The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(91)

The borough president gestured to where Katherine stood with her father. “Next, we’ll hear from the Delafield family, whose name presides over the museum atrium.”

They agreed that Katherine would speak, so she stepped up and told the crowd of her mother’s passion for modern art and the intention to keep the museum free to visitors. She thanked Eva Mansfield, the architect who’d shared her vision for the massive Beaux Arts structure. Then the ribbon was cut, the museum officially opened and throngs of New Yorkers streamed up the steps and through the front doors.

“She would have loved this, Kitty Kat,” her father said as he watched the crowd. “You’ve done a marvelous thing.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I couldn’t have done this without you and Preston, though.”

“Nonsense. You had the vision from the beginning. And this ended up a much better location for what you were trying to accomplish.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Rebecca, her father’s second wife, approached, a big genuine smile on her face. “Congratulations, Katherine.”

Katherine hugged her stepmother, kissing the other woman’s cheek. They’d grown close over the last three years, and Katherine now considered Rebecca a friend. “Thank you.”

The crowd obscured Katherine’s view of her daughter and husband, so she merely waited, chatting with her father about the projects he and Preston were currently taking on. Joining the businesses had benefited both men, both financially and personally. Her father traveled more with Rebecca, while Preston was . . . relaxed. Practically easygoing these days. He loved nothing more than being home with her and little Lizzy.

When the number of people dwindled, she looked for the tall dark head belonging to her husband. She breathed a sigh when she found him—but noticed another very tall man standing with the group, a red-haired woman at his side. The woman turned slightly, and Katherine’s stomach leapt into her throat. “Nellie!”

Nellie spun at the sound and her face broke into a huge grin as she rushed forward. The two women collapsed into each other, arms holding tight, as they both talked over the other. Katherine laughed as they parted, her eyes wet with tears of happiness. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“And miss this?” Nellie swept her hand toward the huge marble structure. “Not on your life. Also, I brought you a surprise. Come, I want you to meet someone.”

They walked toward Preston and the others. Her husband’s mouth was curved into a knowing smile, but Katherine hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on. Nellie took Katherine’s hand and gestured to the very tall man with a perfectly styled beard and mustache. “Katie, allow me to present Mr. John Sargent.”

Katherine’s mouth fell open. “No . . . Is it? Oh, my goodness.” It was all she could think to say in front of such artistic royalty. John Singer Sargent was one of the world’s most famous painters, his portraits a status symbol among the wealthy and powerful.

His lips twitched as he bowed over her hand. “A pleasure, Mrs. Clarke. Eleanor has told me so much about you and I’m honored to meet such an important patron of the arts.”

“The honor is all mine,” Katherine gushed. “I cannot believe you’re here.”

“Eleanor insisted, and she can be rather hard to refuse.”

Nellie merely batted her lashes at the famous man. “Charmer.” She turned to Katherine. “I think you should give John a tour of your new museum.”

“Oh, I’d be delighted. That is, if you are interested,” she said to Mr. Sargent. Then she winced, remembering. “We had a difficult time getting one of your works to display in the museum. No one was willing to part with a portrait, so there are just a few landscape sketches from your early days before Paris.”

“Indeed?” He swept his arm toward the entrance. “Then we must see about rectifying that. Shall we?”

“Yes, of course. Nellie, you’ll come with us?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” her friend said.

“Give me a moment, if you please,” she said. “I need to speak to my husband.”

Preston was standing nearby, bouncing Lizzy in his strong arms, his voice soft as he spoke to their daughter. Katherine slid a hand over his shoulder to get his attention. “Can you believe it?” she whispered.

Her husband bent to kiss her cheek. “Well done, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I meant Mr. Sargent. Can you believe he’s here?”

“Yes, of course. You’re now one of the most important figures in the art world.”

That seemed unreal. She pressed her lips to Lizzy’s forehead. “Are you coming with us?” He’d already toured the museum many times, but not with Mr. Sargent in tow.

Preston shook his head. “No, I want to get Lizzy home. We’ll wait for you there. Then we’ll celebrate alone, just you and me.”

She knew exactly what type of celebrating he meant. “That sounds perfect.”

“By the way, I’ve already commissioned Mr. Sargent to paint your portrait while he’s in New York.”

Her skin heated. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly. It feels too self-indulgent.”

“Darling,” Preston said, “consider it a gift for me. Perhaps we’ll put you in something akin to Madame X’s revealing black dress with plunging neckline. Then I could hang the portrait in our bedroom and look at it when—”