Page 90 of The Untamed Heart

“It’s perfect. It’s everything you promised,” he told her, and felt the tension leave her.

She gazed up at him and smiled. “It was my pleasure, my love,” she whispered, and drew his mouth back to hers.

Epilogue

A Warm Welcome

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 16th October 1816

“It is marvellous.”

“Quite remarkable.”

“Just look at the texture of his coat! I feel I could touch it.”

Eustacia’s head spun with delight. Their friends’ and neighbours’ reactions to her portrait of Marcus were everything she could have hoped for. Moreover, they were the only opinions she cared about, for other than Marcus himself, they were the only people important to her. To the devil with the army. She did not doubt the portrait would receive criticism from those stuffy men who’d commissioned it. She knew it simply wasn’t the kind of thing they expected, but that was their problem. If they didn’t like it, they could send it back. Eustacia would be more than content to hang it up at Seagull Heights, where she could see it every day.

“You are a remarkably talented young woman,” the Duke of Hawkney told her with a smile.

“Oh, she knows,” Marcus said dryly as she smirked at him.

“I wonder, would you be interested in painting the dowager duchess? It’s a while since she sat for a portrait, and I would like a new one done.”

“Interested? Why, yes, your grace. I would be delighted!” Eustacia exclaimed, overwhelmed by the generosity of the offer.

“Excellent. I shall give you the same terms I gave Lawrence, of course, for you are just as good. Better, between you and me, but I shall deny saying so if you repeat it in earshot of him.”

Eustacia blinked. Thomas Lawrence was one of the most sought-after portrait painters in the country. He charged a small fortune for his work.

“Th-Thank you,” she stammered.

Hawkney nodded, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away. “I warn you, though, you’ll earn every penny. She’s a cantankerous old troublemaker and she’ll drive you to Bedlam before you’re done.”

Eustacia could only laugh. “I look forward to it.”

Mrs Wainwright hurried up to Eustacia, a sodden handkerchief clutched in her hand. She had not stopped sobbing since the unveiling. Neil, red-faced and mortified, stood a short distance from her.

“It’s beautiful. So… So touching,” she said, and blew her nose fiercely.

Eustacia exchanged an amused glance with Marcus, who took her hand.

“Come,” he said, walking toward the portrait where Lord Darenth and Lord Sheringham stood studying it.

“It’s remarkable,” Sheringham said, gazing at it in wonder a moment longer before turning to Eustacia. “Very well. When do we start?”

“I beg your pardon?” Eustacia asked, bewildered.

He tsked at her impatiently. “My portrait. When do we start?”

“She’s painting the dowager duchess first,” Marcus told his friend cheerfully. “You must wait.”

Sheringham scowled. “Damn. Oh, very well. If I must, I must. Beauty is its own reward,” he said solemnly. Turning, he regarded Lord Darenth, who was gazing at the portrait with such intensity that Eustacia wondered what he saw in it.

“Well, Lucius, what do you think?”

Lucius wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Is it Rosa gallica or Paeonia officinalis?”

Eustacia and Sheringham stared at him in confusion.