In Pursuit of the Painter by Ashtyn Newbold

Chapter Fifteen

It was natural to assume that a London art studio would be more spacious than one in Inglesbatch, but even with that assumption, Patience was shocked by the grandeur of Mr. Cavinder’s new studio. She had never thought she would venture to call an art studio grand, but this one was. The floor appeared to have been newly installed, large windows letting in light from outside. Though the bustle of people and horses could be heard from outside, there was a certain peacefulness within the walls of the studio that calmed the turmoil in Patience’s stomach. Partially completed paintings on stretched canvases were laid about the room. A ladder, many stools, and short tables filled the other areas of the space. Shelves were filled with supplies, and a closet of sorts sat in the back corner of the room.

Patience stood near the front door, frozen in place as Mr. Cavinder stepped out from inside the closet, a wrapped canvas in hand. It was size she had been anticipating.

Three-quarters of a yard to be precise.

The size that had caused her to burst out in a ridiculous fit of emotions. How different her life would have been if she had simply maintained her composure. She rubbed her arms, overcome with a sudden chill.

Mr. Cavinder closed the closet door behind him, tugging it shut with what appeared to be a great deal of effort. It closed with a thud, hinges creaking. When he turned to face her, his mouth was a firm line. “I did have it hidden in the back of the closet for a reason. I hope you know I took it back from the exhibition as soon as I could.”

Patience swallowed, watching each step he took toward her with misgiving. Ever since he had discovered her at the masquerade the night before, she had been cautious. The anger in her heart begged her to hate him, but she couldn’t manage it, not when her own shame battled for dominance. Mr. Cavinder had ruined her life, but she had first ruined his. He was still a better person that she was. He hadn’t painted this monstrous portrait for revenge, yet she had come to London to spread terrible rumors about him. She had been vengeful when he had been remorseful.

Her heart thudded as the corner of the portrait came uncovered. She met Mr. Cavinder’s gaze, and her heart thudded again. She had forgotten just how handsome he was. In the dim evening light at the masquerade she hadn’t had as clear a view as the one she had now. His warm brown eyes launched a slew of emotions straight into her chest. How many emotions could be associated with one man? Was it possible to dislike a man and find him unjustly attractive at the same time?

“Miss Hansford,” he said in a quiet voice, “before I show you this portrait, I would like you to know that this does not reflect my opinion of you. It reflects a few hours of frustration, during which I unleashed my creativity.” He gave a weak smile. “I hope you understand.”

She crossed her arms. “If I had any creativity to unleash, I wonder how I would portray you.”

“I wonder the same thing.” Mr. Cavinder’s smile grew, just a twitch of his lips. “I daresay I would look like a sea monster. Perhaps a mythical troll.”

Patience studied his face. She would have never told him, but she could not imagine him as any menacing creature. With his thick brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, he could be a puppy before he could be anything else. “Of those two options, I’m certain you would be the troll.”

“I am flattered, thank you.” Mr. Cavinder’s smiling eyes met hers, cautious and slow, as if he were testing her willingness to accept any teasing. If Mama were here, she would tell her not to be alone at this studio with Mr. Cavinder at all, and certainly not to be conversing with him so casually. Despite his fame and prestige as an artist, he was still, well, an artist. He was not a gentleman, and therefore Mama would disapprove. The only way Mama would ever approve of her again would be if she somehow managed to become engaged to a titled gentleman again. Given her reputation, the odds of that were nearly impossible. That was why she had been in the process of giving up. Ever since arriving in London she had been schooling herself into giving up on her dreams. It had been more difficult than she had anticipated. To be loved and accepted by her parents, to be as admired as Hattie—these had been her dreams for so long. Their ties were buried underneath her skin. They had become so much a part of her that they were difficult to remove.

She drew a deep breath. “Show me the painting.”

Mr. Cavinder hesitated before removing the covering on the canvas, letting it slip to the floor at his feet.

Patience walked closer to the piece, stomach twisting with dread. It was certainly still recognizable as her. She hadn’t expected one half of her face to still be unchanged from when he had first shown her the painting. The lines blended seamlessly as her face transformed to a monster’s on the opposite side. The ear, fangs, horn, and sunken skin sent a chill over the back of her neck. Perhaps if it hadn’t been a picture of her, she would have found it as hauntingly breathtaking as the rest of society did. It was certainly haunting.

She looked down at the floor, feeling suddenly nauseated. “This is how all of London knows me now.” The reality sank into her bones. “This is how you saw me.”

“I believe it was the message that struck people so deeply,” Mr. Cavinder said, stooping down to cover the portrait again. “They were reminded how deceiving beauty can be at times.” His eyes flickered to her face. “They were reminded of their own masks, and of the masks worn by all the people around them. I daresay no one walks bare-faced. Especially not in London.”

Patience touched one side of her face, rubbing the smooth skin on her cheek. Immediately her thoughts traveled to Hattie. If her beauty was gone, what would remain? So many admired her and flocked to her simply because she was beautiful. Even their parents failed to see who she truly was. They had never seen the truth about Hattie. Patience hadn’t even seen it—not completely—until she had seen her with Lord Clitheroe behind the tree. She wore her mask well. Beneath it, Patience was certain a formidable monster lurked, waiting to destroy everything in its path.

Had Patience become the same?

The thought persisted, echoing in her mind until she could scarcely hear anything else. Terror gripped her heart.

She did not wish to be like Hattie.

Mr. Cavinder stepped closer, holding the covered portrait between them. “You are not a monster, Miss Hansford.” The warmth in his eyes made her heart give a strange, unexpected leap.

“I did a terrible thing to you.” It was the first time she had admitted it, and the confession lifted a burden from her shoulders. She no longer hated him. She was beginning to understand him a little. Bitterness was heavy, and the only way to ease the weight was to forgive and move forward. In comparison to Hattie’s betrayal, Mr. Cavinder’s actions were insignificant.

“And I did a terrible thing to you.” Mr. Cavinder ran a hand over his hair, glancing up at her from under his lashes. “Shall we consider both our debts repaid?”

She bit her lip, shifting her gaze away from him. “Well—I’m afraid I already did begin my revenge at the masquerade.”

“Your revenge?” Without even looking, she could predict Mr. Cavinder’s expression. Eyebrows raised, eyes filled with curiosity.

“The women you saw surrounding me…well, I told them something about you that was not entirely true.” Her face grew hot. She shooed the sensation away, willing her cheeks to cool. How could she explain the rumor to him? In the story, he had been obsessed with her, proposing multiple times and being rejected. She had turned him into a vengeful, bitter madman before she had known that he was far more innocent than that. Not entirely innocent, but only as innocent as her.

“What did you tell them?” Mr. Cavinder tipped his head to one side, setting the portrait on the floor.

“You will likely hear the story eventually. Though once it has passed through a number of ears and mouths, it will likely have been transformed into a different story entirely.” She avoided his gaze, shifting her weight from one boot to the other.

He eyed her with suspicion. “Did you tell them I am secretly a troll?”

“No.” She scoffed, breathless at the wide smile he was giving her. Was he not concerned over the rumors she had started? Didn’t he fear for his reputation? He didn’t seem fazed at all. Simply curious.

“Then what did you tell them? I did wonder why they all seemed inclined to throw me out the assembly room window.”

Patience stifled the laugh that rose in her chest, thankfully before Mr. Cavinder could hear it. She couldn’t have him knowing that she found any part of his words or expression amusing. She felt vulnerable in his presence. He had seen her at her worst, including the scars on her arm. Her defenses were weakened. She was not accustomed to feeling at ease around a gentleman. Well, Mr. Cavinder was not a gentleman. He was a plain man. Not a plain man, though. A very handsome one. Her scattered thoughts made her face grow hot again. He was still waiting for her explanation about the rumors.

“I told them that I was Miss Hansford’s ‘friend,’ and that the reason you painted the portrait was because you had proposed to her many times and been rejected. Because of your bitterness, you sought revenge by exploiting her face as The Monstrous Debutante, intentionally ruining her reputation.” Patience wished she could cover her own face. She had just pointed out her moral inferiority to Mr. Cavinder. She was vengeful and he was not.

He was silent for a long moment before he tipped his head back with a laugh. She stared at him, blinking in surprise.

“There is one flaw in your story.” He picked up the portrait, carrying it back to the closet at the back of his studio. He tugged hard on the door, pulling three times before it jerked open. He set the portrait inside, then glanced back at her. “Why on earth would your friend Miss Hansford have rejected me?”

The day before, Patience would have been able to think of hundreds of reasons, but staring at his broad shoulders and charming smile made her mind go rather blank. Patience crossed her arms across her chest. “Perhaps she thought you to be a little too prideful.”

His mouth quirked upward. “A weakness of mine, to be sure.”

Patience tapped her fingertips together, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at his smile. It took far more courage than she possessed to admit her own weaknesses. Mr. Cavinder’s willingness to admit his almost made up for his pride. Almost. She caught sight of his amused grin as he closed the closet door.

Her eyes wandered the shop one last time. She needed to leave. Being there reminded her of all the hours she had spent at his shop in Inglesbatch, and so did the uncalled for feelings stirring around her heart. Her gaze caught on a painting in the far corner of the room, uncovered and glistening, as if some of the paint had not yet dried. It was still in progress, it seemed. While Mr. Cavinder’s back was turned, she walked toward it.

He truly was a talented artist. He deserved the fame he had achieved, if only for that reason. The piece depicted a man, one hand outstretched in front of him toward a beam of light, one behind him toward darkness. At the end of the hand cloaked in darkness was a woman, clutching his fingers as she ascended a slope behind him. She seemed as though she were about to slip away and fall down the slope, just the tips of her fingers still touching his. The man’s head was turned toward her, his eyes settled on her with terror. Many of the details had not yet been completed, but the sketch was there, and even in its incomplete state it captivated her.

“Do you like it?” Mr. Cavinder’s voice behind her made her jump.

She caught her breath, still hesitant to admit any admiration for his work. She finally managed one small word. “Yes.”

He stepped up beside her. “I plan to submit this to the next exhibition. I have always been fascinated by Orpheus and Eurydice.”

Patience had been taught mythology by her governess, and now that Mr. Cavinder mentioned Orpheus, the painting struck her even deeper. If she recalled correctly, in the myth, Orpheus and Eurydice were madly in love when Eurydice was bitten by a serpent and died. Orpheus journeyed to the land of Hades to rescue her, granted access and escape only because of his enchanting musical talent. He was allowed to bring Eurydice back to the land of the living only if he promised not to look back at her. He had to trust that she was behind him, even when he could not hear her shadow.

Mr. Cavinder’s voice was low and thoughtful as he joined her in studying the piece. “This painting depicts the precise moment of the worst mistake Orpheus ever made. Seconds before reaching the light, he was too curious, and he lacked trust that Eurydice could transform from shadow to light. He was impatient, and then he lost her forever.”

Patience glanced at Mr. Cavinder, meeting his gaze. “The myth has always vexed me. Why could Orpheus not have been a little more patient?”

Amusement crossed his features. “As I recall, patience is not one of your virtues either.”

She scowled at him before relenting. He had just admitted to his pride, so she ought to admit to her impatience. “Yes, I suppose I might have done the same thing.”

With morning light filtering through the windows and pulling warm tones from Mr. Cavinder’s eyes, he gave another of his heart-stopping smiles. Patience immediately looked down at the floor, cursing her heart for reacting. She started walking away, tying the ribbons on her bonnet. “Very well. Now that I have seen The Monstrous Debutante, you may destroy her.”

“I will.”

She stopped by the front door, giving a brief nod in departure. “Good day, Mr. Cavinder.”

She didn’t wait for him to bid his own farewell. She marched out into the street, pulling the wide brim of her poke bonnet lower over her eyes. It was the only way she could walk around town without risking being recognized. If she were seen outside of Mr. Cavinder’s studio, the rumors would become even worse.

The studio door opened behind her. “Miss Hansford, wait.” It was Mr. Cavinder’s voice.

She glanced back, checking to ensure no one had heard him say her name. The streets were crowded and filled with the sounds of creaking carriage wheels, shouting, and horse hooves on the cobblestones.

Mr. Cavinder stood with his head and shoulders leaning out the studio door. “Would you like to join my family for dinner one evening this week? Thursday, perhaps?”

Patience froze. She hadn’t planned on making any social calls, and certainly not with the family of the man she had presumed to be her enemy. She had taken certain liberties with her efforts to preserve her reputation, such as attending a masquerade alone. Attending dinner alone would be improper as well, but Mr. Cavinder’s cajoling smile was difficult to refuse. Her heart betrayed her, and before she knew it, one blasted word had slipped from her mouth.

“Yes.”

After arranging the details, Patience walked away, left to wonder what exactly had come over her. Mr. Cavinder with his kind eyes and half-rolled shirtsleeves was an intelligent guess. All her resolve to hate him had fled from her heart as quickly as she had fled from his studio.

Even more concerning was the realization that she was now looking forward to Thursday.