“He came here looking for you, nearly out of his mind.” Tristan put down his brush and regarded her seriously. “I understand his fear, but he should have told you about his mother. You did not hurt him consciously, Imogene, and should not feel you must make amends.”
Imogene felt physical pain at Tristan’s words. Imagining Graham in his panic and terror was not something she wanted to relive. “He does not expect this portrait. It is something I wish to do for him. To show him how much I love— This is not easy to put into words, Tristan. It is not proper or considered acceptable in any part. I hope you are not offended by me. I beg your indulgence in hearing of what I ask of you.”
“Now you have piqued my curiosity, Imogene. What type of portrait do you have in mind?”
“It is something Graham would like to have. He mentioned it…once. But I told him it was impossible for me to sit for such a thing. It was before I knew you though. And now that I do know you, I think I would be able to do it.” Imogene felt herself flush and swallowed hard. “Can you—would you be willing to—oh God, Tristan, this is so awkward!”
Tristan did not speak or try to help her along, rather he tilted his head slightly and just waited for her to tell him what she was after.
Imogene took a very deep breath and stiffened her back. “I want for you to paint me in dishabille for him.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she slumped and lowered her eyes, afraid to see his reaction.
He surprised her for he didn’t really have a reaction.
“Lounge attire then.” He looked thoughtful as if his mind was at work already. “Any particular elements to the scene that you have in mind?”
She nodded. “There are some items in particular: a tiara, a shawl, a book, a robe.” Imogene closed her eyes then and felt the tremors start. “There is one more element, but I don’t know if you can possibly put it in.” She put her hand to her head and leaned into it. “I want it to suggest love—intimacy. Oh God! I want to hide.” She was amazed she had actually spoken the words out loud to Tristan.
What must he be thinking of me right now? Imogene sat and waited for a response, knowing she was incapable of anything else.
“You must love him very, very much. I hope he knows what a treasure he has won.” Tristan gave her a gentle look before he spoke of what it would entail to create such a portrait. “I can paint you in such a way, and I am willing to do the portrait, but it will be unsigned. You understand I cannot put my name to it. It will have to remain private as well. People of your class do not commission such things, my dear. At least they do not do so and flaunt it to the world. I suspect you knew that before, and I know Graham is well aware.”
“Without question, it would be private,” she whispered, barely audible.
“As for the last element you mentioned, it can be included, but is not something I can just paint in as an expression. You will have to create the intimacy for me, Imogene. You will have to show me in your face and in your pose what you feel. You will have to think it in your mind—of what that feeling is like. Do you think you can do that? Do you even want to try?”
“For him, I can do it.”
TRISTAN was surprised at her candor. He could tell it had cost her greatly to ask him. There was not much that would shock him in reality, though, and he found her mortification innocently charming.
It will be magnificent. His mind started spinning with plans. “There must be a bed. I cannot very well install one here in this room, though. That would definitely raise questions. We will have to use mine. When Graham is away I can zip up to his chamber and retrieve the camera obscura to get all the details to match his bedroom.”
Imogene seemed to find some courage, enough to enable her to speak once again. “When do you think you can start? How do we keep it a secret? I do not want him to suspect, it must be a surprise.”
“When you come, we’ll split the sitting into two parts. He might wonder at this formal portrait of you in the emeralds taking longer than it should, but I’ll leave it to you to distract him from the idea. And further, if he is called away for much of the day, you should send word to me and we will get in a longer sitting on the dishabille and that should speed it along.” Tristan regarded her and watched as she blushed deeply again. Her expression was hesitant now, as if she was unsure. “Imogene, are you having second thoughts? You look uncertain, now.”
She averted her eyes and looked slightly down. “No. I am decided. It’s just, that you said we would have to use your bedchamber for the setting. How can you—would it not be uncomfortable, or difficult for you to have me—to have me there in your private room? What would I disclose to the staff? Wouldn’t they find it terribly improper and scandalous to say the least? She shivered. “I cannot believe I am here asking such a thing of you, Tristan. I feel as if I am out of my body right now. I could not have possibly just asked you that question!”
Tristan spoke gently but with confidence, “Imogene, be of ease. It will not be an imposition for me to paint you as such. You know, I am probably the only painter in England who could execute such a portrait and not be tempted by you.” Such an innocent you are. You have no idea about me do you?
“Oh. That is a good thing then, Tristan.” She nodded modestly, biting the inside of her bottom lip. “Please accept my apology for all of this uncomfortable bumbling about. I am dreadfully embarrassed, but you have been so easy and kind about everything. You are a true friend.”
“I didn’t say I’d paint it for free, you know.” He teased away the awkwardness between them. I probably would paint it for free, though…just to create it…to see your image in it.
“Right! And don’t you dare send the bill to him when it is done. You will give it to me,” she commanded. “I can well afford you all on my own.”
GRAHAM was waiting for her to return as he often did, but not in his usual way.
Today he met her on the path as she walked home from Tristan’s house. He was all smiles.
“This is a most lovely surprise,” she greeted as she drew up.
“A note has just arrived for you by messenger. From Harwell House. I believe it is in John’s hand.”
Her heart stuttered as he passed the note to her. She took a deep breath before tearing it open and scanned the words hastily. Imogene joyously reported that Philippa had born a healthy daughter this day. John’s scrawl proclaimed both mother and baby well and beautiful. “Graham, they have named her Gwendolyn, after Mamma. How perfect. Oh—”
She launched herself into his arms and felt tears coming, but before he could ask, she told him they were absolutely tears of joy because she was so blissfully happy for this little miracle. Her only regret was that their mamma was not here to share in the joy.
She felt him kiss the top of her head.
Graham knew her so well already. And Imogene was happy, truly she was. But that part of her that fought to contend, niggled at her conscience. If she was honest with herself, she could admit to being a little jealous of them. And that was all right, too.
“Your turn will come, chérie,” he said, his chin still resting on the top of her head.
“You mean our turn will come,” she countered.
She felt him nod his head.
“John says we can visit on Thursday if we like. They probably need a bit of time alone first. I should like to stay for a day or two. Will you wish to join me?”
“Of course. I want to meet my little niece. I want to see how you might have looked as a baby. I’ll lay a wager you were captivating even then,” he teased with green eyes dancing.
“I love you so much.”
“Do you now?” A look of desire emerged on his handsome face. “So, I was wondering, were you planning on going up to change out of those clothes?”
“It just so happens that I was going to do just that,” she said.
“Well, I think you should go on up straight away.” He nodded seriously at her. “You may expect a lady’s maid to join you very shortl
y.”
“That is good to know. Although, I wonder which maid I will get today?” She mused out loud. “Hmmm…I rather like that tall one, hair pulled back in a queue, green eyes. Fairly expert—a bit mercurial perhaps—but quite disciplined and competent. He seemed to take the task seriously.” She kept going, teasing him mercilessly, “You know, you may find that I’m not even in my rooms. I might have decided to hide…somewhere.”
Reminders of that session broke the teasing banter, had him reaching for her, and tickling her until she shrieked. “Now go!” he ordered, sending her dashing toward the stairs without an instant’s hesitation.
Where to hide this time? I loved hiding from him and I want to do it again.
Imogene turned back on the stairs and saw him take out his watch to check the time. “Ten minutes is all you’ll get, chérie,” he called out as she fled.
AS luck would have it, Graham was called away from the estate the next day. Imogene wasted no time in sending a note off to Tristan in hopes they might start on the dishabille portrait. She busied herself with gathering all of the necessary props. She still had to dress in the pearly gown so as not to alert anyone into suspicion. Tristan replied straight away and told her to come ’round as soon as she was able.
Imogene definitely knew she was not in her body as she sat on Tristan’s bed wearing the green brocade wrapper over a nightgown, both garments loosely arranged. Her shawl was spread next to her with a corner across her thighs. Two other items were incorporated and Imogene had thought carefully about their inclusion: The Princess and the Toad storybook, and the pearl tiara and choker. They were, of course, all suggestions of the intimacy that had been shared between them, and Graham would understand as he had orchestrated those encounters. The jewels and the fairy tale story also served to give an intimation of fantasy to the image. She thought he might like that as he seemed ever compelled to evoke dreamy visions of her.
“Is this all right, Tristan?” She could scarcely meet his eyes. This was much harder than she’d thought it would be.
“You need to relax, Imogene. The props are fine, it is your expression and pose that need some attention. Remember what I told you before? You must think of what you are trying to convey or it will not be present in the painting. Clear your mind of everything else and find a memory you can replay in your mind. The more you practice, the easier it will be to feel yourself inside with the image around you.”
“I am trying to,” she said in frustration. “I have to keep telling myself that I am not in your bed wearing only my nightclothes!” She shook her head unbelievingly.
Tristan gave her a patient look. “Imogene, you must let go of the bindings of propriety or you will not be able to reach your goal. I do not tell you to shock you, or to coerce you, or even to persuade you into doing this, but simply to disclose that if you do not let go of society’s constraints you will never have this portrait for Graham.”
She sighed heavily. “You are right of course.”
“You already know this portrait would be considered indecent and completely improper for a baroness. So, that being said, I suggest you accept what you are doing is scandalous, and go ahead and do it, or not. No one will ever see it except for Graham. It won’t hang in the gallery or be sold off.” Tristan let his words sink in for a moment. “I am going to step out for a short while and give you some privacy. When I return, we’ll know if this is going to work or not.”
Imogene took a deep breath, forcing her mind to think of Graham and only of him, concentrating on their love for one another. She thought about when they were intimate, they were as close as it was physically possible to be, pondering how the act of love itself was divine, but for her, only because it was done with Graham, and only because she had ultimate trust in him. She felt the love she wanted to give to him, and thought of one time, one special moment that defined them and focused on it, willing everything else to go away, and just pretended she was in that moment. The time she recalled was the morning she discovered the portrait of her leading Terra and carrying the lamb.
His ingenuity at creating such a painting without her ever sitting for it had been a shock. Graham had re-created the moment he’d first seen her, and she remembered being dumbstruck by the depth of his love for her. He had told her, that in that moment, the pain of Cupid’s Arrow piercing his heart was a tangible feeling, and instead of killing him it had awakened him. He wanted the painting of her in that moment so he could always remember.
What Graham had explained to her was love—deep and unconditional love.
Before Graham, she had not been awake either. In offering himself, he had awakened her. Giving all of herself back to him in return was the most sacred thing she could give, and was her way of showing him she had committed her soul to him. The complete trust they shared was the most precious part.
Graham had also shared that morning how he would love a portrait of her in dishabille. Imogene had been innocently shocked at the time, but not anymore. No, she wasn’t worried about the impropriety of such a portrait at all. Imogene wanted to give this to him more than anything.
She realized the gift of the painting to Graham had nothing to do with propriety, nothing to do with posing in Tristan’s bed, dressed as she was. It was nothing more than wanting to give everything you could to the one you love, if it could bring them some joy.
Focusing her thoughts, she arranged herself, sitting on the bed in profile. Her gown and wrapper loose, slipped down, baring her shoulder. Legs were bent at the knees, one bent more than the other, her feet peeking out. Her hands were together, buried in her robe between her legs. The shawl draped over the bed. The book lay on the shawl, title to be visible. Her hair was left styled as it was for the emerald portrait, but taken down as if the pins had just been removed. Tiara in place and choker on her neck, her head was in profile, lips just barely parted. She posed herself to look like she was waiting for him to come to her, and that she would turn her head at any moment.
When Tristan came back into the room he said nothing. He just went straight to work. Imogene knew then she had her pose and expression correct. She didn’t know the reason Tristan did not speak. He didn’t because he was incapable of audible speech when he saw her.
The sitting proceeded quietly.
“I am getting tired, Tristan.”
“I know, almost finished. You have done very well, Imogene. This has been an excellent start.”
“I don’t know when next I can sit for you. Tomorrow we go to Wellick to stay at my sister’s. The baby was born yesterday.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Girl. Named Gwendolyn after our mamma.”
“Well enjoy her, then. While you are gone I can work on your horses’ portrait.”
“You are amazing, Tristan. That you can create these things.”
He did not respond to her compliment directly. “Graham will love this, Imogene. It is going to be very special.”
AT dinner, Graham thought she looked exceptionally pleased. “How did you fill your day, chérie?”
“A little of this, a little of that.”
“Are you keeping secrets, chérie?” His eyes twinkled.
“I really couldn’t say, my darling.”
“You’re up to something, my beauty, I can smell it. But it is of no matter. I am confident I can get it out of you in a more, private setting.” Her eyes darkened at his suggestion.
“You are welcome to try, certainly,” she trailed off with a challenge as was becoming so familiar to him. He loved her competitive teasing.
“On a more serious note, chérie, we need to choose rooms to move into, temporarily. The work on your chamber and the bathing room is set to begin in a few days. I thought we could choose tonight and while we are away visiting the baby, our things can be moved over. I could show you my old rooms, if you would like.”
“I would like that, Graham. Seeing the place where you rested your head each night as a lad would be inspiring indeed. All
the dreams you must have dreamed there,” she mused out loud.
Dreams can be a curse too.
Graham escorted her through the possibilities of rooms they might use while the work was being done. Imogene was non-committal as they toured, until they reached his old bedroom. She swanned in, announcing, “I like this room.” Gracefully, she stroked along the edge of the bed and the pillows. She sat down on his old bed and bounced a few times. “It is good. What do you say?”
“I suppose it could work, chérie. It opens to the next room.” He led her into the adjoining area which was set up as a lounging space, thinking out loud as he looked around, “Might it work if we brought up a sideboard table and rearranged furniture so you could continue to have your breakfasts up here?”
“I really just need a place to keep my clothes and to dress, so maybe a vanity could be added for now? Make it more of a dressing-sitting room combination. We can use it for our breakfasts in the mornings and for our lounging in the evenings.” Looking decidedly around the space, she nodded. “’Twill be fine for me, Graham, and it’s only for a short while.”
He thought about how unique she was as he pulled her into his arms. “You are an enigma, chérie. I am amazed at how easy you are in regards to these womanly concerns. You are a perfect lady in your grace and style of feminine beauty, but you never seem to fuss over the details like clothes, and rooms, and the inconveniences that make most women vexed and displeased. How do you manage it so effortlessly?”
“Manage what?” she asked innocently.
“To put yourself together so magnificently without seeming to work very hard at it?”
“Thank you, my darling, for that lovely compliment. But I have everything that I need as long as you are near.” She grew serious then and lifted her eyes. “You give me everything that I need.”