Chapter 3
The last, fading days of November were cold and grey, but rich in parties, concerts, and plays.
Between Charles’s wish to show Jane everything she had missed in London over her infrequent visits to the great metropolis, being invited to accompany her sister Louisa to other events, and the less flashy but more substantial pleasure of visiting Elizabeth, Caroline had rarely been so well entertained.
Yet she could not hide from herself that the Season was progressing less successfully in other respects.
At fully three-and-twenty, Caroline could not help but be conscious that she was approaching the years of danger — not yet on the shelf, but gradually growing nearer to it.
She ought to have been looking for a husband in earnest, and she could not have said even to herself why she was not.
The situation ought to have been ideal, spending a London Season with little other occupation, and with both her sister and her sister-in-law to chaperone her.
Nor was there any defect in her looks, or any shortage of gentlemen. Caroline knew very well what she ought to be doing. She ought to be playing the game as hard as she could, while there was still time.
Only, she could not seem to stop hearing the voice of Elizabeth Darcy, as she had reproached her for playing the game of love and marriage to win, rather than merely to play.
She could not seem to stop seeing the face of the strange man she had met one night, with his astonishing beauty, and still more, with his sense of looking at her as though he never wished to look away.
None of the gentlemen she had met since could compare.
Certainly not in physical beauty — Caroline had no idea of attempting so high a standard in a husband — but more seriously, they could not seem to hold her interest as he had, short as their meeting had been.
Perhaps it was that she had not yet met the right prospect.
She had met some men of fashion, but with too little money to suit her, and not a few rich men with connections too low to be considered.
The younger son of an earl had seemed to like her looks, and he was so imminently desirable in terms of fortune, connections, and relative youth that she really would have had to consider it, if she had not heard whispers of a too-great proclivity for opera singers that put him out of the running entirely.
Husbands would be husbands, Caroline supposed, but neither did she intend to be made a fool.
None of the men she had met had the stranger’s sense of being alive, of being fascinated by her, but she would simply have to forget him. It would not do to dream of too much and end up with nothing.
That morning’s amusement was to be a visit from one of Charles’s friends, a Mr Edwards, who was to bring another friend of his own.
Caroline was rather looking forward to it.
Both Charles and Mr Hurst knew Mr Edwards and approved of him, though for different reasons.
Hurst liked him because he was a fashionable fellow who knew everyone and liked a game of cards and a glass of brandy, while Charles liked him because he was also an amiable man who treated his horses well and all his friends with kind consideration.
Caroline herself, while respecting this, felt too little personal interest in him to have so much appreciation for this as for his reputed skill for wicked gossip, exactly right to entertain in a drawing room on a cold day.
When the knock came at the door, it was therefore very welcome. Caroline stood to welcome Mr Edwards with a good will, only to freeze upon seeing his friend.
“Mr Edwards and Mr Northville, madam,” the butler said to Jane, presenting them with a small flourish.
Caroline hoped she had done herself credit in the bows and introductions; she very much doubted it could be so. Mr Edwards’s friend, whom he wished to present to her, was her beautiful stranger. She had a name for him now, Mr Thomas Northville.
The meeting was only too flattering, for she could not explain it otherwise than that he had wished to see her again. He must have asked Mr Edwards who she was and requested the introduction. No other conclusion seemed possible.
He was poor, and likely unfashionable — she must remember that.
The facts could hardly be otherwise, dressed as he was.
As on their first meeting, his clothes were tidy, clean, and in good repair, but they were not the clothes that a fashionable gentleman of the first circles would wear.
Oddly, he had a small, flat parcel under one arm. Caroline eyed it curiously.
She was not to wait long before her curiosity was indulged. When the first greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged, the gentlemen got down to business at once.
“Doubtless you are wondering why I asked Mr Bingley for the pleasure of calling on you,” Mr Edwards remarked with a smile. “Perhaps you had not heard that my friend Northville here is a very fine painter.”
“You certainly will not have heard anything of the kind,” Mr Northville said at once, “for Edwards has given me more credit than I deserve. As of yet, I have no reputation at all. I am only hoping to gain one. I have been fortunate enough to obtain a showing at the end of the year. With luck, it may be the making of me.”
“I am sure it shall, Mr Northville,” Jane said sweetly.
“Thank you, Mrs Bingley. You are too kind,” he said earnestly.
“I do not know how high my hopes and expectations ought to be; I only know that this chance is everything to me. My work for the showing is largely finished, but I should like to complete one more piece, the heart of all my work. And if you will forgive my presumption, I should like to ask Miss Bingley to help me.”
“Me?” Caroline asked, her astonishment momentarily so great that she could not seem to find any sensible interpretation of his words. “I am afraid I cannot quite take your meaning.”
He nodded. “Yes. Miss Bingley, I should like you to model for me. Since our chance meeting the other night, I have not been able to get your face out of my head. It would be the crown jewel of my showing.”
Caroline was too much accustomed to the flattery of fashionable gentlemen to be overcome by compliments to her appearance. “If you need a beautiful face,” she suggested rather drily, “perhaps you ought to paint your own. I am sure it is more striking than mine.”
It was not until the words were out and she saw the change in his expression, and in her brother’s, that she realised how heated they had sounded. Oddly, he did not seem triumphant to be so complimented, but if anything, almost hurt.
“While your face is indeed lovely,” Mr Northville went on after a moment, “it is not mere loveliness that I need. It is the expression of the face. Yours tells me you are a woman of layers. This is what I wish to express in the final painting, and it is this that will give it value as a work of art.”
Caroline looked at him narrowly. “I am not sure that it is entirely a compliment to be considered a woman of layers.”
“I am a very clumsy fellow,” he said. “If I tried to give you a graceful compliment, I am sure I would fail. But I did not intend a compliment, merely to tell you why painting you — if you agree, of course — is so essential to me.”
She remained silent for a moment, suddenly feeling almost raw at having such intensity so nakedly exposed, and particularly before so great an audience. She could not seem to think of a reply.
“There is something more to consider,” Jane said into the silence, surprising everyone. “I am concerned about the threat to Caroline’s reputation. If she is recognised in your show, and thought to be nothing more than a paid model, it could have the most serious consequences for her prospects.”
Rather surprised that Jane had thought of the obvious problem before she had herself, Caroline murmured agreement.
But then, sweet as her sister-in-law was, she was not a fool, nor without a sense for propriety.
Kindness, as Jane and Elizabeth had gradually taught her, did not mean foolishness any more than it meant weakness.
“I believe we can achieve exactly the reverse,” Mr Edwards said with a smile.
“We must make it clear that Miss Bingley is not a model to be hired by Northville and painted at his discretion, but rather in the model of a grand duchess who calls a famed artist to court to paint her picture. It will be simplicity itself. Done properly, I believe it may even help Miss Bingley to find the calibre of gentleman she deserves. I am confident in my friend’s talent, and in the success of his exhibition.
Now, imagine that it is a hit. With so much of London seeing Miss Bingley’s lovely face, her popularity could only be increased by such fame. ”
The argument was highly persuasive. Caroline could not help but smile upon thinking of all the ton coming to an artist’s salon, admiring the paintings, and finding that the centrepiece of all was a portrait of herself.
The societal benefits that might accrue were only too obvious.
Charles, too, was nodding in understanding, and even modest Jane looked thoughtful.
Still, a cloud passed over Charles’s face. “I do not doubt your honour, Mr Northville, but it is quite impossible for my sister to come to your studio, as a paid model might do. It would be entirely unsuitable for a gentlewoman.”
Mr Northville cleared his throat. “If I might be so bold as to make the suggestion, I would be perfectly happy to paint Miss Bingley here. Any sort of spare room would be perfectly adequate, as long as it has light.”
“The music room, then,” Caroline remarked, surprising even herself with her eagerness. “It has a large, south-facing window, and Mr Northville might easily leave his easel there.”