The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 13

“Ican see the resemblance to him now,” Letty said.

Elinor’s attention drifted to her portrait. It was beginning to look a little more like the Duke since she’d defined his hair and eyes a little more. There was still much work to be done, though. His face remained a colorful collection of flesh-toned paints, and his hair was a dark mass lined with even blacker charcoal. It would be difficult to really express his hair, to show the proper shine and shadows of it without rendering His Grace’s hair into something gray.

“There’s still much work to be done,” Elinor murmured. “It has to be perfect, after all. That won’t be an easy task.”

“If anyone can do it, I’m sure it’s you,” Letty said.

You barely know me, much less if I’m a skilled artist.

Letty’s reassurances were obviously just shallow, ill-thought words meant to make her feel better, and Elinor supposed that the encouragement was welcome, even if it wasn’t wholly valid.

“You mentioned that you’ve worked with artists before,” Elinor said. “Did you also assist my father? He was the man who began this portrait.”

“Oh!” Letty exclaimed. “I did a little. I didn’t act as a chaperone, obviously, but I cleaned the room when he was finished with it.”

“So you wouldn’t know if His Grace seemed as ill at ease with my father as he did with me.”

Letty shook her head. “I’m sorry, Elinor. I wouldn’t know. But from what I know of him, His Grace’s moods are naturally a little unpredictable. I wouldn’t worry that you’ve done anything to upset him.”

But she would worry. There had been something wrong between them, some unspoken weight which grew heavier and heavier the longer that they spent together. At first, Elinor had thought it was her imagination, but after His Grace’s mood seemed to lighten, she’d decided that whatever that nameless, heavy thing was existed.

It wasn’t as if she could do anything about it, though. What could she possible say?

Your Grace, you seem as though something deeply bothered you, and I know you said everything was fine. I don’t believe you, though. Will you tell me the truth now?

Yes, that query would surely charm the Duke and not persuade him that she was entirely unfit to be his portrait-painter. Elinor remembered her father’s remarks about discretion, and she wanted to scream.

She couldn’t help His Grace overcome his discomfort with being painted if he wouldn’t express it to her. Elinor’s only guess was that it had something to do—if not with her—with the scars on his face. Asking about those felt like it would be doing something wrong, as if it would mean breaking some unspoken rule of being an artist.

Is that worse than his awkwardness, though?

It wasn’t just his initial hesitance to speak with her. It was that His Grace’s face was quite expressive, surprisingly so for the Duke of Worthwood, and his every emotion was made clear before her very eyes. She needed him to appear happy, so she had a decision to make.

Either she had to speak with the Duke about his discomfort and find a solution for it, or she had to devise some other means for making him smile. The Dowager Duchess surely wouldn’t be pleased with a portrait, which portrayed her son as a bleak, sad young man.

“Do you know where His Grace would’ve gone?” Elinor asked.

Letty shook her head. “I don’t believe he said. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Elinor replied. “I assumed he’d have…”

It was ridiculous for her to expect that a maid might know the intricate details of His Grace’s schedule. Maybe that was for the best. Approaching the Duke without any idea of what she was going to say didn’t seem like a wise decision.

No, it was better for her to wait until he was to sit again, and then, she could insist that they speak frankly about what was bothering him, for the good of the portrait. It all sounded so simple in her head, but she suspected actually asking the Duke what bothered him would be significantly harder.

I wasn’t prepared for this.

She would manage, though. She always had.

* * *

When Elinor arrived two days later to paint His Grace again, she was prepared. She’d spent the days between considering every way in which she might approach the Duke, and she’d finally decided that he deserved a direct approach.

Perhaps, being a seaman, he’ll appreciate that. At least, I hope so. If he dismisses me, Father will be furious at what I’ve done.

Elinor hadn’t told her father about any of her misgivings. She’d known that if she did, her father would tell her to ignore the Duke’s behavior and to paint as she always had. If His Grace didn’t have an appealing expression, her father would tell her to make him have one, to paint him in such a way that he appeared at ease with being painted.

But that wouldn’t be honest, and deep down, Elinor just knew His Grace wouldn’t appreciate that. She owed it to him to be honest and to present him with a portrait he liked, not merely one which would satisfy the Dowager Duchess.

“Elinor! Good morning,” Letty greeted her as she entered the studio.

Elinor, who’d already been bent over her brushes and paints, straightened. Her back made a loud creaking sound as she straightened. Elinor winced, more from the sound than any pain.

“Good morning, Letty.”

The maid took the same place she’d had before. Elinor felt a spark of admiration for Letty’s eagerness and liveliness. The young woman surely rose much earlier than Elinor herself did, but she never seemed plagued with tiredness.

“How is your father?” Letty asked. “I heard he has taken ill, and that’s why you’re here.”

Elinor frowned, unsure how she felt about being the subject of servants’ gossip, although she supposed that she should’ve predicted that. A young, female artist suddenly replacing an older, male artist wasn’t the usual situation encountered on wealthy estates.

“He is doing much the same,” Elinor replied, with a small twinge of guilt. “I comfort myself in knowing his condition has not worsened.”

And in knowing that her efforts in painting His Grace would provide some needed money to support both her father and herself. Money was especially needed since Miss Young’s man never arrived to retrieve her portrait, and Elinor sincerely doubted the man would come three days’ late. It was more likely that the heiress had changed her mind and decided she didn’t want the promised painting.

“I am sure he appreciates everything that you’re doing,” Letty offered. “Your father is fortunate to have such a devoted child.”

“I don’t know if I’m devoted as I could be,” Elinor replied, “but I do try.”

“I think that’s enough,” Letty said. “Trying.”

“And you?” Elinor asked. “Do you have parents? Children?”

“My father died a couple years ago,” Letty replied. “He was a soldier. My mother is still alive. She works as a seamstress, but her eyes are weak now. I send money to her from my earnings here.”

“It sounds like your mother is also lucky to have a devoted daughter,” Elinor said.

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” Letty replied.

The Duke entered and gave Elinor a small, acknowledging nod. “Miss Thorebourne.”

She curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“Shall I sit?” the Duke asked.

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so,” Elinor replied.

She tried not to show any apprehension, but His Grace paused and looked at her for a heartbeat too long. She must’ve not been as careful as she’d thought, for the Duke seemed to suspect that something was amiss. Elinor let out a low breath of air. “You did not seem especially enthusiastic about being painted before,” she said. “It’s clear that you have some reservations about this, Your Grace, and I feel you ought to share them. It will be to your benefit.”

He seated himself on the coach and watched her for a long moment. “How will it be to my benefit?” he asked at last. “Why does it matter what my reservations are as long as I’m here and sitting for you?”

“It matters to me,” Elinor replied. “I like my models to be comfortable.”

His Grace’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I didn’t realize that your desires would dictate all our meetings, Miss Thorebourne.”

Heat rose to her face. She had to remain focused, but something about the careful way he said her name made her blood quicken. “It is my hope that your desires would have some sway,” she said, “so what do you have to be apprehensive about, Your Grace? If you won’t tell me, I’ll be forced to guess.”

“And who’s to say that I won’t simply lie if you guess correctly?” His Grace asked, his eyes darting towards Letty.

Elinor arched an eyebrow, unsure what to make of that. Surely, the Duke wasn’t uncomfortable with them having a chaperone and one of his mother’s choosing, at that.

“Well,” Elinor said. “I’m assuming that you’re a good, honest man, and if I guess correctly, you won’t do me a disservice by refusing to concede defeat.”

“Perhaps you’ve not correctly assessed my character.”

Elinor saw the challenge in his eyes. If His Grace though she’d be deterred so easily, he’d clearly not correctly assessed her character. “No, I think I’ve assessed you perfectly,” Elinor replied. “You’re welcome to consider it a wager if you like, if that makes you more comfortable?”

The Duke leaned his head against the back of the coach and gazed imperiously at her. “A wager implies that something is at stake and that something can be won. What do I win if you’re wrong?”

“The question you should be asking is what does she win if she’s correct? I’m confident I can guess,” Elinor replied.

The Duke gave her a strange, half-smile and waved his hand. “You may try,” he said, “but you’ll not succeed. I’ll think of an acceptable prize for me having played this game with you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about agreeing to a condition I don’t fully know,” Elinor replied. “That’s usually a terrible idea, Your Grace.”

“But I thought you were so confident you’d be the victor.”

“Confidence and caution are two different things,” Elinor replied. “And I’m of the opinion that one should have the both of them.”

His Grace smiled thinly. “I think you disagree with people just because you can. You probably fight the women at the market over the price of eggs, even if it’s the exact amount you were prepared to pay.”

Elinor might’ve been insulted, if it weren’t for the fond, teasing way in which His Grace spoke those words. “You’re quite right,” she said.

He wasn’t, but Elinor was amused enough to pretend he was.

“Now, shall we see if I’m right about you? If I am not, you’ll have won the satisfaction of besting me, and that’s not a reward you can put a price on, Your Grace.”

The Duke attempted to stifle a laugh, but he didn’t entirely succeed. Elinor’s smile widened.

“Very well,” he said. “Impress me, Miss Thorebourne. We’ll see how well you know me.”

“My first guess is that there’s something about a female artist which makes you uncomfortable. I know you’ve said that isn’t true, and I know you’ve defended my work before. But I also find you to be a contradictory man.”

“Contradictory?” His Grace asked. “In what way, pray tell?”

“Your love for the freedom and adventure of the sea,” Elinor said, “and your desire to manage the dukedom and support your mother.”

His Grace stared at her for a long moment. “You do intend to guess about very private matters,” he said quietly. “Don’t you?”

Elinor tensed. She couldn’t read his tone and feared she might’ve gone too far. Should she retreat? Should she continue? Elinor bit her lip. “I—I meant no harm, Your Grace.”

“I know.”

She was suddenly aware of Letty behind her and almost wanted to turn around to see if the woman’s expression showed alarm. That would make it very apparent that she’d erred.

“I—never mind, Your Grace,” Elinor said. “Forgive me. My father has urged me to exhibit more discretion with prestigious clients, and I should’ve listened. I only wanted to ensure that you would be comfortable for the remainder of our visits together.”

She darted behind her canvas, as if it could somehow protect her from her own verbal folly. The Duke shook his head and looked askance. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re right. I am uncomfortable, but I’m not sure admitting the source of my discomfort would help. I fear it might make this all much more awkward, Miss Thorebourne.”

Elinor nodded. “I respect that answer. I won’t try to force it from you. I shouldn’t have to begin with.”

His Grace sighed. “What were your other guesses?”

Elinor bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes drifted to the scars across the Duke’s face. She’d never quite noticed how they seemed to curve just above his eye. He’d nearly lost that eye, it seemed. “I would assume…” she trailed off.

The Duke smiled bitterly. “It’s the scars, isn’t it? You find them hideous and are too kind—or else too afraid of my position—to say so.”

Elinor started. “You—is that it? You think that I am bothered by your appearance?”

His Grace’s face fell. “That’s part of it,” he said slowly. “You must realize that I—I have no desire to tell you of this. It’s unseemly.”

Elinor felt a knot twist itself in her chest. His Grace might call it unseemly, but it seemed like such a human reaction to her. It would’ve been more surprising if the Duke felt nothing if he returned home with those scars.

“I can set your mind at ease,” Elinor said gently. “I don’t find them disturbing or anything else that you might be thinking. We all have scars, yours are just on your face and more noticeable than most. It’s not them that’s the problem. It’s those who find them distasteful.”

“But you can’t honestly say that I’m still an attractive man,” His Grace said, sounding bewildered. “You’re telling me what I want to hear because I am a Duke, and you are an artist who’s been commissioned to paint me.”

“Don’t insult me,” Elinor replied. “If I found you distasteful, I’d tell you. No, I truly believe there’s a sort of beauty to them—like the waves of the sea or the bark of a tree. If you must know.”

The Duke stared at her as if she were some strange and wondrous creature who he’d only just discovered. “I think I believe you,” he said gently.

“You’d better.”

Elinor heard a small gasp behind her. Letty.

“That was too forward,” Elinor said sheepishly.

“A little,” His Grace replied, “but I’m still glad that you said it. Thank you, Elinor.”

She drew in a sharp breath at the sound of her Christian name. His Grace didn’t seem to realize he’d said anything other than Miss Thorebourne, though. He gave her a gentle smile and shifted his posture, moving into the pose her father had first painted him in. “Shall we begin?”

Elinor rubbed her sweating palms on her apron and forced a smile. “Yes, we shall.”

He’d called her Elinor, and it felt like her whole world had shifted. He hadn’t even seemed to realize it, either. Now, only one question remained—should she acknowledge what he’d said or pretend it hadn’t happened at all?