The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 12

“Your Grace,” Elinor exclaimed.

The artist spun around so suddenly that it was a miracle she hadn’t tripped over her own skirts. Seth smiled uncertainly, unable to determine what had elicited such a reaction. It wasn’t as if his presence wasn’t expected. “Miss Thorebourne,” he said. “We meet again.”

Miss Thorebourne curtsied. “A pleasure as always.”

Seth glanced at Letty, sitting rigidly and silently nearby. Although the maid hadn’t said a word at his entrance, rising only to perform the expected curtsey, Seth knew she’d been talking. He’d heard her stream of words from down the hall.

She addressed Miss Thorebourne as Elinor. Until then, it hadn’t occurred to Seth what a pleasant-sounding name that was. “And Letty,” Seth said. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Anytime, Your Grace.”

Seth turned his attention to the artist, who donned an apron. “Shall we begin, Miss Thorebourne?”

Elinor.

“Yes,” she replied. “If you’ll be seated, just as my father had you, we’ll begin at once.”

Seth glanced at the seat before that absurdly draped fabric. Then, he looked at the portrait. He’d seen it many times already, but every time he looked at it, he still felt a jolt of apprehension.

Maybe being painted by Miss Thorebourne—by Elinor—wasn’t any better than being painted by her father. He had thought she would make the whole affair more bearable, but now, he had the humiliation of being seated before such a beautiful, young woman. And he wasn’t the attractive man he’d once been. She probably found him hideous and was too kind to say so. He was a Duke, after all. People were never honest with Dukes. He sat and waited, glancing at anything but the lovely artist across from him.

“I don’t think that’s entirely…” Elinor trailed off.

If he couldn’t call her Elinor, she’d be Elinor in his thoughts, at least. That seemed like a fair compromise. Elinor, the three syllables of her name made a delightful sort of music in his head. That was much lovelier than her family name, which reminded Seth of thorns and briars.

She pursed her coral lips together and narrowed her soft, blue eyes. Elinor gazed at Seth with such a clear intensity that he felt a shiver of anticipation. “It’s not correct?’ he asked.

“No. Will you—your jaw—” Elinor mimed tipping his jaw up.

Seth followed her directions, little by little, raising his chin to meet her specifications.

"Not that much," she said.

He wondered if she was really trying to replicate the pose her father had used or if she was merely trying to make him look better. No angle would make him appear any handsomer, unless she was going to paint his unscarred profile, which no one had suggested.

“We could do a different pose,” Seth offered, “if you can think of something better.”

She looked puzzled by the suggestion. “I think my father posed you well.”

“Ah.”

“Unless you’d like to pose some other way?” Elinor asked, her eyes flitting between the portrait and him. “I could humor you.”

“You’re the artist,” Seth said. “I assume you’d know best.”

“You seem quite knowledgeable about art, also,” Elinor said. “I imagine you know something about composition.”

Seth nodded stiffly. He did. Specifically, he knew a lot about how portraits of aristocrats were meant to be painted. The pose was fine. It was his face and his pride that weren’t.

“Have you ever painted a man before?”

“Yes. Will you lean a little more, Your Grace? Your arm isn’t quite right,” Elinor said.

He shifted, letting his arm rest more easily against the arm of the couch. Elinor left her canvas and approached him. She halted a couple of feet away and twisted slightly, arranging herself in a position similar to his. Seth copied her, rolling his shoulder back and placing his arms differently. The new pose was actually more comfortable. It did seem as though Elinor knew something about composition.

Of course she does. She’s an artist. I should have no reason to doubt her.

Hadn’t he himself suggested that as a woman, she’d know how best to paint him to appeal to the fairer sex? Now he wondered if there was any conceivable way for any artist to make him appear even remotely appealing, to the beautiful women of the ton.

“So serious,” Elinor said. “You look as though I’ve pointed a sword at you, Your Grace.”

The comment was so unexpected and so absurd that he couldn’t help a small bark of laughter. Elinor smiled. “Better. Smile with your eyes. That’s where the viewer’s attention will be drawn.”

“Is it?”

Elinor’s gaze lingered over his scars, as if she’d heard the unspoken question. “Yes,” she said. “That’s where the eye is trained to look. To the lovely spring-green of your eyes.”

Spring-green. He’d never heard his eyes called that before.

With a swishing of skirts, Elinor returned to her easel. She paused and grabbed a piece of charcoal, holding it out before her. Seth recognized that motion—she was ensuring that her measurements were correct.

Seth hummed and tried not to move, although he already detested the thought of sitting still with this beautiful woman, who probably found his appearance disturbing, if not repulsive.

“You have your predecessor’s hair,” Elinor said. “It parts the same way.”

She lowered the stick of charcoal. It vanished out of sight, but Seth heard its scratches against the canvas.

“Did you ever meet my father?” Seth asked.

“No, Your Grace,” Elinor replied, “but I saw his portrait in the hall. You look a great deal like him.”

Well, he had. Still, Seth supposed she was right enough. He sighed, which seemed to draw a questioning look from Elinor. It seemed as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to think about him.

“I do appreciate you vouching for my work,” Elinor said, after a moment. “I didn’t get to tell you that at the door, but I do appreciate it. I’m sorry if that has caused you any hardship.”

Seth frowned, so startled that he nearly abandoned the pose entirely. “Hardship?”

Was it possible that she somehow knew what he suspected? His pulse quickened. To Seth, it seemed as though his scars loomed large between the two of them. What could he possibly say? Was it better to just ask if they presented a problem to the young woman, just so they could have everything said between them?

“You seem as though you’re bothered by being here,” Elinor clarified. “I assume that I’m the source of your discomfort.”

“Why would you be?”

Elinor pursed her lips together and looked at him. The charcoal continued scraping. “You’re unaccustomed to being painted by women.”

“Why would that bother me? I defended your work, so clearly, I think it has some merit.”

Elinor shrugged. “Perhaps you did so out of a sense of duty, Your Grace. Or maybe you’d hoped that you wouldn’t defend my work so successfully, and now, you’re experiencing the consequences of arguing too well.”

Seth shook his head. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. That was something too personal to reveal and too inappropriate. This young woman didn’t need to know that he felt as if those scars had crept into his soul, as if they’d marred not only his face but also how he felt as a man.

“I don’t regret defending your work, and I don’t regret having you paint me,” Seth replied.

Elinor hummed. “It’s something else you find distasteful, then.”

Yes, myself and the thought that you might secretly be repulsed by me. It’s precisely that.

He wouldn’t tell her. It didn’t matter anyway. If he admitted his feelings, Elinor would obviously work to assuage them, regardless of how she felt about his appearance. That was how people always spoke to Dukes, who so often heard what they wanted to hear rather than the truth. Even if Elinor had seemed so brazen when they met, Seth doubted she’d admit she found him repulsive.

“Would you prefer not to speak?” Elinor asked. “I can work in silence if you prefer.”

Seth swallowed. “I feel as though silence might make the matter worse.”

“I see.”

The charcoal continued scratching along the canvas.

“What are you drawing?” Seth asked.

“Your hair,” she said. “My father prefers to have fewer details when he sketches his paintings, and I prefer to have more. I’ll add some detail there and some to your eyes also.”

Seth nodded and received a cross glance. He sheepishly tipped his chin up, trying to replicate the position he’d been in previously.

“Spring-green, you said.”

“I did,” Elinor replied, “with a bit of gold near your pupils.”

“Do you notice those sorts of details about everyone or just the people you paint?”

Elinor furrowed her brow and tilted her head a little. “It’s difficult to say. I don’t know that I notice any more than anyone else—at first—but the more I gaze at people, the more details emerge. When I paint, it’s as though I change the way I see people. I notice things that I never would otherwise.”

Seth stared at her, noting how her expression seemed to brighten when she spoke of painting. The charcoal scrapping became a little more frequent. She seemed to be making quick, short strokes with it.

“And I like that about painting,” she added. “I like being able to take what I see—all those little things—and replicate them in paint. There’s something beautiful about looking at people as works of art.”

“Do you look at all your subjects that exact same way?” Seth asked.

Was it possible that she thought of him as a work of art? He tried to decide whether he found that pleasing or not, the thought that Elinor would look at him just as she did any other client. Because really, he wasn’t any other client, and neither of them could ignore that.

“I haven’t thought that heavily upon it,” Elinor said, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry, that’s a terrible answer.”

“Not at all,” Seth replied. “I suppose that every trade looks at people differently.”

“And you?” Elinor asked.

He blinked. “Me?”

“Do you perceive people differently because of your time at sea? Or your time as a Duke? I imagine you must, Your Grace.”

Seth didn’t answer, mulling the idea over. They continued like that for some time, silent save for the scratching of charcoal and after a moment, the sound of Elinor mixing her paint.

“I suppose those must affect me in some way,” Seth replied, “but when I try to think of an answer for you, I find that I can’t seem to construct any proper response.”

He’d noticed that Elinor’s eyes were the color of the sea, but that was too forward of an answer. If she found him repulsive, it would be an embarrassing one, too.

“That’s fair,” Elinor said. “It was a rather odd question for me to ask. You didn’t have time to prepare a good answer.”

“Nor did you.”

Elinor smiled dryly. “If there is one thing I’ve never been at a loss for, it’s words, Your Grace.”

He had no difficulty in believing that.

“What are you at a loss for, then?” Seth asked.

Elinor raised her paintbrush. Seth couldn’t see what she did with it, but he saw the very tip of it moving along the canvas. “It’s too personal to say, Your Grace.”

“Now I want to know all the more.”

“Then I shall feel a little sorry for keeping the answer forever hidden from you.”

“A little sorry?” Seth asked.

“Yes. Only a little. Women must keep secrets, you see. It is in our nature.”

“Is it?”

Elinor nodded. “Ask Letty. She’ll agree with me.”

Seth had nearly forgotten Letty’s presence, but at the sound of her name, the young woman straightened and vigorously nodded. “My mother says that’s true.”

Seth couldn’t be sure if Letty was sincere or if she was merely agreeing with Elinor out of some sense of feminine duty. He arched an eyebrow. “And why do women need secrets?” he asked.

“If we told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, Your Grace,” Elinor replied, smirking.

His heart beat more quickly at that small, sly curving of her lips. “I wouldn’t tell any woman you’d told me,” Seth replied.

Elinor seemed to contemplate his answer for a moment. Then, she shook her head. “No, I can’t possibly bring you into my confidence, Your Grace. You’ll just have to be baffled over women’s ways for the rest of your days.”

“Even when I’m wed?”

Seth grimaced. What a disaster that was bound to be, truly. He imagined he’d find a wealthy bride who didn’t care to spend too much time with him.

“We cannot speak of your marriage if it’s going to make you appear so sad, Your Grace,” Elinor said softly. “I need you to hold the same expression or something close to it.”

“It’s just my face,” he said. “If you aren’t working on it—”

“It isn’t,” Elinor interrupted. “I—I mean, apologies. I should’ve waited until you finished speaking, but it isn’t just your face, Your Grace. When you’re sad, all of you seems to reflect that. You bring your shoulders down and tilt down your chin. You furrow your brow just a little, and it makes your hair change just the tiniest amount.”

Seth was fairly sure no one had ever told that before, and the observation was so detailed that it rendered him speechless.

“I promise it won’t be much longer today, Your Grace,” Elinor continued. “I know you’ve much that you need to accomplish today, and I can do some of the work while you’re away.”

“I could always move some of my other obligations,” Seth replied. “It wouldn’t be difficult in the least.”

What was he thinking? This entire sitting had been so complicated and filled him with such contradictory feelings that it made his head ache, and yet when Elinor suggested he would leave soon, he found himself hurrying to find an excuse—any excuse—to remain in that room with her.

“You shouldn’t have to neglect your other obligations on my account,” Elinor replied.

He’d been denied female company and attention for too long. That was it. Even if he was no longer an attractive man, she was still an attractive woman and still focused solely on his face. She was clever, too. Elinor was precisely the sort of woman whom he’d have wanted to spend an evening in the company of during one of his brief trips to land during his seafaring days.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t,” Seth said, conceding.

Elinor smiled. “I do appreciate you having found some enthusiasm for this, however. I hope you won’t lose it again between this meeting and the next.”

“I promise I won’t,” he replied.

Elinor emerged from behind the easel and dusted her hands on her apron. “We shall see. That will be all for the day, Your Grace.”

He stood slowly. They were a respectable distance apart, but that was near enough for Seth to feel as if something inside him was set ablaze by Elinor’s gaze. He swallowed hard. “Thank you for your time, Miss Thorebourne.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to call her, but he didn’t want to cross a boundary. He didn’t want to displease her.

“Thank you for yours, Your Grace.”

Seth nodded and straightened his back. With an awkward smile, he edged past Elinor and left the room. He felt so strange, so hot and excited and worried all at once. Sitting for Elinor Thorebourne was going to be the best or worst decision he’d ever made, and he wasn’t sure which.