The Art of Stealing a Duke’s Heart by Ellie St. Clair

Chapter 25

Calli had put brush to paper, unsure what was going to come out the end.

Now she stared at the scene in front of her, closing her eyes to hold back the tears.

For it was the land. The land in Kent. The land that she had ridden with Jonathan and the children. Oh, what a day that had been. It was, she realized now with surprise, one of the happiest days of her life. Which was ridiculous. She had a family who loved her, who would do anything for her, and here she was, longing for a man who hated her.

There was no reason for it, and she was disgusted with herself. She was weak.

She did, however, have an idea on just how she would tell Jonathan the truth.

She found another piece of paper, only this time she dipped her pen in ink and set it to the paper.

On it, she told him all that had happened, all that she had done, all that she was sorry for. She could only hope he would read it, so that, at the very least, he would understand that she had never betrayed him.

Once the paint dried, she bound it all up in a large package, then sent it with a boy, along with a few coins. She placed her hands on her hips and let out an audible sigh as she watched him skip down the street with it. She had promised him further payment when he returned and told her who he had given it to. At least then she would know that it had arrived.

She only wished she could know Jonathan’s reaction when it did.

* * *

He stareddown at the painting before him. It was Kent. It was his land. The land that he had always loved, but now, after being there with the children, he realized how much it meant to him, how good it had felt to get out of London and spend time there, where he could let go of everything that bound and held him here in the city.

There he was free.

The work was masterful, and would be worthy of a place on any of his walls, in his gallery or, better yet, somewhere that all could enjoy.

Except that he couldn’t have it anywhere that would taunt him, reminding him of all he’d had, and all he had lost.

He had known it was her work that moment he had opened the package. A package delivered by a boy, he was told, which was addressed to him and him only.

It was then that he noticed the scrap of paper that had fallen out, and he picked it up to find steady, strong handwriting upon the note.

A note that told him everything her brother had divulged.

She finished by saying that she expected nothing more from him. Only that she needed him to know the truth. That she loved him and would never do anything to hurt him.

Jonathan lowered his head into his hands, looking down at the desk below him. The desk which now held her painting, a painting which would always be priceless in his mind. For no one could ever so properly replicate the peace that he felt within his heart in one image.

Suddenly his gaze was caught by something in the detail of the painting. He squinted his eyes to better see. Was he only imaging it?

No, there it was. On the horizon of the image, there were four shapes — silhouettes, really, of four people, holding hands as they looked out on all before them. Two adults and two children. The four of them.

Jonathan let out a groan as he threw himself back in his chair and closed his eyes to the painting, not wanting to see it anymore. Only then he not only saw the image, but more. He saw the four of them, in color, joy on their faces as they ran over the fields. Mary. Matthew. Him. Calli.

He tried to replace her face with another’s. After all that he had come to know about her, he should find another woman. But would he ever find anyone else he could be happy with?

No. He absolutely could not. Calli was it for him. She had ruined him for all others.

And, he realized slowly as he came to stand, running a hand through his hair, that was just fine.

For he loved her. He loved her as she apparently did him.

Yes, she was from a family of thieves. Yes, she had deceived him. But in the end, he could no longer deny that she had done what she’d thought was right.

Jonathan hurried around the desk, suddenly knowing what he needed to do. He needed to make things right. And he needed to win back the woman he loved.

He started calling for Thurston, Mrs. Blonsky, and Shepherd. He needed all of their help if he was going to do this the right way.

And he needed the help of two very important people. Two people, he was sure, who would be quite pleased with his decision.

* * *

“Calliope Murphy.”

“Yes, Diana?”

Calli looked up from her painting to find her sister framed in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Yes, something is most certainly wrong,” Diana said, crossing the room to take a seat in the chair beside Calli, her skirts flouncing up in a huff that she apparently felt herself. “I am done with this.”

“With what?”

“With your moping around, hiding in your room, pining after a duke who was never yours to begin with. It’s time to lift your bodice back up and return to being the Calli that we all know and love.”

Calli straightened, setting her paintbrush down before turning to Diana.

“Diana, you have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I believe I do. You haven’t been the same since you returned.”

“No,” Calli said, shaking her head, a small, sad smile crossing her face. “You are right. I have not. And you know what the truth is? I will likely never be the same again.”

Diana opened her mouth, but Calli held up a hand, stopping her flow of words.

“That doesn’t mean that I am not happy or will never know joy. It’s just… I’ve learned so much. I’ve learned about love. I’ve learned about myself. I know what makes me happy now.”

“Your duke?” Diana said wryly, and Calli inclined her head as she studied her sister, the only fair-haired one of them all.

“He did make me happy, yes. As did the children. But I am no fool. I have not allowed all of my hopes to rest on him. No, what makes me happy is painting — but painting my own work.”

“You already knew that.”

“Yes, but now I’m wondering — can I make a life for myself as a painter? Should I try to sell some of these? I know they litter the walls of the house, as well as the floors underneath the beds, but maybe… maybe people might actually like them. The duke was as fine of an art connoisseur as anyone I have ever met. He saw some of my work and he actually had high praise.”

Diana lifted a brow. “I do not mean to discredit you here, Calli, as I am well aware of your talent. But did he say he liked your paintings because he wanted to sleep with you, or because he wanted to hang them on his walls?”

Calli’s cheeks immediately heated, but she refused to allow Diana to get under her skin.

“He is not the type of man who would say such a thing just as a compliment. He says what he means.”

“Well,” Diana said with a shrug. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. But how would you even do such a thing, especially as a woman, and one without any connections at that?”

“I’m not sure about that yet,” Calli said with a sigh. “Maybe Arie can help me.”

“Maybe,” Diana said, although she didn’t sound entirely confident.

“Calli?” Damien stood at the door, a slip of paper in his hand. “A note came for you.”

“For me?” she said with a frown, unsure of who would ever have need of her beyond those that lived in this house. She rose and took the paper from him, her eyes skimming over the words in familiar handwriting. Handwriting that she had taught herself.

Come quickly, Miss Donahue, we have urgent need of you. Mary and Matthew

“I must go,” she said, flying to the peg on the wall for her cloak.

“Go where?” Diana asked, but Calli was already out the door, leaving her siblings behind. She had no need nor time to explain to them. They wouldn’t understand, anyway.

“Calli?” Xander appeared now, and her steps slowed. She would never be able to completely ignore Xander, no matter the circumstance. Their bond was too strong.

She held out the note to him, pleading at him with her eyes, silently begging for him to understand.

He did. He looked up at her and nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

“Go where?” Diana cried after them, but Xander simply called behind him, “We’ll return shortly,” and Calli gratefully followed him out the doors toward the stable at the back.

When they arrived at Jonathan’s townhouse, the carriage had barely come to a stop before Calli was out onto the street and flying up the steps. When she knocked and no one answered, the fears that she had been trying to tamp down all the way here began to rise within her, but Xander placed a hand on her shoulder and she calmed — slightly.

Finally, Thurston opened the door, surprisingly not shocked to find Calli and her brother standing there.

“Miss Donahue,” he said with a slight bow, “please, come in.”

“Mary? Matthew?” she asked him, her heart still pounding. “Are they all right?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Please follow me.”

Calli shared a bewildered glance with Xander before the two of them followed the butler, who was walking far too slowly for her liking, down the hall toward the back parlor — the one which overlooked the small garden at the back that Calli had always enjoyed.

The butler stopped in front of the door, but instead of entering to announce her, he swept his hand out toward the door, bidding her to enter.

Calli did so trepidatiously — only for her mouth to drop open at what she saw within.

Next to the window was an easel, the canvas already laid out upon it, awaiting color, causing her fingers to twitch.

A desk sat next to it, filled with every color of paint one could ever imagine, from the color of the sky to the murky ocean. Brushes of every size, every shape were lined up neatly, with a comfortable-looking leather tufted chair in the middle, facing out between the canvas and the window beyond.

Beside this most beautiful display were two smaller replications of it.

And in the corner of the room, an even more incredible sight — Jonathan, standing behind Mary and Matthew, one hand on each of their shoulders.

“Calli?” Mary said, a wide smile on her face, “may I call you that?”

“Of course,” Calli said after clearing her throat, finding that she had lost her voice for a moment as she was so overcome by all in front of her.

“What do you think?”

“I think… this looks amazing,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “You are the luckiest children I know.”

“Yes,” Mary persisted, “we are looking forward to painting here, ’tis true. But what do you think?”

“I think I can hardly wait to see what you come up with,” Calli said, wondering just why they had called her here, what they expected of her. Jonathan had obviously known about this scheme for her to arrive at the house, but why was he just standing there, doing nothing, saying nothing?

“Mary, Matthew,” Jonathan said, crouching down, “I’m not sure that Calli quite understands. Why don’t you go play for a moment while I talk to her?”

The children looked somewhat crestfallen, but nodded and left the room, as Xander stared at the two of them unsurely.

“I’ll ah, go keep an eye on them,” he said.

Calli nodded to him gratefully, glad that he was here, that she knew she always had him to lean on.

“Calli,” Jonathan began, stepping toward her, but Calli held up a hand.

“Let me go first — please?” she said imploringly, and he paused but then nodded.

“I know you’ve received my letter and already know all that I ever wanted you to,” she said. “But there was one thing I never did say properly. And that is that I am sorry. I never meant for this — any of this — to happen.”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “You are a good person, Calli, I know that. I realize that. And I never gave you a chance.”

“But—”

He was the one to hold up a hand now, just as she noted her painting — the one she had sent him — hanging behind him on the wall.

“You learned rather quickly, I’m afraid, that I am a man who often allows his temper to get the best of him. That I like to get my way and am not pleased at anyone who stands up to me. That I do not trust easily and refuse to allow the trust to return once it has been broken.”

Calli listened, inwardly agreeing with him. He was right. He was all of those things. And yet she loved him anyway.

“When you weren’t who you said you were I felt… betrayed.” He turned from her for a moment, running a hand through his hair, and Calli’s heart ached at the pain on his face. Pain that she had caused. “I lashed out against you, forced you out of my house, out of my heart.”

“I understand why you did what you did, Jonathan,” she murmured. “There is no need to feel badly about it.”

“Except that I was wrong.”

Her head shot up at that, and now he was taking her hands in his, those crystal blue eyes of his boring into hers with more intense an expression than she had ever seen before.

Her mouth rounded as she tried to say something — anything — but nothing would come out.

“I should have given you a chance. I know what you did, how you tried to keep me from losing the painting. I knew the second Shepherd told me the original was still in the frame, and yet, still, I refused to believe.”

“You had every right—”

“No,” he squeezed her hands gently. “I should have trusted in what I felt for you. The connection we had. The one that was never a lie, even though your name was.”

Calli felt the tears beginning to form, but she pushed a watery smile onto her face.

“I’ve always been Calli,” she managed, her words just over a whisper.

“I know,” he said, pulling her closer. “This room — I want it to be yours. I want you to have the freedom to paint, but to paint what you want to paint. To paint original works, that will become renowned throughout the world.”

“How did you know?” she choked out.

“Know what?”

“My dream?”

“I didn’t,” he said, frowning, “I just thought… if this was where your passion lay, why not chase it?”

“So you want me to return as the children’s governess?” she asked, unclear just why this room was set up in his townhouse.

“Their governess?” he said, his eyes widening, and then laughed lightly. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Calli,” he said, lowering himself to one knee before her, “I want you to be my wife.”