Page 36 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke
Once more, he leaned across his desk, catching Thalia nervously slipping into the office as well. She opened her mouth to try and explain, though nothing came out of her lips. Instead, Thalia stood awkwardly off to the side, uncertain where she fit in during this family… squabble.
“Charlotte, you have two maids here more than willing to help you,” Gabriel began.
Charlotte waved the thought away, hands now smacking against Gabriel’s desk in an absolute fit. “Painting supplies. Please.”
Now it was Gabriel’s turn for a furrowed brow. This was not the first time he found his sweet sister in such a sour mood; it had been through the act of painting that she beat back whatever darkness filled her previously. And now, she held her gaze with such intent, that he was surprised at how much of a predator she’d become herself. It was the first time Gabriel had really looked and saw her for the young woman she was.
“We are terribly sorry, my lord,” one of the maids began. “We can go and find them–”
“No, it’s all right.” With a gentle sigh, Gabriel stood from his desk and rounded it, offering his hand outward. “I’m sure it’s stored somewhere in your old art room. We’ll go look together.”
Pleased with her victory, Charlotte slid her arm through Gabriel’s grasping his hand in a tight squeeze. “See, Thalia? I told you he would help.”
Thalia could only nod awkwardly by the door, smile clearly strained.
“Will you be joining my sister, then, Miss Sutton?” Gabriel asked. “I recall you had a few paintings of your own in need of finishing.”
She looked ready to argue, but seemingly reconsidered at the last moment. With a gracious nod, Thalia trailed behind the Harding siblings, looking as if she were being led deeper into the lion’s den. As far as Gabriel was concerned, she wasn’t wrong.
CHAPTER17
As Gabriel suspected, finding the painting supplies took very little time, and soon, both women were out in the garden, easels erect and palettes messily mixed in a myriad of paint shades. He took to the gazebo and had a small arrangement brought up from the kitchen, consisting mainly of seasonal fruits and cold slices of meat.
He sat with a cup of green tea, eyes drifting between his sweet sister and the little rabbit, their backs turned and fully concentrated on their canvases.
Charlotte took interest in a butterfly’s bush, her strokes quick and somewhat messy as she tried to capture the various insects fluttering about the flowers. Messy for now, perhaps, but Gabriel knew well that refinement came later, in the confines of her art studio. Minimal sound, minimal distraction; Charlotte worked best that way.
His attention then turned to Thalia, who was paying very little attention to the scenery and instead completing what looked to be a portrait. Gabriel recognized the background as the rookery in Whitechapel, the person of interest appearing to be slumped over in their chair, half-dressed in canvas slops and a thick apron.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he rose from his chair for an approach, ensuring to give ample warning as to not cause her brush to jump.
“A secret suitor of yours, Miss Sutton?”
Thalia glanced over her shoulder, a dab of gray paint having somehow made it onto her nose. He wanted nothing more than to brush his thumb across it, dragging his fingers down the length of her face and grasping her jaw to pull her in for a kiss. Instead, Gabriel focused on her painting, determined not to appear so desperate.
“Unless you’re worried my brother will woo me, your Grace,” Thalia chuckled lightly, “there’s no suitor here but yourself.”
Sure enough, as Gabriel inspected the weary man’s face, it did hold a likeness to the younger Sutton.
“What inspired such a somber scene, if I may ask?”
Thalia’s expression softened, her attention going back to the painting as she gently added layers of ashen gray to the foreground.
“He’d come home very late from toshing—I couldn’t rouse him for anything. And, the way he sat there, deep in sleep,” she shook her head, setting her brush aside to stare at the piece for herself. “I’d never seen him look so… so…”
“Vulnerable?”
Thalia’s eyes met Gabriel’s; he was surprised to find them so stern, so void of the softness he’d grown used to. “Exactly so.”
“That’s the curse of the eldest,” Gabriel offered. “Acutely aware of the pains our siblings are going through.”
“Yet, at times, unable to do anything more for them.” Thalia turned back to her painting, gently rubbing her hands clean on a stray cloth already stained from previous works. “Sometimes, I think about what might have been. The fate of Oslay, how much better it would be in Robin’s hands. If things had been different—if he were the true heir, and I the afterthought of some tryst–”
“Don’t say that,” Gabriel interjected, surprised at how harsh he sounded. “You are not an ‘afterthought’, Miss Sutton, regardless of life’s happenings.”
Thalia tilted her head, a weak chuckle escaping her lips. “You are a strange one, your Grace.”
Gabriel blinked; he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant to say that aloud. Thalia must have realized it herself, because they quickly broke eye contact afterwards, her hands once more busied with her brushes. He watched her quietly for a moment, adding details and shading that further brought the painting to life.
