Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston
Chapter Fourteen
Emery left Miles in his study and went to an unused wing of the house. Entering the smallest bedchamber, she went to the bed and knelt, reaching under it until her fingers found what she was looking forward. Gently, she pulled the hidden painting from its hiding place.
She had brought it here upon the Duke of Winslow’s death. The house had been in chaos, with Sevill leading the charge to tend to His Grace. It had been easy for her to spirit away the painting of the three Notley sons. Though bulky, she had carried it to a place few came since the duke hadn’t entertained at Wildwood in many years and slid it under this bed.
Why she had hidden it would be hard to say. Perhaps it was because she knew the new duke wouldn’t have cared a fig for it. More likely, instinct told Emery he would order it destroyed. While she hadn’t known who Miles was at that time, her heart told her to keep the portrait safe until a time it could be brought out again. Because she now knew the truth, she wanted Miles to see it. The painting would be a small way to give him back a piece of the younger brother he had lost in such a tragic manner.
Lifting the cloth that covered it, she stared at Miles, now knowing a part of his story. Her heart ached for this little boy, one who would lose not only his brother but his entire family and way of life shortly after this was completed. It was time to help him reclaim a small part of it.
Emery hoisted the frame, awkwardly carrying it through the door and down the corridor. When she reached the stairs, she set it down, hoping to get a better grip on it.
“Miss Jenson? May I be of assistance?” Thomas hurried up the stairs.
“Oh, yes, thank you so much, Thomas. I mean, Mr. Trottmann. Forgive me.”
The butler chuckled. “I am still getting used to my new position, Miss Jenson. I know others are, as well. Think nothing of it.”
“This needs to be taken to His Grace’s study. He is waiting for it.”
“I see.” The butler gazed at the covered frame and turned back to her. “Is it the portrait of the three boys?” he asked.
“Yes. You know of it?”
He nodded. “I remember when the artist came to paint it. A Mr. Leavell. He came down from London. Very arrogant and yet quite talented.”
“What was His Grace like as a boy?” she asked wistfully.
Thomas smiled. “Earnest yet with a bit of mischief in him.”
“I can see that in this painting.”
“He was a good boy. Very conscientious about looking after his younger brother. Lord Anthony followed Lord Miles around and was his constant shadow. The two were inseparable.”
“I gather the previous duke didn’t have much to do with his brothers.”
“Not a bit,” Thomas confirmed. “That one was full of himself, always ordering both his brothers and servants about.” He paused. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Emery promised. “I hope His Grace will be happy to see this.”
“He will. It’s a good thing you knew where it was located.”
She kept silent, not revealing that Sevill was the one who had maintained custody of the portrait until recently.
Thomas lifted the painting and carried it downstairs, Emery accompanying him. When they reached the door to the study, she opened it for him.
“Set it against the front of His Grace’s desk,” she instructed.
The butler did so and nodded deferentially before exiting the room.
She looked to Miles, who wore a peculiar expression as he rose and came toward her.
“What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“I believe it is something you will treasure. In fact, your father asked for this to be brought to him on his deathbed.”
Anger filled his face and he took a step back. “Then it is nothing I want anything to do with,” he said dismissively. “Ring for Trottmann and have him take it away.”
“No,” she said boldly, her hands fisting on her hips.
“No? No? he echoed. “You are telling me—a duke—no.”
“Yes, Your Grace. That is exactly what I said.”
“You can’t do that,” he sputtered.
Emery crossed her arms. “I just did.”
“Leave,” he commanded. “Take it with you.”
“I will leave after you have seen it,” she said firmly. “And only then will I take it. If you still ask me to. Nicely.”
His features hardened. “Do not push me, Emery.”
“Look at it, Miles,” she said sternly.
Glaring at her, he stepped to the painting and tossed back the cover. He stood frozen before it. She watched him, his back to her. Never had she seen someone so eerily still. Then his hand reached out tentatively and his fingers touched the canvas.
“Tony,” he said hoarsely.
Emery joined him, glancing at the three boys in the portrait. Now that she had met the adult Miles, she easily could see this man in the boy he had once been.
His fingers sought hers, lacing together, and they both studied the painting in silence.
Finally, Miles spoke. “Winslow asked for this?”
“He did. I had spent a couple of weeks at his bedside, tending to him as he went downhill. That last day, he asked for it. Sevill had obviously hidden it away somewhere and retrieved it.”
“I suppose he wanted to see Tony once more before he died.”
“When was it painted?” she asked, his fingers tightening around hers.
“That summer,” he said softly. “Ralph and I came home from school. Tony wasn’t old enough to go away yet. The duke had brought in an artist from London, one quickly gaining a name for himself. Winslow wanted a portrait done of his heir.”
Emery noticed how he never called his parents Father or Mother, much less Papa and Mama. It was as if Miles deliberately distanced himself from them.
“Ralph was full of himself, eager to sit for the portrait. The duchess, who favored Tony, insisted that the artist also capture a likeness of him, as well. Somehow, a compromise was arrived at and the three of us sat for this together.”
Her gut twisted, hearing that neither the duke nor duchess had wanted Miles’ portrait painted. To be only ten years old and know his parents didn’t care for him must have been hard to bear.
“I somehow remember a separate one being done of Ralph,” he mused. “I believe after it was finished that the duke insisted it hang in the London townhouse. I never went there as a child.”
“You never went to town?” she asked, surprise filling her.
“No. They went for the Season each year. The duchess spent huge chunks of time in London. Once she had provided an heir, spare, and then a third son, she rarely was in the duke’s presence.”
“And what of you? Her children?”
“The most time she spent with us was when she carried us to term,” he said, no emotion in his voice. “After our births, we were shuttled off to the nursery. Even when she was in residence at Wildwood, we could go weeks without laying eyes on her.”
“That is so dreadfully wrong,” Emery said.
He shrugged. “It is the way of Polite Society.”
“You cannot tell me that most of the peerage ignores their children.”
He shook his head. “You come from a different world, Emery. You have loving parents who have taught you. Spent time with you. Enjoy being around you. For most of the ton, it is a different story.”
“That is horrible.”
He released her hand and took her shoulders. “Thank you,” he said.
Miles bent and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, a very different one from yesterday’s, which had been filled with hunger and passion. This was gentle. A kiss of gratitude.
He broke the kiss and gave her a sad smile. “I do appreciate seeing Tony again but I cannot look upon it.”
“Because of Ralph?”
“Yes. Though I would love to hang it in my bedchamber, the thought of having to see Ralph on a daily basis turns my belly sour.” He smoothed her hair. “I thank you, though. Have it taken somewhere safe. I may want to see it again someday.”
With that, Miles left the room.
Emery looked at the three boys. Thomas had said an artist named Leavell had painted the portrait. He might very well be painting still. Determination filled her. She was going to find this Mr. Leavell and have him paint over Ralph Notley. It would be easy. Tony sat in a chair in the middle, with Miles on one side and Ralph on the other. She was convinced a talented artist could cover the previous duke without doing any harm to the rest of the portrait. And if the artist protested in altering his previous work, she would see if he might be amenable to recreating the portrait on another canvas, leaving out Ralph Notley so that the new work could be displayed without bringing further grief to the new duke.
Of course, creating a separate portrait of the two younger Notley boys would certainly entail more work on Mr. Leavell’s part. If she was fortunate to locate the artist, she did not want to overtax him. Emery would worry about the details if and when Leavell came to Wildwood.
She went to the duke’s desk and withdrew parchment, composing a brief letter to Mr. Fillmore, the family’s solicitor in London. Boldly, she told Fillmore that the Duke of Winslow wished to find the artist who had previously painted the portrait of the three Notley boys and commission him to paint another portrait of the mature duke. Fillmore would act quickly if he believed this was at His Grace’s request. She specified that Mr. Jenson would be handling the situation once Mr. Leavell had been located and to forward information to the Wildwood steward That way, Emery could see the letter.
And Miles never would.
Using the Winslow seal, she secured the missive and let the wax dry before addressing it. Satisfied, she rang for Thomas and told him to place the portrait in his room for safekeeping.
“This is to remain between us, Mr. Trottmann,” she said.
“Of course, Miss Jenson,” he readily agreed.
Emery then gave her letter to a footman to be posted. She hoped Leavell would be located quickly and that he would be willing to adjust the portrait. After all, it was for a duke. She would see the artist paid from estate funds.
Only then, when it was completed, would she return it to Miles.