Chapter Eighteen
Justina went to the schoolroom and paused, looking at the painting she had done for David with a critical eye. She thought it her best work yet and hoped he would appreciate her efforts on his behalf.
They were to leave tomorrow morning for town, where they would meet with Mr. Evans and Mr. Layton before heading to Redfield.
She had only seen David twice since their hour together at Mrs. Little’s almost six weeks ago.
Once, when she had gone to his shop to deliver her notes which touched upon the highlights of Sense and Sensibility and included discussion questions regarding its plot, themes, and characters.
The other had been when new, blank canvases and oil paints had arrived.
Both times, he had several customers in the shop, and she had only stayed briefly, with very little conversation between them.
She went to the painting and removed it from the easel, carrying it downstairs.
She had told Tray she would be going to Crestbrook to tell Lia, Rupert, and the children goodbye, as well as heading into the village for a few last-minute errands.
Her brother would be out on the estate with Mr. Hillman. Neither would be home for tea.
Carrying the painting down the stairs, she asked Larsen to see it loaded into the carriage. She checked with Bessie a final time to see if the maid needed anything from the village.
“No, my lady. I’m almost done with the packing.”
Bessie would remain with Justina at Redfield and then go to town with her. She had already informed the maid that she intended to make her come-out, and the servant had been as pleased as Punch.
Claiming her spencer and reticule, Justina ventured downstairs again and went to the carriage. She called upon Lia and Rupert and spent a pleasant hour with them in their drawing room, their four children playing happily on the floor. When it came time to leave, Justina hugged each of them tightly.
“Have a safe trip,” Rupert told her. “We shall see you in town.”
Lia walked to the carriage with her. “Give my love to Verina and Matthew. I cannot wait to see Marcus and how he has grown.” She touched her fingers to Justina’s cheek. “I am so glad you will be making your come-out. You will be in good hands with Madame Laurent.”
Justina had already written to the modiste for an appointment while she was in town, and she would spend an entire afternoon with Madame and her assistant, discussing patterns and materials.
Justina had even included two sketches in their correspondence to give the modiste an idea of the styles which best suited her.
“To the village now,” she told the coachman, giving Lia a final embrace. “I will see you come March.”
Apprehension filled her as the carriage traveled to Kidsgrove.
David did not know she was coming, nor did he have an inkling that this would be her last day in Cumberland until late next summer.
She had thought having little contact with him would help her get over her growing feelings for him.
Instead, they had only intensified. She knew she could not act upon them, however.
She was meant to paint and go to town, while his life was in Kidsgrove.
Still, it did not lessen the ache in her heart.
She loved him. Desperately. But she would never be able to consummate that love.
Perhaps it was best that she had been given a talent for art.
She would pour herself into her painting.
And never wed. Because no man would ever be David Rochester.
The carriage arrived, and the door opened.
“Please take this,” she told the footman, handing him the painting and then allowing him to hand her down. “Thank you,” she said, claiming the canvas once again. “I will not be too terribly long.”
Entering the shop, she did not see a single customer inside.
In fact, she did not even see David. The last time she had called, Justina had noticed a bell sitting on the counter and figured that he had placed it there to summon him if he were upstairs in the bookshop. She went to it and rang it now.
“Coming!” she heard him call from above, immediately hearing his footsteps on the stairs as he bounded down them. When he reached the foot, he came to a halt.
“Justina.”
“David,” she acknowledged. “Are you helping a customer upstairs?”
“No. No one else is here,” he said softly. “Today has been a slow one, with only one customer. Because of that, I was tidying up.”
They stood facing one another, neither one speaking. She felt as if she were memorizing everything about him, knowing it would be a long time before she laid eyes upon him again.
Breaking the silence, she told him, “I have brought you something.”
He took a few steps toward her and looked down. “A painting?”
“Yes. I wished for you to have it. It is near Keswick. I hoped it would remind you of your mother. And home. Of happier times in the past.”
David reached for it, taking it from her, turning it so he could see it. His eyes lit up as he viewed it for the first time.
“This is from Friars’ Crag,” he said, wonder in his voice. “You can see the entire length of Derwentwater, from shore to shore. And there is Walla Crag to the left. Maiden Moor on the right.” He paused, smiling. “And in the center at the far end of the lake, I can see Castle Crag.”
He gazed lovingly at the painting, and she knew she had done the right thing in painting it for him.
“I am not certain where I wish to hang it,” he mused. “Perhaps upstairs. I spend a great deal of time in the bookshop.”
Without asking, he took her hand and guided her up the stairs, the painting in his other hand. When they reached the top, he released her hand, walking to different spots and holding up the painting.
“Here?” He walked a few paces and lifted the painting again. “Or perhaps here?”
“That is for you to decide,” she told him.
Resting the painting against the wall, he came and took her hands in his. “This is the most breathtaking landscape I have ever seen. I wish I could pay you for it, but—”
“I would not accept any coin from you, David. It is a gift. From me—to you.”
His nearness caused her heart to begin beating rapidly. The woodsy scent of his cologne turned her mouth dry. As she gazed up into his emerald eyes, she hoped he might kiss her.
He smiled, that warm, enveloping smile which never failed to draw her in. Then his lips touched hers, sparking something between them. Immediately, Justina leaned into him.
His hands released hers, coming to frame her face as he kissed her. She savored each brush of his lips, her heart thundering against her ribs. Then he slowly ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and she opened to him, welcoming his tongue as it slid along her own, causing her to sigh.
Her arms wrapped around his torso, her fingers locking together, wanting to keep him from leaving her.
His fingers moved lower, caressing her neck, feeling warm and rough against her skin.
He tilted her head back and deepened the kiss, his hunger for her obvious.
She, too, wanted him. A fierce yearning swept through her, knowing she could never have him, which caused her to want him even more.
He broke the kiss and smiled sadly at her.
“Kiss me again,” she pleaded. “Just one more time. I will not ask you to do so again.”
In reply, he lowered his lips to hers, the kiss hot. Searing. Demanding. She lost herself in it, in his wonderful warmth and masculine scent. She could kiss this man until eternity and beyond. The kiss was a very possessive one, as if he marked her as his.
For all time . . .
But he broke the kiss, his fingers tenderly stroking her neck.
“I cannot thank you enough for the painting,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“I thought of you with every brushstroke,” she admitted. “It is my best work.”
He stepped away from her. “You should sell it, Justina. It is too good for you not to do so.”
“No. It is yours. I painted it for you. I want you to have it. To have . . . a piece of me.” She paused, swallowing the lump which had formed in her throat. “I am leaving, David. Tomorrow.”
His brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”
“First, to town. Tray and I are to meet with Mr. Evans, our family’s solicitor. We also have an appointment with Mr. Layton. I wanted to meet him in person and see his reaction when he learns that I am J Fulton. How he behaves will tell me if he is the man I wish to represent my interests or not.”
“That is wise. When will you return to Kidsgrove?”
She looked at him, sadness filling her. “Not for a long time. We will go to Suffolk after that. To Redfield, my brother-in-law’s country estate. There, we will celebrate a quiet Christmas together, our first since Mama’s death.”
He nodded. “It will be good to be with family at that time.”
“Tray will return here, but I will stay on with Verina,” she explained. “From Redfield, I will go to town—and make my come-out.”
David stilled. “I see.”
“You are right. If I make my come-out, I will attract the attention of others, being a new face in Polite Society. Naturally, I will talk about my art. Hopefully by then, more of my paintings will be on display. If not at Mr. Layton’s, then somewhere else in town.
I hope making my come-out will draw attention to them.
Lord Marbury asked me at tea the other day if I would do a few paintings for him, and I agreed to do so.
He said that he will do what he can to support my art. ”
Frowning, he asked, “Will you wed, Justina?”
Knowing she had no intention of doing so because she was in love with him, nevertheless, she knew she needed to free him so that he might pursue happiness on his own.
“It is a distinct possibility,” she lied.
He remained stoic, his face now a blank. “Then I wish you every happiness, my lady.”
Justina could feel him pulling away from her. Already, they were standing apart physically, but now she sensed him crawling inside himself, withdrawing totally from her. It was for the best.
At least that was what she told herself.
“I should be going. The carriage is waiting for me.”
He nodded brusquely. “I cannot thank you enough for your gift. It is something I will always cherish.”
“I wanted you to have it. I am glad you like it.”
Justina turned and headed down the staircase. David did not follow her. She paused at the foot, hesitating, then understood that he was not coming.
They had shared their last kisses together.
And now they both must move forward with their lives.