dyck of an early Lord of Penfel.
Even Lady Susan failed her. “When in doubt as to the country of origin of the artist, one has only to look at the nose,”she informed them. “All the Flemish subjects appear to have noses like parsnips. It has often been remarked upon at Wycliffe.”
“That lady with her hair falling down looks quite like my Aunt Lavinia. How fat the ladies are!”Annabelle cried, when she stood in front of a Rubens tangle of well-endowed female forms in various states of undress, being harried by robust gentlemen in capes and helmets.
“Notice the repetition of the curved forms, making an S-shaped pattern with the human bodies, drawing the eye around the composition. And the rich, nacreous hues of the flesh tones,”Abbie said, pointing to a rotund naked haunch done in opalescent pinks and cream tones.
“No wonder they can’t afford gowns,”Kate said. “It would cost a fortune to cover all those pounds of flesh.”
Not even the sublime Rembrandt portrait of a woman looking over a half door was spared their insightful criticism. “One would think the model could have taken off her apron and brushed her hair before having her portrait done,”Annabelle tsk’d.
“Lovely curls. Soft,”Mr. Singleton murmured, referring, of course, to his beloved. He clung like a barnacle to Annabelle throughout the tour.
The ninety minutes of the lesson seemed very long to them all, not least to their instructor. It was a great relief when Lord John appeared in the doorway.
Kate immediately escaped the tour and went running off to drag him forward. “Did you learn anything at the circus?”she asked.
His glinting smile revealed that he had. “I took a close look at O’Leary’s wagon. You can see the traces of
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