the nursery, away from all the late-night mischief. Mrs. Tansbury was devoted to her.”
Oak climbed off the far side of the bed. “The girl was seven when her mother died. Seven-year-olds overhear servants, they peer out of windows, they lurk in conservatories and trees and follies. If Catherine is reluctant to trust you, perhaps that’s because her own mother wasn’t much of a mother to her, nor Dirk much of a father.”
He came around to Vera’s side of the bed and crouched so he was at her eye level. “Why are summer nights so short?” he asked, smoothing back her hair. “When I’m with you, there are never enough hours. This is a topic that wants more discussion, and yet, I must away to my own room.”
If he saw her tears, he was politely ignoring them.
“We will talk more later. I believe I’ll start my day with a soaking bath.”
He brushed his fingers over her brow, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve made you sore. Bad of me. I do apologize.”
Vera was a trifle sore in intimate locations. That wasn’t why she wanted an excuse to linger in her bed rather than impersonate a cheerful woman at breakfast.
“You’ll be leaving for London soon, won’t you?”
Oak rose and appropriated Vera’s dressing gown, though it barely reached his calves. “I’ve done what I can with the older paintings, and they will earn you some coin. The nudes… I recognize the blond model, Vera. Hannah Stoltzfus still takes an occasional sitting and runs a political salon on Tuesday evenings. My brother Sycamore is among her acquaintances.”
Vera sat up. “Is that a euphemism for something more intimate?”
Oak brought her nightgown to her. “With Sycamore, one is better off not asking. He will reply with more honesty than any brother deserves, and he’ll do it in public. My point is, Miss Stoltzfus is semi-respectable. She could display at least two of the nudes without any negative reflection upon you, Dirk, or Catherine. She could sell them for you.”
Vera rose and regarded the messy bed. After Oak left, she’d inspect the sheets and pillows for dark hairs and open more windows to air the room. She’d wash out the handkerchief crumpled on the bedside table and otherwise erase any evidence of Oak’s presence.
Perhaps Dirk and Anna hadn’t been entirely wrong to rail against society’s conventions.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “The potential for coin is tempting, but if Dirk painted two nudes, people will speculate that he painted others, particularly given his relationship with Anna.” The total number of nudes came to eleven, and for some reason, that number bothered Vera.
Oak took off the dressing gown and wrapped it around her shoulders. His warmth and scent enveloped her, a pleasant bit of consideration she doubted any other man in the whole of England showed his lover.
“People speculate no matter how careful we are,” he replied, tugging the lapels together. “You might as well have the money, Vera, and it will be a goodly sum. Those are exquisite works of art.”
Oak was an exquisite work of art, utterly unselfconscious of his nudity. Vera watched him dress, handing him this or that article of clothing, passing him sleeve buttons when he was once again in a country gentleman’s finery.
“You did not answer my question,” she said. “When are you planning to leave?”
He borrowed her hairbrush, but she took it from him and did the honors.
“Are you eager to be rid of me?” he asked, smiling slightly.
“No.” She set the brush on her vanity. To a casual observer crossing paths with Oak in the corridor, he was simply up and about early, dressed and ready for the day.
He took her hands in his and drew her into his embrace. “I am not eager to go, truth be told. Alexander loved our ride yesterday. Catherine is taking to oils like a foal to spring grass. And the time I spend with you…”
He kissed her brow and snuggled her close. Vera waited, waited for him to offer to stay through the winter, to paint away the months in his airy studio, to let London wait just a bit longer.
She waited in vain. “Be off with you,” she said, stepping back and trying for a smile. “The sun will be up all too soon.” Though benighted London had sat on the banks of the Thames since Julius Caesar had been in nappies, and would likely blight the same location for centuries to come.
“I’ve asked my brother to send