Married to a Stranger (Danger and Desire 3)

‘Hmm? No, I’m going down to the docks with d’Aunay and a colleague from Leadenhall Street in about half an hour to look at a ship. I’ll be out of your way.’ He went back to his newspaper.

‘I was going to go to Ackermann’s in the Strand to buy more drawing materials,’ Sophia said. She did not want him out of her way. Last night had been very harmonious. She smiled a little at her choice of word.

‘Yes? You must show me your drawings.’

‘Oh, no. Not yet. Not until I practise some more,’ she prevaricated. The more she had drawn since her marriage the more she felt there was an improvement. She had looked at them only the day before and thought they were of a publishable standard. But she could be deluding herself. The only way to find out was to submit her work to a professional for his judgement and the easiest way she could think of to do that was to show her best sketches to Mr Ackermann and ask his opinion.

‘Do ladies ever sell their art?’ she asked on a sudden impulse to test his reactions. ‘There must be many very talented artists—so many girls are taught young. It would be encouraging to see the work of other women.’

‘Ladies sell their art? Of course not! At least, they may do, but it is certainly done anonymously. It would cause more scandal if it were known than that wretched Lamb female’s capering about on the stage. Nude models and orgies and loose living—you can just hear the old tabbies yapping about it. It doesn’t matter how much of a nonsense that is, that is the way such things are looked at. I’ll take you to the Royal Academy, but you will not see any ladies exhibiting there.’

‘I see.’ Anonymously. It did not sound as though he disapproved as such, only recognised the scandal that would happen if something leaked out.

Callum pushed back his chair and got up. ‘I’ll go and collect d’Aunay.’

‘Will you invite your colleague to join us this evening?’ Sophia asked on impulse. They had invited Averil and Luc for dinner, her first formal party. She knew Callum had made the party that small to give her confidence as a hostess, but it would be pleasant to show him that she could manage more.

‘All right, if that would please you. Pettigrew is pretty sure to say yes, even at short notice. He’s a bachelor and always complaining that he never gets a decent dinner.’

‘We must convert him to the delights of married life in that case,’ Sophia said and twisted round for the expected peck on her cheek. Instead she received a kiss full on the mouth.

‘I don’t expect you to demonstrate all of them to him,’ Callum growled, then nuzzled her cheek and walked out. She heard him laugh at something Hawksley said in the hall and her heart lifted.

Mrs Datchett was delighted at the prospect of a larger dinner party and threw herself into finalising the menu with gusto. Once it was agreed she bustled off, leaving Sophia with the realisation that she still needed to unpack the wedding presents to create a table setting worthy of guests.

She had been avoiding the wedding gifts because the memory of the day itself, the anxiety and indecision that had led up to it, had clouded the memory for her. Perhaps it was because her marriage was giving her more happiness than she had ever expected, but the morning passed pleasantly as she unwrapped and looked carefully for the first time at fine china and crystal, silverware and linen. Despite the short notice, and the surprise of the Chatterton family and their friends, they had rallied round and given generous, thoughtful presents. For the first time Sophia felt herself part of that wider circle:

she was a Chatterton now.

Over a light luncheon she decided that all the preparations were made for the evening. Now she could go and buy the drawing supplies and perhaps, if she felt brave enough, ask for an appointment with Mr Ackermann.

‘Ma’am, Mr Ackermann says he has looked at the drawings and can see you now if that is convenient.’ The young assistant smiled happily at her, neat in his green-baize apron and sleeve protectors, his hair slicked down, his face shining with enthusiasm. He looked about fifteen. Sophia’s stomach contracted with nerves. What had she let herself in for?

She followed him and waited for the door to the inner sanctum to be opened for her. She should have brought her maid, she realised. But she had not wanted to involve Chivers in what she could not help but feel was deceiving Callum. She should have discussed this with him first, she knew that. And she knew, perfectly well, that he would object in no uncertain terms to his wife offering her art for sale. Better to prove that she could do it, without scandal, and then confess when he could see his opposition was quite unnecessary.

‘These would be suitable for one of our series of memorandum books.’ Half an hour later Rudolph Ackermann spread a dozen small sketches of flowers, trees and fragments of landscape on the desk. ‘Charming. We could put Illustrated by a Lady of Quality on the title page.’

‘Oh, yes, I would not wish for my name to appear.’ He liked them! The majority of her sketches lay in the portfolio, but even so, to have any singled out as suitable for publication was both a shock and a delight.

‘Indeed.’ He named a sum of money and Sophia repressed a gasp of pleasure. She did not need it, but it was proof, at last, that her work was good enough. ‘I will have an agreement drawn up for your perusal if you would care to call again in a few days,’ Mr Ackermann continued. He glanced at the portfolio. ‘Your figure drawing is also interesting, although all these examples are too personal to be of use to me. However, if you were to work on some classical studies, or figures in a landscape, I would be interested in seeing them.’

‘You think my figure drawing is adequate?’

‘More than that.’ He touched a sketch she had made of Chivers. ‘The portraiture is charming and appears to be most revealing of character.’

Sophia emerged clutching her parcel and portfolio, dazed and delighted and with an appointment for three days’ time to finalise terms. Now she knew her drawings were of saleable quality, the urge to do more was almost overwhelming. She wondered if Callum would allow her to draw him, for the only sketch she had made was the one in the chaise on their wedding day and that was marred by a pencil slash across it from when he had startled her. The thought made her shy for some reason. Perhaps, because she knew now that she loved him, it would be too intimate, too revealing of the way she felt.

She was about to hail a cab when she noticed another shop, its window filled with colour and a small crowd standing outside laughing. The multi-paned bow window was full of prints pinned in rows along strings. Cartoons, she realised, caricatures of public figures and international events. They were cruel, perceptive, vigorous. She blinked at one of the Prince Regent, his mistress and a chamber pot—and crude. These were definitely not the sort of popular images she had seen at home, but she could not resist them. Sophia opened the door and went in.

On impulse, when she arrived back in Half Moon Street Sophia went straight to Averil’s door and knocked.

‘Yes, Mrs Chatterton, my lady is at home.’ The butler stepped back to give her access into the hall and, as Sophia stepped on to the marble floor, a voice came clearly through the half-open drawing-room door.

‘I cannot like it, Averil! How could she forget Daniel and marry a man she hardly knows within months of the wreck? It seems heartless. And poor Callum—what was he thinking about to let himself be trapped like that?’

The butler, his hands full of Sophia’s parcels, froze; it was quite clear he knew who they were discussing, but it was too late to deny her entrance now.

‘Well, I like her,’ Averil’s voice was equally forthright and just as clear. ‘And so will you, Dita. I have no doubt Callum thought it was the right thing to do—and you know what he is like: Sophia probably had no choice in the matter once he had made up his mind!’