Chapter 3 #2
He met her eyes, and a spark seemed to pass between them. “As long as you will agree not to look at the painting until it is finished, Miss Bingley.”
She caught her breath. There had been almost a teasing note to his voice, and yet he had been so entirely in earnest. Even after looking down, she could feel the intensity of his eyes on her.
Had anyone ever looked at her with such clarity before? Certainly no other man. Yet if he could see all the things Caroline had begun to dislike about herself, all the little pettinesses, the tendency towards scheming, he did not seem to despise her for them.
Certainly not as much as she had begun to despise herself.
“We are getting a little ahead of ourselves, I think,” Charles said cautiously.
“Any friend of Mr Edwards is welcome to call here, Mr Northville, but I am not entirely sure this plan is wise. It is my responsibility to protect my sister. I must not permit any plan that could lead to her discomfiture.”
Caroline rather wondered if Mr Northville might grow angry or defensive at this challenge, but he did not.
“Your caution is only natural, and does you credit as a brother,” he said earnestly.
“I will understand, of course, if you think it too great a risk, or if Miss Bingley does not wish to sit for me. But if you will allow me, I would like to show you something. I think it will argue my case better than I can myself.”
With that, he took the parcel from under his arm and began to unwrap it. It was a canvas in oils, unusually small, and showing what seemed a thousand shades of green.
Caroline stepped closer, entranced. Previously, she would have said she found paintings without figures rather boring.
What interest was there in a scene with no people in it?
But this was quite different. The woods themselves seemed almost alive.
The hidden figure of a woman, when at last she saw it, seemed only a natural completion of what she had already observed.
And this man wished to paint her? Caroline was suddenly rather afraid of the compliment, even as she wanted it more than ever. He might see too much. She half feared and half hoped that he would.
Charles looked over the painting dispassionately, seeming to note its skill without being much touched by it, but Jane was entirely entranced by the scene.
When they had all looked their fill and given Mr Northville the compliments that seemed scarcely adequate for such an exquisite work, she turned to him with a slightly abashed look.
“I hope it is not rude of me, Mr Northville, but would you consider selling me this painting? I should very much like to give it to my sister for Christmas, for she really ought to have it. She is nearly as much of a wood nymph as the woman you have painted here.”
“I should be delighted,” Mr Northville cried, his voice lighting up with an enthusiasm that showed Jane’s concern she might offend to have been entirely needless.
“I had intended to display it in the show, but as the point of it is to sell my paintings, it is all the better for it to find its intended home at once.”
“No, indeed,” Jane told him. “I believe you said that the show would be over before Christmas, did you not, Mr Northville? I would not wish to cause you such disruption. If you will have it delivered when the show is over, I shall be very glad to buy it now, and receive it then.”
“Thank you, Mrs Bingley. You are too kind.”
Jane smiled. “On the contrary. You have done me a great kindness, for I am delighted to give my sister such a fine painting. You cannot think how delighted she will be with your work.”
Charles was looking at her in surprise. “You like the work so very much, Jane?”
“I do.”
“Then, do you think I ought to allow Mr Northville to paint Caroline?”
Jane smiled, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “Only if Caroline truly wishes it, of course.”
All eyes were suddenly on Caroline, but she ignored everyone else in the room, looking only at Mr Northville. He was looking steadily at her, a question in his eyes. Caroline felt down to her bones that much might depend on her answer.
Yet it would not do to seem too eager, or to risk too much. “Yes,” Caroline therefore declared. “I think it a worthwhile exercise.”
Charles nodded. “Very well, then.” He turned to Mr Northville.
“We shall make a trial of it. You may have one sitting, to be conducted here. You must not count on any more than that, sir, and I must have your word that you will not paint my sister if I do not grant you leave to go forward. Will you accept these conditions?”
“Gladly,” Mr Northville answered, without the slightest hesitation. “I shall endeavour to prove myself. And if I do not, Mr Bingley, you have my word that I shall not paint Miss Bingley, and I shall destroy any sketches I have begun.”
At that, Caroline felt a pang. She could not like the thought that their acquaintance might end as quickly as it had begun, and still less that any evidence of it would be destroyed.
But the die was cast, for better or for worse. And if their first sitting proved to be their last, perhaps it would be for the best.
If it was the last time she saw Mr Northville, she could at least escape the confusion that came over her at each meeting.