Chapter Fourteen
A few days later, Rafe was able to follow through on his resolve to seek out more excursions to delight his wife.
As she reclined in his arms in bed after their early-morning lovemaking, he said, ‘Would you like to visit the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy? It won’t present an opportunity to sketch, but you could study the landscapes, which will almost certainly include some drawings of animals. ’
He was rewarded by her immediate flare of interest. ‘I would love to! Will you obtain tickets?’
‘I already have. We can go today, if you like.’
‘How thoughtful of you! I’ll be ready in a trice! Thank you!’ She gave him a long, lingering kiss that made him question whether she needed to leave the bedchamber just yet.
‘I think we’ll have time to breakfast first,’ he called after her as she rushed to her dressing room, amused at her eagerness.
What a clever devil he was, he thought as he rose and threw on his banyan.
To spark such an enthusiastic response, most husbands would have to expend a great deal of blunt on fine jewels or a costly gown.
All he’d needed was the shilling price of an entry ticket to the Royal Academy.
An hour later, after taking a hackney to Somerset House, they entered the building with a flurry of other early visitors.
Looking through the catalogue, Rafe found the work for which he’d been looking. ‘J. M. W. Turner, the artist of whom your work reminds me, submitted only one painting for this show, Dido and Aeneas. Shall we find that first?’
‘Let’s do. I’m curious to see which artist I remind you of—though I can’t imagine my simple offerings resemble those of a craftsman as renowned as Turner! Aeneas…he’s featured in The Iliad,’ she commented as he guided her to the appropriate gallery.
‘Yes. One of the Trojans, Hercules’s friend, who survived Troy and, legend says, went on to found Rome. On the way, after being shipwrecked in Carthage, he fell in love with its queen, Dido.’
‘If he went on to found Rome, I assume that relationship didn’t end well.’
‘No. Though it’s written that they were very much in love, when he left to fulfill his destiny, she killed herself. But this painting, the catalogue says, represents the early, idyllic days of their association, before duty prompted him to leave and break her heart.’
‘Much better to illustrate happiness than the misery of being broken-hearted,’ she said, such emphasis in her voice that he gave her a searching glance.
Had she been broken-hearted at some point?
He knew she hadn’t felt more than fondness for his brother.
He’d first suspected her ‘other plans’ for escaping her family were woven around the interest of some astute gentleman, but she’d insisted that becoming a companion to Lady Fallsham had been her only outlet.
If so, how could she have experienced heartbreak? Disappointment and sadness at her ill-treatment by her family, but true heartbreak was reserved for the loss of one’s dearest love. Something, he thought as he suppressed another sharp pang, about which he knew all too much.
Had she met some unknown young man and lost her heart?
Though he couldn’t see how or when that might have happened. But if it had, he felt a wave of compassion for her. He of all people knew how devastating such a loss could be. How long and difficult it was to claw one’s way back to any semblance of enjoying life.
But under the sympathy lurked another less noble emotion…surely not jealousy? That she had cared so much for another man that she would see his loss as heartbreak?
Watching her smiling as she gazed at the works they passed, he told himself he was being ridiculous. Cloistered away at Edgerton Manor, she’d had virtually no chance to meet an eligible gentleman with whom she could fall in love.
Unless it had occurred during her sojourn in London during her sister’s come-out? Had she fallen for one of Aggie’s suitors, and as a younger daughter not yet out, not even had a chance to win his affections?
A fierce sense of possessiveness succeeded his speculation.
Despite the odd tone in her voice, with its stark edge of sorrow, it was highly unlikely she’d been speaking from personal experience.
For which he was glad and relieved. He wouldn’t wish her to suffer as he had.
And he was very glad—ignoble as that feeling might be—that another man had not claimed her before he could.
Shaking his mind free of such useless speculation, he escorted her into the room where the Turner painting was displayed, where a number of visitors clustered to view the work,
The painting was calm, majestic, dominated by a grand sky, with clouds at the top of the canvas looking like a flight of birds.
The human figures, the titular focus of the work, were dwarfed by the natural world surrounding them…
trees, hills, that enormous sky. To him, they looked…
insignificant, despite being grand figures of ancient literature.
His eye was drawn instead to the trees on the hills behind them, reaching out over the river as if they wished to embrace each other from their opposite shores—perhaps meant to symbolize the star-crossed lovers?
‘May we linger a moment, so I might study the brush-work and technique?’
‘Take as long as you like.’
She had her sketchbook deployed before he finished speaking. Rafe watched her as she stood, rapt, her gaze darting around the canvas. He could almost feel her brain noting the shades of color, the luminosity of the sky, the hues of the shadowed hills and limpid water.
‘It’s very grand,’ she said eventually. ‘Do you truly think my work resembles this?’
‘Not in grandeur. But in its emphasis on the natural world and its wildness. Like those clouds in the mid-ground, reaching up like fingers trying to grab the clouds above them, which are fleeing like birds at the top of the canvas.’
‘Another hint of the sad end of the love affair, Dido reaching out for departing Aeneas?’
‘Perhaps. Like your sketch of the diving peregrine falcon, its swiftness and speed emphasized by the wild flurry of cloud behind him—all violent, feral motion. Shall we look at some other works?’ Rafe asked.
At her nod, they wandered through the spaces, stopping to view several paintings by the eminent portraitist Thomas Lawrence.
She stopped to study each, saying ‘I’ve not done much portraiture.
Maybe I will give it a try. But not formal portraits like these; like with my animal studies, I’d rather attempt to capture my subject in a natural pose.
Perhaps I could do some sketches of Hart and Claire’s children.
As I once told you, I only make likenesses of something or someone I care deeply about.
The Duke and Duchess have been so kind and supportive, especially Claire. ’
They moved on to study some of Constable’s landscapes, then to discover the work of several lady artists.
Juliana particularly admired the room hung with drawings, exclaiming over Miss Whitworth’s Butterflies from Nature, chuckling at Miss Maynard’s A Fly and closely studying the Fish by Miss Roberts.
They ended their tour in the Council Room, which was hung with works for which the artists had been elected as Members of the Royal Academy. As they paused beneath Turner’s View of Dolbadern Castle, Rafe said curiously ‘What do you think of this one?’
‘Though the verse under the painting refers to the imprisoned Owen of Wales, the figure, so tiny at the bottom of the painting, seems unimportant. It’s the vast sky, with the castle tower silhouetted against it, that captures one’s attention.’
‘The boiling clouds behind the castle a metaphor for the prisoner’s despair, perhaps?’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps. One great difference in my work; I wish to capture the essence of the subject. If I were drawing an imprisoned prince in despair, I should focus on him, rather than the sky and clouds. That said, I prefer sky, clouds and creatures of nature to grand allegorical schemes. I suppose those are the sorts of pictures collectors wish to buy, else the prominent painters wouldn’t produce so many of them.
Well, I suspect by now you are more than ready to take your leave. ’
Much as he was admiring the artwork and enjoyed watching Juliana’s delighted absorption, he couldn’t help but admit she was correct.
‘Shall we treat ourselves to tea at Gunter’s?
Perhaps accompanied by a pineapple ice, their specialty, to counteract the heat of the day.
Then I have a suggestion about how we might finish off the afternoon. ’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? At Gunter’s? Do the plane trees in the square offer that much concealment?’
‘No erotic interludes, minx. Not at Gunter’s, at any rate. Come, let’s get that tea. I’ll tell you my idea while you devour your ice.’
Half an hour later, they were seated in the tearoom, their treats on the table before them.
‘Once we’ve refreshed ourselves, I propose we go to Turner’s Gallery,’ Rafe said.
‘You may have noted Turner showed only one painting at the Exhibition this year. He’s well enough known now that he prefers to keep much of his work at his own gallery and sell directly from there.
In addition, he keeps several pieces on display that are personal favourites he doesn’t wish to sell—Frosty Morning and one of his signature pieces, Hannibal Crossing the Alps.
Juliana looked up at him curiously. ‘First the tour of the Royal Academy, then Turner’s Gallery? I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about art.’