Page 78 of Aurelia

“I was hoping you might visit alone,” she said, a slight flush accompanying her words. “I love to see my son, but sometimes women just need to have a comfortable chat without any men around.”

Aurelia felt a flutter of excitement at the woman’s words.

“Guustin said you are extremely talented,” Mrs. Walker said as they waited for the maid to bring the tea tray. “He said you’d done some drawings of Celsa that were excellent.”

“I have done quite a few sketches of her.” Aurelia was also working on a small painting of the girl, but she had not yet decided when, or if, she would show it to her.

“I would like to commission you to do a portrait of Guustin, Miss Burton.” She pointed to a large oil painting of a beautiful boy sitting with a spaniel at his feet. “That is the only one I have of him.”

“That is a wonderful painting.”

“Thank you. Roland commissioned it for me. But I would like to have a more recent picture of him to enjoy when he is not here.”

“I’m afraid that anything I paint will not be up to the standard of the one you have.”

Mrs. Walker clucked her tongue. “If Guustin said you are talented, I believe him.”

“I have a few sketches of Guustin already,” Aurelia admitted.

“I am surprised that he sat still long enough.”

“I don’t need subjects to sit for me. It makes it easier but it is not necessary.” She gestured to her satchel. “I have my sketchpad with me. Would you like to see them?”

“I would love to! Come and sit beside me.” She patted the settee.

Aurelia took out the sketchbook, flipped to the pages containing Guustin, and sat beside the other woman.

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Mrs. Walker said when Aurelia showed her the first one. She leaned closer to the drawing before asking, “Might I hold the pad closer? I promise I will be careful,” she added, mistaking the reason for Aurelia’s hesitation to let the sketchbook out of her hands.

But what else could Aurelia do?

“Of course,” she said, handing the book over.

Mrs. Walker oohed and ahhed her way through the pages. “You are so very clever!” she gushed. “You’ve caught exactly that mischievous look he gets when he teases poor Celsa.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh! And here are some of Celsa. How pretty she looks when she smiles!”

“Yes, she does,” Aurelia said, reaching for the book. “That is all there is of—”

Mrs. Walker flipped the page and froze. “Oh, my.” She lifted the book closer, her lips parted, and then she turned another page.

Aurelia lifted her hands to her face, as if she could stop what was happening if she did not see it.

She sighed and forced them open, watching with mortification as Mrs. Walker turned the pages in silence, and then flipped through them again.

Once she had gone through them a third time, she looked up at Aurelia. “These are quite… powerful.”

Aurelia wanted to melt between the floorboards. Instead of that happy occurrence, she merely sat there with her face aflame, slowly dying inside.

After an age, Mrs. Walker handed her the book. Aurelia busied herself replacing it in her satchel, the room so quiet she swore she could hear plants growing outside.

“I don’t want to be intrusive,” Mrs. Walker said, “but, the one of Roland in the Viking helm and, er, nothing else, is that—"

“The drawings are all from my imagination,” Aurelia hastily assured her.

Mrs. Walker had bright pink slashes over her lovely high cheekbones. “What an imagination you must have!” She laughed and cupped her face with her hands. “Goodness. I don’t recall the last time I blushed so.”