Page 106 of Oddity of the Ton
“I understand little of soldiering,” she said. “Is it very frightening?”
“No, Miss Howard.” The colonel smiled. “There’s order, an honor, in soldiering,” he said. “I trust my men with my life, andin turn, they place their trust in me. And while those with limited understanding view our occupation as one of violence, we are merely striving to ensure the freedom Society takes for granted.”
“Such as freedom to enjoy art?”
“Precisely! And while I’m unable to partake in the arts in the manner in which I have always wanted, I can, at least, savor the efforts of others.” He held up the booklet, and Monty read the front page.
THE
EXHIBITION
OF THE
ROYAL ACADEMY,
M.DCCCXV.
THE FORTY-SEVENTH
“Oh, the Academy Exhibition!” Eleanor cried. “Colonel, have you seen it? I’ve always wanted to go. Is it as wonderful as I’ve always imagined it to be?”
Reid smiled again. “It’s remarkable—though, knowing you so little, Miss Howard, I’m unsure whether it would meetyourexpectations.”
“Are there any pieces you particularly like?” she asked. “I overheard Lady Fairchild mentioning a portrait of the Marchioness of Stafford, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Have you seen it?”
“Yes. Sir Thomas has several pieces exhibited this year, including portraits of the Bishops of London and Norwich. Do you like portraits, Miss Howard? I hear there’s a rather scandalous painting by a young artist by the name of Etty.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Anude—would you believe it?”
She cast a glance at Monty, her eyes flaring with need. “I-I enjoy looking at some portraits, but I confess to having littleinterest in viewing a portrait of someone, unless I know or care about them.”
“And you care little for bishops or marchionesses?”
“Doyoucare for them, colonel?”
“Only insofar as they present a challenge for the artist. I can appreciate the effort and natural ability that has gone into producing a painting, even if I wouldn’t choose to have it on my wall.”
“Was there anything that youwouldhang on your wall, colonel?” she asked.
He smiled, and Monty caught a flicker of love in his eyes.
“Aye,” he said. “I’m fond of paintings of ordinary folk going about their daily business—natural, honest depictions of honest, hardworking people.”
“Is there such a painting?” Monty asked.
The colonel glanced at him and widened his eyes, as if he’d forgotten Monty’s presence.
“There is. A painting by William Collins, depicting young boys at Cromer.”
“What would boys be doing at Cromer?” Monty asked.
“Catching shrimp, I imagine,” Eleanor said. “That is—if they’re working. Am I right, colonel?”
“You are, Miss Howard,” Reid said, smiling. “I find myself ashamed.”
“Of what?” she asked.
“Of all the times I came to visit—to take tea with your family. Not once did I speak to you. To think of the conversations we might have enjoyed about art! In fact, I hardly noticed you, perhaps because…”
His voice trailed off, and he glanced across the park to where Juliette was leaning on Dunton’s arm, her laughter filtering through the air.
