Page 29 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

CHAPTER8

It turned out that Beatrice Prescott’s notion of a “modest garden party” differed considerably from Juno’s own.

“Granted, it is aparty,” Juno whispered to her aunt Hester.

“And it is taking place in agarden,” her aunt replied, her eyes sparkling behind her spectacles.

But modest? Words were not Juno’s forte, but she was fairly sure the word “modest” did not apply to a string quartet serenading the forty-odd guests from their spot under a white marquee. Nor did “modest” describe the dozen Roman-style pedestals arranged across the lawn, each covered in a colorful assortment of sugar flowers, marzipan fairies, and leaning towers of macaroons.

And “modest” most definitely did not explain the leafy bower in which five actors, in elaborate costumes, were arranged in a tableau from Shakespeare’sA Midsummer Night’s Dream: a noble fairy king Oberon, a mischievous Puck, an unknown Bottom—no doubt sweating in his donkey’s head, poor man—and a starry-eyed couple suffering from love. Notably absent was the fairy queen Titania, for she appeared in the full-length portrait Juno had painted of Beatrice.

The portrait claimed pride of place at the top of the steps, where it presided over the lush lawn and the milling guests. It was, for now, concealed by a curtain the color of emeralds, and flanked by Mr. and Mrs. Prescott. On Beatrice’s far side stood Juno, grateful for her aunt’s presence and more than a little bemused by the spectacle before her.

What would Leo think of this?she wondered. He might well appreciate Beatrice’s creativity, but he had a fine sense of the absurd. Of course, other society events likely eclipsed this in grandeur. “By some standards, thisismodest,” he might say, and, with that devilry dancing in his eyes, regale her with descriptions of—

Memory shadowed the thought like a cloud blocking out the sun. She might never speak to Leo again, let alone share amused, conspiratorial looks and encourage him to poke fun at theton. Perhaps they might exchange polite greetings at an exhibition, or discuss the weather, should her aunt invite him to a family dinner.

With his wife, naturally.

Juno understood. He had to put his future wife first, certainly above a shabby artist he only saw once or twice a week.

But never mind, she didn’t need him. She had her dear cousins Phoebe and Livia down on the lawn, engaged in a heated debate. She also had the cheeky sun, playing peekaboo with the clouds. She had the cool breeze, the tinkle of the fountain, the scent of the jasmine, the call of the birds. She had these pretty people, in pretty clothes, come to admire her work. Heavens, she even had a string quartet! Who needed a duke when one had a string quartet? And her aunt. She tucked her arm through Hester’s, whose thin face lit up with a warm smile.

Everyone was in high spirits when Mr. Prescott silenced the musicians and called the guests to attention. Beatrice launched into a speech, praising Art, Nature, and Juno, while a breeze teased the edges of the curtain, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the frame. The guests stood poised, quizzing glasses at the ready.

Beatrice’s enthusiasm even infected her husband, who adopted a theatrical air as he tugged on the tasseled cords to open the curtain and reveal the portrait. Even Juno craned her neck to look at it, until she remembered herself and turned to watch the guests. They exploded into gasps of admiration and a smattering of applause, and Juno schooled her face to modesty, though she secretly told herself it was her best portrait yet.

It was outrageous, the entire party, but she reveled in her triumph anyway. None of it would last long, because nothing ever did, so she must wring out every drop of enjoyment while she could.

She elbowed her aunt, who elbowed her right back.

“We are so proud of you,” Hester said quietly. “To think, our little Juno, feted by society.”

“I would never have come this far without you,” Juno said.

After all, it was Hester who had hired drawing masters for her, as attentively as she hired Latin and Greek tutors for her cousins, Hester who took seriously Juno’s petition to study in Europe. But what battles they had fought at first! Juno had been accustomed to her parents’ laxness and neglect, while Hester imposed routines and rules. Worst of all, Hester insisted Juno finish every drawing, with no fresh paper until she did, and no amount of temper tantrums or broken pencils would sway her.

But thanks to that discipline, Juno had learned to finish what she started, to be patient enough to improve, to be present for her own work.

“We knew you were talented the moment you put pencil to paper,” Hester said. “I simply had to convince you of the benefits of learning to read first.”

“I believe you also had to convince me of the benefits of using a comb and wearing shoes.”

“Then I congratulate myself on a job well done, for you clean up very nicely indeed.”

Before Juno could reply, a hush drifted over the crowd. The guests’ attention was no longer on the portrait; it was directed at something or someone on the other side.

Juno stepped forward to the edge of the steps to peer around the painting, just as someone murmured “Dammerton” on a note of wonder.

The whispered title rippled through the group like the wind in the trees. Quizzing glasses fell from fingers to swing on their ribbons, as ladies sank into curtsies and gentlemen folded into bows.

Warmth infused her, as if the sun had sent down a special ray of sunshine just for her.

Leo was here.

Just when she was thinking she might never speak to him again, Leo had come.

Even in this refined crowd he stood out, as though he were the art on display. As always, the sunlight favored him: It burnished the reddish highlights in his tousled brown hair, traced the shape of his lips and jaw, and caressed the sheen of his waistcoat, the palest pink silk embroidered with twisting vines and tiny blue birds.

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