Читать книгу The Master and The Muses - Amanda McIntyre, Amanda Mcintyre - Страница 13

I COULD NOT TELL IF THOMAS WAS CONTINUING to grow more distant, or if I was growing distant from him. He was once again ecstatic about painting. However, when I asked him to tell me about his new project, he refused, saying only that it was going to set those bastards at the academy on their ears.

He would rise early, summon a carriage and would often be gone until after dark. When I’d offer to fix him dinner, he’d respond by saying he’d “gotten a bite at the gardens,” or “run into an old friend who owed him a meal.” I had no viable reason to mistrust what he told me. Nevertheless, I grew more despondent, knowing that my figure was not what it once was. My concern was furthered when Thomas, claiming the bed was no longer big enough for us both, resorted to sleeping in the guest room.

I was grateful for the days when the cold London rain would keep him captive at home. On those days, it seemed there was nothing amiss between us. We would chat as we sat near the fire—him with his book and me with my knitting. And I would scold myself for my needless worry.

“Helen, my dear, what would you think of hiring a housekeeper? Someone who could help tidy up the studio, maybe do the cooking? They wouldn’t live here, unless you wanted them to, of course.” He glanced at me over his book. We’d never had a servant in the house; Thomas thought it to be a sign of the blasé wealthy.

With him having not sold a painting in a while and with a child on the way, I wondered how we would afford it.

An idea popped into my head. “I could send for one of my sisters. I’m sure that Mama could talk sense into Papa, once they learned of my condition. Her compensation could be room and board,” I offered, quite enthusiastic over the idea of having a sibling to keep me company while Thomas was away.

Thomas nodded and then shut his book soundly. “Good, I’m glad you’re receptive to the idea. However, that won’t be necessary. I have already acquired a suitable candidate. She is a fine woman. I’ve known her for some time. She’s a good friend to the brotherhood and familiar with the studio. I won’t have to teach her what not to touch, how to clean brushes.”

My heart sank. “I see that you’ve put much thought into this. Are you planning to tell me who this woman is that you’ve decided on?”

“Of course. Her name is Grace Farmer.”

“From the Cremorne?” I gaped at him in surprise. He looked at me.

“You’ve met her?”

“Not really. Your brother ran into her one night at the gardens. He told me about her.”

“William took you to the gardens, did he?” Thomas smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“That was when he was trying to convince me to model for you, and that’s not really the point of this conversation, is it?”

He shrugged. “What did he tell you about Grace?”

“That she was a friend to the brotherhood, misjudged by people because of her profession,” I said.

“And what do you think of her?” he pressed.

“She’s a prostitute.”

“People have to eat, Helen. I’m quite certain Grace has the protocol not to bring her clients here.” He chuckled.

I felt he was mocking me. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to trust her, Thomas. And how exactly did you happen to find that Miss Farmer was available for this position?” I turned the small baby blanket I was knitting between my hands, trying to stay calm.

“Well, strange as it seems, it was William who suggested it when I told him I was looking for someone to help out around the house.”

“Oh, really, William? How thoughtful.” I sighed, averting my eyes from his.

“Is there a problem between you and Will?” Thomas asked.

I swung my gaze back to his. “I haven’t seen William in ages. I haven’t seen anyone. If you remember, I have been confined to this house like a bird in a cage,” I cried.

He wore the expression of a man at his wit’s end with what to do with his pregnant wife.

“I’m sorry, Thomas, I have these episodes.” I sounded foolish, perhaps petty, but I did not care. I was over four months with child and feeling bloated as a sick cow. “Tell me that you aren’t the least bit attracted to her.”

He smiled. “Is that what this is about?”

He set aside his book, knelt at my feet and rested his hands on mine.

“Your concerns are unnecessary, Helen. I have hired her to clean the studio because she knows what to do and I trust her implicitly with the task.”

I stared at him, realizing that he had never asked me to clean the studio. I shoved aside my concerns, reminding myself that he was doing this to help me.

“I thought,” he said, “that perhaps it would be good to have someone here to help you as your time draws near.”

I looked down at our interlaced fingers and realized that it had been ages since he’d shown me any sort of intimacy. “I miss you, Thomas,” I said, quietly brushing my hand through his unkempt hair that I so loved. He raised my hands to his lips, placing there a lingering kiss.

“It won’t be much longer, my muse, and we can be together again.” He patted my hand and rose to go back to his chair.

“When does she start?” I asked, trying to snatch him back from the distance I already felt.

“Tomorrow,” he replied, opening his book and settling into his chair. “I thought it best not to wait.”

Part of me wanted to strangle William for his suggestion. What in blazes was he thinking sending that harlot into my home?

How could Thomas not notice her? She was breathtakingly beautiful and wore her vivid golden hair secured loose, so that wispy tendrils lay against her swanlike neck. Her clothing was far more refined than I would have thought for a woman of her profession. Instead of plain clothes, she wore brightly colored skirts with matching waistcoats. Each day she wore a different hat, nothing as mundane as a bonnet, but expensive traveling hats like those that I once sold at the shop to the private and wealthy clientele.

Three days a week, Grace would arrive in a black polished hansom carriage, and her driver would wait until she was finished with her duties to sweep her away. I had no idea of where she lived, or how she acquired such luxuries. And selfishly, I admit that I was just as happy that Thomas was gone on his research trips when she was around.

Grace found me reading in the front parlor downstairs one morning. Thomas had just kissed me goodbye and said he was off again with some of the brothers to do more sketches in the woods. They’d probably be at the farm. He cupped my cheek before he left and reminded me that his research wouldn’t take up too much more time.

“You don’t get out very often, do you?” Grace asked politely, as she ran her rag absentmindedly over a shelf.

“In my condition, I prefer to be at home,” I replied, not looking up from my book.

“Is Thomas happy about the child?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your affair,” I offered curtly, hoping to send her back upstairs.

Her blue eyes glittered with knowledge, the kind foreign to me, and yet, in spite of my distaste for her, I wanted to know how well she knew my Thomas. My pride stopped me, however.

“He’ll come around, I wouldn’t worry.”

A shiver skittered up my spine at how well she could read me. “What makes you think I’m concerned?” Was I that readable, that predictable?

She shrugged. “You stay around here all day, waiting for him to come home. Don’t you have family that is interested in your condition? Have they been here to visit?”

I stared at the book in my hands, not knowing what to say. I’d been following Thomas’s suggestion to wait until the baby was born to tell my family. However, I was growing desperate to have my mother know that I was with child, so she could be here with me when my time came. Still, Grace’s remark and her sticking her nose in where it did not belong did not sit well with me. “I’m going to go lie down awhile. I’m suddenly quite tired.” I waltzed past her and up the stairs, holding my belly with the book in my hand. I made it my single purpose to discuss the idea of an afternoon visit to my family with Thomas tonight after supper.

“That was a sumptuous meal,” Thomas sighed, leaning his head back against the comfortable wingback chair. He took a swallow of his port and closed his eyes. Grace had left us a leg of lamb, cooked to perfection, and roasted potatoes and carrots for our supper that evening.

He had come home quite enthused about his tromp through the woods, saying he was inspired about a new project. I waited patiently for the right time to approach him with my request.

“Thomas, I’ve been thinking I would like to have someone I trust with me when my time comes,” I reasoned.

“Fine, I’ll send for my mother,” he stated, his eyes still closed.

“Thomas, you’ve barely acknowledged your mother for the entire time I’ve known you. Does she even know that I exist, much less that you are giving her a grandchild?”

He opened one eye. “Of course she does.”

I was admittedly startled at this revelation. “And what was her reaction?”

“William didn’t say.”

“William? You let William tell your family that you married and were having a child?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He frowned, pushed up from the chair and drew me into his arms. “Please, Helen, you need to stay calm—the baby.”

Thomas stroked my back while I fumed inside at his lackadaisical attitude about our marriage, our family.

“I haven’t spoken much about them as I am not exactly the apple of my family’s eye. My father thinks I am wasting my time with my art, and my mother—well, let’s just say she didn’t get the priestly son that she’d hoped for.”

He rested his chin on my head. “William, on the other hand, has always been my mother’s darling boy.”

“Thomas—” I began, but my thought was snatched in my next breath. I gripped his arm, unsure what was happening.

“Helen, what is it?” he asked.

There was a flutter deep inside me. Everything else paled in comparison to the wonder of this strange little flip. I grabbed Thomas’s hand and held it to my belly. “There, can you feel her?”