Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) by Lucinda Brant Page B
Authors: Lucinda Brant
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Halsey, are you not?”
Selina feigned disinterest and flicked open her gouache fan, not daring to raise her chin for fear the Duke would see the desolation in her dark eyes. Yet, the Duke was uncannily attuned to her feelings for he guided her to a quiet corner where a couple seated on an over-stuffed sofa obliged them by going off to find refreshments. He sat her down and took up his quizzing glass to better observe the crowd, all the while speaking to Selina in a low voice.
“May I offer you a word of advice, my dear? Maintain distance from your friend. There has been talk... Questions are being asked about his activities.”
Selina blanched. “Surely not to do with the death of that vicar?”
“Reason enough for you to distance yourself.”
“You can’t think he had anything to do with that man’s death? It’s absurd!”
The Duke laughed softly. “Matters did not go at all well in Paris, did they?”
Points of color appeared in Selina’s high cheekbones but she bit her lip and fanned herself with an agitated motion. “I do not appreciate being spied upon by your Grace’s toad-eating secretary!”
“Charles is no longer my secretary, and he does not spy; he has others to do the gutter work for him,” the Duke replied calmly, continuing to scrutinize the crowd through his eyepiece. “Believe me, my dear. You have chosen the wisest course.”
Selina glanced Alec’s way. He was talking with Sir Charles, a good head height taller than the Duke’s henchman, his blue eyes not once glancing her way.
“Whatever you privately think of him, your Grace, he is a man of honor and would never do anything to jeopardize my happiness.”
“You are misguided, my dear,” the Duke apologized, offering her his lace ruffled covered hand. “It is for his sake, not yours, that I ask you to maintain a discreet distance,” and directed his quizzing glass to a corner of the room. “Now this draped canvas intrigues me…”
Talgarth Vesey was grinning. The crowd assumed it was because his moment of glory had arrived. The Duke of Cleveley was persuaded to unveil the draped canvas. But Talgarth was pleased with himself because he had finally remembered where he had seen the Duke before. It wasn’t at Bath but, as his sister suggested, in the wilds of Somerset. It had been several months ago, perhaps a year, just after Talgarth’s return from Florence. He was on his way to visit Ellick Farm and the Duke had passed him on the narrow tree-lined road, riding away from the direction of the farm toward his mansion atop the ridge that overlooked the valley in which nestled Ellick Farm.
Here at the exhibition, it was the Duke’s magnificent powdered wig that had made it difficult for Talgarth to place the great man immediately. When Talgarth had last seen him Cleveley was without a wig. His wide-brimmed country hat had blown off just as they passed each other on horseback, revealing the Duke’s head of natural brown hair, short cropped above the ears like that worn by a medieval prince. He was ‘rusticated’: dressed in a shabby riding frock and a pair of dusty jockey boots in need of polish, and as far removed in appearance from the unapproachable great statesman as was possible.
A series of small tugs and the cloth finally came away from the large canvas.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd that brought Talgarth Vesey back to the immediate moment. He stepped forward to receive due praise for his full-length portrait of a young woman and her daughter. He knew it to be his best work and structured in such a way as to gain maximum benefit from the majestic scenery of cliffs and sky and the pale innocence of the subjects. But he was not such an egotist that he failed to recognize the crowd’s appreciation of the woman’s stunning beauty. That was what made the painting so much more important than a mere portrait. The sitter’s beauty was exceptional. No one in London but his sister knew who she was. She lived a
Selina feigned disinterest and flicked open her gouache fan, not daring to raise her chin for fear the Duke would see the desolation in her dark eyes. Yet, the Duke was uncannily attuned to her feelings for he guided her to a quiet corner where a couple seated on an over-stuffed sofa obliged them by going off to find refreshments. He sat her down and took up his quizzing glass to better observe the crowd, all the while speaking to Selina in a low voice.
“May I offer you a word of advice, my dear? Maintain distance from your friend. There has been talk... Questions are being asked about his activities.”
Selina blanched. “Surely not to do with the death of that vicar?”
“Reason enough for you to distance yourself.”
“You can’t think he had anything to do with that man’s death? It’s absurd!”
The Duke laughed softly. “Matters did not go at all well in Paris, did they?”
Points of color appeared in Selina’s high cheekbones but she bit her lip and fanned herself with an agitated motion. “I do not appreciate being spied upon by your Grace’s toad-eating secretary!”
“Charles is no longer my secretary, and he does not spy; he has others to do the gutter work for him,” the Duke replied calmly, continuing to scrutinize the crowd through his eyepiece. “Believe me, my dear. You have chosen the wisest course.”
Selina glanced Alec’s way. He was talking with Sir Charles, a good head height taller than the Duke’s henchman, his blue eyes not once glancing her way.
“Whatever you privately think of him, your Grace, he is a man of honor and would never do anything to jeopardize my happiness.”
“You are misguided, my dear,” the Duke apologized, offering her his lace ruffled covered hand. “It is for his sake, not yours, that I ask you to maintain a discreet distance,” and directed his quizzing glass to a corner of the room. “Now this draped canvas intrigues me…”
Talgarth Vesey was grinning. The crowd assumed it was because his moment of glory had arrived. The Duke of Cleveley was persuaded to unveil the draped canvas. But Talgarth was pleased with himself because he had finally remembered where he had seen the Duke before. It wasn’t at Bath but, as his sister suggested, in the wilds of Somerset. It had been several months ago, perhaps a year, just after Talgarth’s return from Florence. He was on his way to visit Ellick Farm and the Duke had passed him on the narrow tree-lined road, riding away from the direction of the farm toward his mansion atop the ridge that overlooked the valley in which nestled Ellick Farm.
Here at the exhibition, it was the Duke’s magnificent powdered wig that had made it difficult for Talgarth to place the great man immediately. When Talgarth had last seen him Cleveley was without a wig. His wide-brimmed country hat had blown off just as they passed each other on horseback, revealing the Duke’s head of natural brown hair, short cropped above the ears like that worn by a medieval prince. He was ‘rusticated’: dressed in a shabby riding frock and a pair of dusty jockey boots in need of polish, and as far removed in appearance from the unapproachable great statesman as was possible.
A series of small tugs and the cloth finally came away from the large canvas.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd that brought Talgarth Vesey back to the immediate moment. He stepped forward to receive due praise for his full-length portrait of a young woman and her daughter. He knew it to be his best work and structured in such a way as to gain maximum benefit from the majestic scenery of cliffs and sky and the pale innocence of the subjects. But he was not such an egotist that he failed to recognize the crowd’s appreciation of the woman’s stunning beauty. That was what made the painting so much more important than a mere portrait. The sitter’s beauty was exceptional. No one in London but his sister knew who she was. She lived a
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