Chapter Eight #3
“You’re just being nice.”
“Nonsense. Phillippe is supremely talented. I can see why he chose you as his muse,” the countess said, wrapping her arm around Sibyl’s.
Sibyl glanced at her new companion.
The countess looked at her expression and laughed. “The fact you are unaware only adds to your charm. How refreshing. This is your first moment of fame, is it not?”
Sibyl nodded.
“Then stay with me. I will look after you and make sure you do not get tongue-tied or trapped by endless admirers. It’s been known to happen.”
“You know Phillippe?”
The countess grinned. “Oh, yes. He’s painted my portrait once, for a patron of mine. The silly gentleman paid an outrageous sum. But it was worth it. We’re good friends. He doesn’t paint just anyone, you know.”
Sibyl smiled at that, then spotted a familiar face. She waved to Margaret, who inclined her head.
“You see a friend of yours. Good. I’ll let you be. But if you get nervous, just wave. I’ll rescue you.”
“Do I need rescuing?”
“On the night of your debut? You might.” The countess winked.
“Enjoy the party. And do tell me later how you came to know my nephew. I didn’t think he danced, but to see him at the ball the other night was…
surprising.” The countess released her arm, greeting a small group of admirers who had collected nearby to speak with her.
Sibyl took a breath. The countess was related to Mr. Heyter? That explained some things, but also left her with more questions.
Margaret approached her. “You have made some fine friends, Miss Clifton.”
“Sibyl, please. How are you?”
“I am well, but I think it is I who should be asking you. What a day. I knew from Kate that you were sitting for Phillippe, but she swore me to secrecy. I had no idea you’d have a grand debut at the Royal Exhibition—that sounds incredible. What was it like?” Margaret asked.
Sibyl relaxed slightly. “It was exciting. I’d never…”
“Excuse me, you’re Miss Sibyl Clifton, aren’t you?” a handsome young man asked, interrupting their conversation.
“I… Yes, I am.”
The man openly addressed her without an introduction, which was rather bold. Sibyl answered his questions with politeness, but she looked and Margaret had already drifted away. Sibyl felt a pang of regret and swallowed. She’d speak with Margaret later and apologize.
A drink was pressed into her hand, and she smiled and answered questions, including accepting an invitation to dance.
She danced with many young men, but never more than two dances, and smiled and laughed at their jokes.
Amidst the swirl of skirts, the ever-pouring wine and champagne, and the warmth of the room, she began to feel a touch lightheaded.
She begged off another dance with a gentleman and instead stumbled out to the balcony, taking a moment to lean against the iron railings and breathe in the fresh night air.
The room inside was wonderful and her stunning picture sat pride of place, which was a kindness, she felt.
But none of it took away from the fact that come tomorrow, she would be yesterday’s news.
Sibyl couldn’t ignore the fact, niggling in the back of her mind.
This attention was wonderful and a tad overwhelming, but…
it was all only temporary. She knew that now that Phillippe’s pictures had been revealed, they would sell and that would be it.
His mind would be on the hunt for someone else to paint. Someone else to gain attention.
She took in great gulps of air and stood there quietly, breathing in the cool air on her face. Her gloved hands felt overly warm against the iron railings, and—
“I bet you’re proud of yourself. Now that you’re a shining star amongst society,” a snide voice said behind her.
Sibyl turned around. “Miss Harvey.”
Kate stood in the shadows, her arms crossed.
“I should have known you would be drinking up all the attention. That’s all you ever wanted, wasn’t it?
To be the darling of society. Well, I know better.
And what’s more, I’m going to tell Heyter and see what he thinks about your behavior.
” Kate stepped closer. Her expression was nasty.
Sibyl gripped the iron railing for support. “Miss Harvey. I know we are not friends, but—”
“Ha. Like I could ever be friends with a person like you. You go around smiling that fake smile of yours, pretending to be sociable and nice, acting like all you want is to be left alone with your books, when really you want to be admired and adored, like the rest of us.”
“Like you?” Sibyl asked.
“Exactly. Admit it, you’re no better than me or any of these other girls. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why on earth Phillippe would choose you as his model, but then, there’s no accounting for taste.”
That was it. She had insulted her enough, and Sibyl’s composure began to crack. She stood up to her. “Miss Harvey, I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you—”
“Ha!”
“But I will not stand here and be insulted. Phillippe chose me. I don’t know why.
I’m lucky. He could have chosen anyone. But for God’s sake, leave it alone.
The paintings are done. It will all be forgotten tomorrow.
I will be no more than some old ink on yesterday’s paper. I’m a nobody. Why do you care so much?”
“You’re so naive. You’re not nobody, not anymore. And you pretend you don’t even care. That’s what bothers me. You’re two-faced. You act like this is no great matter, when it is. Extremely so. I saw you dancing out there, with every man in creation.”
“What is the problem with that? They asked me to dance, I accepted.”
“Of course you would. You love the attention. But you’re wrong if you think they give one fig about you. They only wanted to dance with you, the muse, as a story to tell their friends later. They wouldn’t even look at you otherwise. You’re nothing but a plain, spiteful, ignorant—”
“Speak for yourself, Miss Harvey. From what I have seen, you have been nothing but rude, uncharitable, threatening…” Sibyl retorted.
The Countess d’Arbley swept onto the balcony in a soft rustle of skirts. “Why, good evening, ladies. Ah, Miss Clifton. Do come back inside. There are more people who wish to meet you.”
“Of course they would,” Kate said. She pulled a pearl hairpin from her hairstyle. Its sharp point shone in the moonlight.
“Excuse me?” the countess said. Being tall, she had the advantage of rising up to her full height and looking down at Kate. She gave her a severe frown and then said, “Miss Clifton. If you please.”
“‘If you please,’” Kate mimicked.
The countess’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, I thought I was interrupting a conversation between adults. Now I see one of them is a child.” She looked to Sibyl.
Sibyl nodded and stepped around Kate, only to trip over an extended foot. She grabbed on to the countess’s arms, who held her solidly. “Oof.” The countess helped her up. To Kate, the countess said, “That was completely transparent and uncalled for.”
She helped Sibyl from the balcony, and together, they shut the door on Kate’s seething face.
Back in the warmth of the room, Sibyl faltered. “Thank you, my lady. I don’t know why she’s being so uncivil.”
“You know that young woman? Ugh. I despise people like that. They cannot abide the success of others and so tear them down every chance they get. Ignore them and they will disappear, like flies.” She whispered, “In any case, I have news. Phillippe’s paintings are a success.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Completely sold, each and every one. The sketches, the paintings, even the miniatures.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Phillippe must be so happy.”
“He is. People are asking when he will be doing more, and he’s told them he’ll be taking orders. He’s enlisted that woman over there, Margaret Watson, to help. She is your friend, I think?” The countess nodded.
“Oh, yes, she’s very kind.” When she isn’t at Kate’s side, Sibyl thought dourly.
“Well. Come, let us have a toast in your honor.” The countess brought Sibyl forward, to where Mrs. Dove-Lyon and Phillippe were waiting.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Clifton.” Phillippe passed them both glasses of champagne and raised a glass. “To my wonderful muse, Miss Clifton.”
“Hurrah!” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses.
“To Phillippe,” Miss Clifton called, earning another hurrah.
“And to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, our wonderful host, for bringing us together.”
A round of applause sounded throughout the room, and people laughed and cheered, talking amongst themselves, when all of a sudden, there was a loud noise, and the painting of Sibyl as Diana fell sharply to the side at one angle.
People pointed and cried out. “Look! Look out!”
“What?” Phillippe blinked. “Oh, no.” He dashed forward. “Somebody, help me.”
He ran over to where the large painting, being hoisted up by two thick ropes, dangled perilously to one side. One of the thick ropes had come undone.
Sibyl pushed forward but was held back by the countess. “Don’t, you could get hurt.” The countess held on to her.
“But I have to help—” Sibyl spotted Kate standing over by the painting on the other side, then saw her trip and fall on the other rope. “Ooh!”
The painting crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Phillippe. He cried out and cradled the painting, its great frame cracked. Kate limped over to help him, and they were overwhelmed by the crowd.
Sibyl broke free of the countess and hurried forward, but Phillippe moaned. “My painting. My beautiful painting. It’s ruined.”
For as they lifted the painting, there was a sharp gash struck through the canvas.