if you can complete the Channing study in two weeks’ time. That will be enough to tide you over for the rest of the year, and I promise the Finchley referral won’t be the last I send in your direction.”
De Beauharnais slipped the coins into an inner coat pocket. “Before I agree to this project, explain exactly what you want me to do.”
“The objective is simple, almost beneath your talent. I have a nude Channing did of his favorite model, a woman named Anna Beaumont. The work is lovely, semi-erotic, and exquisitely rendered. You simply substitute Verity Channing for Anna Beaumont.”
“Your mother was a Beaumont. Was this Anna a relation?”
“My cousin. I introduced her to Dirk, in fact. Come, I’ll show you the study, and you can let me know what you think.”
Chapter Nine
For Vera, the hours had developed leaden feet, putting her oddly in mind of her wedding day. She was to take a lover, a notion that would have astonished her prior to meeting Oak Dorning. A soft tap on the bedroom door nearly startled her out of her slippers, so immersed was she in contemplation of what was to come.
“Come in.”
Oak opened the door and remained at the threshold. “Am I too early?”
Vera took a moment to behold the sheer masculine wonder of him. At Merlin Hall, the evening meal was informal, and thus Oak was in his usual garb—breeches, waistcoat, jacket, cravat. He might have been a country squire ending a long summer day. His collar was without starch, his cravat without lace. His boots were serviceably clean rather than gleaming with the champagne polish favored by Town dandies.
You do not belong in London. Vera knew the London art crowd. She’d seen them fawning over Dirk like flies swarming over rotting fruit, each sycophant more elegant and witty than the next. Most of them had smiled through their lies and wielded more talent with an insult than with a paintbrush.
They had competed in their attempts to insult her whenever Dirk was out of earshot, and when she’d complained to Dirk, he’d patted her hand and told her not to take offense at a jest.
“Your timing is perfect,” she said, meaning the words in a larger sense. In another year, she might have resigned herself to solitary widowhood. A year earlier, and misplaced loyalty to Dirk’s memory would have prevented her from enjoying this moment.
Oak closed the door, his movements unhurried. “You said earlier today that the pause of this past week was enjoyable for you. That you liked being cosseted a bit.”
The day had grown chilly, then rain had moved in. Vera’s hearth thus held a fire. Oak put aside the screen and began poking air into the desultory blaze.
“I did like the cosseting, and I liked cosseting you too.”
He straightened and set the poker back on the hearth stand. “I hope I haven’t imposed.”
Vera slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him. “Dirk wanted attention. You enjoy companionship. The two needs are very different. I was happy to attend my husband, and now, your companionship is also a joy.”
His arms came around her, and Vera tucked closer. Oak wasn’t aroused, not evenly slightly, which she was probably not meant to notice.
“Are you having second thoughts, Oak?”
“If there’s a child…”
She was pleased he’d acknowledge the risk. “I will tell you, of course, and I will not require that you marry me.” Would it be so bad, though, to be married to her? Merlin Hall was a comfortable home, the children adored Oak, and even old Bracken seemed to be thawing toward him.
“I will require that I marry you. No offspring of mine will suffer the needless stigma of illegitimacy, and I would never leave you to raise yet another child on your own.”
That was a stirring declaration… of duty, and some of Vera’s hopes for the evening deflated. She wanted this liaison with Oak to be more than a tawdry tumble, and perhaps it was, but the unromantic realities were intruding anyway.
A forced marriage was nothing to look forward to.
“I am not likely to conceive this soon after my courses. When Alexander was born, the midwife had a very blunt conversation with me and an equally blunt conversation with Dirk.” Vera eased away enough to untie Oak’s cravat. “I suspect my mother, had she survived, would have had those discussions with me prior to my wedding.”
She slid the cloth from around his neck and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. She’d been Dirk’s valet, and he