what purpose, Mr. Rodin?” I knew to accept meant I would hear more about this proposal. Moreover, I feared that my interest was not merely in his proposal, but in seeing him again.
“Very well, Mr. Rodin. Shall we meet at the west gate of the Cremorne Gardens, then? Around five?”
“I look forward to it, Miss Bridgeton. You can ask then all the questions that I’m certain are mulling around that beautiful head of yours.”
We’d taken our ice cream and walked past the dancing platform to get away from the crowd and the loud music of the outdoor stage. It was a pleasant early evening at the gardens. The lights, hung by lanterns in the trees, flickered in the dusky wane of sunlight. A gentle breeze blew, mercifully keeping the lingering stench of the city at bay, at least for a while. “Tell me about your brother, Mr. Rodin.”
I used a spoon to scoop up a bite of the refreshing ice cream infused with lemon. An arched tunnel overgrown with wisteria and vines led to another part of the park. I thought we would be able to talk quietly there.
We walked through the tunnel in silence, the cool shadows as welcome as the treats we ate.
“What would you like to know about him?” Mr. Rodin asked.
I confess my head felt light for no reason I could think of other than the handsome gentleman at my side. Unnerved by my reaction to his proximity, I sought to find a question about his brother that could possibly interest me more than Mr. Rodin. “Why don’t you tell me about his work?”
A small blob of ice cream slid off my spoon and landed in the middle of my chest. I grimaced and Mr. Rodin offered to hold my cone while I rummaged through my bag for a handkerchief.
“There now, Miss Bridgeton. I’ve got it.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiftly wiped away the mess. I felt the slight brush of his fingertips over my breast. A gasp tore from my throat. “Please, Mr. Rodin!”
“My apologies, Miss Bridgeton. It seemed simple enough to remove without touching your—”
My brows shot up. “I receive your meaning, Mr. Rodin. You needn’t embellish.” I took his handkerchief and dabbed at the place where the ice cream had seeped through to my skin. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Perhaps we could find a place to sit down?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Here, this looks like a suitable spot.”
He waited as I sat, and I shook my head when he offered me the remainder of my cone. He tossed both cones into a receptacle nearby and sat down beside me.
“Please continue, Mr. Rodin. You were telling me about your brother.” I took a breath and patted my hair, trying not to look too disheveled.
“About Thomas—” he tapped his long fingers together “—he’s a complex fellow, as most men of his position are. His passion is his art and that is what drives him, I suppose.”
“Forgive me, but is he any good? Does he exhibit his work publicly?”
He turned to look at me, his expression curious. “You’ve truly not heard of him?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I have not.”
“His earlier works have been on exhibition at the Royal Academy gallery. I believe one or two still hang in a permanent wing at the insistence of one of the academy’s wealthy contributors.”
“His accomplishments sound most impressive. You must be quite proud.”
“I told you, Miss Bridgeton, he is gifted man. Not perfect, mind you, but bright and determined. He is a romantic at heart. His work is largely of women, using poetic imagery, religious stories and legends from which he derives his ideas. Though, in truth, his inspirations are his muses.”
“May I ask what you mean by ‘his muses’?”
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Miss Bridgeton. My brother has a deep, abiding love of women. A reverence, I daresay. Thomas regards women with the same awe that other men reserve for the stars, or a sunrise.”
“My, what a lovely thing to say, Mr. Rodin.” My eye caught the shadowy figures of a couple hurrying into the dense foliage beside the tunnel. There was little doubt in my mind what mischief they were engaging in. I forced my attention back to Mr. Rodin. “Are there many members in this brotherhood, Mr. Rodin? Any other models?”
“There are a handful of us—other artists like Thomas, me, in design…we also have amongst us a poet, a journalist and an author, as well as a few other individuals. You need not take concern, Miss Bridgeton. We are a close-knit group and very watchful of one another.”
A woman’s lusty sigh came from the other side of the wall. I kept my eyes on Mr. Rodin’s face. He continued, despite the distracting animallike sounds coming from nearby.
“There is a certain amount of pride in what we believe in, what we aspire to. Each of us has a purpose, a goal we want to achieve, but we are—”
“Oh, yes…yes, that’s lovely, guvner.” The woman emitted a loud sigh. “Here now,” she said, “let’s see what gift you’ve got for me.”
I heard the soft baritone of a man’s chuckle. “You are an eager one.”
Images of what the couple were engaged in leaped into my imagination and I licked my lips.
“—professional and discreet,” Mr. Rodin finished
My face felt flushed, feverish. I fisted my hands in my lap, trying to stay as detached from the events on the other side of the wall as it seemed Mr. Rodin was. I wanted to ask him if we should take our conversation elsewhere, but he appeared to be perfectly content and I did not wish to convey to him that I was as unsettled as I truly was.
“Discreet?” The word squeaked from my throat. “Oh, yes, an admiral trait, certainly.”
A deep-throated groan wafted through the flowers and I saw the instant Mr. Rodin recognized it. His mouth curled slightly at one side and he averted his eyes for a moment.
“Did you have any other questions, Miss Bridgeton?” he asked.
“Oh, dear lady! What extraordinary skills you possess!” the man growled from inside the bushes.
I turned my head aside, covering my mouth to hide my smile. I cleared my throat, loud enough, I hoped, to alert the couple they were not alone. It did not seem to deter them.
“There now, hold it still, guvnor. You’re plenty ready.”
“But I paid for an hour,” the man remarked with slight agitation in his voice.
“Is that my fault, then? Besides—” she cooed “—there’s no sayin’ that we can’t find us another lovely spot to ‘ave a go at it again, if you get my meaning?”
A deep chuckle followed.
I was so entranced by their repartee that I had all but forgotten Mr. Rodin was seated beside me. My eyes flickered to his steady gaze. “Oh, my, what is it that you asked, Mr. Rodin?”
