herself. “I wonder if it’s because of all the cold and wet.”
“Now you’re being a goose.” Corinna swirled her brush in green paint. “I’m having a marvelous time this Season—there are plenty of eligible men.”
Of course she was having a marvelous time. It was her first Season, and Griffin wasn’t pressuring her to marry. Not yet, anyway. Juliana was supposed to wed first. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love.”
“I’m not in any hurry.” Corinna dabbed at her canvas, creating a grassy field out of nothing.
Juliana would never figure out how she did that. Feeling edgy, she rose and wandered closer to scrutinize the bucolic scene. A man and a woman walked hand in hand over rolling hills. Corinna never used to paint people—only landscapes and still lifes. But this past year she’d been adding people to her paintings more and more often. And not just any people. Lovers.
Maybe she was falling in love. “Are you sure?” Juliana asked.
“I don’t have time to fall in love right now.” Corinna added a dab of white to the green paint on her palette. “My art is more important. Next year, I plan to submit to the Royal Academy.”
Juliana nearly choked on her cake. “No women have been elected to the Royal Academy for years.”
“Forty-eight years, to be exact. Not since 1768.” Corinna mixed the colors together, creating a lighter shade of green. “But I’m not expecting to be elected immediately. My first step is to submit several paintings for next year’s Summer Exhibition, in the hopes that one will be selected.”
It was a preposterous plan, but apparently the Shrewsbury cakes were somewhat effective, because Juliana washalf convinced it might work. However, the cakes didn’t seem to be affecting Amanda’s view of James, and Juliana wasn’t about to see her own project fail.
Although she knew she should resume sewing, she stepped to the window and gazed out at the unceasing rain. The trouble was, assuming the Shrewsbury cakes didn’t work magic, there was only so much she could do herself. James would have to do the rest.
Obviously his good looks weren’t enough to do the trick. Maybe she should coach him in the ways of wooing. After all, he was a man consumed by his avocation—with all the time he spent doctoring, perhaps he hadn’t had the opportunity to acquire the sort of aristocratic polish necessary to win a lady like Amanda.
Of course, getting him to agree to such training could prove a delicate matter, since, in her experience, the male of the species was often reluctant to admit to any deficiency. But she would bring along some of the Shrewsbury cakes and hope they would help convince him.
She turned from the window, returning to her chair and the third of thirty frocks. New Hope Institute was closed on Sundays, but she would pay James a visit tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you think of this dress, dear?” Sitting across from James at the breakfast table Monday morning, Cornelia held up her copy of La Belle Assemblée , open to one of the hand-colored fashion plates. “Shall I order something like it for the next ball?”
“It’s lovely, Mother.” Given that she hadn’t shown any interest in clothes since his father died, James knew he should be pleased to see her enjoying life again. But instead he was rather annoyed that his plot to convince her to stop pressuring him had failed so miserably.
“I had a wonderful time dancing,” she said for at least the dozenth time since the ball. The only respite he’d received from her happiness was the few hours she’d spent overnight with her sisters. She’d enjoyed that, too, to hear her tell of it. Aurelia and Bedelia’s peach-ridden town house was near Oxford Street with all its shops. A perfect distance from his own mansion in St. James’s Place—close enough for an easy visit but far enough that he didn’t see his aunts every time he stepped out the door.
He folded the Morning Chronicle and
“Now you’re being a goose.” Corinna swirled her brush in green paint. “I’m having a marvelous time this Season—there are plenty of eligible men.”
Of course she was having a marvelous time. It was her first Season, and Griffin wasn’t pressuring her to marry. Not yet, anyway. Juliana was supposed to wed first. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love.”
“I’m not in any hurry.” Corinna dabbed at her canvas, creating a grassy field out of nothing.
Juliana would never figure out how she did that. Feeling edgy, she rose and wandered closer to scrutinize the bucolic scene. A man and a woman walked hand in hand over rolling hills. Corinna never used to paint people—only landscapes and still lifes. But this past year she’d been adding people to her paintings more and more often. And not just any people. Lovers.
Maybe she was falling in love. “Are you sure?” Juliana asked.
“I don’t have time to fall in love right now.” Corinna added a dab of white to the green paint on her palette. “My art is more important. Next year, I plan to submit to the Royal Academy.”
Juliana nearly choked on her cake. “No women have been elected to the Royal Academy for years.”
“Forty-eight years, to be exact. Not since 1768.” Corinna mixed the colors together, creating a lighter shade of green. “But I’m not expecting to be elected immediately. My first step is to submit several paintings for next year’s Summer Exhibition, in the hopes that one will be selected.”
It was a preposterous plan, but apparently the Shrewsbury cakes were somewhat effective, because Juliana washalf convinced it might work. However, the cakes didn’t seem to be affecting Amanda’s view of James, and Juliana wasn’t about to see her own project fail.
Although she knew she should resume sewing, she stepped to the window and gazed out at the unceasing rain. The trouble was, assuming the Shrewsbury cakes didn’t work magic, there was only so much she could do herself. James would have to do the rest.
Obviously his good looks weren’t enough to do the trick. Maybe she should coach him in the ways of wooing. After all, he was a man consumed by his avocation—with all the time he spent doctoring, perhaps he hadn’t had the opportunity to acquire the sort of aristocratic polish necessary to win a lady like Amanda.
Of course, getting him to agree to such training could prove a delicate matter, since, in her experience, the male of the species was often reluctant to admit to any deficiency. But she would bring along some of the Shrewsbury cakes and hope they would help convince him.
She turned from the window, returning to her chair and the third of thirty frocks. New Hope Institute was closed on Sundays, but she would pay James a visit tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you think of this dress, dear?” Sitting across from James at the breakfast table Monday morning, Cornelia held up her copy of La Belle Assemblée , open to one of the hand-colored fashion plates. “Shall I order something like it for the next ball?”
“It’s lovely, Mother.” Given that she hadn’t shown any interest in clothes since his father died, James knew he should be pleased to see her enjoying life again. But instead he was rather annoyed that his plot to convince her to stop pressuring him had failed so miserably.
“I had a wonderful time dancing,” she said for at least the dozenth time since the ball. The only respite he’d received from her happiness was the few hours she’d spent overnight with her sisters. She’d enjoyed that, too, to hear her tell of it. Aurelia and Bedelia’s peach-ridden town house was near Oxford Street with all its shops. A perfect distance from his own mansion in St. James’s Place—close enough for an easy visit but far enough that he didn’t see his aunts every time he stepped out the door.
He folded the Morning Chronicle and
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