The exhibition surpasses all expectations,” Lord Tenwick remarked as they moved through the crowded gallery the following afternoon. “Though I confess, the artistic merits of these sculptures are somewhat overshadowed by the political controversy surrounding their acquisition.”
“How like you to introduce politics into an artistic discussion,” Jane teased, her arm linked comfortably through his. “Though I must admit, the idea that these treasures were simply carried away from their homeland does raise certain moral questions.”
“Precisely my point,” Lord Tenwick replied, his expression warming as he gazed down at her. “Beauty without ethical consideration is a fruitless pursuit, is it not?”
Samantha observed their easy rapport with a mixture of pleasure and wistfulness.
Ahead of them, Percy guided Miss Waverly from one exhibit to the next, his gestures animated as he expounded upon the mythological significance of each piece. The young lady appeared genuinely enchanted by his discourse, her intelligent face alight with interest that seemed to extend to the speaker as much as his subject.
“They make a charming couple,” Uncle William observed, following Samantha’s gaze. “Though I fear Lord Stonehall’s poetic tendencies may overwhelm the poor girl.”
“I rather think she appreciates his enthusiasm,” Samantha replied, watching as Miss Waverly laughed delightedly at something Percy had said. “Few young men of thetontake such genuine interest in art or literature.”
“True enough,” her uncle agreed. “Most are too concerned with appearing fashionably bored to risk displaying actual passion for anything beyond horses or hazard.”
They continued their progress through the exhibition, Samantha maintaining a serene expression that belied the hollow ache within her chest.
Several acquaintances approached to exchange pleasantries, their curious glances at her unaccompanied state confirming her fears regarding speculation. She offered polite explanations—His Grace regrettably detained by estate matters, yes, such a pity he could not attend, perhaps next time—while inwardly cringing at each repetition of the transparent falsehood.
It was during one such exchange with Lady Montague, a prominent member of the Athena Society, that Samantha caught sight of a familiar figure across the crowded gallery. Lady Knightley waved enthusiastically, making her way through the press of bodies with remarkable determination for a woman of her years.
“My dear Duchess,” she exclaimed upon reaching them, her kind eyes assessing Samantha with disconcerting acuity. “How delightful to encounter you here. Several of us from the Society have come to admire these marvelous works. You must join us for tea afterward to discuss our impressions.”
“That is most kind,” Samantha began, searching for a graceful refusal.
“I insist,” Lady Knightley continued, taking her arm with gentle firmness. “Emma and Annabelle are particularly eager to hear your thoughts on our next selection. And you look as though you could use a proper conversation among friends, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
The concern underlying the brisk manner touched Samantha unexpectedly. “Very well,” she conceded. “Though I must first fulfill my duties as chaperone to Lord Stonehall and Miss Waverly.”
“Of course, of course,” Lady Knightley agreed, already steering her toward a small cluster of women examining a particularly fine sculpture of Apollo. “Lord Norfeld and Lady Jane will surely manage that task admirably for a short time. Now, yousimply must meet Lady Barnwell—she has the most fascinating perspective on Mrs. Radcliffe’s use of the supernatural…”
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and conversations, the familiar rhythms of literary discussion providing a welcome distraction from the constant awareness of Ewan’s absence.
Emma greeted her with genuine warmth, while Annabelle’s perceptive gaze lingered on Samantha’s face with an understanding that suggested she recognized the signs of a troubled heart.
“You must tell us what you think of the exhibition,” Lady Barnwell urged as they moved together through the gallery. “I find these sculptures positively transcendent, though my husband insists they appear rather dull without their original coloration.”
“I confess I had not considered that they were once painted,” Samantha replied, studying the serene face of a marble goddess. “It seems almost sacrilegious to imagine these pure white forms adorned with vivid colors.”
“Yet historically accurate,” Annabelle observed. “We often mistake the passage of time for artistic intention, do we not? Seeing beauty in what is merely… incomplete.”
The comment, innocent as it seemed, struck Samantha with peculiar force. Was that not precisely what she had done with Ewan? Mistaken his carefully maintained distance forstrength rather than fear? Interpreted his reluctance to embrace fatherhood as principled resolve rather than the wounded response of a child who had never known true paternal love?
“Duchess? Are you quite well?” Emma’s concerned voice penetrated her reverie. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
“Merely overwhelmed by the crowds, I think,” Samantha demurred, though her mind continued to race with newfound insight. “Perhaps we might find a quieter corner?”
As they moved toward a less populated section of the gallery, Samantha caught sight of Percy once more, now deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman who appeared to be a critic of some renown. Miss Waverly stood at his side, occasionally interjecting comments that were received with evident approval by both men.
“Your nephew-in-law possesses remarkable social grace for one so young,” Annabelle observed, following Samantha’s gaze. “Though I understand his literary endeavors tend toward the… exuberant.”
“He has a generous heart,” Samantha replied, unable to suppress a fond smile despite her tumultuous thoughts. “And a talent for finding beauty in the world that I have come to greatly admire.”
“A family trait, perhaps?” Emma suggested gently. “The Duke has always struck me as a man who appreciates beauty, though he expresses it rather more… selectively.”
The oblique reference to Ewan renewed the ache in Samantha’s chest, yet she found herself nodding in agreement. “He sees deeply, when he allows himself to look.”
The conversation drifted to safer topics, but Samantha’s thoughts remained fixed on this new perspective. As she rejoined her family some time later, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances and maintaining her carefully composed expression, a resolution began to form within her heart—one that would require courage she was not entirely certain she possessed.
