Page 84 of Unraveled By the Duke
“And pictures and vases and… oh, all sorts. But Mother said he had a better use for the money.”
“What was that?”
Hyacinth shrugged. “I am just the infant in a swaddling blanket. But one thing I do know. Many people think that Alexander is one of those men who spend days at a time in their club, carousing and gambling. I know that he has no club and does not gamble.”
“Nor does he drink. I can attest to that. We ended up falling into a pond at Finsbury because we had a wine glass or two too many,” Celia revealed.
Hyacinth’s eyes went wide.
Celia recounted the tale to the younger woman’s delight.
So, he is certainly not the rake the ton thinks he is. And it was his father who began selling prized possessions just to make ends meet. A problem that Alexander clearly inherited, hence his need for a dowry.
Why allow people to believe something so reprehensible about you?
Hyacinth led her through all the main rooms of the ground floor, then upstairs. Celia thoroughly enjoyed the young woman’s company.
“This is Xander’s study. We will be circumspect; he hates to be interrupted when conducting his business,” Hyacinth said seriously.
She tapped on the door, paused, and then tapped again. She opened it a crack, and Celia suddenly heard the soft snoring from within.
Hyacinth put her finger to her lips and opened the door wider. Celia looked inside and saw Alexander fast asleep behind an enormous desk of polished, dark wood. A ball of paper sat on the desk before him, atop an opened letter, which itself lay on a bed of ledgers and accounts.
The very image of a hardworking man driven to the limit of his stamina.
“We should probably leave,” Hyacinth whispered.
“In a moment. Do you think I could have a moment?” Celia asked.
“Of course. I will be down the hallway, in my rooms. Come and find me when you are done.”
Hyacinth left, and Celia stepped into the study, closing the door softly behind her. She stood for a moment with her back to it, hardly daring to breathe.
Alexander looked peaceful, with his mouth closed and his face soft in repose. She could see the boy from the portrait in that relaxed face. Sleep seemed to give him an innocence or restore an long-lost innocence.
The urge to capture this moment was overwhelming. She knew it of old and knew it was impossible to ignore.
She looked around the room, her gaze settling on the paper that had been crushed into a ball. A quill stood next to an inkwell to one side of the desk.
Taking the paper, she smoothed it out so that its blank side faced up on the desk. Then, she began to draw, looking up at Alexander’s face as she did so. Quick darting glances, but each one searing the image into her mind. She did not think she would ever forget one line of his face. It poured from her mindand onto the paper, the image growing under her hand, taking shape.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Celia stepped back. There was ink on her fingers and probably smudged on her face, too. She stared down at the picture.
My best work, I think.
The man in the picture was beautiful. His face was the epitome of masculinity. There was rigid stoniness on the surface, but with a gentleness that became more and more apparent the longer one looked.
Celia smiled, her heart racing with exhilaration. The muse had never seized her so firmly before, never set fire to her heart so completely.
Alexander’s eyes opened. Celia had been looking at him, comparing his face to her picture, when suddenly she was gazing into his eyes. He blinked slowly and straightened in his chair, stretching.
“You are here again. Or is this another dream?”
“I think it is a dream. Reality could not be this perfect,” Celia said wistfully, her eyes flicking to the picture once more.
Alexander followed her gaze, and his eyes widened. He gently picked up the picture and held it before him. “This is not me.”
“It is.”
