ornate gold frames, stacked next to one another on the walls at eye level and upward.
“You want to be able to get the spot at eye level,” Mr. Rodin explained. “That’s how you know the committee approves of your work.”
“And where is your brother’s work, Mr. Rodin?” I asked, searching the wall as if I would recognize his work when I saw it.
“Third row from the top…over there. It’s a brilliant piece. It should have been lower. But my brother has issues with conforming to the committee’s wishes.”
He smiled at me when I gave him a questioning look.
“Thomas quit the academy under protest of the teachings here. He’s never really quite gotten back on track with the committee. He doesn’t have a number of highly influential friends, as I mentioned.” He looked at the painting. “Truthfully, Miss Bridgeton, I think deep down he wished the committee would judge his work on its own merit, and not on Thomas’s reputation.”
I studied the painting as best as I could from my vantage point. It was a lovely portrait of a woman barely covered by a luxurious blue drape. It was the light in her eyes that struck me the most. They seemed so full of life.
“You mustn’t let this influence your decision, Miss Bridgeton. Often in life, it is the geniuses who are the least understood.”
“Oh, I do understand that.” I slanted him a glance and he returned it with a smile. William’s solid belief in his brother’s work was what made Thomas’s painting stand apart from the rest. I knew little about Thomas Rodin, the artist, but the more time I spent with his brother, the more I came to revere him and the more I desired to meet him. I began to realize, too, that wherever there was opportunity to be around William, I was more than willing to take whatever risks were involved.
We came to a statue of a nude male reclining, as though relaxing in a meadow on a pleasant day. Every muscle was intricately carved, portrayed with lifelike precision, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the size of his phallus lying limp against his leg. Having never before been privy to the human male form, I silently wondered if it was realistically proportioned.
“Artistically enhanced,” Mr. Rodin’s voice issued at my side.
“Oh, I wasn’t—” I started.
He raised his eyebrow.
My cheeks warmed and I looked away.
“Dear Miss Bridgeton, when it comes to art, only an intelligent person would have such questions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rodin, but how did you know?” I asked.
“Your face reads like an open book,” he replied with a smile.
“I’m sorry, I suppose you find me quite naive.”
“On the contrary. I think your innocence suits you beautifully.”
“You have a wonderful way of making me feel at ease with myself, Mr. Rodin.” I smiled.
He touched my arm. “I want you to feel comfortable in asking me anything. I know already that my brother is going to be as enchanted with you as I am. Your deep-set eyes and that flaming red hair—you’re precisely what the brotherhood has been looking for.”
“You flatter me.”
“Miss Bridgeton, flattery has nothing to do with it. I am trying to convince you to model for us.”
“Us? Do you paint also?” My heart raced a little faster at the thought.
“Me? No.” He smiled. “I leave the painting to my brother.”
As we walked through the remaining rooms, I was impressed by Mr. Rodin’s knowledge of art even though he claimed not to be artistically inclined. It seemed he was forever comparing his brother’s works to the early works of Michelangelo.
After the tour of the gallery, we took in the gallery’s floral gardens. Mr. Rodin plucked a rose from a trellis and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” he said, “for coming today.”
I held the flower to my nose, breathing deeply of its sweet fragrance. “Thank you for asking me. It’s been a lovely day.”
“And do you yet have any concerns or questions that you’d care to discuss with me?”
I studied him a moment, hesitating still to agree to his proposition, knowing it would take far greater convincing of my family than of me. “I beg of you one more day to decide.” My voice tinged on pleading, afraid that my request for delaying my response might change his mind.
He regarded me with a dubious look.
“Please, Mr. Rodin. I am humbly flattered. However, you must understand I’ve never received such a proposition before.”
He smiled, though it appeared guarded. “Of course.”
I offered a sigh of relief and smiled. Looking away, I held my stomach as I attempted to quell my nerves.
“Are you certain all is well, Miss Bridgeton?” he asked
I held up my hand. “It’s…I’m fine. Perhaps a little ginger soda would help.” I knew that I would need to take my medicine soon.
As he searched for a vendor, I scolded myself for getting so nervous.
Mr. Rodin did not press me further for an answer. We spoke on other topics and later that afternoon, he summoned a carriage and escorted me to the ferry.
At the dock, he handed me a card with his brother’s name and address on it.
“If you make your decision, this is where you’ll find me.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Rodin.” I smiled. “I promise to think about it.”
The next day at work, a young boy came into the shop, self-consciously removing his cap as he pushed forward to the counter where I stood. In his arms, he carried a bouquet of lovely flowers. “There’s a gent outside. He paid me a whole shilling. Says I was to give these to the prettiest girl in the shop.” He glanced around and shrugged. “I guess that’d be you, then?”
I took the flowers and thanked the boy, checking the card tucked inside. I held it toward the light so I could read it.
Dear Miss Bridgeton,
Thank you for the lovely afternoon.
W.R.
“Miz Bridgeton, was that a customer at nearly closing time? Remember it is the Sabbath, we must close early, and I have much to do.” Madame Tozier’s eyes grew wide when she saw the flowers in my arms. “From a secret admirer?”
I tucked the card inside my apron.
“Oh, these? No, a young boy brought these by…for the owner.”
“Was there a card?”
“No,
