MARIAH CAREFULLY PAINTED AUNT BENTLEY’S face onto the small oval cameo, adding a small stroke to one of her eyes to capture its sharpness.
“Mr. Ruskin is certainly a valuable acquaintance,” Aunt Bentley said. “I’ve inquired about him, and he is quite a respected lecturer and author. In fact, I’ve purchased one of his books, Modern Painters. It’s in the library if you wish to borrow it.”
Mariah looked up. “I would like to borrow it very much. Thank you.”
She paused when she heard the sound of the door to the sitting room opening.
“Charles, how fortunate you’re home,” Aunt Bentley said. “I’m about to make a call on Mrs. Penderton-Simpson and her daughter. Would you care to accompany me?”
Mariah glanced up at Charles briefly and then stared resolutely back at her painting.
“I’m afraid I will be unable to, Sophronia,” he said, holding up a stack of letters. “I have some business correspondence to attend to.”
“Very well,” Aunt Bentley said. “But before you go, you must look at Sophie’s miniature of me. I think it is very like, but you must be the judge.”
Charles stood over Mariah’s shoulder, and his proximity made her heart beat faster.
“Very like,” he said. “You’ve caught Sophronia’s expression as well as her features.”
She mumbled a thanks but would not look Charles in the eye. He moved to sit by Aunt Bentley and asked her about their social engagements for the week. Mariah put the miniature down and picked up her letter from Mr. Ruskin. She turned it over and hastily began to sketch Charles’s face. The hard line of his jaw, the aquiline angle of his nose, the long sideburns and the definitive cheekbones, and the fathomless depth of his green eyes—more mysterious than any ocean. She longed to trace every curve and line of his face with her fingertips.
Mariah was still staring at Charles when his eyes focused on her. She glanced down at her sketch and didn’t look up again until he took his leave. Aunt Bentley left the room shortly after him, and Mariah cleaned up her paints. Carefully placing the sketch of Charles beneath her stack of supplies, she walked upstairs. Sophie was modeling next door, so Mariah had the bedroom all to herself.
She sat down on the heavenly soft bed, relieved to be alone. She was about to pick up Jane Austen’s book when she heard a slight knock on the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and Mariah expected to see Adell, not Charles. She quickly stood up and curtsied.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it was a servant. I didn’t realize it was you.”
Charles flushed. “I know it is rather untoward to enter your room, but I was hoping that you would accompany me to visit the National Gallery this afternoon.”
“I-I would like that v-very much,” Mariah stammered.
“Great. Good. Fine,” Charles said tightly. He stepped back through the doorframe. “Shall we leave in a quarter of an hour?”
“Yes.”
Mariah barely had time to freshen up and put on her shawl and hat before meeting Charles in the grand entry.
“I’m afraid that Sophronia has already taken the carriage,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind taking a hansom cab?”
“I wouldn’t mind if we had to walk.”
Charles opened the door. “I would.”
They walked down Hyde Street before Charles hailed a hansom cab and directed the driver to take them to the National Gallery. Mariah watched out the open carriage as they passed by buildings and people. She would never cease to be amazed by the sheer number of inhabitants in the large city. Turning back toward Charles, she gave him a guilty smile.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she said. “It’s still so new and fascinating to be in London.”
Charles nodded. “You would like New York, I think. It’s much more colorful and varied than London.”
“How so?” Mariah asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s so different that it’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
He gave her a rare smile. “It’s such a hodgepodge of architecture and peoples from all over the world. Every day I saw something new or different. Once, there was even a man with a monkey who was preforming tricks in the street.”
“I’ve never even seen a monkey!”
“They’re curious creatures, to be sure,” Charles said. “Clever, too.”
“How I should like to see a monkey,” Mariah said. She paused before asking her next question. “What was your favorite part of living in New York?”
“The food. It’s like nothing we eat here.”
“What’s it like?”
“Hot.”
“Hot?”
“Spicy,” Charles clarified. “They have a Mexican flatbread called a tortilla that they place onions and peppers and meat inside and then you eat it with your hands like a pastry. The first time I ate it the spice was so hot that my mouth was on fire and my forehead started to sweat.”
Mariah laughed. “That sounds more painful than delicious.”
“I got used to the heat, and then I liked it. And they have fruits that are so sweet they taste like a pudding.”
“What great adventures you must have had,” Mariah said enviously.
“Mostly I worked for my grandfather’s business,” Charles said, adding in a resentful tone, “and then I got sick and had to come home. But I mean to go back and prove myself.”
“I’m sure you shall.”
“We’re here,” Charles announced.
He alighted from the hansom cab and held out his hand to assist Mariah. She blushed as she stepped down and immediately released his hand.
The National Gallery was Romanesque with several columns and a large dome in the center; Mariah was stunned by its size and beauty. Charles offered his arm and escorted her up the stairs to the entrance. She was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of artwork inside; every wall was covered with pictures from floor to ceiling.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “There are paintings everywhere but the ceilings!”
“In Rome, even the ceilings are painted.”
“Why yes, Mrs. Spooner told me about the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.”
“Is Mrs. Spooner an acquaintance from Lyme Regis?” Charles asked.
Mariah smiled. “She lives next door to you. She’s Sir Thomas Watergate’s housekeeper and he’s a famous artist.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never met either of them.”
“Mrs. Spooner is the kindest woman alive. She’s even convinced Sir Thomas to teach me some of his painting techniques. Maybe someday one of my paintings will hang on these walls.”
She watched him closely to see how he would respond. He looked at her thoughtfully before asking, “Is that what you wish for?”
“Yes,” Mariah said. “I’ve thought quite a bit about it since we first talked of me finding a husband, and I now believe that I would like to pursue painting as a profession. I know that it would be singular to be a lady painter, but I have talent and passion and, luckily, friends who will assist me in this path.”
“No more husband hunting because you’ve already found one, or because of your newfound professional calling?” Charles asked. His voice was light, but his eyes watched her intently.
“If you’re thinking of your cousin,” Mariah said carefully, “I know for a fact that his intentions are toward another lady.”
“It didn’t appear so to me.”
“Appearances aren’t always accurate,” Mariah said with the hint of a smirk.
As they stood smiling at each other in the middle of the gallery, it felt like they were the only people in the room. In the world, even. Mariah was not sure how long they stood there before an attendant approached and asked if they needed any assistance.
“No, thank you,” Charles said.
Mariah felt hot and turned away before attempting light conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in art.”
“I’m not,” he admitted.
She looked back at him in surprise.
“I thought you would like to see the National Gallery,” he explained quietly.
Mariah blushed and managed a shy, “I did. I do. I … thank you.”
They began to walk through the other rooms, stopping occasionally to inspect a painting more thoroughly. One painting captured Mariah’s attention particularly because it reminded her of Lyme Regis: Joseph M. W. Turner’s Sun Rising through Vapour. She stood transfixed before it. The lighting was spectacular. The sun shone behind the clouds, its light reflecting on the waves. She drank in the perspective of the ships out to sea and boats near the shore. The delicate brushstrokes of the people on the beach who were cleaning the caught fish. Mariah felt a tear run down her cheek, followed by another.
“This painting has clearly struck your fancy,” he said.
Mariah turned toward Charles, and he offered her his handkerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to cry,” she said with a sniff. “My sister is always saying that I cry at everything. This painting just feels so nostalgic to me.”
“Does it remind you of your home?”
“I don’t have a home,” Mariah said slowly, “but the ocean has always been my friend.”
“An unpredictable friend, perhaps?”
“Yes, the ocean is always changing,” Mariah agreed, “but then the tide always brings her back. Captain Trenton used to take my sister and me out sailing on a small boat. We thought it was the greatest possible adventure.”
“Would you like to go on an adventure?”
“Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone long for an adventure? Something new, something different, to delve into the unknown?”
“You’re the only young lady I’ve ever met who seemed to wish for one.”
“You clearly need to meet more young ladies,” Mariah said pertly.
Charles laughed. It was a lovely, deep sound. Several heads turned toward them.
“I’ll endeavor to meet more adventurous young ladies in the future … However, I’m afraid that I have met my art quota for the day. But I’m not yet ready to go home, and I thought I might take you on an adventure.”
“Where are you going to take me?”
Mariah tried to hand his handkerchief back, but he shook his head slightly. Then he placed her hand on his arm and began to guide her out of the large gallery.
“I won’t say where we’re going, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
A footman opened the large double doors for them, and Charles led them out into the bright light of the afternoon. They slowly walked down the stairs, and Charles disengaged his arm and walked toward one of the open hansom cabs. He spoke quietly into the ear of the driver so that Mariah couldn’t hear what he was saying. The driver tipped his dirty old hat and smiled with yellow teeth. Charles nodded and took her hand to assist her inside the vehicle, and then climbed in next to her.
“Is looking cheating?” Mariah asked.
“Look as much as you like,” Charles said. “I don’t think you know London well enough to even guess where we are going.”
“True,” she conceded.
The cab stopped and Charles got out, offering his hand to Mariah. She looked up and saw a large park, where there were trees as tall as buildings. A loud growl caused her to jump and grab Charles’s arm.
“Where are we?”
“Regent’s Zoo. It opened a few years ago. I thought you might like to see a real monkey,” Charles explained.
Mariah laughed, sliding her hand to the crook of his arm. “And maybe an elephant.”
Charles covered her hand with his. “Definitely an elephant.”