Page 39 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Footsteps coming up the stairs drew his attention to the open door of his studio. His valet’s voice rose with them. “Madam, allow me to announce you.”

Victor angled his easel toward the wall at his mother’s answer. “I’m his mother, Tierney. I don’t need to be announced. This is urgent!”

Bloody hell. What now? Victor exhaled a heavy sigh. No doubt theurgentnews was some bit of gossip Victor had no desire to hear.

As his mother stormed into the room, she waved a scandal sheet, confirming his supposition.

“What is it now, Mother? Why must you keep interrupting my work?” Victor wiped paint off a brush, his leisurely motions matching his bored tone. “Has Lady Highbottom been seen wearing a royal-blue bonnet with a chartreuse spencer? How gauche.”

Pleased Lydia hadn’t accompanied her, Victor finally lifted his gaze toward his mother. And promptly dropped the brush he was cleaning. She looked ghastly. Her color was ashen, somewhere between a dark chartreuse he had teased her about and the color of charcoal.

He raced over, grasping her arm and leading her to his sofa. “Sit.” Spinning around, he searched for his bottle of brandy, only then remembering she refused it the last time. He crouched before her, his gaze dipping to the sheet of paper in her hand.

The Muckraker!

Her voice cracked, and her hand shook as she thrust the gossip rag toward him. “How co—could you, Victor? Now you will have to marry her!” She crumpled on the sofa, sobbing.

An uncomfortable thought crossed his mind that perhaps—just perhaps, mind you—he had come by his flair for the dramatic quite naturally.

At least he hoped his mother’s reaction to whatever news the scandal sheet held was exaggerated. But the words ‘Now you will have to marry her’ put him on edge.

He scanned the piece of filth which began with more sordid gossip regarding Burwood’s man-of-business, Simon Beckham, and Lady Charlotte. What followed hit him like a punch to his stomach.

In addition to the scandalous behavior of Mr. Beckham and Lady Charlotte, not only in Swindon but prior to their marriage as well, which this reporter notes occurred in the Duke of Burwood’s London home, news has reached our ears that the duke’s sister, Miss Juliana Merrick, posed for a portrait painted by Mr. Victor Pratt, heir to Viscount Cartwright. The news would seem unremarkable, as Mr. Pratt is known to be an aspiring artist. However, the reports state that Miss Merrick did so in a state of undress. It would appear that the new duke’s home has become a hotbed of scandal.

To make the news more interesting, in addition to painting Miss Merrick’s portrait, Mr. Pratt is said to be courting the young—ahem—lady. That a man in line to inherit a viscountcy would stoop to forming an attachment with a commoner elevates the scandal to new heights.

This reporter is curious. Which came first: the commission or the courtship? And is Victor Pratt using Miss Merrick to his advantage? Or simply taking advantage?

Victor’s stomach roiled, and he wanted to rip the detestable paper to shreds as he skimmed past reports of babies bornprior to their expected arrivals and Lord Felix Davies’s purchase of a new gelding at Tattersall’s, confirming the gossipmonger directed no more attacks toward him or the duke and his family.

“Lies!” He spat the word, flinging the paper back at his mother.

“Which part? You told me yourself you were going to request the commission to paint the duke’s portrait.” His mother’s gaze darted toward the easel holding Juliana’s portrait. “And to court his sister.”

She shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’d hoped you said so only to discourage an attachment with Miss Whyte. But now...now, regardless of your intention, your honor is called into question.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at his mother. “First, there is nothing scandalous about the portrait of Miss Merrick.” He strode toward the easel, then moved it away from the wall. “Come see for yourself.”

His mother rose from the sofa and inched toward him as if he planned to spring a trap on her. “You assure me there is nothing untoward about the painting?”

“There is nothing to offend yourdelicatesensibilities, Mother. The fact you even ask wounds me.”

She grumbled something about young men’s desires but stepped around to the front of the easel. Her hand rose to her throat as she viewed the portrait. “Oh, Victor.”

“You like it?” The incredulity in his tone surprised him. “You’re the first to see it, beside Tierney and me, of course.”

Her brow scrunched. “Why is there a horse in the painting?”

Of course, his mother would find fault withsomething.It’s what she did.

“She’s a skilled horsewoman. Her rescue of Dr. Somersby’s daughter on Rotten Row was not simply happenstance. Herexceptional riding along with her cool head and quick thinking saved the girl. The horse speaks to who she is as a person.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “As aperson? She’s a commoner, Victor.”

“She is a lovely young woman.”

“So you are courting her in earnest?”

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