Page 42 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Frederick came towards her and covered her clasped hands with his for a second. “Take care, Mrs. Lane. I look forward to seeing your collection.” He attempted a smile. “I hope to honor my mother through the opening of the gallery. And now you have a way to honor your son too.”
* * *
Veronica stood in the middle of the empty classroom, admiring the completed mural. She was more than pleased with her work. With its bright, oversized flowers, the piece gave the classroom and warm and inviting feeling. Hopefully, it would inspire the students, especially when the dark, gray winter fell upon the city. The paints Frederick had gifted her had played a big part in helping her create such an eye-catching piece. As he had promised, they were of the highest quality, and the vast range of colors had allowed her to create something she was truly proud of.
She cleaned and dried her brushes, then wrapped them carefully in a cloth, setting them on top of her box of paints. Then she unbuttoned the apron the Dowager Duchess had given her and folded it carefully. As she did so, she remembered the old woman’s words about her daughter-in-law:
“She knew how lucky she was to come from such a privileged background, and she always wanted to give back to the world…”
Veronica looked at the mural. She was thrilled with the finished product, yes, but she too felt a need to do more. True, she might have grown up in an impoverished home by theton’s standards, but Veronica knew that was nothing compared to the hardships the orphans that would attend this school had faced.
Surely there is more I can do for them than paint a mere mural. Surely—
“Veronica?” She turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. Gemma was standing in the doorway, her eyes alight at the sight of the finished mural. “Oh, it’s wonderful. It makes the room look so warm and inviting. The children will simply love it.”
Veronica smiled. “I hope so.”
“Some more book donations have just arrived,” Gemma told her. “If you are finished in here, would you like to help me put them on the shelves?”
“Of course.” Veronica gathered up her things and followed her sister into the library at the back of the school. Crates and crates of books were dotted all across the floor, waiting to be lined up in the rows of empty shelves. She recognized a few of the titles as those Frederick had donated the last time he had been here.
“They need to be ordered, of course,” Gemma began, tapping her chin in thought as she moved around the room, examining the boxes. “I thought perhaps by subject matter, and then alphabetically…”
Veronica nodded along to her sister’s instructions. But her thoughts were circling around the orphans, and how she could give back a little more—just as her late mother-in-law had sought to do. She wanted to do more for these children than simply paint them a mural and put some books on the shelf. She wanted to really make a difference in their lives.
And what has made more of a difference in my own life than art?
For a long time, Veronica had dreamed of teaching painting, but when she had imagined herself doing so, it was always to young ladies of her own class. But she saw now that these children, many of whom had nothing and no one, these were the people she wanted to teach. She wanted to impart her knowledge to the people who would value it the most. And if she was not going to have children of her own, at least she could make a difference in these young lives.
“What are you smiling at?” asked Gemma.
Veronica shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking about the mural.” In time, she would tell her sister everything, of course. But first, she had to speak to her husband. And pray he was in the mood to listen to what she had to say.
* * *
When she got back to Brownwood Manor later that afternoon, Veronica was still brimming with inspiration. She hurried upstairs to her studio, eager to continue working on her paintings for the gallery. She had finished the initial sketches on the first piece and was now working on the initial layers of paint.
Tonight, over dinner, she would share her thoughts about teaching at the school with Frederick. How would he react to her request, she wondered? It was improper for a woman of her class to work, of course—especially given she was a Duchess. But it was not as if she would be requesting payment for her time. If he saw it as a charitable mission, surely Frederick would be amenable to it. After all, he had been nothing but supportive of her art since the moment she had met him. Besides, he was an artist too—surely he would not begrudge her sharing her passion with the orphans at the school he himself was so zealously funding.
Buzzing with enthusiasm, Veronica slipped the apron back over her head and returned to her canvas. For several moments, she stood in front of it, examining it with a critical eye. Sunlight was flooding through the large windows along one wall of the studio, allowing her to examine her brushstrokes with careful detail. She was pleased with how the oak tree had turned out, but she had not yet managed to capture the wild essence of the garden.
As she was contemplating how to best capture the shadows between the trees, she heard a knock at the door. “Veronica? Are you in here?” Her husband stepped inside before she could respond. “I was wondering if you—” He fell suddenly silent, his eyes drawn to his mother’s painting smock she had buttoned over her clothes. The smile disappeared from his face, and Veronica froze. She watched a look of sudden coldness fall over her husband’s face.
“Where in hell did you get that?”
ChapterSeventeen
Veronica felt a wave of dread pressing down on her. As much as she loved the apron, she had not intended to let him see her wearing it. At least until she had had a chance to raise the issue with him. In a delicate and timely manner. She had not counted on him barging in here like a… well, like aDuke.
She swallowed heavily, but she lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes.
“Your grandmother gave it to me,” she told him, forcing a steadiness into her voice. Frederick’s eyes were thunderous, and for a moment, there was a part of Veronica that feared him. She fought back the urge to retreat from him. Fought back the urge to apologize.
“Did she now?” Frederick’s voice was cold. Colder than she had ever heard it.
“Yes,” Veronica said evenly, calmly. “She said she wished it to be used. Not hiding away in the dark with the rest of her daughter-in-law’s things.”
Frederick clenched his jaw so hard it shook. “She had no right to go into that room.” He looked at her with flashing eyes. “Did you go in there too? Into Mother’s studio?”
