Page 14 of Memories Made At Midnight

Six

Sussex Square-Kempton

Brighton, England

ONE WEEK LATER ~ A COUPLE OF MINUTES TO TEN IN THE MORNING

Cassius adjusted a cushion on the used royal blue velvet Gillow armchair he’d purchased that week, along with a cast-off Aubusson carpet, a tapestry, draperies, and a marble-top half table. Items he’d sell as soon as he completed Beatrice Fairfax’s portrait—in about six weeks, if all went well.

Head tilted, he adjusted the chair’s angle a few inches to ensure the natural light would complement her.

That is better.

In truth, he itched to paint Miss Fairfax…to see if he could recreate the ribbons of gold, copper, bronze, and sienna in her hair. To dapple her ivory skin with those precocious freckles. Then there was that adorable dimple in her chin that he longed to put to canvas.

He’d considered writing to his parents to request they send similar items from Hefferwickshire House, the ducal country estate in Cumberland, but the furnishings would likely not have arrived in time for today’s sitting. Besides, he didn’t want his parents speculating about the urgent request for elegant decor.

They worried enough about him.

Barely a week ago, he’d received a letter from Mother and Father.

Mother missed him—she’d seen him but two months ago.

A visit was in order soon, Father had declared. Cassius expected the duke and duchess to present themselves in Brighton within the next fortnight.

Both prayed all was well, which Cassius interpreted to mean they fretted he might need financial assistance but was too proud to ask.

Yes, he was proud but also determined. Of all his siblings, at almost eight and twenty, he alone had yet to establish himself. Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. After two decades, his eldest half-brother Layton had left His Majesty’s Army and had yet to decide what to do with the rest of his life.

Honestly, Cassius had believed Layton would die, an army officer. This change of plans took the family by surprise, but as always, the Westbrooks rallied around their kin, offering support and encouragement.

This past week, Cassius had neglected his seascape painting, directing all his attention toward creating a pleasant setting for Miss Fairfax’s portrait sitting. Foolish by far, since he hadn’t time to spare if he meant to finish the required paintings for the exhibition.

Still, he wasn’t overly concerned.

He would manage.

Hands on his hips, he surveyed his workmanship.

Would she like the scene he’d staged?

Why he should care what a woman thought he’d met but once for less than thirty minutes, Cassius could not fathom. Had he an ounce of sense, he would have refused Lord Highbury’s request to paint her in his studio. He had never done so before, preferring to reserve his workspace for private use.

He had no intention of doing so again.

Regardless, something about Beatrice Fairfax beckoned to him. Her expressive hazel-green gaze assessed him with a refreshing openness and lack of artifice. At her uncle’s caustic rebuke the other day, pink had blossomed across her heart-shaped face.

Highbury’s callousness toward her rankled Cassius.

The earl treated her like a nuisance—a smelly beggar or a pesky, stray dog.

Cassius cast a glance at the picture window at the front of his studio as a gleaming burgundy coach rumbled to a stop before his establishment.

Right on time.

His pulse skipped in anticipation, but he quickly subdued his excitement.

This was a job.