35. Epilogue
Epilogue
Kitty clung to William’s arm as she mounted the staircase up to the Great Room of Somerset House. Why did the Royal Academy have to hold their exhibition on the top floor? Although stairs had never been a problem for her before, everything was more tiring these days.
She paused on the landing to catch her breath.
“Do you need to sit down?” asked William, casting her an anxious look. “You need not have come—”
She gave her husband’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “This is the crowning moment of all your hard work. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Kitty meant it. This was what William had been working toward for so long and the boyish excitement written all over his face showed how important this moment was to him.
At last, he had painted something he deemed good enough and the Royal Academy had agreed.
She would climb these wretched stairs to see his work on display, even if it put her to bed for a week.
When they reached the top of the staircase, Kitty was ready to collapse.
After helping her to a sofa in the anteroom, William waited on the landing for his family to arrive, so they could all go in together.
They had all promised to come to celebrate with him.
All except his grandmother, who had not left Hampshire since the Duke had passed away.
Her Grace would be missed by William—and by her.
Despite their rocky start, Kitty had grown fond of the old woman, who had done exactly as she’d promised.
Having concocted some story about a faint connection to Mr Bruce, she had launched Kitty into London society as her protégée.
She had claimed all the credit for their whirlwind romance and simply ignored the irregularity of her father’s birth.
As the Duchess had said on more than one occasion: “One wasn’t obliged to submit a family tree in order to get married.”
Kitty flicked through the pages of the exhibition catalogue which lay open on her lap. At least that way it looked like she was doing something whilst she rested her feet.
Hetta came to join her. “Have you found Will’s painting yet?”
“No. There are hundreds of pictures in here. I thought they’d be listed by artist, but the order seems rather random.”
Hetta held out her hand. “May I?”
Her sister-in-law pointed to a section on the first page. “It says here that the exhibits are listed in the same order as they are displayed, starting from above the door of the Great Room. Goodness! What happens if you lose your place?”
“That won’t help us find William’s portrait of Laura, as I don’t even know where it’s on display. Come to think of it, I don’t even know what it’s called.”
William walked into the room with his father, followed by the rest of his family. He hurried to her side and helped her rise, an unspoken question in his eyes which she answered with a reassuring squeeze.
“We give up trying to find your painting in this catalogue without your help. Which room is it displayed in?” Hetta asked.
“You’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Brothers!”
Kitty eyed William curiously. “What did you name it?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Why is it such a big secret?” Kitty said.
William smirked. “You’ll see.”
He led them into the Great Room, which was crowded with visitors, all clamouring to see what was on display. There were pictures everywhere.
Her eyes moved from one painting to the next.
Portraits of the Dukes of Cambridge and York.
A castle and some horses. A portrait of a Navy officer—a reminder of the war that had so recently ended and the hope that she would hear from Edward at last. Another castle and some landscapes.
A portrait of a nobleman in Albanian dress, whom Hetta reliably informed her was the poet, Lord Byron.
A charming depiction of Miss Stanley as Juliet in the famous balcony scene. A portrait of…
“Oh!” Kitty caught her breath. It was William’s portrait.
Heat shot up her neck and into her cheeks as she recognised the subject.
It was not Laura. It was the face she looked at in the mirror each morning, but oh—it was like she had never seen herself before.
The light in her eyes. The curve of her lips. It was all so…beautiful.
Eyes clouded with tears, she stared up into her husband’s face. “Is that truly how you see me?”
“Yes—only more beautiful. A wise woman once told me that inner beauty never fades. Love enabled me to capture your essence with my paintbrush.”
“I don’t understand. I never sat for you like Laura did.”
“My darling wife, I know your face so well, I could paint you from memory, but I worked on the portrait many afternoons when you sat and read whilst I worked.”
“I thought you were painting the background of your latest commission.”
“Not all the time.”
“You sly thing.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised.”
The family clamoured around them, offering William their congratulations. Kitty clung to his arm, treasuring every moment of her husband’s success.
“I’m so relieved Will finally finished a piece he was prepared to submit to the Royal Academy,” said Charlotte. “I’m sure we have his wife to thank for that.”
“I may have told my husband once or twice what a brilliant artist he is,” Kitty said, flashing William a wicked grin, “but Laura’s portrait was the turning point. That was the first time he truly believed in himself.”
“What happened to your painting of Mrs Jenkin?” asked Anthony. “Did you decide not to submit it?”
“On the contrary. It’s over there.” William pointed at one of the other walls. “Portrait of a Lady—whereas this is A Portrait of Lady Droxford.”
“Two paintings on display at the Royal Academy at once?” said his eldest sister, Georgiana. “There is no stopping you now.”
“Three actually. The Governor of Portland’s portrait is in one of the other rooms. He insisted I submit it and they accepted all three.”
“It’s not what I was expecting,” said Hetta, staring up at the likeness of Kitty’s face, “but I am so pleased. Laura’s portrait is stunning, but this is by far your best work. A labour of love.”
“That is both encouraging and disturbing,” said Charlotte. “If love brings out your best work, will I never produce mine unless I fall in love? Will my pianoforte compositions always fall short of what I might have achieved?”
“You worry too much, Lotta,” said Anthony. “No one who has heard you play what you’ve written could imagine anything lacking.”
“I want to believe you—but then I see this, which has taken Will’s work to a new level.”
“Maybe you will fall in love one day,” said Kitty.
“That would be most inconvenient,” said Charlotte with a shudder, “as I have no intention of marrying.”
Anthony laughed. “It’s not something you can control, Lotta. Sometimes it goes against all reason, and you are deep in love before you realise and too late to stop it. Love is the strangest emotion and rarely logical.”
“I can second that,” said Kitty. “If love were rational, I would never have fallen in love with William. He didn’t exactly present his best self to me when we first met.”
William widened his eyes and cast her a doleful look. “But you love me now, don’t you?”
Kitty batted him playfully with a hand. “How could I not after you have painted such a very flattering portrait of me and put it on display for all the world to see?”
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the crowd faded, and it was just her and William, sending love letters to each other without the need for words.
“Nice picture,” said Beau, coming up beside them with Eliza on his arm. His wife echoed his words, and Kitty bit back a smile at their unsophisticated praise.
“Thanks for coming,” William said to them. “I know this isn’t your thing.”
“Too right, but at least you paint portraits. It’s even better when they’re of people I know. Far easier to cope with than these big historical pieces of events I can’t recall. I can’t imagine anyone wanting them looming over them at breakfast.”
“I confess, I’m not sorry to have a few hours away from the children,” said Eliza. “Emily is cutting a tooth and is very fractious.”
Beau pulled a face. “You just wait—”
Lord Castleford shook William’s hand. “Well done. You’ve come a long way from the insecure young man you were at our wedding.”
“I have you to thank for starting me down this path. You believed in my talent before I did.”
“Does this mean you will be staying in London to study at the Royal Academy?” Georgiana asked.
William glanced at Kitty, and she nodded. It was time to share their news.
“No.”
Lord Harting laid a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t go back on my word, son. You’ve applied yourself so diligently over the last few months—no doubt, due to the positive influence of your wife—that I believe the time would be right for you to go.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be possible. I do not wish to leave my wife for long periods of time.”
“Why couldn’t Kitty live with you in London?” asked his mother, but from the glint in her eye, Kitty suspected she already knew.
“Because we’ve both decided it would be better for our child to live in the country, where the air is cleaner.”
Words of congratulation and advice came from every side, sharing the joy of a new life on its way. What a testament to the warmth of family affection! The feeling of belonging warmed Kitty’s soul.
“Are you getting tired?” William asked her, a crease on his brow.
“I was tired before I got out of bed this morning!”
“Then let’s go home. We can come back to see the rest of the exhibition another day.”
“No. I am not climbing up those stairs a second time, William. Show me the paintings I should admire the most and then we will return to your grandmother’s townhouse, and not before.”
“Very well. I will start by pointing out to you this exquisite portrait of the most incredible woman in the world—my wife…”
William returned home, exhilarated with success.
“What does it feel like to have achieved an ambition you have cherished for so long?” Kitty asked.
“It feels remarkable. I have received more commissions than I can possibly complete before you have the baby and enough praise to shoot my confidence levels through the roof. But I would rather have you by my side than any of it.”
“Is that so, Lord Droxford?”
“It is, my love.”
“I still can’t believe you submitted a painting of me alongside that of Laura. There can be no comparison between our beauty.”
“You’re right. She is but a candle, compared with the sun. I choose you every time.”
“Oh, William!”
There was only one way to respond to the love expressed in those two words. He pulled her close and kissed her.
“I love you, Kitty. My heart. The true focus of my devotion.”