Page 34 of The Dreaming Beauty
“Now I am embarrassing you. I had better stop talking and start teaching. I agree that a landscape is best since that is where you have some experience. Pick any part of the grounds, and we will begin.”
Tansy glanced about her. It was a beautiful morning for painting. The early summer air created the perfect temperature, and sunshine highlighted everything in sight. In the distance she could make out the top of the dowager’s cottage nearly hidden from view by overgrown trees.
“Ah, you have discovered the mysterious residence of the royal widow.” A bit of contempt made its way through his words.
“Mr. Taylor mentioned she lives in seclusion. What is she like?”
“I have been here off and on for seven years and have not seen even a glimpse of her myself. My brother rides over to check on her and her staff, but even he has not spoken to her. The rumor is my predecessor treated his wife poorly and she killed him. Nothing was proved, but she hides herself, afraid the truth will be discovered.”
Tansy drew back, the eeriness of the story giving her gooseflesh. “You won’t mind, then, if I do not choose that corner as the subject of my painting?”
His Grace chuckled. “Not in the slightest.”
She sought out other locations. As far as the view went, it was all too wonderful to choose. Touching the house was a large cement area that ran the length of it, ideal for garden parties and summer dances. Pots full of roses dotted the expanse of it.
Just beyond that veranda was an ornamental garden with small manicured hedges and bursts of marigolds. In the center was a fountain surrounded by a shallow pool of water. The fountain’s statue was a young child with a pipe, the water coming out of the pipe and around the base of the figure. Beyond it was lush green grass bordered by mature trees—trees she longed to explore. She could already imagine Daisy begging to search for fairies in such a magical place.
“Would you think me too simple if I desired to paint the roses?”
“Not at all. Is this because of Rose Cottage? I hear you’re surrounded by the things.”
“It’s because of my mother. She loved them.” Flowers were special to her family, but especially to her mother, perhaps because her name was Rosalind but everyone shortened it to Rosie.
The duke nodded his understanding and said, “Which one bears the shape or color you would like to paint?”
She knew he had heard the past tense when she referenced her mother and was grateful and curious that he did not ask after it. Mr. Taylor had asked. But that did not mean everyone need do so. “Those pink blooms nearest us are lovely. It would be simplest to do those, and then we do not have to move the easel.”
“Ah, a practical student. Pink it is. To start, we will get some paint on our canvas and dirty it up a bit. This is my favorite part.” His Grace slapped gray in a haphazard way across the canvas.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Is this how the experts paint?”
“Experts? Who said anything about experts? If you wanted a stuffy old teacher, then you came to the wrong place. I am educated to teach you art, and this, my lady, is how art is born. Emotion. Lots and lots of emotion.”
Tansy took a deep breath and smeared blue all the way across the white canvas, then repeatedly slashed it with color. She laughed again. “You’re right. This way is delightful.”
The duke grinned, and Tansy could not help but admit how handsome he was. He had seemed almost broody and demanding the day before, but now he was cheerful and teasing. He seemed very like his painting methods, all emotion. It was exciting being next to him, but she was not without her guard. She was just learning to trust Mr. Taylor, but His Grace was surely using her as a distraction and nothing more. She would have to be more careful than ever.
Her roses were no more than blobs of color when she noticed the sun reaching midway in the sky.
“The shading comes next—my other favorite part.”
His enthusiasm was endearing, but she had exhausted her stay. “I thank you, but another time, perhaps? I should get my aunts home, and I cannot take your entire day.” She had already learned so much from him—the best way to blend her strokes and how to layer the colors to create a more natural background, among other things.
“Ah, you’re right,” the duke said. “I would hate to fatigue you.”
She began washing her brushes just as Mr. Taylor came over. His eyes assessed her work, and she was suddenly self-conscious about it. “It isn’t finished.”
“I can see the roses are taking shape.”
She released her breath. “You guessed my subject.”
“It wasn’t hard. What else on the grounds is pink?” He grinned and glanced between her and his brother. “How did the first lesson go?”
“Excellent, Brother,” His Grace answered, “as evidenced by our productive morning. Why don’t you get Miss Tansy and her aunts inside and out of the sun. I will clean up here. I am particular about this part.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Mr. Taylor agreed. “He can be most meticulous when it comes to his brushes and paints.”
