Page 34 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Veronica raised her eyebrows. “Your Grace?”
He caught her gaze. “I was rather hoping you might help me.” His words sounded almost shy.
“Help you?” Veronica repeated. “With what?”
“Well. You are clearly a very talented artist. If I did not know that after my grandmother’s painting competition, I certainly do now after seeing that mural you painted at the school.”
Veronica’s cheeks flushed.
“I could use a second learned opinion when it comes to choosing the pieces for the gallery. And for collating collections and the like.” He offered her a pale smile. “I know I did not get our marriage off to the best start,” he said, “but I do hope you will give me a chance to make it up to you.” He shook his head faintly, as though annoyed at himself. “Not that I am asking you to do this merely to make things up to you.” He looked at her squarely. “I would very much like your input on this project, madam. If you see fit to offer it.”
Veronica found herself smiling. Felt a fresh excitement beginning to bubble up inside her. One that went someway to dulling the pain the Duke had inflicted on her the previous night. “On one condition,” she said daringly.
He raised his fair eyebrows. “What is that?”
“That you also exhibit some of my work.”
The Duke gave her a broad smile that lit up his eyes and made him look suddenly boyish and young. “It would be my honor.”
“Then I would be most happy to—” The coach jolted forward and the Duke reached out a hand to stop Veronica from falling. He kept his firm grip on her wrist as he eased her back to the cushioned bench opposite him. Goosebumps flooded up her arm and she did her best to ignore them. She cleared her throat. “I would be most happy to assist you,” she finished.
“I am glad to hear it.” The Duke gave her wrist an almost imperceptible squeeze, then withdrew his hand and turned to look out the window. Veronica felt a smile on her lips as the coach trundled back towards Brownwood Manor. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she might ever have the chance to exhibit her own work in a gallery. In Covent Garden of all places! Perhaps she would never be a mother or a beloved wife. But now she actually had the chance to become a renowned artist—and that was something to be more than a little grateful for.
Perhaps Gemma is right. Perhaps life does have a way of surprising us after all.
* * *
“Shall we begin?” the Duke asked, the moment they stepped through the front door of Brownwood Manor. He shook his head. “Forgive me. I am sure you wish to rest a while, have something to eat—”
“I have no need to rest,” Veronica cut in. “And we can eat later. Let’s begin.”
He grinned at her enthusiasm. “This way.” He led her past the staircase and toward the back of the manor. He pushed open a door beside the library. It opened into a narrow room, filled with the smell of paint. A half-finished portrait sat on the easel, depicting a beautiful fair-haired woman Veronica guessed was the Duke’s mother. She stepped inside curiously.
The Duke’s studio was much smaller than her own, with a view out onto a small stone courtyard, far less inspiring than the garden vista through her own studio window.
“Oh,” said Veronica, “your studio… Do you not wish for something… bigger?” she managed. “If you would like to use the workroom you gave me, of course you—”
“This room is all I need,” he said. “I’ve no need for anything bigger.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves, as though readying himself for work. “I have always used this room as my studio,” he told her. “You did not steal the room upstairs from me if that is what you think. I chose that room for you because of the view of the garden.” His voice was oddly expressionless, as though he was deliberately keeping his emotions at bay.
He retrieved several canvases that were leaning up against the side of the shelf. “I like the small room,” he said. “It allows me to escape the rest of the world much more effectively. Lose myself in my paintings, as it were.”
Veronica gave him a smile she knew did not reach her eyes. The thought of her husband holing himself up in here in a desperate need to escape the world made her chest ache. At least he had his paintings, she told herself. But paintings on their own were not enough to make a man happy.
She nodded towards the canvas on the easel. “Is this your mother?” she asked.
“Yes. I do not plan to exhibit much of my own work at the gallery. But I would like a picture of my mother on display, given that the place will be opened in her honor.”
“You are painting her image from memory?” asked Veronica curiously.
“I am.” He turned to look at his own painting, frowning slightly, as though examining it with a freshly critical eye. “Perhaps it will not be entirely physically accurate. But this way I can better capture her essence. Her spirit, as it were.” Before Veronica could respond, he lined the canvases he was carrying up against the wall. “These are sample pieces from the artists I have been speaking with. I would like your opinion on which of these painters I ought to commission works from for the gallery. I have spent so long looking at them that they are ceasing to make sense to me. I can no longer tell what’s good and what’s bad.”
“They are all good,” Veronica said. “But I’m sure you know that. If you didn’t you would not even be considering them.” She paced slowly across the room, examining each of the paintings. The works were a fascinating mix of styles and subjects, ranging from simple still lifes to family portraits and elaborate depictions of the night sky. “Each of these artists deserves to be exhibited,” she said. “But perhaps our first job is to select the artists whose work will best complement each other for the opening of the gallery. Those we do not choose, we can commission at a later date, for another exhibition.” Veronica could hear the sudden confidence in her voice—and it managed to surprise her. It was the first time, she realized, that she had ever felt completely comfortable in her husband’s presence.
The Duke gave her a half smile. “I agree.” He pointed to two of the paintings: the skyscape, and a painting depicting a young girl standing beneath vast storm clouds. “These are my favorites. I love the use of color here. And the choice of the night sky as a subject matter is very interesting. It has echoes of Lorrain, wouldn’t you say.”
Veronica nodded.
“I would very much like to see what else these artists can produce,” the Duke continued. “I suggest we choose three or four more whose work will best complement them.”
