LITMIR.BIZ

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mother always insisted Tranville had been the family’s salvation, but as Jack got older, he realised she could have appealed to his father’s uncle. The earl would not have allowed them to starve. Once his mother chose Tranville and abandoned all respectability, his great-uncle washed his hands of them.

      Sir Cecil patted Jack on the arm. ‘It is good your mother and sister have come. How long do they stay?’

      Jack shrugged. ‘It depends.’

      Depends upon how long Tranville remained in London, Jack suspected. Jack’s mother was a foolish woman. Tranville had been no more faithful to her than he’d been to his own wife. He did return to her from time to time, between other conquests.

      Matters were different now. Tranville had unexpectedly inherited a barony and become even more wealthy than before. Shortly thereafter, his wife died. Since suddenly becoming a rich, titled and eligible widower, he’d not called upon Jack’s mother at all. There was no reason to expect him to do so while she was in London.

      Jack cleared his throat. ‘My mother and sister have taken rooms on Adam Street, a few doors from my studio.’

      ‘You have established a studio?’ Sir Cecil beamed with approval. ‘Excellent, my boy.’

      Tranville’s money paid for his mother’s rooms. Practically every penny she possessed came from him. He had thus far kept his promise to support her for life. His money had kept her and her children in great comfort. It had paid for Jack’s education and his commission in the army. Jack swore he would pay that money back some day.

      ‘The studio is not much,’ Jack admitted to Sir Cecil. ‘Little more than a room to paint and a room to sleep, but the light is good.’

      ‘And the address is acceptable,’ added the older man, thoughtfully.

      The address was not prestigious, but it was an area of town near both Covent Garden and the Adelphi Buildings, which attracted respectable residents.

      ‘I should like to see it,’ Sir Cecil said. ‘And to call upon your mother. I am in London for a few weeks. My son, you know, is studying architecture here at the Academy.’

      ‘I hope to see you both, then.’ Jack spied his mother and sister searching through the crowd. ‘One moment, sir. My mother and Nancy approach.’

      Nancy caught sight of him and waved. She led their mother to where Jack stood. Sir Cecil greeted them warmly.

      ‘Jack.’ Nancy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘I cannot tell you how many people have asked me if I am the young lady in your portrait. I told them all the direction of your studio.’

      His mother lifted her eyebrows. ‘I would say some of those enquiries were from very impertinent gentlemen.’

      Jack straightened and glanced around the room.

      ‘Do not get in a huff, Brother.’ Nancy laughed. ‘I came to no harm. It was mere idle curiosity on their part, I am certain.’

      Jack was not so certain. He worried about Nancy in London. With her dark hair, fair complexion and bright blue eyes, she was indeed as fresh and lovely as the incomparable Ariana had said. Jack worried about Nancy’s future even more. What chance did she have to meet eligible gentlemen? What sort of man would marry the dowerless daughter of a kept woman?

      He frowned.

      His mother touched his arm. ‘I confess to being fatigued, my son. How much longer do you wish to stay?’

      He glanced around the room. The crowd was suddenly thinning. The afternoon had grown late and many of those in attendance would be heading to their townhouses in May fair. Some of them, perhaps, would take their carriages for a turn in Hyde Park before returning home. It was the fashionable hour to ride through the park.

      Jack, his mother, and sister would walk to Adam Street.

      ‘We may leave now, if you like.’ Jack glanced around the room again, hoping for one more glimpse of Ariana.

      Luck was with him when he and Sir Cecil escorted his mother and sister to the door. Ariana appeared a few steps ahead, but there was no question of approaching her. She and her companion walked with two wealthy-looking and attentive gentlemen.

      Jack pushed aside his flash of envy. Instead, he focused on the way she carried herself, the graceful nature of her walk. He watched how her pale pink gown swirled about her legs with each step, how the blue shawl draped around her shoulders moved with each sway of her hips.

      Jack watched her as they reached the outside and crossed the courtyard. No more than five feet behind her, he might as well have been a mile. Her party continued to the Strand where a line of carriages waited. In a moment Jack would have to head towards home. This would be his last glimpse of her.

      She turned and caught sight of him. Her face lit up and took his breath away. His gaze locked with hers, and he thought he sensed the same regret in her eyes that was gnawing at his insides.

      One of the gentlemen accompanying her took her arm. ‘The carriage, my dear,’ he said in a proprietary tone, apparently unaware of Jack staring at her.

      She turned back one more time and found him again. ‘Goodbye,’ she mouthed before being assisted into a shiny, elegant barouche.

      Jack watched her until he could see the barouche no more. He tried to engrave her image upon his memory but could feel it fading with each moment. He needed to reach his studio. He needed paper and pencil. He needed to draw her before the image was lost to him as well.

       Chapter Two

       London—January 1815

      This chilly January night, Jack escorted his mother and sister to the theatre. His latest commission, a wealthy banker, offered Jack the use of his box to see Edmund Kean in Romeo and Juliet.

      Jack had acquired some good commissions because of the exhibition, until the oppressive heat of August drove most of the wealthy from London. The banker, Mr Slayton, was his final one. Jack’s mother and sister also returned to Bath, but they came back to London with the new year. Jack had placed an advertisement seeking some fresh commissions in the Morning Post, but, thus far, no one had answered it.

      Jack tried to set his financial worries aside as he assisted his mother to her seat in the theatre box. Sir Cecil’s son, Michael, was also in their company attending Jack’s sister. Michael, as kind-faced as his father, but tall, dark-haired and slim, continued with his architectural studies and had again become a frequent addition to Jack’s mother’s dinner table now that she and Nancy were back in London.

      As Nancy took her seat, it was clear she was already enjoying herself. ‘It is so beautiful from up here.’

      They’d attended the theatre once the previous summer, but sat on the orchestra floor with the general admission. From the theatre box the rich reds and gleaming golds of the décor were displayed in all their splendour.

      Nancy turned to Jack. ‘Thank you so much for bringing us.’

      He was glad she was pleased. ‘You should thank Mr Slayton for giving me the tickets.’

      ‘Oh, I do.’ She turned to their mother. ‘Perhaps we should write him a note of gratitude.’

      ‘We shall do precisely that,’ her mother agreed.

      ‘Well, I am grateful, as well.’ Michael stood gazing out at the house. ‘This is a fine building.’

      Nancy left her chair to stand beside him. ‘You will probably gaze all evening at the arches and ceiling and miss the play entirely.’

      He grinned. ‘I confess they will distract me.’

      She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘But the play is Romeo and Juliet. How can you think of a building when you shall see quite possibly the most romantic play ever written?’

      He

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