The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 14

I called her Elinor. Did she notice?

Seth kept his expression neutral, as he watched Elinor work on her canvas. She’d surprised him with her questions and guesses, but despite his uneasiness at having revealed even a sliver of the insecurity that he felt, it did seem as though the room was more comfortable.

Elinor narrowed her eyes, sending him furtive looks between the strokes of her paintbrush. She looked so intense and so focused on her task that Seth couldn’t help but watch her with something like awe.

She thinks my scars look like the sea or like the bark of a tree.

It was poetic, almost.

“And how do you feel about this all?” Seth asked.

She didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow.

“Painting me,” he clarified. “How do you truly feel? This task was just…thrown to you, after all.”

“I feel fine with it,” she replied.

“That doesn’t feel like a wholly honest answer,” Seth said. “I expect more from you.”

Over Elinor’s left shoulder, Seth saw Letty, sitting quietly. Her face seemed very red to him, and Seth wondered if he was being a little too forward. Maybe both he and Elinor were. Nothing truly untoward had occurred, but they must be careful. Letty was too new to the household for Seth to know if she’d share everything he and Elinor had discussed between one another. Her presence had been yet another reason for him not to reveal the full depth of his feelings to Elinor.

He was already not the proper Duke which Worthwood deserved. Seth had no desire to look weak as well.

“I do feel as though I’ve much to…” Elinor trailed off. “My father is such a talented artist that I feel as if I ought to be equally as good. This is my chance to show that I am. It might be my only chance.”

“It won’t be,” Seth said. “You’ll do so well with this that your father will be the most foolish man in England if he does not let you paint for more of his patrons.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I’m not,” Seth replied. “It is only that the world itself is so unkind. I seem gentler by comparison.”

“That’s very profound,” Elinor said. “Have you seen much cruelty, Your Grace?”

“Much,” he said. “At sea and beyond.”

Elinor pursed her lips together and tapped her chin with the end of her brush. Seth’s eyes were drawn to the small gesture. She had very plump, full lips.

“You should speak more of the sea,” Elinor said. “Your face becomes lighter when you talk about it.”

Seth smiled. “That’s easy enough.”

“When did you first decide that you wanted to become a seaman?” Elinor asked.

“When I was a boy,” Seth replied. “I was young and bold, and I wanted to have some grand adventure before I took on the mantle of the Duke of Worthwood.”

“And so you did.”

“Yes,” he said. “I joined a ship with a peer, the Baron of Wildridge. It was enjoyable, but strange. There were long periods of time where everything was so calm and the world so gentle, and there were times when it was suddenly so harsh and chaotic that I could scarcely get my bearings.”

“Did you enjoy those times?” Elinor asked. “When it was so wild?”

“More than I should probably admit. There was something very alluring in the unpredictability of it. That made me understand why the knights of old always found it so thrilling to engage in epic quests and slay dragons. Had I been born hundreds of years in the past, I can imagine myself doing the same.”

“Slaying dragons, Your Grace? If that’s what you mean, I fear I must tell you something very disappointing,” Elinor replied.

“I spoke poorly, but the point remains sound,” Seth said.

Elinor nodded. She placed her brush aside and reached for another. For a few moments, she said nothing. Her eyes kept moving between the painting and himself, with such discernment that Seth couldn’t help but be fascinated by her.

“You enjoyed it,” Elinor said.

“More than anything. More than peace, even,” Seth replied, “as terrible as that sounds.”

“I don’t think it’s terrible. One could hardly expect Sir Lancelot to be content with peace.”

“I suppose so, but I don’t know if I find a comparison to Lancelot to be a favorable one.”

Elinor smiled. “But Sir Lancelot was the greatest of Arthur’s knights, wasn’t he? And he longed for adventure above all else, save his love Queen Guinevere.”

“And are you so knowledgeable about King Arthur?” Seth asked.

“Of course. Arthurian subjects are quite popular at the moment,” Elinor replied. “I’ve painted a few myself.”

“Like who?”

“The Lady of the Lake, Morgan le Fay.”

Seth’s lips curved into a small smile. He’d only seen one painting of hers, aside from his own portrait. “Were they painted in a similar fashion to your nymph?”

The delightful dusting of red spread across Elinor’s face. “They were not,” she replied. “I’m dreadfully sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace.”

“I’m disappointed only because I’ve not seen them,” Seth replied. “If you painted them, I’m sure they were exquisite pieces.”

“I wasn’t wholly satisfied with them,” Elinor said. “But then, I don’t know if I’ve ever been entirely satisfied with any of my paintings.”

“No?”

Elinor shook her head. “With painting, I feel like you must always simply…decide to be done at some point. Perfect art doesn’t really exist. You just have to decide when it’s good enough that you can bear to leave it alone.”

“That sounds distressing or encouraging. I can’t decide which.”

Elinor paused and lifted her hand. “You’ve moved, Your Grace.”

Seth obediently tipped his chin up and moved his head, following the gestures Elinor made with her pale, slender hand.

“That’s it, Your Grace,” Elinor said.

“You seem to be striving for perfection, despite claiming you’ll never reach it,” Seth noted.

“That’s all artists. Just because we can’t reach perfection doesn’t mean we don’t try.”

“Why is it that you can’t ever reach perfection?” Seth asked. “Is it because the painting can’t reflect the subject, or is it that all your subjects are imperfect?”

Elinor smiled. “That’s a good question and one I’ve not considered before. I don’t know if I even agree that art is meant to accurately reflect the subject necessarily. Most portraits don’t.”

Seth considered her for a long moment. Elinor gave him a gentle smile and kept painting. Seth wished that he could somehow be behind that canvas with her, watching as she layered the colors upon one another. It was a sort of magic, which he didn’t understand.

“I’ve sat for portraits before,” Seth said, “and I don’t think any of those artists have been quite like you.”

“I’m sure they were all men,” Elinor replied.

“Yes, although I was thinking other differences.”

“Such as?” Elinor asked.

Seth glanced at Letty, but she seemed to have lost interest in his conversation with Elinor. Instead, she’d begun picking at a loose thread hanging from her skirt.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had one explain their philosophy on art in such detail as you have,” Seth said. “Most of them didn’t wish to speak to me at all, except for the usual compliments.”

“I can’t imagine why. Who wouldn’t want to speak to a Duke?”

“I wasn’t a Duke, then,” Seth pointed out. “I only became a Duke after I returned, and your father was the first artist to paint me. You’re the second.”

“I should imagine you were just as witty then as you are now,” Elinor replied, “unless you mean to say that you learned all your wit while at sea.”

Seth had certainly learned a few figures of speech whilst at sea, but those were best not repeated in the company of women.

“I wasn’t a very good subject,” Seth admitted. “They were probably afraid that if they spoke to me they’d be unable to hide their frustration.”

“A wayward child, then? I can believe that.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. “I bet you’d believe it because you were a wayward child.”

He imagined her as a little girl, trying to mix her own paints together just like she’d seen her father do. She was probably the sort of girl who’d run through the village with her poor father hurrying after her.

“I was,” Elinor replied, her expression softening. “I kept my father running ragged, and I was always making a mess in his studio. I was always so eager to please my father, and for a long time, I wondered if that was because I didn’t have a mother.”

“That must’ve been a difficult way to grow up,” Seth said gently.

“Sometimes. I couldn’t want for a better father, though. He was so amazing and so patient with me,” Elinor replied, “even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“My father was much the same,” Seth replied. “He was a good man, a noble man in every meaning of the word. I like to think that he’d be proud of me, even if I wasn’t a very good son in the end.”

“No?” Elinor asked.

Seth took a steadying breath. “No.”

He tried to decide if he wanted to say anything else. Seth wasn’t a man who frequently expressed all his tender feelings to anyone. He preferred to bury his weaknesses inside him and to hide them behind a mask of gentlemanly composure, but there was something about Elinor that made him just want to reveal everything.

Maybe it was because she was beautiful or because she listened with such clear interest to everything he said.

“You have a disarming way of speaking to people,” Seth said slowly. “Have you heard that before?”

“I haven’t,” Elinor replied. “Mostly, people tell me that I speak in ways that aren’t entirely appropriate.”

Seth chuckled, earning himself a stern look. He knew that he’d moved, but Elinor’s expression was so comically serious that it only made him laugh all the harder. She was such a pretty woman and her face so soft. It seemed inconceivable that she was even capable of something so harsh as being stern.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He wasn’t, and when Elinor crossed her arms, it became apparent that she knew he wasn’t.

“You must forgive me,” Seth replied. “I know it’s ungentlemanly of me, Elinor.”

Elinor’s back straightened, and her eyes gazed at him with sudden, sharp intensity. If she hadn’t noticed that he’d addressed her as Elinor the first time, she certainly noticed then.

Seth tried to judge her response and to see if the young woman was bothered by his term of address. If she was, he’d cease calling her Elinor, even in his thoughts. Her expression softened. “Do you know that you keep calling me that?” she asked quietly. “What are you hoping to gain by it?”

He hadn’t thought about it. The first time, it had been a genuine accident. A mistake. This time, it was because he’d wanted to see how she’d feel about it and because he’d wanted to feel her name on his tongue. Elinor was a name that belonged to queens and princesses, one which was so elegant and well-suited to this lovely artist.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, leaning forward on the coach. “Have I upset you with it?”

Elinor pursed her lips together. She looked indecisive, but after a few seconds, she offered a slow shake of her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she murmured. “I think it’s fine. I like it, actually. It makes me feel as though I don’t have everything depending on me.”

“Everything doesn’t depend on you,” Seth said.

“No, but I feel like it does,” Elinor replied.

Seth felt himself soften. She was such a kind, gentle woman. “Do you feel so uncomfortable here?” he asked. “Truly?”

“It’s nothing you’ve done,” Elinor said. “It’s my own doubts which plague me. You’ve been nothing but hospitable.”

“But this is different, too. I’m sure that isn’t helping you.”

Elinor nodded hesitantly. “It doesn’t.”

Seth drew back. Letty’s interest seemed to have returned to them. Seth glanced at Elinor.

What might Letty tell my mother?

It was impossible to know, which meant he had to anticipate that his words might be carried to his mother.

He swallowed. At most, his mother would have some stern words for him if he said anything too familiar, but that would likely be all. That would be a small price to pay if he could ensure that Elinor was even a little more comfortable during her stay on the estate.

Seth leaned forward, clearly moving from his pose, and stood. “I’d like to see your progress, if you’d be willing to indulge me.”

Elinor nodded and stepped aside. He stood beside her, his heart thundering against his ribs as he gazed at the partially completed portrait of himself. His hair was nearly complete, and the shape of his face was clearly recognizable.

He glanced at Elinor from the corner of his eye. She kept her attention on the portrait, her eyes tracing over the same shapes which his own had. After a moment, she turned her bright gaze to him. “What do you think, Your Grace?” she asked.

“It’s exquisite,” he replied, using Elinor’s word. “I am curious to see how you’ll manage my—my scars.”

“Well, I hope,” Elinor replied. “And true enough for your satisfaction.”

“I don’t doubt you for a second.”

“You’ve too much faith in me.”

Seth folded his hands behind his back and smiled at her. “I think that my faith is well-founded. You don’t have enough in yourself. Elinor,” he said, lowering his voice. “And I was going to say—if it will make you more comfortable—that you might call me Seth if you like. When we’re alone.”

“We’re never alone,” Elinor whispered.

The specter of Letty seemed to loom heavily between them.

“No, I suppose we never will be,” Seth agreed. “The gesture sounded much grander in my own mind.”

“I appreciate it, nevertheless,” Elinor said, “Your Grace.”

Seth nodded, feeling uncharacteristically shy beside her. “Well,” he said, raising his voice. “I think this progress is satisfactory. Shall I resume sitting for the remainder of our time?”

“I think so, Your Grace,” Elinor replied.

When she said his title, her eyes sparkled. Maybe if she couldn’t call him Seth, she’d think of him by his Christian name—just as he had hers at first.

Seth returned to his seat, and Elinor resumed painting. Color had risen to her cheeks again, and her lips seemed as though they’d settled into an easy smile, a wonderful smile. Seth easily shifted into the familiar pose, and it all continued as if nothing had happened.

And yet I feel as though everything has changed in the space of just a few seconds, and I can’t rightly say why.

Seth couldn’t help but wonder if Elinor felt the same, and if she did, what did that even mean? His chest fluttered in a way that it hadn’t since he’d been at sea, embarking on grand adventures. It was exhilarating and terrifying, this feeling which he felt knotting more and more tightly in his chest. And he couldn’t even say what that feeling was.