After pondering Thodoros’s works for the better part of an hour, I finally set to sketching charcoal on the canvas and began planning out the scene. Thodoros was famous for a series of four paintings called The Lady of the Fountain. Each also had a number. They were all different angles and poses of a young woman standing by a fountain and had been created at different times. Occasionally, another person would be included—a man, a child. Passing off a fifth, just-discovered one would hopefully be viable.
My marks were tentative at first. The bizarre, cramped setting didn’t help any. Neither did the constant rocking of the ship. I finally decided a back view of the woman would be easiest, and I had to remember the exact position of the fountain and number of trees around it. As time passed, I grew more confident and was happy to get lost in the work. It took my mind away from the deception I was enmeshed in and that constant ache over Tamsin.
I forgot Cedric was there and jumped when he spoke. “Adelaide, we’ve got to go.”
“Do we?” I nodded toward the canvas. “I’m not done with the sketch.”
“We’ve already been gone longer than we should have. It’s nearly dinnertime, and I’m hoping Miss Bradley hasn’t been looking for you.”
I reluctantly surrendered the charcoal and watched as Cedric neatly concealed everything away. “Be careful,” I warned. “Don’t tear that canvas.”
“Maybe it’ll just add to the authenticity of being smuggled out through dangerous conditions.”
“Maybe,” I said, stretching my cramped muscles. “But a painting that makes it out intact will fetch a better price for poor, penniless heathens. A buyer won’t question the miracle to have something neat and tidy hanging in his home.”
“Well, this poor, penniless heathen is grateful.”
We left the cargo room but stopped again in the narrow corridor just before we reached the Glittering Court’s set of rooms. He lowered his voice. “Where did you learn to do that anyway? The painting? Lots of people know how to paint. Not many can do that kind of imitation.”
Another weighty question. “My father,” I said after several long moments. “It was a game we played. To test my memory.”
He quickly noticed the change in me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something upsetting. But he must have been remarkable to have that kind of faith in you. From what I’ve seen, most noblemen just care about their daughters behaving politely and marrying well.”
“He was interested in those things too. But I don’t think what I’m about to do is exactly the marriage he had in mind. Do you know about Rupert, First Earl of Rothford?”
“Of course. All Osfridians know about him.” Cedric gave me a meaningful look. “And I know who his direct descendants are.”
“Throughout my entire life, I’ve had the importance of that drilled into me. What a responsibility that title is.” I leaned against the rough wooden wall, thinking of Grandmama. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m tarnishing that heritage. I don’t know.”
Cedric’s expression softened. “Well, I know two things. For you to be countess, he’s one of the rare progenitors to let his title be passed to his female descendants. Most don’t do that, which means he wasn’t someone who believed in abiding by archaic rules. You should be proud of that.”
“You don’t need to pitch me on my own ancestor. What’s the other thing you allegedly know?”
“There’s no ‘allegedly’ about it. Rupert left a comfortable life back on the continent, sailing west to a savage land he knew little about. He didn’t do it because it was the safe choice or because it was the easy choice. He did it because it was the right choice, because he knew in his bones that staying in the old land was draining him and he had to move on to greater things. He didn’t tarnish his heritage. He was brave and bold.” Cedric looked at me meaningfully. “Sound like anyone we both know?”
“Are you talking about yourself?”
I started to turn away before he could see my smile, but he caught my hand and pulled me back. When I looked at him, I felt my mirth vanish. There was something disconcertingly serious in his face. The hall suddenly seemed very small, the space between us even smaller.
“Never underestimate your own worth,” he told me. “I certainly never have.”
I wanted him to smile again or make a joke, and when he didn’t, I broke away. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.” I hurried off to my room, afraid of what I’d see if I looked back.
Chapter 11
Cedric was nervous in those first days. He’d expected me to put brush to canvas and start instantly creating people and scenery. Those things would come, but first, I had to do the groundwork. I sketched and laid base colors, and slowly, bit by bit, the work began to come to life. Each time I finished a session, I always felt as though I hadn’t had enough time. The minutes flew by, and I’d have a pang of worry that I wasn’t going to be able to finish before the end of our journey.
Outside of my makeshift art studio, however, my painting time was noticeably long.
“There you are,” exclaimed Miss Bradley one evening. I hadn’t been able to leave the storage room until some paint had properly set, making me late for dinner in our common room. All the other girls were seated, their eyes locked on me as I stood in the doorway. On a long trip like this, anyone getting in trouble was high entertainment.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” I clasped my hands in front of me and tried to look contrite. “I was taking a walk on the deck, and when I started to come back, there was a group of sailors in my way in the stairwell—doing some sort of repair. I didn’t want to have to pass so close to them, so I waited—discreetly—until they were done. I thought that was the proper thing to do.”