“I don’t know, Miss Hastings,” said the mayor with a shake of his head. Then, catching his mistake, he said, “I mean Lady Benedick. I do apologize. It’s hard for me to remember your good news. What I mean is that, I don’t know, Lady Benedick, how I feel about this painting. If you’ll pardon me for the admission. It just doesn’t seem proper.”
They were standing in the empty exhibition hall, where Sophia’s painting, Fallen, was hanging high on the wall above a landscape by one of the Primrose Green artists and beside a mediocre still life of some fruit by the butcher’s wife. It was hardly the most illustrious showing for an artist of Sophia’s caliber. But given the work that she’d had to put forth in order to get it here, she wasn’t complaining.
Now, in the quiet before the doors were opened to the local populace, she had come to take one last look and had found the mayor standing transfixed before it.
“I agree that the subject matter is rather difficult, Mr. Mayor,” she said carefully. She preferred not to receive criticism of her works directly from the mouths of her audience. It was much easier to make the decision about whether or not to pay attention when it came in the form of a newspaper column or a magazine review. “But I think anything that makes people think must be accounted a good thing, do you not?”
He turned to her, his bushy brows furrowed. “I…” Then, as if the sun had suddenly clarified things he laughed. “Goodness me, no. I don’t mean the dead lady there.” He pointed a beefy finger to the figure of the dead prostitute at the edge of the painting. “I meant that we should divide ’em up by type. Your painting is very good. But it’s got people in it. I think we ought to have a section for people and a section for fruits and a section for trees and the like.”
She turned to look at him, arrested by his placid acceptance of the fact that her painting—an indictment on the disposable manner in which men in the upper classes treated women—upset many of the proprieties laid out by polite society, and instead was troubled that it was placed between fruit and a stand of trees.
“I’m afraid that’s not up to me,” she said, relieved to be able to say so. “You should bring it up with Mrs. Primble. I believe she’s over there by the refreshment table.”
With a nod, the mayor shambled off to share his concern with the chair of the committee. She gave one last look upward, and was startled to feel a hand at the small of her back. As caresses went, it was subtle, and likely no one would have seen it given its speed. But she knew who it was without turning.
“Lady Benedick, have I told you today that you’re talented beyond measure?” Ben asked from where he stood just close enough behind her so that she could feel his warmth.
“I believe you told me that this morning,” she said, remembering just how much his praise of that talent in particular had pleased her. She was still a relative novice, but she was eager to gain more proficiency. And he seemed quite happy with the frequency with which she insisted upon practicing.
“And so I did,” his voice got that roughness that told her he was remembering that morning’s activities too. “And so you are. Talented at any number of things.”
“Why, thank you, Vicar,” she said with a coy smile.
“Minx,” he said with an answering grin.
Then, changing the subject, he asked, “What was the mayor saying to you? He looked very concerned. I was worried he might be upset by your work.”
When she told him what the mayor’s pressing concern had been, he threw his head back and laughed.
“It’s not that funny,” she said with a chiding tone.
“Oh, I disagree,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’ve been dreading this day for you. Because I know how talented you are, and how exquisite your work is. But I didn’t trust the good people of Little Seaford to appreciate it. So, imagine my relief when the worst our mayor has to say about it is that it’s been misplaced.”
Her heart constricted. “You’ve been worried for me?” She fell in love with him all over again in that moment.
“Of course I have,” he said, with a frown. “I want every minute of your every day to be a pleasure. I know that’s not possible. But I want it for you nonetheless.”
Not caring who saw them, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Since it was a public venue—and no matter how they might feel about one another, they did have a certain level of propriety to maintain—she quickly withdrew and settled for slipping her arm into his for the moment.
“I almost forgot,” he said when they’d stepped further down the line of paintings. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a letter. “This came for you, and Serena asked me to give it to you.”
Recognizing Aunt Dahlia’s handwriting, Sophia quickly unfolded the missive and scanned the crabbed writing for the highlights. But one line in particular leapt out at her and she gasped.
At almost the same moment, there was a commotion at the door to the exhibition hall.
“I am well able to walk on my own, young man,” said Miss Dahlia Hastings, still dressed for travel as she entered the large room flanked by the Duke of Maitland and Daphne. “I am hardly so old and infirm that I cannot cross a threshold without assistance. Now, tell me where I can find my nieces, if you please.”
Suppressing a laugh, Sophia pulled Ben toward where a sheepish-looking Maitland waited with Daphne and Aunt Dahlia.
“You did seem to stumble when you climbed down from the carriage,” Daphne said in her blunt fashion. “I think maybe you are wrong about yourself.”
“Aunt Dahlia,” Sophia said before her aunt could respond in her own blistering fashion to the duchess, “What a surprise. I only just now received your letter.”
The old woman’s face softened for just a fraction when she saw her niece. “Finally,” she said with a nod. “Someone with sense. I am happy to see you, my dear child.”
Ignoring the hand her aunt offered, Sophia hugged her. Aunt Dahlia might not be particularly demonstrative, but she was not opposed to affection. “It’s good to see you. I have news.”
Stepping back a little stiffly, her aunt pinned her with a narrow gaze. “If you mean the news that you have up and married a vicar without so much as a by-your-leave, young lady,” she said with a scowl, “I’ve already heard it. It was the first thing your sister told me when I saw her at Celeste’s house. Your parents will be none too pleased, I can tell you. Your Mama was hoping—despite your attempts to dissuade her—on a viscount at the least. Still, you might have married a blacksmith as you threatened to do. I’ll never forget the look on her face.”
Sophia took the opportunity to speak while her aunt drew breath.
“There was no time to let them know, you see, and—”
But her aunt had already turned to Ben, who bowed over her wrinkled, beringed hand. “Miss Hastings,” he said with the typical Lisle charm, “I am so pleased to meet the strong lady who helped shape my dear Sophia into the jewel she is today.”
Turning to Sophia, Aunt Dahlia said in a stage whisper, “I can see why you rushed this one to the altar, my gel. Vicar or no, he’s a charmer, isn’t he?”
Sophia exchanged a mirth-filled glance with her husband.
“But make no mistake, young man,” Dahlia said to him, “you’ve married one of the most intelligent, principled, talented young ladies in this great nation. And custom and propriety be damned, if you prove to be a rapscallion I will help her leave you behind. Duke’s son or no.”
Instead of arguing, Ben kept his expression grave and only said, “Yes, ma’am. If I prove to be a rapscallion I shall do all I can to help you.”
Dahlia gave a bark of laughter. “Impertinent, too, I see? Well, I suppose you’ll rub along well enough together then.”
Then, as if she’d done what she came to do, she turned to Maitland and Daphne, who had waited behind her like retainers. “You may take me back to Beauchamp House now. I’ve seen m’niece and it’s clear she won’t be able to leave this place for a while.” She gestured to the doorway where curious exhibition goers were beginning to trickle in.
“I shall see you and your vicar at dinner, Sophia,” she said with a regal nod before turning to offer her arm to a bemused Maitland, who pulled a face, but escorted her out as his gentlemanly training dictated.
“Why do I feel like I’ve just survived a typhoon?” Ben asked as he and Sophia watched them leave.
“Because you have,” Sophia said with a shake of her head. “You most assuredly have.”
“I see where you get your backbone from,” he said with a grin. “Will you be like that at her age? Shall I prepare myself to be ordered about?”
“Most assuredly,” she nodded. “Prepare yourself.”
“I’m prepared for anything so long as you’re with me,” he told her, turning to face her fully, taking her hands in his. “Together, we are unstoppable.”
“I love you, Reverend Lord Benedick Lisle.” She looked up into his dear, handsome, sweet face, her heart full with love for him.
“Not as much as I love you, Lady Benedick,” he said kissing her nose. “And just so you know, I also have a deep appreciation for your intellect and your work as an artist. Just in case that gives you some sort of extra appreciation for me.”
“I don’t need any extras from you, Ben.” She pulled him down, until his mouth was hovering a breath from hers. “You’re perfect just as you are.”
His eyes softened, in that way they only did when he was looking at her.
“So are you, Wallflower,” he said closing the distance between them. “So much more than perfect.”