To Capture
Love
by
Shereen Vedam
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
To Capture Love
COPYRIGHT © 2007 by Shereen Vedam All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected] Cover Art by R.J.Morris
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, January 2007
Published in the United States of America Matthew ‘Stone’ Livingston, the sixth Earl of Ashford, tapped his good foot on the museum’s marble floor in rhythm to the pounding at his temple. The headaches assaulted him frequently these days, ever since he received news of his brother’s death. Waiting a good hour for the artist he’d employed had exacerbated the throbbing. He checked his timepiece, snapped it shut, and slipped it back into his pocket.
“My lord,” the curator said, “I’m sure Mr. Black will be here shortly.” His nervous glance at the front door dissuaded Stone of any such fortunate occurrence.
Stone strode with his lopsided gait to the window.
The museum fronted Montague Street, which was heavy with London’s morning traffic of hackney carriages, gentlemen on horseback, and carts carrying produce to the city center. No Mr. Black rushed up the museum steps to keep his overdue appointment.
He could not believe he stood here like a dunce waiting for the rude fellow. If anyone else had dared to keep him waiting, after refusing to meet him at the Ashford estate, the offender would have lost Stone’s custom within a minute of the appointed time. He approached the opposite window, but it provided no better prospect.
He should simply hire another artist. However, just a week previously, he had seen one of Black’s works–a statue of a man petting his dog. An innocuous enough representation. Yet, he’d been entranced by the kindness he saw in the man’s face and the depth of feeling shared between master and pet so skillfully depicted in hard cold stone. At that moment, he knew that he wanted only this artist to sculpt a statue of Geoffrey. Just the thought of his slain brother brought a lump to his throat. No, he must have Black. Only he would do Geoffrey justice.
“Enough waiting. I shall attend him at his home.”
“But…but,” the curator sputtered.
1
Shereen Vedam
“Come, man. Have I not wasted enough time? Give me his direction.”
“My lord, I do not have Black’s address. All my dealings with him have been here, at the museum, by way of a third party. That’s how we arranged this rare engagement. It took much convincing, I assure you.
Perhaps the shy gentleman could not bring himself to reveal who he is.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Stone replied. “I must meet him. Talk to him about Geoffrey. How else will he be able to depict him as he truly was?”
“Perhaps his lordship will allow me to arrange another meeting?” the curator asked tentatively. “I shall stress even more the importance of the interview.”
Stone’s leg would not allow him to stand still much longer. He sighed in resignation. “Very well.” He flung open the front door, and slammed it behind him. Half way down the steps, he crashed into someone running pell-mell the other way. Stone pushed him away and gave a repelling stare that should have quelled the reprobate, only to find he beheld a gently borne female accompanied by a maid.
“My pardon, miss,” he said. “You should watch where you step.”
“Oh, no,” the lady said, glancing at where he gripped
Love
by
Shereen Vedam
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
To Capture Love
COPYRIGHT © 2007 by Shereen Vedam All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected] Cover Art by R.J.Morris
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, January 2007
Published in the United States of America Matthew ‘Stone’ Livingston, the sixth Earl of Ashford, tapped his good foot on the museum’s marble floor in rhythm to the pounding at his temple. The headaches assaulted him frequently these days, ever since he received news of his brother’s death. Waiting a good hour for the artist he’d employed had exacerbated the throbbing. He checked his timepiece, snapped it shut, and slipped it back into his pocket.
“My lord,” the curator said, “I’m sure Mr. Black will be here shortly.” His nervous glance at the front door dissuaded Stone of any such fortunate occurrence.
Stone strode with his lopsided gait to the window.
The museum fronted Montague Street, which was heavy with London’s morning traffic of hackney carriages, gentlemen on horseback, and carts carrying produce to the city center. No Mr. Black rushed up the museum steps to keep his overdue appointment.
He could not believe he stood here like a dunce waiting for the rude fellow. If anyone else had dared to keep him waiting, after refusing to meet him at the Ashford estate, the offender would have lost Stone’s custom within a minute of the appointed time. He approached the opposite window, but it provided no better prospect.
He should simply hire another artist. However, just a week previously, he had seen one of Black’s works–a statue of a man petting his dog. An innocuous enough representation. Yet, he’d been entranced by the kindness he saw in the man’s face and the depth of feeling shared between master and pet so skillfully depicted in hard cold stone. At that moment, he knew that he wanted only this artist to sculpt a statue of Geoffrey. Just the thought of his slain brother brought a lump to his throat. No, he must have Black. Only he would do Geoffrey justice.
“Enough waiting. I shall attend him at his home.”
“But…but,” the curator sputtered.
1
Shereen Vedam
“Come, man. Have I not wasted enough time? Give me his direction.”
“My lord, I do not have Black’s address. All my dealings with him have been here, at the museum, by way of a third party. That’s how we arranged this rare engagement. It took much convincing, I assure you.
Perhaps the shy gentleman could not bring himself to reveal who he is.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Stone replied. “I must meet him. Talk to him about Geoffrey. How else will he be able to depict him as he truly was?”
“Perhaps his lordship will allow me to arrange another meeting?” the curator asked tentatively. “I shall stress even more the importance of the interview.”
Stone’s leg would not allow him to stand still much longer. He sighed in resignation. “Very well.” He flung open the front door, and slammed it behind him. Half way down the steps, he crashed into someone running pell-mell the other way. Stone pushed him away and gave a repelling stare that should have quelled the reprobate, only to find he beheld a gently borne female accompanied by a maid.
“My pardon, miss,” he said. “You should watch where you step.”
“Oh, no,” the lady said, glancing at where he gripped
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