A Duke in the Night(67)

“That’s what she said when she commissioned Rose to paint her. That she wished to be painted like this because it pleased her. Just her. No one else.”

“I’m glad she’s happy.” August bent and picked up the sheet, then settled it over the painting once more. “I must assume your sister found you.”

“She did,” she said quietly. “I think it would annoy her to know that the two of you are more alike than she would ever care to think. She also offered to kill Stilton, though in a way that would have met with the Inquisition’s approval.” Clara paused. “And she too said that what happened wasn’t my fault.”

“Smart woman.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” She let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “I suspect listening to the merits of thumbscrews will do that.”

He wanted to draw her into his arms. Hold her and kiss her senseless. Lay her down on that green silk and make her forget everything that had happened to her that day. Instead he clasped his hands behind his back, unsure if she was ready for that. “How did you know I would be in here?”

“Your barbaric tendencies.”

“Very funny.”

“You’re not shocked.” She gestured at the covered painting. “By this.”

August let out a bark of laughter. “When it comes to this studio, I’m all out of shock,” he said. “Get back to me next week, and I’ll see what I can do to find some.” He paused. “Though I admit to having been taken aback by what appears to be a set of lungs over there.” He gestured to the smaller easels.

Clara smiled wryly. “The students were asked to sketch what interested them. There were no limitations or requirements, other than that they would present their work to the rest of the class with an explanation. You’d be amazed at what I’ve learned about swine organs this week.”

“Why are you doing this?” August asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you hope to achieve? At the risk of sounding like an utter ass, once these girls go back to their families, back to London, they won’t ever have another chance to do this sort of thing. Interests are not encouraged, not these, anyway. You know it, and I know it, and they know it as well. What can possibly come of all of this?”

Clara gazed at him. “You tell me.”

“What?”

“Earlier, you said you had an answer for me that was good enough. I’d like to hear it now instead of at dinner.”

August looked away. “I made Anne a sign.”

“A sign?”

“A tavern sign for the Silver Swan. She had designed one. I had it made from her sketch.”

An expression he couldn’t decipher crossed her face. “Has she seen it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

He dropped his gaze. “She was pleased.”

“I’m sure she was,” Clara said gently. “Were you?”

“Yes.”

“Was this a onetime overture?” she asked. “Or are you willing to admit that your sister has so much more she can offer?”

“I’ve never doubted her intelligence or her abilities. But nor do I want her to worry about…things anymore. The price of fish. The efficiency of the hotel kitchens. Laundry services.” He threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Which is very noble, but by doing so, you’ve taken away her sense of purpose.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Anne doesn’t need to—”

“Did you know that my father gave Haverhall School to my mother as a wedding gift?” Clara asked suddenly, interrupting him.

August blinked, hating the now-familiar guilt that instantly stirred every time the name Haverhall was mentioned. He didn’t want to hear anything about Haverhall that didn’t involve surveyors’ reports and revenue projections. He did not want to know how deeply entrenched the school was in Clara’s family or to be reminded of the legacy it represented to her.

“My mother grew up in a home where the only things she was responsible for were choosing which dinner dress she wished to wear and ensuring she used the correct dessert spoon.” Clara continued. “If she were still alive today, she’d tell you what she told us. That she felt trapped, miserable, and so bored she could scream. Imagine her surprise on her wedding day when her husband presented her not with pretty jewels or a flashy horse or a fine house as a wedding gift, but an entire school, and the purpose, challenge, and expectations that came with it. Things that make a person feel alive. Useful. Important.”

August could feel a muscle working alongside his jaw. Resentment edged out the guilt, and he clung to it like a drowning man. “It has never been my intention to trivialize Anne’s existence, if that is what you’re implying.”

“That is not at all what I’m implying.” Clara softened her voice. “I know Anne lived in Marshalsea.”

August flinched. “How did you know that?”

“She told me.” She gestured around her. “Look, I’m not trying to change the world. Well, maybe I am, but not overnight. Not in my lifetime, even. But what would happen if enough women believed in themselves? Believed that they could do more than what they’ve been told they can do?” She sighed. “I’m not so delusional as to forget that the world we live in is real and we must all adapt to it. The classes I teach in London during my regular terms are not ground-breaking by any stretch of the imagination. But occasionally a young woman attends those classes who, like me, believes that things could be different. And I invite her out here to explore just how much.”