The Master and The Muses. Amanda McIntyre
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, Madame. He indicated that the man who sent them wanted to express his thanks.” My mind frantically searched for recent sales. “He mentioned something about a traveling hat for his wife.” It was as good as I could do on short notice.
She looked puzzled. “No name?” Then her eyes brightened. “Oh, Mr. Smythe!”
Relieved that my lie was validated, I nodded, encouraging the deception further. A sharp pang in my stomach reminded me of the stress I caused myself.
I was glad the shop had closed early. After graciously declining Madame Tozier’s invitation to join her Sabbath celebration, I enjoyed the walk through the park for the chance to clear my head.
“Miss Bridgeton!” A familiar voice called from behind. I turned to find Mr. Rodin hurrying toward me. His face was flushed from running.
“I took the chance that you might be closing the shop early due to the Sabbath.” He smiled and I felt my knees grow weak. I am not sure at what point I had begun to fantasize about Mr. Rodin and myself. Perhaps it was merely the fact that no man had ever paid so much attention to me before. Yet he seemed genuinely interested.
“I wondered if you’d had a chance yet to consider my proposal.”
I appreciate your patience, Mr. Rodin, and your tenacity.” My fingers tightened around my parasol’s handle.
“My brother says that I am like a dog with a bone once my mind is made up on a matter.”
His enchanting grin bolstered my confidence. “I am happy that you have not given up.”
He stood before me looking quite dapper in his dark trousers and tan jacket. His wavy hair was brushed back behind his ears, accentuating his chiseled jaw. In his eyes, I saw a palatable hunger.
Although I knew fully that it was not proper for a young woman to accept such a proposal, I had no reason to fear Mr. Rodin. My fear was that his resolve might weaken if I answered no again.
He pulled a long-stemmed rose from behind his back and handed it to me.
Charmed, I took it from him, touching the delicate petals to my mouth as I breathed in its lovely fragrance. Twice, no, three times now, he had given me flowers.
“You received my flowers?” he asked, tipping his head.
I hesitated, trying to find the best way to explain what had happened. “I did, thank you. However, I regret to have to tell you that I gave them away. I am not allowed to accept gifts at the store.”
“Duly noted. I could see where a woman of your beauty could cause problems in that area.”
I averted my eyes. “Please, Mr. Rodin.”
“I mean every word, Miss Bridgeton,” he stated.
He studied me for a long moment, tapping his hat against his leg and then smiled.
“Well, it remains whether I can persuade you to visit the studio.”
I could not have told him no had my life depended upon it. “Very well. Though you realize it is inappropriate for me to accept your invitation without a chaperone.” His eyes raked over me and I admit I quite enjoyed it. There was something daring in the line I was about to cross.
“I believe you have a good head on your shoulders, Miss Bridgeton. I give you my oath, I will be a gentleman.”
I took his proffered arm, hoping he would not be too much of one. I had dreamed for the past few nights of what it would be like to have his mouth on mine. I looked away, feeling my face flush again.
Mr. Rodin and I walked leisurely through the park to the line of carriages awaiting passengers. He assisted me into a two-seater, settling in close beside me.
“Cheyne Walk,” he told the driver.
The open-air carriage jerked forward and I popped up my parasol to stave off the afternoon sun.
“Will your brother be at the studio?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. I dared not look at him. Already I felt brazen at accompanying him without a proper chaperone.
“If he isn’t, he will be shortly. He did mention meeting with some of the brotherhood this afternoon.”
“Do you live at the studio with your brother?” I gave him a brief side look. He had a handsome profile, and I noted a cleft in his chin that I had not seen before.
“When I’m in London, yes, I stay with Thomas. It was a little hard at first getting used to his quirks.” He chuckled. “Thomas paints when the mood strikes him—night or day.”
I smiled pleasantly. I had apparently much to learn about the eccentric Thomas Rodin.
The carriage jostled down the cobblestone street, the sun overhead causing me to grow warm. I had bathed and dressed in one of my best gowns, donning a hand-me-down corset I had received as a gift from one of the girls at work. Still, the heat beneath the layers of clothing was suffocating.
At last, the carriage came to a stop in front of a tall, narrow, two-story stone flat. A small balcony looked out over the street from a set of French doors. It was simple, clean and neat, and appeared to be in a good district, putting my mind at ease in that regard.
Mr. Rodin helped me from the carriage and ushered me up a few steps to a painted red door.
“Here we are.”
Inside, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the murky foyer. The entry was narrow, with a small room off to the right. I peeked inside, finding the room void of furnishings, but its floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with books.
“The brotherhood are voracious readers,” Mr. Rodin said, leaning over my shoulder. “Come, I’ll show you the studio. It’s upstairs.”
He placed his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me to the dark mahogany stairwell. Allowing me to go first, we walked up a short flight to a landing and took a sharp right turn to proceed up another set of stairs.
I brushed my palm over the ruby-red wallpaper. It had a raised, velvety texture that I had never seen before. “This design is lovely.”
From behind, his hand reached up to rest beside mine. “Do you like it?” he asked.
I tried to ignore his close proximity, how the sound of his rich voice reverberated inside me. “The color is so elegant, like a red wine.” I looked over my shoulder and caught his pleased smile.
“That was my inspiration.”
“Your inspiration?” I asked, surveying the beautiful wall covering.
“This was one of the first designs