Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(52)

Soon gaining his attention became my focus, and my days were filled with the effort. I canceled some of my routine engagements with Mother and used my extra time to paint. At the same time I found a new maid who was more skilled at dressing hair and could guide me with my clothing. The challenge of winning Mr. Burton’s notice gave me new life, and with my happiness, my mother became curious.


SOME MONTHS LATER, Mother and I were in my carriage, returning from the shops. Squeezed between piles of boxes and packages, I was quiet while fingering the package on my lap that held my new blue shawl. I wondered if Mr. Burton would see how well the color suited my eyes.

“And how is your artwork progressing, dear?” Mother asked casually.

“Very well,” I said, happy for the subject, “but I am impatient to begin working in miniature. I cannot wait! I only hope that when it comes time, I do not disappoint Mr. Burton.”

“You must think well of Mr. Burton if you do not want to disappoint him.”

“Oh, I do!”

“He is a good instructor, then?”

“I have never known better. He is so encouraging.” I could not keep the warmth from my voice.

“Be careful, darling,” she said, touching my hand.

“Of what, Mother?” In my guilt, I drew my hand back.

“You are a married woman,” she said. “You do not yet have a child. Until you do, you must be especially careful of how you conduct yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, darling. First the heir, then the affair.”

“Mother! How horrible!”

“I know,” she said, covering her mouth as she gave an embarrassed laugh. “It’s just that . . . I know your situation at home is not—”

“I’ve done nothing inappropriate! You forget. You yourself agreed that I should take the art class!”

“Of course I did. I’m only suggesting—”

My guilt fed my anger, and I cut her short. “I know what you are suggesting, Mother, and what you suggest insults me! How could you insinuate such a thing!”

“Caroline,” she soothed. “You know I only have your welfare in mind.” She gave a slight laugh. “Besides, I forgot. He must be at least fifteen years older than you are.”

“Nine,” I said angrily, “nine years!” I caught myself. “Not that it matters,” I added. I pulled loose the purple ribbons on my bonnet, and as I looped and retied them, I fought back tears. Of course it mattered! It was all such a mess. I had no way out of my dreadful marriage, and I was in love with another man. As much as I wanted to confide in Mother, I could not, for she would insist that I stop the art classes, and I could never do that. Seeing Mr. Burton gave me life. All that mattered was him.

Mother watched as I fussed with my ribbons. “Are you all right, dear?”

I didn’t answer but looked out the window as our carriage pulled up to Mother’s house. When the driver held open the door, Mother hesitated, then leaned in close and whispered, “Be patient, darling. I’ve been trying to convince your father that your marriage is unsuitable and that it would be better for you to return home. You know how stubborn he is, but I feel I am making progress.”

“Thank you, Mother,” I said, but her words startled me. As much as I disliked my husband, marriage had at least given me some freedom, and if I were to return to my parents’ home, I would again be under the controlling supervision of my father. To continue on the path that I was taking, my marital home was the easier of the two to navigate.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


1829


James


I HOPED MY infatuation with Caroline would pass, but as the weeks went by, it only grew stronger. Not only did I see her on Saturdays, where I fought to keep my attraction for her hidden, but we also attended the same social events. There I often overheard others sniping at her beauty and laughing at her embarrassment when the inebriated Mr. Preston urinated in the palms or vomited in the shrubbery. In Saturday’s class, when she appeared as gracious as ever and spoke not a word of her troubles, it infuriated me to think of the marriage she had to endure.

The first day Caroline requested to stay after the art class so that she might complete her project, I assured her that I was only going to continue to work myself and she was welcome to remain as long as she chose. After the other students left and we were alone, I felt so drawn to her that I wondered if I could trust myself. For that reason I said not a word. We both worked silently until Robert came to ask if I would be in for dinner. Then Caroline, claiming surprise at the hour, rushed off.

The following Saturday, I was the one who invited her to stay. After the other students left, I addressed her. “I thought I might start teaching you to work with the pinfeather.”

She set down her brush. Her look of delight undid me, and needing time to steady myself, I went toward the door.

“I have some early works of mine to show you,” I said. “I will get them. They are in the library.”

“Might I come with you?” she asked unexpectedly.

“If you like,” I said, stepping back to let her pass through the doorway. Her small waist was within reach, and I fought to keep my hands away.

When Malcolm screamed his unhappiness at being left behind, we smiled at each other, but something other than amusement—an urgency, perhaps—passed between us.