Claire flinched. “Well…” She drew her sketch pad close to her chest, putting it up as a barrier between them. “That was—”
“Claire,” he began, and she hated the remorse there even more than his hateful words, which had been so much worse because of how true they were. “I didn’t—”
“Good evening, Mr. Gray. If you’ll excuse me.” With that, Claire hurried for the door and left.
As she took flight, something more than humiliation and hurt fueled her steps. And that was determination to prove Caleb wrong.
Chapter 1
London, England
Winter, 1828
Claire Poplar had taken her fate and her future into her own hands.
Or, waiting in this particular museum, it felt very much like she had.
Nor, for that matter, was it the first time she’d done so. With the same gentleman, no less.
Given that she’d become a social outcast, for her parents having been only just outed for their role in stealing a title from a distant relative, there wasn’t much for Claire to do these days.
There were few invitations to balls.
There were even fewer soirees.
They were even less dinner parties.
Invitations to each had dwindled and dwindled… until there were none.
Which had left her with an inordinate amount of free time.
That inordinate amount of free time was what even now had her finding the courage to visit the small museum on the fringe of London. It was a place, over the past month, she returned to every day, because surely an artist whose work was on display would pay a periodic visit.
Alas, with the exception of a handful of visitors in and out of the studio, the museum was largely a ghost town.
Which didn’t make much sense to Claire. The artist in question had created work that had commanded some of the greatest fanfare in London. Why he should deign to have his exhibits here, where few came to patronize, eluded her.
But then, the gentleman himself was a peculiar one.
And ornery.
And when he wasn’t ornery, he was rude and more than a little insulting.
He’d been quite clear in what he thought about her and her talent.
As hurt as she’d been at the immediacy of the words about her work that he’d leveled her way, he’d given her purpose, too. Something to bury her entire self into—improving and sharpening her skills.
Removed from the emotionality of the moment, Claire had also come to see that she was not the only person to offend him. Everybody agitated him.
Nay, not everybody. He had been incessantly patient and pleasant and teasing with just one—her dearest sister-in-law, herself a great artist, Poppy.
But surely he would at least consider this latest request she would put to him. That was, if he ever deigned to visit the museum displaying his work.
“I like this one.” Her sister Faye spoke in haunting tones, and Claire looked over to see which painting fascinated her younger sister, whom she’d dragged along with her each day.
Of course, it made sense…
A ship ablaze in the middle of a turbulent sea. One could just make out the features of the tiny figures sketched upon that canvas. The silvery thrust of sabers as they connected with their marks and the crimson drops of blood were an eerie capture of whatever battle these men fought.
“It is gloomy and dark,” Claire found herself saying, shivering within her cloak.
Faye drifted closer, until her nose nearly touched the soldiers engaged in the sword fight. “That is why I like it.”
Faye, often gloomy and also more than a bit dark, would. When all the ugliest, darkest, most horrifying details of their family’s crimes had come to light, Faye had descended into a deeper melancholy.
How Claire hated to see her this way. As one who carried the same guilt and regret, she knew all too well the sentiments insidiously consuming Faye. “You should find… something more cheerful,” Claire gently urged her sister.
That said, they’d have to visit another museum to find such work, given cheerful and light was decidedly not what renowned artist Caleb Gray was famed for. Often, his works merged dark and light shades. His subjects straddled misery and deeper misery, some being gloomier than others. This particular portrait, however, was absent of any shred of warmth. There had to be something appropriate at this museum, however.
“How about…” Claire searched her gaze around. “What about…”
She already knew she searched in vain. After visiting this same museum for the past month, she’d examined and re-examined the twelve portraits hanging in this modest room and knew happy options were slim. Then she froze, her stare locking on a painting she’d not before seen.
Wait a moment…
“They are all dark,” Faye murmured. “I like—”
“There’re thirteen!” Claire exclaimed.
“—them,” her sister finished over Claire’s interruption.
When had that addition taken place? It could mean only that the artist himself had been here at some point, delivering that painting. And as he’d not been here yesterday, he might be here now. Excitement clamored away in her breast. But first, there was the matter of finding Faye joyful work. Taking her sister by the hand, she dragged her over to that piece in shades of yellow and orange and crimson. The great splash of color was…
Claire sighed.
“A fire,” Faye said softly. “I rather like it.”
Of course she did.
Claire angled her head, taking it in as she did. “It is… a sunset.”
“It is a fire,” her sister insisted.
Pressing her lips together, Claire exhaled an exasperated sound through her closed mouth. Yes, her sister wasn’t wrong. “It is a fire,” she relented.
“Do you suppose the artist might sell it to me?” Faye wondered aloud. “I’d like to hang it up and see it every day.”
Claire slid a pained glance her youngest sibling’s way. “A painting of a fire?”
“It’s raw,” her sister murmured. “Untamed. Dangerous. Beautiful.”
Claire didn’t disagree with those descriptors in terms of the untamed. And yet, the last thing her sister needed was to spend day in and day out with a gloomy painting that portended death and dying.
I should have come alone. It was just that whenever she went out, she thought it was better to take her sister with her so that she wasn’t her usual downtrodden self with their miserable mother making things even more awful for Faye.
Although, Claire was beginning to wonder why she herself even bothered coming here. Why, when the person she sought out proved as elusive as the suitors she’d once had, as invisible. Invisible was what she was, too, since the scandal. And something even worse—a burden. A poor relation. The spinster aunt shuttered away with her mother and also-unmarried sister and brother and his wife. Of course, neither Poppy nor Tristan would ever or had ever made Claire feel anything but wanted. It was more a matter of pride and a desire for some form of control in her life that accounted for those sentiments.
Claire gave her head a shake, returning her focus to the matter at hand.
The more pressing problem being that Caleb Gray was invisible. The gentleman, when he wasn’t in London, was traveling about the Continent. It was as though he refused to settle. He was a mystery that no one could really sort out. Other than Claire’s sister-in-law, Poppy.