In Pursuit of the Painter by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter Twelve
With her wedding three days away, Patience had hardly been able to sleep. Every time her mind became idle, she thought of Hattie and Lord Clitheroe. She thought of the secretive way in which they looked at one another each time he joined them for dinner. She thought of the moment he had pulled Patience aside in the courtyard and kissed her as if he hadn’t just kissed Hattie earlier the same day.
He did not seem inclined to cancel the wedding. He might have still cared for Patience, but Hattie was too great a temptation. If he could have them both, then that was what he would try to do.
No matter his reasoning, Patience still felt a rope wrapping around her body, binding her arms and legs and flattening her lungs until she could hardly breathe. Pain radiated from her heart with each pulse. There was never a time at any point in each day that she was not anxious.
She could endure this. There were only three more days until she would secure Mama and Papa’s esteem forever, wealth, prestige, and happiness. That last word hung heavy in her mind, large and misshapen, like it didn’t belong. It wasn’t wise to dream of happiness. There would always be something to make her unhappy. While she could rejoice in her comfortable home and position in society, she would be constantly concerned with her husband’s behavior. If she married him already knowing he was a cad, then perhaps she could avoid disappointment in the future.
She sat in front of the looking glass in her bedchamber, noting the bags around her eyes and the dark circles that had begun to form. She had never noticed such things on her face before. She rubbed at them before giving up and turning away from her reflection.
Just as she turned around, the door of her bedchamber burst open. Patience jumped, letting out an accidental gasp as Mama charged into the room. Her hair was askew, eyes wild with terror.
“Mama!” Patience jumped to her feet. “What on earth is the matter?” She had never seen her mother so uncollected before.
“This,” she spat, “This is the matter.” She flung a newspaper toward Patience, chest heaving. “The entire town has been speaking of you and the gossip in the papers. Read it for yourself and then explain to me what the meaning of it all is.” Mama’s face was splotched in red. “The ridicule our family may now face because of you…” her voice trailed off.
Patience tugged the paper from Mama’s hand, heart racing. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? If there were ever a scandal to find its way into the gossip papers, it would have been about Hattie and Lord Clitheroe. Patience hadn’t told a soul—unless the servants had seen something and spilled the gossip. Would Patience be blamed for it somehow?
Her throat felt dry as she looked over the stack of various papers. Confusion clouded her vision as she tried to make sense of it all. The Monstrous Debutante’s identity? Had someone known her during her first season and given her that name?
“I do not understand,” Patience read a few more sentences before Mama snatched the papers from her.
“I have read them all. There is an exhibition happening presently at the Royal Academy in London. A painting there, completed by a Mr. Michael Cavinder is supposed to have depicted you as a monstrous creature. It has been the most popular painting of the exhibition. All of London now knows you as The Monstrous Debutante, the daughter of the Earl of Ryecombe.” Mama let out an anguished sigh. “Who is Mr. Cavinder? How did he create this portrait of you?”
Patience felt the color drain from her face. Her hands shook at her sides. Had Mr. Cavinder altered the portrait she had refused to pay him for? Was this his method of seeking revenge? She had felt guilty over what she had done to him, but all that guilt was now draining out of her heart like the color in her cheeks.
“Do you know him?” Mama’s voice was laced with suspicion.
“He lives here in Inglesbatch.” Patience’s hands shook as she rubbed them over her skirts. “Before Papa commissioned my new portrait in the gallery, I went to Mr. Cavinder’s studio. It was a long time ago. Nearly a year ago now.” Patience caught her breath. “I-I was not satisfied with the result of the portrait, and so I did not pay him for it. I suppose this made him quite angry.”
“Has he done this out of spite? The entirety of London now believes you to be a monster!” Mama’s voice took on a shrieking tone. “If that is what he hoped to accomplish, then he has succeeded.”
Patience’s heart sank. Mr. Cavinder did indeed think as badly of her as she had imagined. But this was worse, far worse. She hadn’t thought him to be the sort of man to seek revenge. It seemed she had misjudged him. How could he have been so cruel? Her reputation now hung by a thread. Mama acted as though their entire family might be affected.
“What am I to do?” Patience asked, her voice faint.
Mama glared at her. “There is nothing that can be done now. Because of your careless behavior toward Mr. Cavinder, you have brought ruin upon us all.” Mama gripped Patience’s shoulders. “Do you realize this?”
Patience cringed at the force of Mama’s voice.
A light knock sounded on the half-opened door, and a maid peeked her head inside. Her eyes were round like the knots in the walnut wood of the door. “Miss Patience, the Marquess of Clitheroe is awaiting you in the drawing room.”
Patience nearly choked. What was he doing here? Mama jumped back, clutching both hands to her chest. “He must have seen the papers.”
The lightness in Patience’s head intensified, and she blinked hard to clear the moisture from her eyes. Remain calm. She stiffened her posture, tugging her sleeves up higher on her arms before rushing past Mama toward the door. “He likely has come for an explanation, that is all.” She cast Mama a reassuring smile. Her mind raced with every doubt imaginable. Dread pooled in her stomach, making her ill. Why were her stays laced so tightly? Her lungs could barely expand as she made her way down the stairs.
Though she didn’t say a word, Patience could hear Mama following her down to the drawing room. She waited in the hallway near the door as Patience slipped inside. Lord Clitheroe faced the window on the opposite side of the room, his back facing her. Patience closed the door behind her, adjusting her expression before turning around. It would be best to act as if nothing was amiss.
With a smile, she offered a curtsy. “What brings you here today, my lord?” She walked toward him. He had turned away from the window, a pained smile on his face. Her gaze froze on that expression, and her heart pinched. Ever since she had seen him kiss Hattie, a sense of heavy dread engulfed her each time she was near him. Every word, glance, and step was filled with caution.
“Surely you must know.” He rubbed his hands on the sides of his leather breeches with a sigh. “I read the papers this morning.”
She was silent for several seconds. “It is gossip. You do not believe it, do you?”
“The Morning Chronicle published the news as well. It is a reputable source. At any rate, it does not matter. You are famous in town now, Patience. You are famous, but not for any good thing. You are being mocked and scrutinized.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Surely you must understand why I cannot connect myself with such a woman. I will be mocked and scrutinized too.”
Her throat tightened. “This is temporary. You know how people in London forget old gossip as soon as something better presents itself. Soon enough they will have something new to fill the papers with. Everyone will forget my name and my face.”
“I wonder how they recognized you if you were portrayed as a monstrous creature.” Lord Clitheroe stepped closer, tipping his head to one side as he examined her features. “And why were you portrayed as such at all? Mr. Cavinder must have found much to dislike when he looked at you.”
She shrunk back, fighting the tears behind her eyes. “I assure you, this will all soon be forgotten.”
Lord Clitheroe frowned. “I’m afraid I cannot take the risk. Society will understand why I have broken off the engagement. I am sorry, Patience, I truly am, but it is what I must do.” He smoothed his fingers over his hair, offering a brief bow. “It has been a pleasure to come to know you and your family better.”
Her family? The only pleasure he had was in coming to know Hattie. Patience could hardly speak or move or breathe. “Please, my lord. Please reconsider.” Her face was on fire. How could she explain this to Mama? All that she had worked for was gone, torn out from beneath her by Mr. Cavinder’s vengeful actions. How could he have been so cruel? Had her actions a year ago made him this cruel? Didn’t he realize how he had ruined her? She choked on a breath as Lord Clitheroe continued toward the door. “Please, please stop.” She took hold of his sleeve without thinking.
He shook her away, walking faster. His gaze was cold and hard as he walked out the door.
Patience collapsed on the sofa, burying her face in her hands. She threw the pillow beside her across the room. It collided with the longcase clock, setting it off-balance. The entire thing toppled over, crashing and shattering against the floor.
From the sounds in the hall, it seemed Mama was following the marquess to the door, trying to stop him from leaving. Patience stared at the shattered glass that now covered the floor. Each fragment might as well have been digging into her skin, slicing away at her dreams and puncturing the boundaries around her heart.
Mama burst into the drawing room a few minutes later, her face red. She would burst at any moment.
“You—” she pointed at Patience with an accusatory finger.
“I’m sorry, Mama!” Patience shouted as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “I do not know how this happened. I could not stop it.”
“You have ruined us. You have lost our connection to the marquess.” Mama’s voice was rasped and quiet, even more terrifying than it had been when she had shouted. “Your father will be even more upset than I am.”
“It is not my fault.” Patience shook her head fast. “It is all because of Mr. Cavinder. He did this. He has ruined us, not I.”
“He would not have painted you as a monster if a monster is not what you are.”
Patience’s heart pounded with dread. She predicted Mama’s next question before she said it.
“Did he see your scars?”
Chills ran over Patience’s neck. She was silent for a long moment, sniffing back the tears that choked her. “Yes.”
Mama closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “Now it all makes sense. I told you never, ever to allow anyone to see them.”
Patience wiped at her cheeks. “I-I didn’t mean to. At his studio, I slipped on a paintbrush and he caught me by the sleeve.” The memory poured back to her mind, making her heart sting with a fresh wave of humiliation. “My sleeve tore and he saw my arm. I never returned to his studio after that day. The portrait was still incomplete.”
Mama nodded. “And once he saw the scars, he chose to complete the portrait portraying you as a monster. I knew something horrible would happen if they were ever seen.”
How many times would Patience feel betrayed in one week? Mr. Cavinder had seemed so kind. She had felt guilty for what she had done for him, when all along he had been capable of this. If Mama’s theory was correct, then he had taken her greatest insecurity and used it to garner fame and attention toward his own artwork. He was benefitting from her misfortune. Her heart shattered like the longcase clock.
“What a disaster.” Mama gritted her teeth. “Your father will not be pleased. Oh, how disappointed he will be. I do not wish to see his reaction when he learns the news.” Mama paced the length of the room. “You are to associate with our family as little as possible until the height of this gossip is over. Your broken engagement will surely be published in the papers as well. You will never recover from the public shame of it, and we must do all we can to ensure you are far enough from us so as to not soil our family name even further.”
“Where will I go?” Patience asked, her voice shaking with panic.
“I do not care.” Mama closed her eyes as she rubbed her temples. “All I know is that I cannot bear to look upon you a moment longer. It is a burden on my nerves to be this angry. I have aged far too much in the last hour. Write to everyone you know who may be willing to harbor you for the summer, because you are not welcome here.”
Patience’s hand crept to her throat as she swallowed. Her heart pounded wildly. “Mama,” she squeaked.
“Do not speak to me.” Mama turned toward the door, drawing a deep breath before rushing into the hall and out of sight.
Patience sobbed, moving with slow steps toward the pianoforte. She sat down on the bench, too weak to stand. What had she done to deserve this? All she had done was withhold a few pounds from Mr. Cavinder because he had painted the wrong size for her portrait. Had the effects been so great that he had been driven to this cruel form of retaliation? Anger reared its head in her chest, drying her tears in an instant. There was nothing she could do to remove these misfortunes from her life. Crying would not help her cope with them. No, the only way to make them bearable would be to ensure Mr. Cavinder could no longer benefit from her humiliation.
A heart of stone was all she could afford. She had once told Mr. Cavinder that he would not want her as his enemy. No one would.
He would soon realize why.
