The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 15

“Seth,” Elinor murmured.

It was a single syllable, but it curved around her tongue like the sweetest song she’d ever heard. She shivered from the sound of it, the weight of what it meant that a Duke had given her permission to call him by his Christian name.

She knew it was an honor, but little more than that. Elinor didn’t know enough about the Duke to know if he gave his name so readily to everyone, but she liked to think he didn’t. She liked to think he found her special. Different.

“Seth,” she repeated.

Elinor sat alone in her studio. The painting was before her, incomplete still, but she could already envision the shape and colors that Seth’s eyes would be. She had in mind the perfect pigments already, and when she thought of painting his eyes, she felt a soft of pleasant tingling in her belly. It was the very thought of painting his eyes filled her with the same joy and delight as actually having those eyes focused on her.

That was one of the great joys of painting Seth, at having his eyes so firmly fixed on her and watching her every movement. Elinor allowed herself a small, plaintive sigh. It was nearly time for her to return home for the evening, but she found herself lingering just a little longer in the studio.

He isn’t going to enter. There’s no point in lingering. I’m not going to see him.

Maybe she stayed because his portrait was the closest she could come to him at the moment. Slowly, Elinor uncurled herself from her seat and stood. It was strange how she kept thinking about him, even when he was gone. Elinor felt like a foolish, adolescent girl who’d discovered…

She didn’t want to say love. That wasn’t the feeling. But what she felt was an unfamiliar kind of fondness, which she’d never before experienced. With a smile, Elinor left the studio and walked down the familiar path towards the entryway. A maid returned her cloak, which Elinor put on without hesitation.

“Have a safe journey, Miss,” the maid said.

Seth had called her Elinor. A fluttering spread through her chest, filling her with excitement.

“Thank you,” Elinor replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She’d return to Seth in the morning. Elinor felt something like victorious, as she crossed the path to the carriage. As usual, the footman helped her enter. Elinor settled against the cushions and grasped her hands in her lap. Her thoughts never strayed far from Seth.

He was so kind and supportive. Elinor hadn’t even known that a man could be such things. Sure, her father was kind and supported her artistic pursuits, but his love had always seemed as though it came with conditions to Elinor. He supported her to a point, always to a point. He wanted her to succeed and believed in her determination, but at the same time, he wanted her to be wed already to some wealthy man.

But Seth doesn’t seem to have any of those conditions for me. He supports me because he thinks I’m talented.

Elinor felt warmth fill her. Seth would doubtlessly make some lady of the ton very happy. If they could see past his scars, they would have the most wonderful man in all of England as a husband.

The carriage jolted into motion, and Elinor let her cheek rest against the back of the cushion. She knew that she had to return home to tend to her father, but she felt still as if the handful of hours which would keep her away from Seth were too long.

I just want to talk to him. I feel as though I’ve made a friend in him.

That was a foolish thing to feel. He was a Duke, and she had no right to think of him as a friend. She did, though. How could she not think so highly of him when he was so eager to speak with her and listen to her?

Through the rest of the ride, Elinor’s thoughts remained on Seth. She thought of his face, his voice, and the shining gleam of his green eyes. When the carriage halted, she straightened her back and tried to calm her racing heart. Elinor couldn’t have even said when her heart began pounding so strongly within her breast.

The carriage door burst open. “We’re here, Miss!”

Elinor smiled at the footman and let him help her exit the carriage, as she always did. “Thank you,” she replied.

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Elinor continued up the path to the home she shared with her father. She entered and removed her cloak, leaving the garment by the door.

“How was your day, Elinor?” her father asked.

“It was…”

Wonderful. Amazing. Beyond compare.

“It was nice,” Elinor said, keeping her tone neutral. “His Grace is a very patient and accommodating subject. I’m enjoying painting him.”

“I’m glad,” her father said. “Does he seem as though he’s pleased with your progress?”

“He does. He told me so.”

Her father sat upright in bed. Elinor noted that his color appeared to have improved. His complexion wasn’t as red as it had been, although sweat still lingered on his brow. When he spoke, Elinor still heard the hint of a cough in his voice, too.

“Did he seem sincere?” Elinor’s father asked. “Did you ask for praise?”

“He was sincere, and I didn’t ask for praise. He wanted to see what I’d painted. Surely, you don’t doubt my skills?” Elinor asked.

“I don’t,” he replied. “I just know how these aristocrats are. They’re tactful. They never say what they mean.”

Elinor felt a sharp ache in her chest. “I’m quite sure that His Grace meant every word he said. If he didn’t like the portrait, he’d have sent word to you. I’m sure of that.”

Her father sighed. “I suppose you’re right, dear. It’s only that I worry about everything. You are a good, honest girl, and you’ve never—”

“I’m a young woman,” Elinor said gently.

She sat at her father’s side and curled her hand over his. He patted her hand and smiled. “I know you are. I just forget sometimes. I look at you, and even knowing that you’ll be married soon, I still sometimes think of you as being my little girl. It’s hard to think that you’re capable of standing on your own without me, even if that was always the intention.”

Elinor nodded. “I imagine that’s what most parents feel.”

“Yes,” her father said. “I seem to recall my own feeling similarly, my father especially. When I began taking over the business for him, he still kept such close watch over me that you’d have thought I was going to set the studio ablaze.”

Elinor smiled. She didn’t remember her grandfather, but she’d heard about him. “It seems that my grandfather always felt an abundance of caution towards everyone and everything.”

“He did,” her father replied, “and as a young man, I always felt as if he was restricting me so much. As an adult, I see a lot of wisdom in his treatment.”

Elinor wanted to ask about her uncle and what his relationship with her grandfather had been like, but she didn’t want to cause her father any distress, especially since he was so ill and so worried already.

“I expect that you feel sympathy for my own situation, then,” Elinor said. “That’s how I feel when you try to push me into the pursuit of marriage.”

She kept her voice light, so her father would know that she spoke mostly in jest, even if the matter was serious.

“I do have sympathy for you. The utmost. But you can’t change the world on your own, Elinor.”

“I know, Father.”

Elinor squeezed his hand and stood. “It’s time for medicine again.”

Her father grimaced. “If this illness doesn’t kill me, that brew might.”

With a smile, Elinor crossed the room and grabbed the small bottle left by the apothecary. She knew by then how much to give her father without even glancing at the instructions. After carefully spooning the correct portion, she held the spoon to her father’s lips. He took the medicine, face twisting into a scowl.

“It’ll make everything better,” Elinor replied. “Mr. Richmond can cure any ailment, or so I’ve heard.”

“I don’t trust men who say they can cure any ailment,” her father said. “Those men are charlatans, and you must not let them convince you otherwise.”

“Noted,” Elinor said, “but surely, that depends on a man’s skills, doesn’t it? I would imagine a physician employed by the Duke of Worthwood must be quite skilled.”

“Even such a highly lauded physician cannot cure anything,” her father insisted. “There are simply some things which have no cure.”

Elinor hummed and set about preparing soup for them. As she cooked, her father settled back into the bedclothes. The room was comfortably silent and soon filled with the aromatic scent of soup. Elinor’s thoughts drifted. She felt an impossible pull towards Seth.

Maybe it wasn’t an impossible pull, as much as it was a pull which she did not try very hard to refuse. Why would any woman want to resist the allure of such a man?

Once the soup was finished, Elinor filled her father’s bowl and placed it at his bedside. Her father shifted his weight onto his forearms and grasped the bowl. “This smells lovely.”

“You say that every time I make a meal for you,” Elinor replied. “To hear you speak, you’d think I was the most talented cook in the world.”

Elinor took her own bowl and returned to her father’s side. For a few seconds, she silently ate her soup. She wondered what Seth had for his dinner. Elinor imagined that he likely had extravagant feasts every night. Certainly, it was better fare than this.

Not that Elinor had any complaints about eating soup. It was just strange to think about how differently he lived from her, and he seemed to have relinquished so much of that life while living at sea.

“His Grace’s father,” Elinor said suddenly. “You knew him.”

She’d barely kept herself from saying Seth’s father. Elinor knew that she must not show such familiarity before her father.

“I did. He was a good man.”

“So I’ve heard,” Elinor replied. “I saw the portrait you painted of him.”

The previous Duke had looked a great deal like Seth. As she’d mentioned, they both had the same hair and facial structure. They might’ve passed for the same person even, were it not for Seth’s scars and his green eyes. His father’s eyes were gray-blue.

“I know the one,” her father said. “It was one of my earlier works. There is another portrait of him somewhere on the estate. It’s of the late Duke and the Dowager Duchess.”

“How did he sit?” Elinor asked.

“Well enough, if memory serves,” her father replied.

“Like his son?” Elinor ventured.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so curious? I don’t imagine that fathers and sons pose similarly.”

“I suppose not,” Elinor replied. “I just wondered what similarities there were between them. I know that you’ve told me not to ask questions and to be discrete. I just…”

“You’re curious,” her father said. “I never was, but then, I always accompanied my father to his paintings. Even from boyhood. You weren’t able to do that.”

No, she’d remained at home through most of her girlhood. Potential clients didn’t respond as favorably to an artist’s young daughter as they did to a son and future apprentice.

“Well?” Elinor asked. “Do they?’

“I think the Duke is less at ease with posing than his predecessor,” her father said at last. “His Grace will grow into his title soon enough.”

Elinor nodded. “It does take some effort to make him seem at ease.”

Her father cast her an odd look. “Did you manage it? I never could.”

Eleanor shrugged. “I made him look a little less rigid. I won’t say it was entirely a success, but I tried to do everything my teacher taught me.”

Her father chuckled. “Well, you were always a good student.”

“It’s sort of wonderful, isn’t it?” Elinor asked. “Two generations of artists painting two generations of Dukes?”

Her father paused, his expression grave. It took him a few seconds to nod in agreement, and in those few seconds, Elinor felt an ache in her chest.

“You may be completing that portrait if my health does not recover,” he said quietly. “You must devote yourself wholly to it and make sure that it is greater than any work you’ve ever created.”

Elinor had already known that. “Yes, Father,” she said.

She began to wish that she had some excuse for returning to the estate. Elinor truly loved her father, but now that she was at home, she felt some of that old weight return to her shoulders. It seemed like it had lessened when she was with Seth, soaking in his praise and coaxing witticisms from him, but with his absence, all her fears and worries came tumbling back in an untimely shower of thought and feeling.

“When you were a young artist, did you ever doubt that you’d succeed?” Elinor asked.

“Of course,” her father replied. “Henry had already proven that he was ill-suited for being an artist, and I was worried that I would take a similar path and displease our father.”

“Ill-suited?” I asked.

“He didn’t have the patience for it,” her father replied, “or the talent for imagining how to build colors upon one another. He tried to always begin with the completed piece, rather than allowing it to unfold before him, and so his colors always appeared flat.”

Elinor remembered a similar approach when she’d started. Despite her resolve not to mention her uncle, her father had brought him into the conversation. Curiosity burned inside Elinor. “Is that when your feud began?”

Her father paused, his knuckles tightening around his spoon. “No, it didn’t begin there. It was much later when we…finally parted ways, but we never liked one another much anyway.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Sometimes, that’s the way of the world, Elinor. You’re given family and told that you should love them because the two of you share blood, but you find that you’ve nothing in common with one another.”

Her father’s words made sense, but they presented such a bleak view on family that Elinor felt the instinctive need to argue against them. Surely, such bonds could be repaired, couldn’t they? Relationships could be built and formed at any time among strangers, and the same was surely also true of families.

“I wish it weren’t so,” Elinor confessed quietly.

“I know,” her father replied, “but unfortunately, the matter which stands between us is simply too great for us to reconcile over.”

Elinor nodded, as if she agreed. Her father’s voice made it clear that he wouldn’t speak any more about the matter that night. Still, her heartbeat quickened. What was that nameless, terrible thing which had driven her father and uncle apart?