of manners, and some of her roles were minor ones.’
‘Oh, but I played Lucy in The Rivals.’ Ariana glanced at her mother. Why had she insisted upon her meeting Mr Arnold only to thwart every attempt Ariana made to impress the man?
‘Tell me,’ Mr Arnold went on, paying heed to Ariana and ignoring the famous Daphne Blane, ‘have you played Shakespeare?’
‘The company did not perform much Shakespeare,’ Ariana admitted. ‘I did play Hippolyta in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Why do you ask, sir?’
Mr Arnold leaned towards her in a conspiratorial manner. ‘I am considering a production of Romeo and Juliet, to capitalise on the success of Kean. If I am able to find the financing for it, that is.’
Ariana’s mother placed her hand on Arnold’s arm. ‘Will Kean perform?’
He patted her hand. ‘He will be asked, I assure you, but even if he cannot, a play featuring Daphne Blane and her daughter should be equally as popular.’
Her mother beamed at the compliment. ‘That is an exciting prospect.’
Arnold nodded. ‘Come to the theatre tomorrow, both of you, and we will discuss it.’
‘We will be there,’ her mother assured him.
He bowed and excused himself.
Ariana watched him walk away, her heart racing in excitement. She might perform at the Drury Lane Theatre on the same stage as Edmund Kean, the same stage as her mother.
Hoping for another glance at Ariana, Jack wandered around the room now, only pretending to look at the paintings.
Could he approach her? What would he say? I am the artist whose work you admired. He did want her to know.
The war’s demons niggled at him again as he meandered through the crowd. He forced himself to listen to snippets of conversations about the paintings, but it was not enough. He needed to see her again.
On his third walk around the room, he found her. She and the woman who’d snatched her from his side now conversed with an intense-looking gentleman. Jack’s Ariana seemed quite animated in her responses to the man, quite pleased to be speaking to him. Even from this distance he could feel the power of her smile, see the sparkle in her eyes.
When the man took leave of them, the older woman walked Ariana over to two aristocratic-looking gentlemen. Ariana did not seem as pleased to be conversing with these gentlemen as she had with the intense-looking fellow, but it was clear to Jack he could devise no further encounter with her.
He backed away and returned to examining the paintings, this time assessing them for the presence or absence of emotion.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well, my boy. How does it feel to have your work hanging in Somerset House?’
It was his mentor, Sir Cecil.
‘It is a pleasure unlike any I have ever before experienced, my good friend, and I have you to thank for it.’ Jack shook the man’s hand. ‘I did not expect you in London. I am glad to see you.’
Sir Cecil strolled with him back to the spot in the room where Nancy’s portrait hung. ‘Had to come, my boy. Had to come.’ He gazed up at the portrait. ‘This is fine work. Its place here is well deserved. Unfortunate your sister cannot see her portrait hanging in such honour.’
‘She has seen it,’ Jack responded. ‘She is here. She and my mother. They are this moment repairing a tear in my mother’s gown. They should return soon.’
‘I am astonished.’ Sir Cecil blinked. ‘It is unlike your mother to come to London, is it not?’
His mother had not been in London since his father died, so many years ago. ‘She wished to be here for this, I think.’
That was only part of the reason. The truth was, his mother had come to London because Tranville, the man who’d made her his mistress, had also come to town.
When Jack’s father, the nephew of an earl, had been an officer in the Life Guards, the whole family lived in London. John and Mary Vernon were accepted everywhere, and Jack could remember them dressed in finery, ready for one ball or another. All that changed with his father’s death. Suddenly there were too many debts to pay and not enough money to pay them. Jack’s mother moved them to Bath where Tranville took notice of the pretty young widow and put her under his protection.
Jack’s mother always insisted Tranville had been the family’s salvation, but as Jack got older, he realised she could have appealed to his father’s uncle. The earl would not have allowed them to starve. Once his mother chose Tranville and abandoned all respectability, his great-uncle washed his hands of them.
Sir Cecil patted Jack on the arm. ‘It is good your mother and sister have come. How long do they stay?’
Jack shrugged. ‘It depends.’
Depends upon how long Tranville remained in London, Jack suspected. Jack’s mother was a foolish woman. Tranville had been no more faithful to her than he’d been to his own wife. He did return to her from time to time, between other conquests.
Matters were different now. Tranville had unexpectedly inherited a barony and become even more wealthy than before. Shortly thereafter, his wife died. Since suddenly becoming a rich, titled and eligible widower, he’d not called upon Jack’s mother at all. There was no reason to expect him to do so while she was in London.
Jack cleared his throat. ‘My mother and sister have taken rooms on Adam Street, a few doors from my studio.’
‘You have established a studio?’ Sir Cecil beamed with approval. ‘Excellent, my boy.’
Tranville’s money paid for his mother’s rooms. Practically every penny she possessed came from him. He had thus far kept his promise to support her for life. His money had kept her and her children in great comfort. It had paid for Jack’s education and his commission in the army. Jack swore he would pay that money back some day.
‘The studio is not much,’ Jack admitted to Sir Cecil. ‘Little more than a room to paint and a room to sleep, but the light is good.’
‘And the address is acceptable,’ added the older man, thoughtfully.
The address was not prestigious, but it was an area of town near both Covent Garden and the Adelphi Buildings, which attracted respectable residents.
‘I should like to see it,’ Sir Cecil said. ‘And to call upon your mother. I am in London for a few weeks. My son, you know, is studying architecture here at the Academy.’
‘I hope to see you both, then.’ Jack spied his mother and sister searching through the crowd. ‘One moment, sir. My mother and Nancy approach.’
Nancy caught sight of him and waved. She led their mother to where Jack stood. Sir Cecil greeted them warmly.
‘Jack.’ Nancy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘I cannot tell you how many people have asked me if I am the young lady in your portrait. I told them all the direction of your studio.’
