Marguerite Kaye - The Beauty Within

‘It is clear you have not been introduced to Bella. My father married her not long after Celia’s wedding. I think he assumed Bella would take on Celia’s role in looking after us three younger girls as well as providing him with an heir but Bella—well, Bella saw things differently. And once James was born, so too did Papa. His only interest is his male heirs.’

‘Sadly, that is the way of the world, Lady Cressida.’

‘Cressie. Please call me Cressie, for no one else here does, now Caro has married and Cordelia has gone to London. I am the last of the Armstrong sisters,’ she said with a sad little smile. ‘I think you have heard more than enough of my family history for one day.’

‘It seems to me a shame that there are no other portraits of you. May I ask—would you—I would like to paint you, Lady—Cressie.’

‘Paint me ! Why on earth would you want to do that?’

Her expression almost made him laugh, but the evidence it gave him of her lack of self-worth made him angry. ‘An exercise in mathematics,’ Giovanni replied, hitting upon an inspired idea. ‘I will paint one portrait to your rules, and I will paint another to mine.’

‘Two portraits!’

‘ Si . Two.’ An idealised Lady Cressida and the real one. For the first time in years, Giovanni felt the unmistakable tingle of certainty. Ambition long subdued began to stir. Though he had no idea as yet what this second portrait would be, he knew at least it would be his. Painted from the heart. ‘Two,’ Giovanni repeated firmly. ‘Thesis and antithesis. What better way for me to provide you with the proof you need for your theory—or the evidence which contradicts it?’ he added provocatively, and quite deliberately.

‘Thesis and antithesis.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘An interesting concept, but I don’t have the wherewithal to be able to pay you a fee.’

‘This is not a commission. It is an experiment.’

‘An experiment.’

Her smile informed him that he had chosen exactly the right form of words. ‘You understand, it will require us to spend considerable time alone together. I cannot work with any distractions or interruptions,’ he added hastily, realising how ambiguous this sounded. ‘You will need to find a way of ridding yourself of your charges for a time.’

‘Would that I could do so altogether.’ Cressie put her hand over her mouth. ‘I did not mean that, of course. I will find a way, but I think it would be prudent if we keep our experiment between ourselves, signor .’ She grinned. ‘You and I know that we are conducting research in the name of science, but I do not think Bella would view our being locked away alone together with only an easel for company in quite the same light.’

As Bella Frobisher, Lady Armstrong had been a curvaceous young woman when she first met her future husband, with what his sister, Lady Sophia, called ‘fine child-bearing hips’. Those hips had now borne four children, all of them lusty boys, and were, like the rest of Bella’s body, looking rather the worse for wear. A naturally indolent temperament, combined with a spouse who made little attempt to hide his indifference to every aspect of her save her ability to breed, led Bella to indulge her sweet tooth to the full. Her curves were now ample enough to undulate, rippling under her gowns in a most disconcerting manner, her condition having forced her to abandon her corsets. At just five-and-thirty, she looked at least ten years older, dressed as she was in a voluminous cherry-red afternoon dress trimmed with quantities of frothy lace which did nothing for her pale complexion. A pretty face with a pair of sparkling brown eyes was just about visible sunk amid an expanse of fat.

Though she had never aspired to being a wit, Bella had been happy to be labelled vivacious, and had always been extremely sociable until her husband made it clear that her lack of political nous made her something of a liability. He summarily replaced her at the head of his political table with his sister and, having made sure that she was impregnated, consigned his wife to the country. Here, Bella had remained, popping out healthy Armstrong boys at regular intervals, taking pleasure in her sons but in very little else. Though she knew it would displease her husband, she longed for this next child to be a daughter, the consolation prize she surely deserved, who would provide her mama with the affection she craved.

Disappointed from a very early stage in her marriage, unable to express her disappointment to the man responsible, Bella had turned her ire instead on his daughters, who made it very easy for her to do so since they made it all too obvious that they thought her a usurper. Her malice had become a habit she did not even contemplate breaking. Pregnant, bloated, lonely and bored, it was hardly surprising, then, that Giovanni, his breathtaking masculine beauty enhanced by the austerity of his black attire, would appear to her like a gift from the gods she thought had abandoned her.

‘Lady Armstrong, it is an honour,’ he said, bowing over her dimpled and be-ringed hand as she lay on the chaise-longue , ‘and a pleasure.’

Bella simpered breathlessly. She had never in all her days seen such a divine specimen of manhood. ‘I can tell from your delightful accent that you are Italian.’

‘Tuscan,’ Cressie said tersely, unaccountably annoyed by the extraordinary effect Giovanni was having on her stepmother. She sat down in a chair opposite and gazed pointedly at Lady Armstrong’s prostrate form. ‘Are you feeling poorly again? Perhaps we should leave you to take tea alone?’

Flushing, Bella pushed aside the soft cashmere scarf which covered her knees, and struggled upright. ‘Thank you, Cressida. I am quite well enough to pour Signor di Matteo a cup of tea. Milk or lemon, signor ? Neither? Oh well, of course I suppose you Italians do not drink much tea. An English habit I confess I myself am very fond of. Cake? Well then, if you do not, I shall have to eat your slice else cook will be mortally offended, for Cressida, you know, has not a sweet tooth. Perhaps if she did, her temperament might improve somewhat. My stepdaughter is very serious , as you will no doubt have gathered by now, signor. Cake is far too frivolous a thing for Cressida to enjoy. You know, of course, that she is presently acting governess to two of my sons? James and Harry. You will be wishing to know more about them, I dare say, if you are to do justice to my angels.’ Finally stopping for breath, Bella beamed and ingested the greater part of a wedge of jam sponge.

‘Lord Armstrong informs me that his sons are charming,’ Giovanni said into the silence which was broken only by his hostess’s munching. She nodded and inhaled another inch or so of cake. Fascinated by the way she managed to consume so much into such a comparatively small mouth, he was momentarily at a loss.

Brushing the crumbs from her fingers, Bella launched once more into speech, this time a eulogy on the many and manifold charms of her dear boys. ‘They are so very fond of their little jokes too,’ she trilled. ‘Cressida claims they lack discipline, but I tell her that it is a question of respect.’ Bella cast a malicious smile at her stepdaughter. ‘One cannot force-feed such intelligent children a lot of boring facts. Such a method of teaching is all very well for little girls, most likely, but with boys as lively as mine—well, I am not one to criticise, but I do think it was a mistake, not hiring a qualified governess to replace dear Miss Meacham.’

‘Dear Miss Meacham left because she could no longer tolerate my brothers’ so-called liveliness,’ Cressie interjected.

‘Oh, nonsense. Why must you always put such a negative slant on everything your brothers do? Miss Meacham left because she felt she was not up to the job of tutoring such clever children. “I wish fervently they get what they deserve” is what she said to me when she left, and I heartily agree. I don’t know what your father was thinking of, to be perfectly honest, entrusting you with such a role, Cressida. Though perhaps it is more of a question of not knowing what role to assign you, since you are plainly unsuited to play the wife. After—how many years is it now, since I launched you?’