Charity Begins at Home (40 page)

Her heart was so full it came up to her throat, and she could speak only in a whisper. "But why did you paint this?"

"I tried to paint other things. I tried to finish my other paintings and couldn't. So I thought I'd paint you. I tried to paint you nude, as Athena, but I would have had to rely on imagination— this was before last night— next time I will paint you blushing, for you do it so well, Charity. Where was I? Oh, the kiss. Well, finally I gave into the vision. I knew it would be considered mawkish by the critics, even if I did call it a study in brown and even if the double image is so precise— next to impossible to achieve, I assure you. The composition is fascinating, don't you think? But the subject— pure sentimentality. Old Crome could have painted it."

"No, he couldn't."

"No, he couldn't. Because it was my vision. Charity, don't you see, it was the first glimpse I ever had of you, and I couldn't escape it. It was so evocative of all I admire of you."

"I understand now." He had memorized her.

"No, you don't. You can't. I haven't got to the part of the script where you understand. Then you throw your arms about me, you see. Not yet!" He held her off with a firm hand. "You told me once that you wanted me to fall in love with you at first sight."

"And you told me it was impossible."

"It wasn't impossible after all. That's why I couldn't paint anything else, because that is the vision I fell in love with weeks ago. I just didn't recognize it, never having fallen in love at first sight before."

The admission she had awaited all her life was as fulfilling as she had hoped. She slid her hands up his sinewy arms toward his shoulders. "Is it time yet?"

He caught her hands in his but he didn't push her way. "Only another minute. I have to tell you why I was wrong and why you were wrong. That's the best part." He paused to find his place in his mental script. "At first, I just knew I had to make you my wife. I'd never really had a home, you see. I don't just mean a house, but a place of peace. A place in someone's heart. I thought you might have room in that generous heart for me. But it was only when you denied me that place— how cruel you were! but how right— did I realize that if I wanted love from you, I must love you back. And not just as others love you, for your good sense and good deeds. They love you for what you do, all your angel-of-mercy acts. I learned I had to love you for what you are. And you are no angel. I knew that as soon as I kissed you. You are a woman of passion and mystery— you are, Charity, you mystified me well enough. I had to investigate you and contemplate you, but now I know you well enough to love you truly. Even if you did treat me brutally."

"I was afraid," she murmured.

"Afraid?" He brought her hand up to touch his heart. "You didn't want me to understand you. No one ever has, not really. They only see what you let them see."

"I was wrong to pretend that you were the one at fault."

"But it was the best thing for us both. What were we thinking, to get betrothed after a fortnight's acquaintance? We must have been mad. You were right to call a halt to it, though at the time I didn't think so. I needed to consider whether I could make room in my heart for you— the real Charity, and find a way to take my place in your heart. Now it's been nearly a month since we met, and we are so much wiser now."

"How am I wiser?"

"Ah, because you have learned patience. And you've learned to ask. From the first you wanted a miracle from me; you wanted me to read your mind and know what you wanted in a husband, and you wanted me to be it straightaway. You thought husbands came as a package, created all complete. Men might be that way, but not husbands." He turned her to look out the window at the hills rolling gentle under a blue sky. "It's the difference between that, a work of nature—" Then he turned her, unresisting, toward his painting of Ferendisi. "And this, a work of art. Art must be crafted, shaped by the human touch. You thought that it is magic, that I wave my paintbrush and a picture appears. But it's much more work: I must make measurements and calculate proportions and mix paints and make compromises, for while my vision may be limitless my ability certainly isn't. And sometimes I make mistakes and have to scrape them off or paint them over. But you know that now since you helped me to paint Jonah." His kiss just brushed the nape of her neck, and she shivered. "It takes the same sort of effort to make a husband. And sometimes it's the work of a lifetime."

She twisted in his arms to study his intense dark eyes, his tender mouth, this solitary man who couldn't be alone any longer. "I'm lucky, aren't I, to find a man who needed only a month's worth of shaping."

"Oh, I expect I'll need a few corrections throughout the years. Wait, I'm almost there. I hope you're impressed. Romeo proposed in half this time. I counted the lines. That reminds me, it's time to go out onto the balcony."

"Oh, no," she cried, holding his arms. "Let's stay here. I think your studio is the most romantic place in the world."

He glanced around at the disarray of unfinished work and untidy supplies and shrugged. "You have but to ask, my love. I will kneel, however, whatever you say."

And he did go down on one knee, just as she had planned to do herself, except that he looked so much better, so slim, so graceful, his burning eyes lifted to her. "I knew from the start, my treasure, that you would make me happy. Now I think—I know—that I will make you happy, too, if you will only let me. So, Charity, I shan't ask again if you will do me the honor of being my wife. Now I ask you if I may have the honor of being your husband."

Finally she heard her cue and answered it. She threw her arms about his neck, and he fell back on the floor under her kisses. They lay tumbled there amidst the scattered charcoal pencils, her hands clasped behind his neck, her legs entwined intimately with his.

When they paused for breath, he managed to say, "I'm glad I wasn't hanging off the balcony after all. I take it that's an affirmative answer."

"Yes," she murmured in his ear. "Oh, Tristan, I do love you, I've waited to say that for so long." She sat up and tucked her feet under her skirt, recalling last night's resolution. "Oh, I meant to propose to you! Last night, but you wouldn't let me!"

He lay there, his curls black against the paint-stained oak flooring, and reached up to stroke her cheek. "I wanted to let you. I wanted you to ask me for what you wanted. But I had everything planned: the party, the painting, the proposal. I couldn't let you spoil it! Now, now, you may ask for anything you want, for my script ended with the kiss. And the happily ever after, of course."

Charity squirmed down beside him and rested her cheek against his chest. His arms tightened around her, and she felt the accelerating pulse of his heart. "Anything I want. Oh, what could I want? I'm perfectly happy as I am."

"There must be something you want."

"A short engagement."

"Just my thought. Fortunately it's Saturday. Well, it's not fortunate at all. I planned for your birthday to fall on Saturday this year."

"Absurd creature," she said lovingly. "But you are right. The banns can be posted for tomorrow's service, and for two Sundays after that. No, Tristan, I shan't be married by special license, no matter how romantic that sounds. The vicar would never forgive me for setting a bad example again."

"As you wish, my love."

"But I don't want to wait until the mourning for your brother-in-law is over."

"Why should we when my sister isn't?" Tristan said. "They'll probably run off to Gretna, so abandoned to common decency they are."

The thought of Francis eloping made her chuckle, and she felt him shake with answering laughter. "How utterly perfect we are together."

"No other demands? I mean, requests? Not one?"

He was so watchful again, his arms tense about her, that she applied her mind to finding something, anything, that could possibly make her happier. Her gaze fell on the painting of Ferendisi. "Oh, Tristan, I know you wanted to move to Braden right away. But I have always, always, wanted to see Italy. Do you think we could?"

He sat up, pushing her away, but only to feel around in his coat pocket and pull out a leather packet tied with black string. "Another birthday present."

She fumbled with the tie and extracted a whole sheaf of papers. On the top was a pair of tickets on a ship from Southhampton to Naples, leaving the Monday evening after the third Sunday banns could be posted. She regarded him suspiciously. "You were very sure of yourself, weren't you? You have been managing me all along!"

He shrugged modestly. "I mean to apply myself to anticipating your every desire. I anticipate that you want to kiss me again, for example."

She complied, dropping an absent kiss on his lips, then returned to examining the travel papers. "Oh, it will be such fun, taking our wedding trip in Italy! You must show me all the places you love and everywhere you've ever painted, especially the romantic places."

He drew her back in his arms, brushing her temple with a kiss. "I promise I will take you to every romantic spot in Italy."

"What luck you know Italy so well. I mean to write a guidebook." She turned her head to kiss his hard, tender mouth. "For brides," she murmured. She felt his mouth under hers curve in a smile and pulled away to see it.

"Oh, better and better. Then you'll have a purpose for the trip. And you must have a purpose, Charity Calder. Otherwise you will no doubt feel bored and useless."

She loved his teasing; this lightheartedness was something she had given him. So she only nestled into his arms, her head against his chest so she could hear the rapid beat of his heart. "Tristan, do you truly mean to paint me in the nude?"

He considered this, brushing her hair back from her face with a gentle hand. "I think I will have to. If you don't mind. Think of what fun the sittings will be."

"Imagine what Aunt Grace will say when she sees me in all my glory on the walls of the Royal Academy."

He straightened at this suggestion. "I was planning a private exhibition. Very private." After further consideration, he decided, "No nude painting. I couldn't do the subject justice. Once in awhile, nature doesn't need any embellishment from the artist. Only enjoyment. And I intend to have plenty of that."

And in his burning eyes, Charity saw visions of passion, romance, delights untold, and knew that they had a lifetime to make them real.

The End

Afterword:

If you enjoyed this book
,
you might enjoy other books by Alicia Rasley, all available where electronic books are sold:

The Wilder Heart
, a Regency novella.

Poetic Justice,
a Regency novel.

The Reluctant Lady,
a Regency novel.

Royal Renegade
, a Regency novel.

Check out the Amazon page for
other Regencies by Rasley
.

About the author:

Alicia Rasley is a RITA-award winning Regency novelist who has been published by major publishers such as Dell, NAL, and Kensington. Her women’s fiction novel
The Year She Fell
has been a Kindle bestseller in the fiction category.

Her articles on writing and the Regency period have been widely distributed, and many are collected on her website,
www.rasley.com
. She also blogs about writing and editing at
www.edittorrent.blogspot.com
. Currently she teaches and tutors writers at two state colleges and in workshops around North America. She lives with her husband Jeff, another writer and a retired attorney. The elder of their sons is training to be a military officer, and the younger is a production assistant in Hollywood.

To my readers:

I hope you enjoyed the story of Charity and Tristan! I love writing about the elegant, exciting Regency period, and setting a romance within the political and military upheaval of the time.

If you like this book, please click the "like" on the sales page, and leave a comment. That really helps authors get the word out, and we appreciate it so much. Happy reading!

Alicia

A Warrior Returns: from
Allegra's Song
, by Alicia Rasley available where e-books are sold.

"I never imagined that, not in all those years away from you. I couldn't, of course, couldn't think of it, or I wouldn't have been able to go on. But to hear it said, by two men not fit to—" Nicholas shook his head and didn't finish.