Read Online Potent Pleasures by Eloisa James - Free Book Online Page B

their sturdy Elizabethan ancestor, Sir Vigilant Daicheston. Adelaide looked back and forth between the two easels.
    “Do you think his eyes are quite right, darling?” she asked. “He looks so—well, so piggy, in your version.”
    Charlotte smiled back at her mother lovingly. “I know, Mama. I had a problem with his eyes, and then I decided that it emphasized his corpulence rather well. He might have been a quite greedy man, after all. He certainly managed to acquire a lot of possessions, didn’t he?”
    “But why copies, dearest? Why not make some more of your own pictures, perhaps some fruit? I love your fruit, and the series of violets you did for Violetta’s wedding were so splendid! I almost burst with pride,” the duchess said.
    “I’ll tell you what, Mama,” said Charlotte. “As soon as I’ve finished with Sir Vigilant, I’ll paint you a really beautiful bunch of flowers for your room.”
    “Do you know what I’d like, Charlotte?” said her mother. “I would like you to paint a picture for your great-aunt Margaret. It’s getting quite difficult for her to leave her chambers now, and—I know!” she said with great excitement. “When Margaret was young she was known as Marguerite. I believe she was quite beautiful, and so everyone called her after the flower. You can paint her a vase of marguerites, and I vow she’ll be so happy!”
    And so Adelaide bustled off to find Campion and arrange for a boy to visit the flower market first thing tomorrow morning and bring home loads of daisies.
    “She’s not done with Sir Vigilant yet,” Adelaide confided in Campion. “But having marguerites in the room will put her in the mood, so to speak. Who will you send? Fred? Well, Fred must be sure to tell the flower stalls that we shall be wanting marguerites every morning for at least six to eight weeks. You know how long it takes.”
    And indeed he did. The whole household revolved around the progress of Charlotte’s paintings, although she would have been amazed to realize it. When she began a new piece Charlotte worked long hours and danced down the stairs, her face glowing. And when Charlotte danced, the house danced.
    She always noticed if a footman had a toothache, for example, and sent him back to the servants’ quarters immediately. She asked about the housekeeper Mrs. Simpkin’s two nieces, who were growing up a bit unruly; she never forgot to inquire kindly about Campion’s only son, who had been a chef-in-training over in France, but had to get out quickly when the Frenchies went crazy, and now he was doing very well for himself, training over at the Maison Blanche on Thurston Street.
    But if a painting bogged down because a nose or an ear gained a misshapen air that didn’t match the original, then the house hummed rather than sang. Housemaids tiptoed past Charlotte’s studio on the third floor, and dust accumulated in the room because the servants never knew when she would be found standing in front of an easel. Once an upstairs maid entered the room at eleven o’clock at night to replace the candles, and accidentally walked in on Lady Charlotte, who sent her away with a sharpish remark. After that Mrs. Simpkin and Campion monitored the progress of pictures themselves, and regulated the household accordingly.
    So Campion nodded sagely and smiled at his mistress. He’d take care of the marguerites first thing, and Her Grace shouldn’t worry about a thing, he murmured. And then he reminded the duchess of her engagement at a fête de champagne . Adelaide dashed lightly up the stairs to get dressed. She didn’t think of asking Charlotte, and the duke was out at his club.
    Charlotte sighed heavily. Campion swam silently into the room and removed her barely touched chicken, suppressing his own sigh at the sight.
    The Calverstill chef, Renoir, was wasted on the family, absolutely wasted. But Renoir would never know. When the family dined alone Campion always removed the dishes himself, and they