The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 29

Elinor stared at the covered portrait in the corner of the studio. Not the makeshift studio she’d made when she lived on the estate with Seth, but her uncle Richard’s studio. Her fingers itched to pull the cloth free and reveal the canvas again, but she was almost afraid to see Seth’s partially painted face staring at her. Accusing her.

The door opened. “The snow has finally stopped,” her uncle said, as he entered.

“Oh.”

What else could she say? It had only been a week since that awful day on the estate and the exposure of her uncle Richard’s long-held secret. Elinor still hurt from the realization that he’d lied to her for so long. He was still the man who’d raised her, though, no matter how angry she might be at him. And she had nowhere else she could go, not when Seth had ordered her from his estate.

A knot twisted in her chest. She longed for him. Even though he’d broken everything inside her, Elinor still felt herself impossibly drawn to him just as the ocean waves were drawn to the moon.

“It will be Spring soon,” Richard added tentatively.

Yes, and the Season. Then, Seth would be gone to London and surrounded by all those lovely creatures in the ton. He’d find a wife among them, and until she’d been unceremoniously thrown from his good graces, it had never occurred to Elinor just how much she wanted that lovely wife and Duchess to be her.

“So it will be,” Elinor replied. “It’ll be nice to have some warmer weather.”

She didn’t care. If anything, winter seemed to suit her now. It was a cold and empty season, and that was how she felt inside, existing without Seth. Her eyes were drawn again to the unfinished portrait, which he’d still paid for despite not believing her.

No, it’s not necessarily that he doesn’t believe me. It’s that he’s not willing to take a chance on me being innocent.

Elinor wasn’t sure which possibility was worse. She knew that she was innocent, and she’d have adored Seth if he’d just believed her. Despite everything he’d said and done, she strongly suspected that if he arrived outside the studio, repentant and sorrowful, she’d forgive him in an instant.

“Miss Young never sent for her commission.”

Elinor closed her eyes. She knew that her uncle was trying to talk to her, trying to show her that he still cared about her and regretted what had happened, but sometimes, his attention was suffocating. And she still wasn’t sure if she really forgave him for keeping this secret or for letting it keep him from revealing the truth to Seth. If her uncle Richard had just told Seth, Seth would’ve believed him, and he and Elinor might still be in love.

They were still in love, which was why it hurt so badly being away from him, but Elinor tried not to linger on that.

“No, she never came for it,” Elinor said instead.

It was easier that way, to talk about art and minor disappointments rather than the day that had shattered her life and left her feeling so lost and empty.

“But that happens sometimes. I’m sure you’ve also had your share of commissions which were never finished or returned for.”

Elinor opened her eyes, which landed instinctively on the covered portrait of Seth. She was so close to being finished with it, and she was sure that she could still finish it. Seth’s features had been so thoroughly imprinted into her mind that she didn’t think she’d ever forget them. He was, after all, the one man who she might’ve been willing to marry, to bind herself to for the rest of her life, to give away bits of her independence for.

“I have,” Richard said.

Elinor heard him sink into the chair behind her. His health was mostly restored, and he’d begun coming to the studio again, even receiving the occasional client. There were none as prestigious as the Duke of Worthwood, of course, and Elinor doubted there would be any in the future. Although she trusted Seth not to purposefully tell everyone that Richard Thorebourne was complicit in the crimes of a thief and a fraud, word was sure to come out eventually. Her uncle’s reputation would decline with it, as would hers.

She pressed her lips together and slowly reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the fabric which kept her from stroking her beloved’s face.

“Are you going to finish it?”

Elinor lowered her hand. “Finish what?”

They both knew what, but Elinor hoped if she didn’t answer, her uncle would drop the matter. He sighed. “You know what, Elinor.”

It seemed that fortune didn’t favor her that morning.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “He’s already paid for it, hasn’t he? There’s no reason to worry about pleasing His Grace with it now. Perhaps he wouldn’t even want the reminder.”

Elinor couldn’t decide if she still wanted it.

“He might. It would be—it would be a chance to see him again.”

Elinor turned around in her chair and lifted a knee up, letting her chin rest atop it. Her father gazed at her with a furrowed brow and sad frown. His face never really left that expression, not after they’d left the estate.

Left was a kind way of describing what had happened. Elinor preferred that word to removed, dismissed, or ordered.

“Why would I want to see Seth again?” she asked.

She couldn’t decide whether he ought to be His Grace or Seth. Elinor knew what was proper, but she couldn’t decide for herself if she cared for being proper. Maybe it would help. Maybe if she stopped using his name, she could somehow make him mean less to her, and then, their separation wouldn’t be nearly as painful.

Richard sighed. He looked very old in that moment, and Elinor felt a pang of sympathy for him. “You were innocent. I’m sure that he—he acted out of haste.”

“And an abundance of caution, which he made quite clear.”

“And haste,” Richard persisted. “Maybe he will change his mind. Maybe you could persuade him to.”

Elinor shook her head. “I need to be realistic about this. Seth is making the hard choice, one which hurts him but benefits the dukedom. He deserves a proper Duchess, and that isn’t me.”

“It could be.”

“No, it can’t.”

Her uncle sighed again, seemingly accepting defeat. “If I’d known what would happen, I’d have told you the truth. I’d have told His Grace the truth.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I was a coward.”

The admission didn’t make her feel any better. Elinor felt like she’d been betrayed by everyone she cared about, even Seth, despite how noble his reasons for betrayal might be.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. All there is to do now is to make the best of it,” Elinor said. “Isn’t that what you’ve always said when faced with misfortune?”

“Yes.”

Elinor leaned her cheek against the back of her chair and stared distantly at the wall opposite of her. If she closed her eyes, she’d see Seth’s face. Already, he’d haunted her dreams nearly every night since she left.

“But it feels wrong to have the portrait incomplete. I think finishing it would be good for you,” Richard continued. “Even if you don’t give it to him. You might find some benefit in creating.”

Elinor glanced at the portrait. If she really thought about it, she supposed that she did feel a sense of unease with the painting being incomplete. She’d never abandoned a commission before. Pursing her lips together, Elinor seized the corner of the fabric and let it drop onto the floor of the studio.

Seth’s face appeared, and Elinor’s breath caught in her throat. There was his hair, black and shining against the background of artfully draped fabric. In some places, the light made his hair appear more blue than black, and she’d lovingly smoothed those places over, making sure her colors blended so carefully. His eyes were finished, so green and intense that they seemed to pierce right through her and down to her very core. The scars were outlined, nearly complete. It would take…

So little time to finish this, to make it all perfect.

And then, what? Was she supposed to just keep the painting as a painful reminder of the man she’d loved? She supposed that she could give it to Seth, as he was the intended owner, but that would mean putting her heart in his hands again and just hoping that he believed her. That he’d find her a risk worth taking.

“You did an excellent job on it,” Richard said softly.

“I had an excellent model.”

Elinor bit her lip. She raised a hand again and traced a finger along the strong line of his jaw. Vaguely, she recalled some story about an artist falling in love with his creation and it coming to life. That always happened to male artists. No one ever talked about female artists bringing their creations to life.

Elinor wondered if having her painting come to life would be better or worse than the truth, which was that she could never have the one person she loved above all else.

“You must do something,” Richard said.

“Why?” Elinor asked. “Why should I do anything at all? You keep acting as if I’m being unreasonable for being upset when you are the cause of my distress. You, my father, and Seth.”

“I know that, and I am sorry for it. I will apologize as often as you need me to, Elinor. I can’t even imagine how you must feel.”

Elinor’s eyes burned, and she blinked quickly, refusing to cry in her uncle’s presence. “So why do you think you can tell me how I ought to behave, having learned that my father is a liar and a thief, you are a liar who’s willing to help a thief, and Seth can’t trust me anymore because of the two of you? Why do you think you have any right to tell me how I ought to behave when I’ve been faced with all that?”

Heat rose to Elinor’s face, and her chest heaved with exertion from everything she was saying. She looked over her shoulder at Richard, awaiting his response.

For a long time, he only stared at her. He didn’t seem to know what to do with her anymore, which seemed fitting. Elinor didn’t know what to do with him, either.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I don’t have any right to tell you how you ought to feel, Elinor. But I would hate to think that I’ve ruined the greatest opportunity you’ll ever have in your life.”

“At being married?” Elinor asked bitterly. “Is that all you care about, after all?”

“No. At falling in love. At being with the one you love. That’s something so rare and so precious, and I feel as though Henry and I have taken it from you.”

“You did.”

Richard inhaled sharply. “I—I can’t fix it now.”

“No.”

Elinor felt a little cruel for agreeing with him, but she couldn’t quite forget the anger, that hot and unfamiliar emotion, which kept bubbling to the surface if she even lessened her hold on it the least little bit. He had played a part in destroying her budding relationship with Seth, and she couldn’t quite forget that.

And yet…

Elinor cleared her throat. “You do have a good point, though. He might forgive me.”

Elinor stared at the portrait, as if it might hold the answer she wanted, as if the painting’s sharp green eyes might confirm whether or not Seth himself would be able to accept her again.

“And I won’t know if I never see him again.”

The portrait was a good reason for returning, unannounced, to his estate. She could insist that she was merely returning what he was owed, what he had paid for. If Seth was angry, he’d take the painting and send her away, and Elinor would, at least, have the appearance of someone of integrity.

“The worst has already happened,” Richard said. “Surely, it’s better to be certain that he wasn’t simply speaking out of anger than to carry the doubt for the rest of your life.”

“It isn’t that simple. It hurt so badly the first time. If he rejects me again or remains firm in his convictions, it will hurt me. Again.”

“That’s true.”

Elinor nodded slowly. She curled and uncurled her fingers. Keeping that unfinished portrait hurt, too. Maybe it always would, and if that was the case, surely it was better to be rid of it. Seth would be the only one who might want it.

“I will finish it,” Elinor muttered.

She carefully began unpacking her brushes, which she’d scarcely touched since returning to the village. Richard smiled reassuringly, and Elinor forced a small grin for him.

He was trying. She ought to appreciate that he was trying, that he’d made a sacrifice to try and keep her happy. Happy and ignorant, but happy, nonetheless.

“He’ll love it,” Richard said.

“We’ll see,” Elinor said. “I hope he does.”

She hoped he still loved himself. Over the weeks she’d spent at his estate, Elinor had watched Seth learn to love himself more. She’d seen his scars grow less present in both of their minds. It hurt to think that—deep down—he might truly believe that all her affection for him was just a clever bit of acting to seduce him.

Elinor reached for the carefully bottled paint, the same white-pink hue with which she’d begun detailing Seth’s scars. He never had explained precisely how he’d gotten them, only that it was a naval accident.

“I find that art is as good of a way to one’s heart as any other,” Richard replied.

“Maybe for men, it is. You’ve only ever mentioned my art to tell me how it was a necessity.”

“It’s different for women,” Richard said, “but I’d argue that you’re not trying to please a conventional man. His Grace is a little odd, if I might be forgiven for saying so. Who knows what might please him?”

“If nothing else, maybe he can see how devoted I am to him,” Elinor muttered.

Would that please him? She liked to think that it would, that he’d be able to read her sincerity in every line of his face and in the brightness of his eyes. Seth liked art and knew what made it good. Surely, he’d be able to recognize her devotion in this piece.

“It’s a chance, right?” Elinor asked, speaking more to herself than to her uncle. “I can’t complain that he won’t take a chance on me, that he won’t believe in me, when I won’t take a chance on him.”

Maybe he really had spoken from anger and the suddenness of the moment. They’d all been shattered and thrown asunder by the revelations revealed in the study that day. Maybe Seth regretted his words. Maybe he was hoping that she’d approach him and ask. But the only way Elinor would ever know was if she confronted him.