Read Online Ophelia's Muse by Rita Cameron - Free Book Online

might be her chance to see what a different life was like.
    Lizzie sat down in front of her mirror, staring hard at her features and trying to see what it was that had made the artist notice her. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lip, calling forth an angry rose tint beneath her white skin. But the added color did nothing to quiet her fear that her nose was too long and her eyelids too heavy. Mrs. Tozer was probably right—Jeannie Evans would have made a more fitting model for a painting.
    Lizzie turned to her sister. “What if this Mr. Deverell has made a mistake? What if, when he sees me again, he decides that I am not really what he needs after all? I would be too humiliated.”
    â€œNonsense,” Lydia said. “Here, let me. I’ll brush your hair one hundred times for good luck.” She took the brush from Lizzie’s hand and began to brush her hair in long, regular strokes. Their faces in the mirror were variations on a theme; they had the same wide-set eyes, but Lydia’s were a warm brown to Lizzie’s pale gray, and she had dimpled pink cheeks instead of Lizzie’s dramatic cheekbones. Lydia hummed while she worked, as if she were soothing a child. When she was finished, Lizzie’s hair glowed like burnished copper. “There. You’re as pretty as a picture now.”
    Their toilet complete, the two girls clambered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Lizzie stood before the hearth to warm her fingers and toes. “Any tea?” She glanced at the pot on the sideboard.
    Lydia lifted the lid and looked in. “No,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Just the dregs. Father must have drunk it all and not refilled the pot. As usual.”
    They looked over at the table, where indeed their father had left an empty teacup and a pile of paperwork, some of it covered in rings where he had carelessly placed the cup on the papers, and none of it in too great of a condition to begin with. Lizzie could see that her father had been up early to look over the papers for his lawsuit.
    â€œThat can’t be a good sign, can it?” Lydia asked.
    â€œNo. He only drags out that old pile of evidence when business isn’t going well. What could be the problem now?”
    Lydia sighed. Then, trying to make light: “Well, just think. If we lived at Hope Hall, we’d have our own fires lit every morning, and a maid to bring us our tea in bed!”
    â€œAnd jam for our bread, and sugar for our tea,” Lizzie responded with a smile. “But until that happens, I’m afraid that we must hurry to work.”
    On the stairs they met their father, who was coming up from the shop.
    â€œAs fresh as daisies, you two are!” he exclaimed, pinching their cheeks and leaving a smudge. He had an infectious smile, which had long ago charmed his young wife, and convinced her that he was a man with prospects. And it was that same smile that had later helped to smooth over some of her disappointment, when none of his plans had come to anything.
    He’d been at work grinding knives, and a light metallic dust covered his shirtsleeves and blue work apron. In a misguided nod to the style of his clientele, he wore a shabby top hat, perched at a ridiculous angle. It was no wonder that the neighbors were always asking him how he was getting on with his lawsuit, and then laughing at him behind his back, calling him the Country Squire. “You’d better be off,” he said, glancing at his watch, “or you’ll be late.”
    â€œYes, I know,” Lydia said, annoyed. “It’s Lizzie. She was up all night reading again and couldn’t wake herself this morning. Apparently the works of the great playwright —yes, Lizzie, I was listening, I’m not quite so ignorant as you think—were more important than rousing ourselves for work.”
    â€œUp all night reading, were you?” Mr. Siddal’s eyes twinkled. “Like father, like