Page 65 of Oddity of the Ton
“Perhaps because they’re beneath the skin.”
“They’d still be visible.” She held up her hand. “The bones in my hand are beneath the skin, but you can see they’re there.” She flexed her hand, then curled it into a fist. “See how the skin stretches over my knuckles? The change in coloration and shadows on the skin tell you that there’s something beneath.”
“And the same principle applies to horses?”
She smiled. “Precisely! What distinguished Stubbs from other painters is that he took great pains to study horses in termsof what lies beneath the skin. He knew the exact placement of every muscle and bone beneath the surface.”
Heavens above!The wilting creature he’d pulled out of the ballroom had been transformed. Before him stood an intelligent young woman, talking animatedly about a subject with which she was familiar.
“How do youknowall this?” he asked.
“I’ve been fascinated by Stubbs’s work since I saw a copy of one of his sketches. But my interest only really started after Papa bought me a copy ofThe Anatomy of the Horse.” She glanced at Monty as if expecting him to know what she was on about. Then she smiled. “It’s a book of Stubbs’s sketches. Very precise sketches of bones and muscles.”
“Of horses?”
She nodded. “The subject was an obsession for Stubbs. Did you know he used to dissect the animals to study their bodies? He’d strip away the body, piece by piece, so he could draw the muscles. Then he’d remove the muscles until the skeleton was left, and he’d draw the bones.”
Monty suppressed a ripple of nausea. “Is that a subject a young woman should be interested in?”
She colored. “You sound like my mother. I daresay I ought to restrict my interests to sewing cushions and donning myself in the latest fashions. But I happen to find Stubbs’s work fascinating, even though the subject is a little gruesome. A resolve to study every facet of a subject—even that which is hidden—is a quality to admire. Wouldn’t you rather commit yourself wholly to one subject than flit from interest to interest on a whim, never to become a true proficient?”
“But young ladies have many interests,” Monty said. “I know of plenty who are accomplished at art and embroidery—as well as singing and playing the pianoforte.”
“Are any of themtrulyskilled in their pursuits? Or do they only possess sufficient accomplishment to elicit polite applause at the end of a dinner party? I fail to see why we’re obliged to applaud a young woman who’s made only a cursory attempt at accomplishment.”
“You wouldn’t applaud out of politeness?” he asked.
“Butisit politeness? It’s deceitful to praise where that praise is unwarranted. Why should I applaud someone such as—let’s say—Lady Arabella Ponsford, when she struggles to hold a note when she sings an air?”
“So as not to hurt her feelings?”
“I’d prefer honesty,” she replied. “For example—were you honest with me when you said you didn’t like the noise in the ballroom? Or that you wanted to see the painting?”
She glanced up, assaulting him with her green gaze. She was a woman who lacked an understanding of deceit—the little falsehoods uttered to make oneself appear favorable to others. And, consequently, she was not a woman it would be honorable to deceive, even if that deceit was for her benefit.
“Perhaps I wasn’t completely honest,” he said.
She frowned, then stepped back and lowered her gaze. He caught her hands and drew her close.
“My motives were honorable.”
“Where’s the honor in deceit?” she asked, her voice tight.
His conscience pricked at him. Though he believed he was doing her a favor, did she suffer from their arrangement because it required her to deceive others?
“Miss Howard, I can explain,” he said, “but you must look at me.”
“For what purpose?”
“So you can see the truth in what I say.”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze until their eyes met, and his heart tightened at the pain in her expression.
“Do you trust me so little that it hurts to look at me, Eleanor?”
Her lips parted, and a rush of need coursed through his body at the prospect of savoring their sweet plumpness.
“I had no designs for myself when I asked you to accompany me into the hallway,” he said. “I saw your distress, and recalled your dislike of crowds. But I had no wish to expose your own distress to your friends.”
