The Master and The Muses. Amanda Mcintyre
I assumed that he ate out, as I’d not seen a cook either. He seemed, however, to have an endless supply of tea, wine and raspberry scones on hand. His bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, and my mind flashed with the image of Thomas sprawled across it, his nude body draped with a careless covering. Need welled inside me. Having once tasted the precious honeyed bliss, my body craved it. I hurried to finish dressing and remove myself from the temptation of my imagination.
“Thank you, Madame Tozier, for your contribution to the arts,” Thomas said. “We’ll be certain to credit the lovely hat that Helen holds in the painting to your generosity.”
As he had predicted, Thomas had managed to charm my employer, reducing her to a blushing admirer.
Thomas placed his delicate teacup on the plate he held.
“I will be visiting Miss Bridgeton’s family as soon as we have a painting to give them. I must say it is refreshing to find a noted person in the community who appreciates the importance of the arts. Art is what differentiates us from the animals, don’t you agree, Madame Tozier?”
“Oh, yes, I do agree, Mr. Rodeen.” Her smile was demure. “We must educate the unfortunate souls who do not understand such things.”
I glanced away, covering my smile with my napkin. Thomas was openly charming, a shrewd businessman and, as he made no qualms in saying, he usually got what he wanted. A shiver ran through me, remembering his hand on my breast. What more did Thomas want from me? I chose to set those questions aside for the moment and simply be grateful that some of my guilt had been lifted from my shoulders. I had him to thank for that.
“Thomas, did you mean what you said about giving my family a portrait of me?” I asked later as we rode back to the ferry where I would catch my ride home.
He took my hand, patted it and rested it on the top of his thigh. “I needed to gain Madame Tozier’s trust, Helen. I had to make certain she would not trot off to tell your family all about us herself. By entrusting her to keep it our little surprise, she will keep our confidence.”
“So, in short, you lied?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as stretching the truth, quite harmlessly. Perhaps we can take them a portrait someday. Would that be so awful?”
The image of my papa raising his gun to the sky and giving a single warning shot emerged in my head. “Perhaps we should wait a little longer before we tell my family,” I said, as my stomach began to bother me again.
“Tilt your chin down. Now lift your eyes…good…there. Hold that look—perfect.”
I held my gaze steady on a spot of light shimmering over Thomas’s shoulder. Being his muse was a much more daunting task than I had imagined. When he noticed my stress, he would break into song and dance me about the studio until I was in better spirits. On occasion, he would take me to the pub to dine with others in the brotherhood, but although I tried to fit in, I found myself preferring to be alone with Thomas at the studio.
Several letters had arrived from William, always addressed to Thomas. He indicated that he was having a splendid time in Rome and hoped all was well back home. Never once did he ask about me, specifically. That single afternoon with William began to fade, replaced by the colorful moments I spent with his brother.
“Do you wish to discuss something with me, Helen?” Thomas asked, wiping his fingers on his paint rag.
“I’m sorry, Thomas, I’ll do better.” I shifted, straightening my spine.
“Is it your monthly?”
I suppose that by now, I should have been more used to his frank manner, but today it surprised me. I’d never spoken to anyone other than my mother on that subject. “No,” I uttered in haste, averting my eyes and feeling foolish.
Thomas knelt before me, taking my hands in his. The warmth of his concern flowed through me. There was kindness in his eyes that put me at ease.
“It is natural, Helen. What kind of man would I be if I were not sensitive to these things? Many women have posed for me. I would be a thickheaded boob if I did not understand.”
“I have not been sleeping well. I have bouts of insomnia, but it will pass.”
He studied me and then slapped his knee. “You need the fresh air and sunshine of the country.”
He smiled up at me, his eyes twinkling. I thought that he meant we should visit my family at last, and now, faced with the reality of it, I wasn’t sure if I was ready just yet. “Oh, I could not face my family today, Thomas. Perhaps next week when I’m better rested.”
He nodded. “Very well, we won’t go to see your family, as you wish. We’ll take a ride. I know! We’ll have a picnic! It’s a lovely day for it. We need to get some color in your face.”
He pulled me to my feet.
“Go change and meet me out front.”
Although I considered asking whether I might instead lie down for a while, I knew that once Thomas made up his mind he was not easily deterred.
The carriage ride was indeed relaxing. We spoke little, enjoying the view, silent in our private thoughts. Once or twice I caught Thomas looking at me and we would share a friendly smile. Since our conversation on the balcony, he’d not made any further advances. I often wondered, knowing the healthiness of his sexual appetite, how he was satisfying his cravings.
Thomas tapped the driver with his cane and we came to a stop by a small grove of willow and oak trees.
“You’re welcome to go up to the house, good man. You’ll find a well there to water your horses. I’ll fetch you when we’re ready.”
He grabbed a small basket and stepped down, holding his hand out to me. “Come on, I want to show you the grounds.”
“Will the owners mind us traipsing around the property?” I asked, noting a small cottage in the distance.
“It belongs to the brotherhood.” He offered his hand to help me down.
Thomas continued to hold my hand, guiding me through the knee-length grass. Overhead, the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky. I breathed deeply. The setting was beautiful and it reminded me of the places I had played as a child. “The brotherhood? What would the brotherhood need with all of this land?” I asked, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches of the willow trees as best I could. One snagged my bonnet, pulling it away from my head.
Thomas laughed and reached up, loosening my coppery hair and causing it to spill over my shoulders. He stopped, holding my hat in his hand, and fingered my hair. “Breathtaking,” he said, taking a strand and brushing it over his cheek. “You have a natural beauty that few women can boast of, Helen. You should embrace it with great confidence.”
We sat beneath a willow, lunching on fresh peaches and cheese, bread and wine. He tore a loaf of bread and offered me a taste.
“We’ve talked about building a communal studio.” He stood and shook off his coat.
“What?” I asked, swallowing the bread without properly chewing it. I washed it down with a large gulp of wine. “Why would you want to leave the studio? Would you all live here together?”
Thomas stretched out on his side, crossing his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s the perfect solution, really. Sharing props, easels, paints—”
“Models?” I asked, feeling a tinge of jealousy.
He leveled his gaze on me. “That has always been the way of it. From the formation of the brotherhood—we share and share alike.”
“I do not think I like the idea, Thomas.” I tipped back my glass and finished off the wine. I sensed it warring with my medicine, causing my tongue to loosen.
“Because you are uncomfortable around the brotherhood?” he asked quietly.
“I