In Pursuit of the Painter by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter Seventeen
Autumn, 1817
Every time Patience left her cousin Mary’s house, she set her poke bonnet low on her forehead, keeping her eyes shaded and hidden from view. She had expected her time in London to be filled with turmoil and a lack of structure, but she had established something of a routine over the months that she had spent in town.
In the mornings, she ate breakfast with Mary. She then went to her room to read and watch the birds in the trees behind the house. Three days out of each week, she watched the clock, eagerly awaiting the hour when she could take her ride to the Cavinders’ and take tea with Mrs. Cavinder, Emma, and Isabel in the quaint, simple drawing room of their townhouse.
Over the last few months, Mrs. Cavinder had enlisted Patience’s assistance in training her daughters in dancing, manners, and fashion so they would have a chance at catching the eye of a gentleman—or at least a wealthy tradesman. Mrs. Cavinder’s mothering methods were much different than that of Patience’s mother. She encouraged her daughters and never pointed out a single flaw in their appearances or conduct. She praised them and celebrated with them when they managed to complete a dance without error. She explained that the reason they were to seek husbands was not for prestige or recognition. She told them that all she wished for them was that they were happy, comfortable, and loved.
Two of those words, happy and loved, had embedded themselves in Patience’s chest, burrowing close to her heart. As she considered the ambitions that she had been taught to have throughout her entire life, she could not recall ever hearing those two words. But despite never hearing them, she realized that those two things had still always been her ambitions.
But to be happy, she had to be loved.
To be loved, she had to be approved of.
To be approved of…she had to be flawless and beautiful and married to a man with a title.
The contrast between the Cavinder family and her own had struck her. For Emma and Isabel to be loved by their mother, it seemed all they had to do was exist. No matter how hard Patience tried, she couldn’t help but envy them. There was little Patience wouldn’t give for that sort of love—the sort of love that persisted beyond mistakes, flaws, and tribulation. The sort of love that is unbreakable. If she could ever be loved simply for existing, perhaps she would finally be happy. She hadn’t known that sort of love was real, but she saw it displayed again and again as Mrs. Cavinder interacted with her daughters and also with her son.
Mr. Cavinder spent his days in his studio, but sometimes he made it home just a few minutes before Patience left the drawing room after tea. If he ever made it back before she left, he insisted that she stay for dinner. She had developed the strength to say no to his mother’s kind offerings, but she hadn’t yet learned how to say no to Mr. Cavinder. Though she knew it wasn’t wise, sometimes she lingered a little longer after tea in the hopes that he would arrive before she left.
She didn’t dare examine her heart, but she knew in her bones that if she did, she would find that it was beginning to feel things it shouldn’t. Hope had injured her far too many times to ever trust it again. Each time she entertained the thought of Mr. Cavinder having any feelings for her, she shunned the idea as quickly as it came. There were many reasons why she could not allow such thoughts into her mind. Or her heart for that matter. He had seen the scars on her arms. He had experienced her bitterness and unkindness. Her actions could never be undone, no matter how much she wished it now.
He was entirely too good for her.
After she had come to London in pursuit of revenge, he had opened his home to her. He had met her malice with kindness and introduced her to his family.
It was a debt she could never repay.
Her entire life, she had felt like a burden everywhere she went. She had never felt good enough beneath the lofty expectations of her parents and the precedence of Hattie. She never would have imagined that one day she would be yearning to be good enough for the attention of a humble painter.
Perhaps she was too cold toward him. It was a habit of hers to conceal her true emotions by being aloof. In her experience, it was the only way to protect herself. If her actions made her feelings known, she could not afford a rejection from Mr. Cavinder. It would break what remained of her heart.
She told herself that it was goodwill and honor that had induced him to treat her so kindly, not affection. The sooner she recognized that, the better. At any rate, her time in London was measured. The weather was growing colder. The summer was over. Eventually her family would have to invite her home again and she would leave the Cavinders behind. She refused to believe that her parents had abandoned her forever, even though she hadn’t received a single letter from them during her time in London. Each of the letters she sent to Briarwood failed to receive a reply.
Not a single word.
Were they alive and well? Did they care if she was? The more time that passed, the more abandoned she felt. Without the Cavinders, she didn’t know what she would have done. They had saved her.
One morning, Emma and Isabel invited Patience to collect leaves with them. She had never engaged in such a strange activity, but she agreed. The leaves had begun changing color, spiraling down to the earth in a graceful and final descent. The bright ambers, saffrons, and burnt siennas dotted the ground beneath the trees along their street.
Patience collected all the red ones she could find, piling them on her leather glove. She wore her blue pelisse, wishing for a color more suitable to autumn. The money her parents had sent her away with was more than enough to provide herself with a new pelisse, but she didn’t wish to be wasteful. She didn’t know how long she would only have that money to live on.
“Michael!” Emma waved across the street.
Patience’s heart leaped as she followed Emma’s gaze. Mr. Cavinder was striding toward them, a broad smile on his face. He waved, his eyes settling on Patience as he stopped in front of them. He lowered his head in greeting. “Miss Hansford.”
She did the same, suddenly conscious of how red her nose must have appeared in the cold. “Mr. Cavinder.”
“I was on my way home,” he said. “My client this afternoon postponed his appointment.”
“How fortunate,” Patience said. “You may now join us in collecting leaves.”
He dipped his chin, laughing. “I will be glad to.”
Emma and Isabel walked ahead, choosing the best leaves for themselves along the side of the street. Patience slowed her pace, her stomach tying itself in knots. Mr. Cavinder walked beside her. She could hardly remember the last time they had been able to speak privately. He had been spending so many hours in his studio, and when he did return home while she was there, so were the other members of his family.
“May I see what you have collected so far?” Mr. Cavinder asked, holding out his hand. Patience set the leaves in his palm, noting the streaks of paint on his skin and fingernails. She smiled to herself.
He examined each leaf closely, holding them up to his eyes. She took the opportunity to study his features without being noticed. Her heart pounded a little faster when his smile brought creases to the corners of his eyes. When his eyes turned back to her, she could see her reflection against the warm brown tones. “These are all the same color,” he said in a baffled voice.
“I know.” She took the leaves back, spreading them like a hand of cards. “I like the red ones best.”
His smile tipped sideways as he looked down at her. She didn’t mind being so tall when she was standing near Mr. Cavinder. He was still a few inches taller than her, and she was able to have a much closer view of his handsome face than many other women would have when standing beside him. The idea of other women standing so close to him stabbed her with a pang of envy. She pushed it away, focusing on the leaves instead.
“The colors of autumn are all meant to complement one another,” Mr. Cavinder said. “I think you ought to add some other hues to your collection if it is to be complete.” As he gestured at the ground with his paint-streaked hands, he was far too endearing. If only she could view the world as an artist viewed it. The passion behind his words was infectious.
“Sir, I think one’s satisfaction with their collection of leaves is up to their own opinion.” She cast him a sidelong glance, bending to pick up another red leaf.
He stared at her, crossing his arms. Just when she thought he would scold her for choosing the red leaf, he surprised her. “You mustn’t call me sir. Call me Michael. I think we have been friends long enough.”
The word friends rattled through Patience’s mind. On one hand, she was flattered that he had called her his friend. On the other, she was disappointed. “But lest you forget, we were enemies long before we were ever friends.”
He laughed. “I suppose that is true. One would never address their enemy so informally.”
“Never.” Patience gave a shy smile. “I suppose it is time that I break the habit of addressing you as I would an enemy.”
“I will do the same.” Mr. Cavinder—Michael—stopped beneath a tree. “Though I do hesitate to address you as Patience. Shall I call you Impatience instead?”
She crossed her arms, crushing her collection of leaves. “I was only impatient during the hours I had to sit while you painted my portrait. Of late I have been very patient, if you must know.”
“Have you?” Michael raised one eyebrow. “What is it you have been so patiently waiting for?”
She drew a deep breath, pressing her lips together. The things that she had been growing impatient about were things she would never, ever tell him. What had she been waiting for, exactly? Some indication that Michael cared for her as more than an acquaintance, or even a friend? She did not like waiting for things that would likely never come. If she made a habit of it, then she would spend her entire life in the throes of disappointment.
“That leaf.” She pointed above his head. “I have been waiting for you to move so I can pluck that leaf for my collection.” A single red leaf hovered on a branch above Michael’s head. She hadn’t noticed it until that precise moment, but he didn’t need to know that.
Michael threw her a suspicious look before stepping aside. Patience marched forward, rising on her toes to reach for the leaf. From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to face the tree, watching as she struggled to reach it. From where she stood, she was nearly touching Michael’s arm. She could feel both his gaze and the warmth of his breath as he laughed in the cold autumn air. When he spoke, his voice came from behind, close to her ear. “You almost have it.”
“Well, are you going to help me or simply watch me struggle?” Patience asked. Her own laugh escaped, but it came out breathless when she felt Mr. Cavinder’s hand press against her lower back. He must have thought he was steadying her, but his touch had the opposite effect. Her balance faltered on her toes. Her heart pounded as his hands moved to grip each side of her waist.
“On the count of three, jump,” he said. “I’ll lift you up to the leaf.”
Patience doubted her shaking legs were even capable of jumping, but she would try, if only to ensure that Michael kept his hands precisely where they were, flush against her waist.
“One, two, three!” His grip tightened as he hoisted her up.
She snatched the leaf, letting out a small shriek as she fell back down to the ground. Michael slowed her descent, laughing into her hair as she stumbled back against him. Her skin rushed with warmth as she turned around to show him her prize.
His hands slid away from her waist, and when she faced him, his mouth was pulled into a broad smile. When she realized how close she still stood to him, she staggered back a step. Her back met the rough bark of the tree trunk. She had no where to go, and Michael didn’t seem intent to step aside. The smile on his face softened, and he hardly looked at the leaf she had extended toward him. His attentions were otherwise engaged.
His eyes traced over her face as the last remnants of his laughter faded. Patience was still catching her breath, smiling up at him because she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart pounded hard enough to prove that she did still have a heart, and that it was in immense danger of being stolen. Michael lifted his fingers to her face, brushing a loose curl away from her eyebrow. She held her breath, unwilling to interrupt whatever it was that Michael was doing. Her skin tingled under his touch, awakening the abandoned emotions in the pit of her stomach. She was not certain she could have inhaled even if she tried.
“Patience—” he began in a soft voice. He paused, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the ground. “I have been meaning to thank you for befriending my sisters. They have come to adore you. My mother cares for you more than you realize.” He lowered his hand from her face, kicking at a leaf near his boot. His brows drew together. There seemed to be more he wished to say, but before he could speak again, a shower of leaves came spiraling down on top of them. Patience looked up in surprise before hearing the eruption of giggles from behind the tree. Emma and Isabel had found them.
Both twins peeked their heads out from behind the trunk. “Did we startle you?”
Michael laughed. He stooped down to pick up a handful of his own, chasing his sisters to the other side of the trunk.
They shrieked as he threw a showering of leaves just above their heads, letting them fall down over their hair. Patience smiled. She adored the girls as much as Michael seemed to think they adored her, but she did resent them a little in that moment.
Because of their interruption, she hadn’t heard what Michael had been about to say. And now she would be far too impatient to discover what it was.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her patience might have been worth it in one regard. She was fairly certain she had just been granted the indication she had been waiting for. Her forehead still burned from where Michael had touched it, the pressure of his fingertips at her waist still throbbing. Would he have found a reason to touch her, to be so near her, if he viewed her as only a friend?
She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the question for long. Only a few months ago, he had viewed her as a monster. Friend was much better than that. She would gladly accept it.
A new smile climbed her cheeks as she watched Michael, Emma, and Isabel run through the leaves. Each time Michael laughed or smiled, he glanced back at Patience, sharing the moment with her. Her heart stirred from the slumber she had coaxed it into, becoming more alert with each glance Michael cast her way.
By the time Michael walked toward her, brushing bits of dried leaves from his jacket, her heart was wide awake.
He extended his hand. “Come join us. If you dare.”
She took his hand, and he tugged her forward, directly into the fire of Isabel’s newest handful of leaves. Patience laughed, throwing her own collection of red leaves at Isabel in retaliation. The game could have gone on forever considering that there was no clear way to choose a winner. Patience hoped that it would. In that moment, she decided that autumn leaves, Isabel and Emma’s smiles, and Michael’s laugh were three of her favorite things.
She would enjoy them while she could.
