Read Online Laurie's Painter (sweet Regency romance) by Alice M. Roelke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alice M. Roelke
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lord's pleasure.
His hatred of the rich and
idle, of thoughtless and wasteful men seemed to grow. Yet he made an effort to
be cheerful for her sake, to talk of things that pleased them both. It was in
these days that he taught her the most he ever had of painting, letting her
practice on his half-finished canvases, mock-threatening to box her ears if she
made a mistake, and describing everything he had seen for her so beautifully that
she could see it herself. She painted, and they watched the pictures bloom,
faster than Henry could do them alone. For he was too tired at the end of the
day to attempt more work.
Soon they realised how
useful this could be. Jenny contributed, though of necessity in secret. She enjoyed
the painting, felt useful, helped him finish faster, and improved her skills. It
was a blessing all-round. Henry, whose pride sometimes seemed to smother his
common sense, was too proud of his sister's work to object to the help.
They managed to stay ahead
of the debts coming due and all the portraits that needed painted, although
sometimes just barely. Things were hard, but Jenny would have been happy if
only her brother's health would improve, instead of growing worse and worse.
Then, amidst the bleakness
and scrimping, into their life strode a laughing, wasteful, rich man who probably
gambled, but who was funny and so very kind to them.
Joysey had polished
manners but delighted in teasing. He baited her brother, but in the gentlest
manner meant merely to divert. He was kind to Jenny, even gallant, and he was funny
enough that being near him made the day brighter, made her want to laugh aloud.
His presence and kindness toward them acted like a balm, healing the tiny,
wounded family that was all that remained of the Wilkensons.
Even Henry, for all his
stubborn pride, looked forward to the visits from Joysey, looked forward to
sparring with him, drinking tea, and listening to his diverting anecdotes. Despite
Henry's prejudice against anyone resembling their father, even he had to admit
that their new friend seemed to house none of their father's vices, and a great
many virtues that he carefully tried to hide but never could completely.
Joysey was, simply put,
the kindest man Jenny had ever met. He made an effort to put her at her ease
always. Few people had ever bothered to do so before. Sensitive to slights due
to their impoverished circumstances as much as her brother, Jenny wasn't the
sort to fly up in the boughs about it: but she still felt things. Joysey's tact
and open acceptance of them exactly as they were charmed her and won her heart.
She knew she must be
careful, for never was there a man she was so in danger of falling in love
with. The rough young men who teased her rudely, calling to her when she went
marketing, could never hold a candle to such a gentleman. And he had such kind
eyes.
But Jenny had learned
early and thoroughly what their reduced circumstances meant. She had determined
to see nothing more than friendship from Joysey. And to feel nothing but the
same in return.
If these good intentions
and resolutions were sometimes tested with a sigh as she thought of him and
wondered when again his visit would brighten the day, she kept herself strictly
in line regarding daydreams of him falling in love and requesting her hand.
No one would wish to marry
a young woman without a dowry—a young woman who was no longer so young, and who
had been sole carer for a household since her mother's death, and in practice,
often before.
She knew her hands were harder
than a lady's should be, rough from kneading bread and sweeping the hearth. Scrubbing
the floors, heating water, and washing clothes reddened her hands, and in the
cold weather, they cracked and bled. Nor did sewing till all hours before a dim
fire improve her eyes. She knew they were not exceptional, her hair was wild
and ill-behaved, her clothing wretched, and her looks only passable and growing
less so each day. And yet when
His hatred of the rich and
idle, of thoughtless and wasteful men seemed to grow. Yet he made an effort to
be cheerful for her sake, to talk of things that pleased them both. It was in
these days that he taught her the most he ever had of painting, letting her
practice on his half-finished canvases, mock-threatening to box her ears if she
made a mistake, and describing everything he had seen for her so beautifully that
she could see it herself. She painted, and they watched the pictures bloom,
faster than Henry could do them alone. For he was too tired at the end of the
day to attempt more work.
Soon they realised how
useful this could be. Jenny contributed, though of necessity in secret. She enjoyed
the painting, felt useful, helped him finish faster, and improved her skills. It
was a blessing all-round. Henry, whose pride sometimes seemed to smother his
common sense, was too proud of his sister's work to object to the help.
They managed to stay ahead
of the debts coming due and all the portraits that needed painted, although
sometimes just barely. Things were hard, but Jenny would have been happy if
only her brother's health would improve, instead of growing worse and worse.
Then, amidst the bleakness
and scrimping, into their life strode a laughing, wasteful, rich man who probably
gambled, but who was funny and so very kind to them.
Joysey had polished
manners but delighted in teasing. He baited her brother, but in the gentlest
manner meant merely to divert. He was kind to Jenny, even gallant, and he was funny
enough that being near him made the day brighter, made her want to laugh aloud.
His presence and kindness toward them acted like a balm, healing the tiny,
wounded family that was all that remained of the Wilkensons.
Even Henry, for all his
stubborn pride, looked forward to the visits from Joysey, looked forward to
sparring with him, drinking tea, and listening to his diverting anecdotes. Despite
Henry's prejudice against anyone resembling their father, even he had to admit
that their new friend seemed to house none of their father's vices, and a great
many virtues that he carefully tried to hide but never could completely.
Joysey was, simply put,
the kindest man Jenny had ever met. He made an effort to put her at her ease
always. Few people had ever bothered to do so before. Sensitive to slights due
to their impoverished circumstances as much as her brother, Jenny wasn't the
sort to fly up in the boughs about it: but she still felt things. Joysey's tact
and open acceptance of them exactly as they were charmed her and won her heart.
She knew she must be
careful, for never was there a man she was so in danger of falling in love
with. The rough young men who teased her rudely, calling to her when she went
marketing, could never hold a candle to such a gentleman. And he had such kind
eyes.
But Jenny had learned
early and thoroughly what their reduced circumstances meant. She had determined
to see nothing more than friendship from Joysey. And to feel nothing but the
same in return.
If these good intentions
and resolutions were sometimes tested with a sigh as she thought of him and
wondered when again his visit would brighten the day, she kept herself strictly
in line regarding daydreams of him falling in love and requesting her hand.
No one would wish to marry
a young woman without a dowry—a young woman who was no longer so young, and who
had been sole carer for a household since her mother's death, and in practice,
often before.
She knew her hands were harder
than a lady's should be, rough from kneading bread and sweeping the hearth. Scrubbing
the floors, heating water, and washing clothes reddened her hands, and in the
cold weather, they cracked and bled. Nor did sewing till all hours before a dim
fire improve her eyes. She knew they were not exceptional, her hair was wild
and ill-behaved, her clothing wretched, and her looks only passable and growing
less so each day. And yet when
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