In Pursuit of the Painter by Ashtyn Newbold

Chapter Six

“Ipurchased this in town today.” Mama’s strained voice echoed in the vast corridor near Patience’s bedchamber. “I bought it in the hopes that it will elevate your beauty enough to capture Lord Clitheroe’s attention.”

Patience’s chest tightened, her suppressed hope stretching its wings. Mama rarely gave her gifts.

“If that is possible,” Mama finished, sending shards of ice over the warmth of her gesture. She walked closer, extending the necklace she had purchased in town. Though Mama was much shorter than Patience, she towered over her in other ways. Patience couldn’t help but shrink when she was near. Mama and Hattie looked alike, with their golden curls, large blue eyes, and milky, unblemished skin. Mama had been just as admired as Hattie in her youth, and even at her age now, she had carried her beauty with her.

Patience took the pendant from Mama’s hand. It was cold and heavy in her palm. She looked down to examine the piece. It was engraved at the edges, with a pearl embedded at the center. A small piece of lilac amethysthung by a threadlike chain from the larger pendant. Patience’s jaw lowered in surprise.

“It is second-hand,” Mama explained. “It did not cost as much as it appears. Lord Clitheroe will not know the difference.”

Patience tied the ribbon behind her neck, letting the pendant fall just beneath the notch between her collarbones.

Mama examined it carefully, then circled Patience with a critical eye. “It will have to do.” She paused, her eyes catching on Patience’s arms.“Half sleeves? These gloves are not long enough. If they shift at all…” her voice trailed off.

“I have longer ones here.” Patience walked back into her bedchamber and brought out a different pair of gloves. With a quick tug, she removed the shorter ones and replaced them, face burning. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” Mama sighed with relief, rubbing her temple. “You must be more careful in selecting your gowns. If you danced and moved your arms enough to reveal them, Lord Clitheroe would lose interest entirely.”

Patience gave a prim nod, biting her tongue. Her heart pounded with dread, and she interlocked her fingers behind her back.

Continuing her examination, Mama’s eyes traveled the length of Patience’s gown. “Are you taller than the marquess?”

Patience hadn’t stood beside him, but he hadn’t seemed very tall when she had seen him stand. “I suppose by an inch or two.”

Mama’s lips pursed, her brows drawing together. “Are you wearing your flattest slippers?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Mama circled her again. “Perhaps he finds you too masculine. Your features are more like your father’s after all.” She grimaced, tapping Patience’s nose. “And with Hattie joining us at the soiree, I daresay the marquess will be forced to draw comparisons. Hattie, of course, is engaged, but he will still prefer to look at her.”

“Hattie is here?” Patience ignored the sinking sensation in her chest.

Mama’s lips curled slowly. “Yes, my dear girl has surprised us with a visit. She wished to visit Briarwood one last time alone before she is married.”

Patience nodded, gripping the sides of her skirts in her gloved hands. “Even though her wedding is next week? I thought she had a great deal to prepare in London.”

“All the preparations are complete now.” Mama placed one hand on each of Patience’s shoulders, her vibrant blue eyes stabbing through Patience like icicles. “Now all that remains is your wedding. You will marry the marquess. Believe it, and it will be so.”

Patience swallowed. “Do you believe it?”

Mama hesitated. “With effort, I believe it is possible.” She patted Patience’s shoulder before stepping away. “Be in the drawing room in ten minutes. Do arrive on time.” She glanced back. “Have your maid pinch your cheeks again.”

With that, she was gone. Patience released her breath, letting her lungs deflate and reduce the strain on her stays. They had been laced particularly tight that evening. Her entire body felt as though it had been laced tight, and if she made one wrong move, the laces would snap and undo all the efforts Mama had made to impress Lord Clitheroe.

Nine minutes later, Patience walked into the drawing room. The moment her eyes fell on the marquess, her stomach twisted. She tried to recall her conversation with Mr. Cavinder earlier that day. Her practice at flirtation hadn’t had the result she had expected, so her confidence was lacking. How should she act? What should she say?

Her gaze turned to the woman she could always count on to demonstrate proper flirting, even when she was engaged to another man.

Hattie stood near Lord Clitheroe, her musical laughter ringing through the room. Golden ringlets framed the arches of her delicate brows and long, curled lashes. Her body leaned toward the marquess as she spoke to him in hushed tones, as though they were sharing a humorous secret. The marquess’s attention was already claimed. It was stolen before Patience had even entered the room.

She squared her shoulders when she caught Mama’s gaze. Mama gritted her teeth, nodding urgently in the marquess’s direction.

Patience hurried forward, stopping just a few paces behind Hattie. Her legs shook beneath her. Papa had now joined Hattie and the marquess.

“Even more beautiful than her portrait, is she not, Lord Clitheroe?” Papa said.

From where she stood, Patience could only see half of the marquess’s face as his eyes perused her sister. “Indeed. That is a rare thing. Often painters depict people in a deceiving manner; in a manner that is too close to perfection to be realistic. But I see now that perfection does indeed exist.”

Patience tried to breathe deeply, but her lungs felt as though they had been filled with stones. Would Mr. Cavinder depict her in such a manner that Lord Clitheroe would find her likeness more attractive than her reality? The idea of that was nearly worse than not having a portrait at all. Patience had been compared to Hattie for her entire life, always falling short. To fall short of her own portrait would be devastating.

She stood up taller, finding the courage to approach the trio. She gave a bow in the marquess’s direction, stopping between Hattie and her father. Lord Clitheroe’s eyes slid over her, a smile curving his lips. “Good evening, Miss Patience.”

“Good evening.” She tried to replicate the smile she had just seen on Hattie. Demure, subtle, inviting.

“Patience!” Hattie’s eyes rounded. “Have you not a greeting for your own sister?” Her tone was accusatory as she flung her arms around Patience’s shoulders. “We have been apart for nearly a month, after all.” Hattie pulled back to look at her sister. “Have you grown taller?” She laughed. “I didn’t think it possible.” Her eyes flicked over Patience’s entire being in one swoop. “Did you get a new maid? What on earth has she done to your hair? That style was all the rage last year.” Her voice grew louder as another giggle escaped her. “Perhaps you should share my maid while I am here.” She patted Patience on the shoulder much like Mama had in some show of pity.

Patience’s cheeks burned as Lord Clitheroe smiled. His eyes followed Hattie as she fluttered across the room to see what other attention she could claim. Patience was fairly certain that her sister could not live without ensuring Patience was beneath her, and insulting her hair arrangement in front of Lord Clitheroe would give her some sort of security. Even when she was engaged, she still couldn’t be content without the attention of other men. Patience would have to wait until Hattie was married to have any hope.

When Patience looked up from the floor, Lord Clitheroe was staring at her, eyelids still drooping in that devil-may-care manner. Papa walked away without saying a word, leaving Patience alone with the marquess.

“I have made an appointment with Mr. Cavinder’s son,” he said. “I look forward to seeing if his work is what you claim it to be.”

“I did not—” Patience cleared her throat, offering a shaky smile. “I will not officially recommend him yet.”

“Has he completed your portrait?”

“Not yet.” Patience glanced about the room to ensure her father wasn’t listening. “I must still visit his studio for a few more hours.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I envy the man.”

“Why?” Patience leaned closer much like Hattie had done. She tried to slouch just a little, lowering herself the inch or two that separated her height with Lord Clitheroe’s. She could not have him thinking she was masculine.

A slow grin climbed his face. “Mr. Cavinder has the privilege of looking upon you for hours without judgment.”

Patience froze, stunned by his words. She couldn’t think of a reply before he slipped away with a bow and mischievous smile. Hope surged in her chest as she stood alone near the center of the room. She quickly moved to the outskirts, struggling to comprehend the marquess’s words. He must have known how forward they were. Any woman would take them as an indication of interest.

To marry a marquess would change her life. She would finally be respected. A future of comfort would be secured for her. She could not ruin this opportunity—especially not now that she had been so encouraged. Lord Clitheroe envied Mr. Cavinder’s privilege, as he had called it, to look upon her for hours.

Did Mr. Cavinder view it as a privilege? Patience clung to the thought much longer than she should have before letting it sink to the back of her mind where she kept the rest of her uncalled for thoughts about that man.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Patience had several other opportunities to speak with Lord Clitheroe, most of which were cut short by Hattie’s interjections. The marquess couldn’t be blamed for being taken with Hattie’s beauty, but he knew as well as Patience that she was engaged. His flirtations were better spent on Patience, giving her something to hope for when she retired from the drawing room at the end of the soiree.

She held onto the pendant at her neck as she walked to her bedchamber. Perhaps the necklace was what had given her such luck.

After changing into her night shift, she sat on the edge of her bed. She jumped when the door opened. Hattie walked inside, closing the door behind her. Following closely at her heels was Aphrodite, her long and slender gray cat.

“My dear Patience, I am so happy to be back in Inglesbatch before my wedding. I have missed you.”

Patience’s shoulders stiffened. The tone of Hattie’s voice was stilted—an attempt at sounding genuine. She hadn’t come here to tell Patience how much she missed her. There was another hidden reason.

Hattie wandered to the vanity, sitting down in Patience’s chair.

“Did you have an enjoyable evening?” Patience asked.

“Indeed.” Hattie paused, eyes never leaving her own reflection. “Did you?”

“Yes.” Patience swallowed.

Hattie smiled, lifting a comb to her hair. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed…flattered by the marquess’s attention.”

“You mustn’t fault me for it. Who wouldn’t be just as flattered?”

Hattie pursed her lips. “I don’t think Lord Clitheroe is genuine in his flirtations. I would advise you not to set your heart on him.”

Patience twisted a loose thread on her night shift. “Why do you think he is not genuine?”

Her sister laughed. “He is a flirt by nature. Besides that, he is a marquess, and you—” Hattie paused, casting her a look of pity. She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she continued combing her hair in front of the looking glass. Her cat rubbed against her leg at the base of the chair, purring softly when Hattie stroked it between the ears. “Good girl,” she cooed to the cat before turning toward Patience. “Isn’t Aphrodite the most beautiful cat you have ever seen?”

Patience didn’t answer, staring into the cat’s bright green eyes. It was a stunning creature, but Patience knew what it was capable of. She met Hattie’s eyes in the mirror, round and blue and flooded with false innocence.

What was she capable of?

Patience walked to the breakfast room early the next morning. She hadn’t been able to sleep well, unease and dread twisting in her stomach and keeping her awake. When she walked inside, she found Hattie already seated at the table. Patience had been looking forward to eating alone before taking her daily walk to the tree to see if the eggs had yet hatched.

At the thought of the birds, she froze, halfway to the sideboard.

“Where is Aphrodite?” She whirled toward Hattie.

She waved a hand passively, taking a dainty bite of bread. “I let her out this morning. Not to worry, she will be safe. She never wanders far and she is very intelligent, you know.”

Patience ran from the room, throat tight. Her legs felt heavy as she rushed outside in the light rain, making her way to the tree. She stopped.

Dread pooled in her stomach. It was a memory, that was all.

A memory,she insisted.

A terrible memory.

Tears stung the back of her eyes. As she came closer, she could see that the images were too vivid to be only in her head. Claw marks covered the bark of the tree. A capsized nest. Fragments of vibrant blue eggshells were littered on the ground like a shattered vase.

Aphrodite sauntered out from the cover of the tree, not a single sign of remorse in the creature’s gait or expression as it licked its whiskers.

Patience pressed a hand to her heart as tears fell down her cheeks. Not again. The despair in her chest grew as she cried at the base of the tree, the emotion descending into a bitterness so potent it choked her. If she told Hattie what Aphrodite had done, she would tell her that it was silly to cry over three eggs that had never hatched. But Patience couldn’t help but mourn with the birds who had been watching over the eggs as eagerly as she had.

The mother bird chirped with confusion as it fluttered around the place where its nest had been, and it broke Patience’s heart.

Nothing—nothing was safe with Hattie nearby. The sooner Patience learned that, the better. Thick iron gates closed around her chest, surrounding her heart. Nothing was allowed in. Not again. No feelings, no pain, no little birds.