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“We’ll impress him into service then. I saw your sketches, by the way.”
Je
“Which sketches?”
He peered into his teacup, his expression disgruntled. “The ones you made of the children, the pastels. They’re brilliant.”
“Pastels can’t be brilliant.” And yet he’d sounded so puzzled by his own compliment, Je
He glanced up from his teacup, as if he’d heard the reservation in her tone. She enjoyed everybody else’s children, and that hurt like blazes.
A footman paused just inside the doorway. “Post for his lordship.”
Je
Elijah rose. “I believe Cornelius means me.” He retrieved a single epistle from the footman and resumed his place beside Je
Je
A word came to Je
Damn and… damn. Double damn.
Seven
“It’s from my sister. My youngest sister.” Beside Je
A sister? Je
“Sarah has never written to me before. She’s the youngest by three minutes, though our mother claims they were a memorable three minutes.”
Sitting right there beside her, so close Je
“Open the letter, Elijah,” Je
He cast her one glance—a gentleman did not read correspondence at table—then slit the epistle with an unused knife.
If this sister called Elijah home before Je
“She’s well,” Elijah said, “and uses a fine vocabulary for somebody who doesn’t yet put up her hair consistently.”
“A bookworm, possibly. Louisa was the same way. I learned many a term from her that impressed our elders.”
He peered at Je
Twin sisters, then, which was common enough in large families. Two more strawberries disappeared while Elijah finished reading his letter, and Je
She was not ready to have him snatched from her. She needed these days with him, artistically and… otherwise. All too soon Their Graces would return from Town, the children’s portraits would be completed, and Je
If she’d doubted her resolve on that goal before, she didn’t now.
Come fire, flood, or famine, as His Grace would say. Je
“Sarah misses me.” He got up and crossed to the window, where bleak winter light did little to brighten the parlor.
Je
Je
He remained facing away. “She can’t possibly miss me. She hardly knows me.”
Je
Missing loved ones at the holidays was always part of the season. How could he not know that?
“I left when Sarah was little more than a toddler. I used to read her stories, her on one knee, Ruth on the other.”
Je
He let out a sigh of sufficient depth that the window fogged before him. “After Christmas, and then only if I’m made a member of the Academy.”
“They often don’t a
“Then I’ll wait until the vote is cast, but I will not go home until I can do so with sufficient standing that my father will have to admit he was wrong.”
Je
“What was your father wrong about?”
Elijah glanced down at her, then at their joined hands. He kissed Je
“And you think he was right?” The hound stirred at the sharpness of Je
“He was spot on about much of it, but not all of it. I’ll admit that when I go home with an Academician’s status. I’ll admit I had no notion of the cost and effort involved in pursuing an artist’s life, that I was a spoiled lordling with no understanding of the greater world—provided my father rescinds his judgment of my character.”
So Je
“The regent sings your praises. Sir Thomas sings your praises. Surely you don’t need the Academy’s imprimatur to prove your father wrong?”
“The last thing I said as I tossed my brushes and spare shirts into a traveling bag was that I would come back as an Academician or not at all. I knew I had enough talent, and I was determined he should admit it.”
Je
“Tell your sister you’ll see her at Christmas,” Je
Just as Je
Elijah had a reputation for completing commissions quickly. He’d learned the necessity for speed early in his career, when his fees were modest and a gap in work meant a gap in coin.
Though in truth, he wasn’t all that quick. He was organized and disciplined, and work tended to get done when a man rose early and spent time in his studio rather than at the numerous distractions available in London Towne.