With a flare of her nostrils, Miss Vance seethed on. “He’d been making a fool of me. All along. And the worst of it? He has dozens of nude sketches of me. Sketches I know could ruin what is left of me. Which isn’t much. So I snuck in to try to find them and burn them, going from room to room, and that’s when it all went to the pot. The butler caught me, and in an effort to get out, I knocked over one of the large lamps in the parlor. It shattered, sprayed oil and with the flame already burning in the lamp, it…” She winced. “I’m ever so sorry.”
Magdalene knew this was her fault. She swallowed back the need to vomit. Few had the patience to love Charles for what he was. Everyone saw his constant sketching, during Parliament proceedings, church and the dinner table alike, as a sign of flip oddity, superiority and disrespect. What no one knew was that those sketches in his bound book were a part of his soul and an internal expression of private images he shared with no one. Not even her.
It was a world she had unknowingly introduced him to. Whenever she had locked them both away for long periods of time to avoid his father, she would thrust pieces of parchment into his small hands and insist that he draw the world, not for what it was, but what he wanted it to be and that, one day, it would be.
He’d been doing it ever since.
Only he wouldn’t be able to sketch his way out of this one. Though she had tried and tried to immerse Charles in countless social settings after the death of her husband to assist him in overcoming his distrust of the world, in the end, she hadn’t done enough. He had turned that distrust toward his own understanding of women. And her.
She could either be a good mother and do right by what her son clearly wanted for himself but was too afraid to step forth and grab, or she could turn away from everything her son was in the name of superficial societal mores, rules and rank. Those superficial societal mores, rules and rank hadn’t saved her from beatings. In fact, they had added to her agony. Which was why she was going to save her son from this beating. Because he deserved more. Because he was more.
She had always wanted him to step outside the solitary world of his sketching. It was a knee-bending blessing to know that he finally had. “Miss Vance.”
The young woman folded her hands and set her chin in a distinguished manner as if fully accepting of whatever punishment Magdalene had in mind. A loose tendril of blond hair fell across that cheek. She tossed her head to the side, sending the hair away, and locked her gaze with Magdalene’s.
Magdalene let out a calming breath, submitting gallantly to what she was about to do. “Given that Lord Kent is my son, I ask that you answer all of my questions in earnest so we might resolve this without having to involve the authorities.”
Her tone softened. “I will do my best.”
“Good. How old are you?”
“Twenty, my lady.”
“Twenty. Certainly old enough to know that trespassing and setting fire to the estate of an aristocratic peer of the realm is equivalent of suicide. Whatever the reason.”
She said nothing.
“Are you known for trouble?” Magdalene pressed.
“I’ve never set fire to a house before, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
Magdalene bit back a smile. She liked this girl. She had a quick mind, which Charles needed. “Have you ever been arrested?”
“No,” she replied in agitation, now holding her gaze. “Prior to meeting Lord Kent, I considered myself to be a respectable citizen. I paid my taxes, even when I couldn’t afford to, and showed respect to my king by following the laws of the land.” She smoothed her gown against her hips again. “Sadly, my lady, the laws of the heart are a bit more involved. Though I have nothing to my name, I don’t deserve to be disrespected. Not by anyone and most certainly not by a man who had actually claimed to love me.”
Well, at least the girl appeared to have her bricks in a row despite a momentary lapse of judgment. For, yes, the heart had a tendency to lead even the best astray.
Magdalene should know.
It had been her greatest downfall as a woman knowing she had ever loved a man like Adam at all, because he had never loved her. He had only ever truly lusted for her. “My son is a good man, Miss Vance. Know that.”
Miss Vance tartly observed her. “Oh, yes. When he isn’t collecting nude sketches and pretending to be something that he isn’t.”
Magdalene inwardly winced. “What do you know about him? Separate from this mess?”
She glanced away. “I don’t know where his deception began or where it ended. So I can’t say.”
“I see.” The girl deserved as much of the truth as possible. “Not to give him any excuses, but he had a most tragic upbringing, having had to watch his own mother beaten at the hands of his father. Sad though it is, he has always felt trapped between wanting to know happiness yet fearing it doesn’t exist. Sketching is a big part of his life. It is who he is and who he has always been. If you think he is the sort of man who lures unsuspecting women for his own gain, Miss Vance, in that you are wrong. He doesn’t really associate with women. If at all. In fact, and pardon my being so forward, you may be the first…nude he has ever drawn.”
Miss Vance glanced toward her, her lips parting. “What?”
“’Tis true. I should probably also add, and by no means do I wish to disrespect you by saying this, but men of his status don’t associate with women like you. I imagine that had a lot to do with his deception. It would seem he feared disappointing me and the rest of our society, although I never would have believed that of him before now. I imagine he also feared disappointing you once the deception had been cast.”
Miss Vance blinked rapidly. “Had he told me the truth, I wouldn’t have rejected him. ’Tis I who is well below his station,” she uttered in the most heartbreaking way. “I love him. Despite everything, I still do.”
Magdalene’s chest tightened. Love. Sweet love. Did it, in fact, still exist? That anguished, pretty young face whispered that it not only did but that nothing had changed since she herself was a woman of twenty. The only good in this was that Charles was a dear, dear angel worthy of being loved by someone other than his mother. It was obvious this girl still yearned for him. And Charles’s apparent fears of marrying below his station should not stand in their way. “Is there anything you wanted to know, Miss Vance? Anything that might change your view on this and him? For I wish to assure you that he, of all men, is deserving of your love.”
Miss Vance pinched the fabric of her gown above her knee, and after a moment of silence asked, “Is he as endearing as he had made me believe?”