Page 37 of Healing the Duke's Desires
A shy little voice finally managed to reach him. It was Rose. She had obviously opened the door when she realized that she would not be called in voluntarily.
Still breathing heavily, he turned to her, hiding the canvas with the entirety of his body. She knew better than to ask him what he was painting. Around him, there were splatters of paint, standing witness to his creative madness.
“It’s almost time,” she told him, a little apologetically, her voice barely audible, although silence reigned all around them.
The words traveled slowly through the tumult of his soul, reaching his mind after what seemed to be a small eternity. He frowned, confused.
“Time for what?” he wondered.
He was lost in creation. Now that this sensation seized him again, he didn’t want to stop. Hecouldn’tstop. It was as if his hand was trembling without a brush in it, and all he could focus on was the unfinished canvas behind him. It seemed to beckon him to forget about everything and everyone else and just focus on the task at hand.
She waited for a moment as a ray of light coming from somewhere behind her pierced through the dimly lit space of his art studio. Only now did he notice that she was wearing one of her most beautiful gowns and her hair had been arranged so that a few loose curls were framing her face. Her cheeks were slightly rouged, as if someone had pinched them a little too fervently. She looked ready to head out.
Sometimes, he wondered when all that time had passed. Rose was already a young woman. He felt as if mere months ago, she was but a little girl, running after butterflies. Now, she was just a few steps away from marriage and maybe having her own daughter equally mesmerized by butterflies.
“The musicale… remember?” she reminded him, pulling him completely out of his artistic trance this time. She hesitated a little before continuing. “We need to get going soon… if we are not to be late, that is.”
He blinked again, trying to reconcile the excusatory urgency in her tone with the chaotic masterpiece he had been engrossed in. The weight of her words settled upon him slowly and heavily, and a sense of dawning realization swept over. The musicale—the event he and Rose had been eagerly anticipating because Rose herself would be performing. She had been practicing for this moment for several months. How could he have forgotten it?
With a deep breath, Alexander reluctantly set down his paintbrush, his gaze lingering on the canvas he had poured so much of himself into. His heart raced with a mix of emotions, torn between the magnetic pull of his art and the pressing demand of the world beyond the studio walls.
He raked his fingers through his hair, not even realizing that he’d left a streak of bold red right through the middle of his head, as if someone had drawn a line separating his very being into two opposing sides.
In fact, that was exactly how he felt. One side was pulling him back to the past, keeping him chained there to the memory of his dead wife, while the other side urged him to move forward, to take the hand of the woman who had so innocently dropped into his life out of nowhere, completely mesmerizing him. The pull from both sides was incredibly powerful, and choosing one seemed an impossible feat.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, still blocking the canvas from plain view as if he were hiding a most guarded secret. “I seem to have lost track of time.” He looked around, then down at himself. He was a mess, and that was an understatement. But he could get cleaned up quickly if he really tried to. “Why don’t you tell Sterling to bring you and your mother some tea while you wait for me to get ready?”
She nodded with an understanding smile, as always. He couldn’t help but think that she would be a wonderful wife to a very fortunate man, with her kind heart and sympathetic outlook on life. She was still smiling when she replied. “I’ll do that. We’ll be downstairs in the drawing room, then, waiting for you.”
“I won’t be long,” he promised with a reassuring nod.
As the door closed behind her, Alexander surveyed the studio—splashes of color, the remnants of his creative frenzy, and the masterpiece that now bore the imprint of his emotions. This was where he felt the safest, where he felt truly himself.
With both reluctance and anticipation, he washed the paint from his hands and face, his mind still humming with the artistic energy that had consumed him. When he closed the door to his studio, he made sure to lock it. He didn’t want anyone to see the result of his frenzy, which was actually a half-finished portrait of Emily.
Just as he promised, an hour later, the three of them found themselves in his carriage on their way to the musicale. The carriage ambled through the cobblestone streets, the softclip-clopof hooves creating a gentle rhythm that underscored the conversation within. Rose’s excitement was infectious, her eyes sparkling with a luminous enthusiasm that couldn’t have been contained.
“I cannot believe the evening is finally here,” Rose squealed with delight, fidgeting in her seat, her fingers drumming a nervous tempo against her skirt. She was usually a calm person, and to see her like this meant that this evening was very important to her. Alexander could understand why. “I’ve been practicing for months just for this occasion.”
Her mother smiled kindly at her. “I am so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard, my dear.”
“And it shows,” Alexander felt the need to add, for it was the truth. He had been listening to Rose play for months now, and she was truly a virtuoso in her own right. It was such a soothing sensation to hear the reverberations of the notes melt into one another, creating wonderful music.
Rose looked at him appreciatively. “I am so grateful that you both are coming to watch me. It means the world to me.”
Alexander felt a pang of guilt that he had come so close to missing this very important moment in his cousin’s life. If he had, he would not have been able to forgive himself. Fortunately, he was here now, and nothing would take him away from her on this monumental evening.
“I would not miss it for the world, Rose,” he assured her.
The carriage continued its journey, the cityscape giving way to the grandeur of the musicale venue, and the trio continued with a light chat about the expectations of the evening.
As they approached, the air seemed to hum with an electric energy, an anticipation that mirrored Rose’s own excitement. The carriage came to a halt and the trio disembarked, entering the venue amidst a swirl of elegantly attired guests. It seemed to be an important evening for everyone, whether they performed or merely attended the event.
Alexander tried his best not to think about the masterpiece he had left at home, alone and neglected. His fingers trembled at the very thought, so he tried to pacify them by hiding them in his pocket. It did little, however, to soothe his nerves.
He turned to Rose for comfort, and it worked. Her enthusiasm was even more infectious now, and she was utterly glowing with delight. It was selfish to think about Emily at a time like this. This was Rose’s moment. He needed to be there for her, with both his mind as well as his body. He owed her that much.
Inside, the grandeur of the event unfolded before them—the chandeliers cast a soft glow, the ornate décor lending an air of sophistication to the surroundings. Rose’s excitement seemed to intensify as they navigated the gathering, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the sights and sounds. There were still a few other performers before her, so there was time for her to steady her nerves as she was seated next to her mother and cousin.
