did not respond, but stared blankly at the carpet.
‘Sit, Jack.’ She indicated a chair. ‘Tell me why you are here.’
He wandered over to the mantel, absently moving one of the matched pair of figurines flanking a porcelain clock.
Finally he looked at her. ‘Did Tranville tell you that his actress is almost as young as Nancy?’
She stabbed her needle through the cloth. ‘That is no concern of mine, and ought to be no concern of yours, Jack.’
‘No concern!’ He swung away, then turned back to face her. ‘Does it not trouble you? How can it not? How are you able to insist I paint this portrait?’
Her eyes creased in pain. ‘It is what he wishes.’
He felt his face flush with anger. ‘You do not have to do what he wishes, Mother. He treats you abominably.’
Her expression was stern. ‘That is your opinion. In my opinion he has enabled me to live in comfort, to rear my children in comfort, to give them an education, a future.’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘I could debate what sort of future he’s provided Nancy with, but, that aside, have you not more than paid him for what he has done for you?’
She merely pulled her needle through the cloth.
Jack paced before walking to her chair and crouching down so that he was at eye level with her. ‘Mother, I will make a living as an artist. I will earn more commissions. If we economise I will have enough to care for you and Nancy. You do not need to accept another shilling from Tranville. You can tell him to go to the devil.’
She gazed directly into his eyes. ‘I will not do that.’
He blinked. ‘Why not? I promise I can take care of you.’
She went back to her sewing. ‘I am certain you will be very successful, my son, but I still will not spurn Lionel.’
Jack stood. ‘He has spurned you. In the most insulting way.’
She gazed up at him again. ‘I do not need to explain myself to you and I have no intention of doing so. I will not change my arrangement with Lionel.’
It was no use. Where Tranville was concerned his mother was blind and deaf.
‘Do you stay for dinner?’ she asked, breaking the silence. ‘It is not for a few hours yet, but you are welcome to stay. If you are hungry now, I’ll send for tea and biscuits.’
He shook his head. To sit down at dinner and pretend this day had not happened would be impossible. ‘Do not expect me for dinner. I have much to do tonight.’
She smiled wanly. ‘You are still welcome if you change your mind.’
He walked over and kissed her. ‘I must go.’
She patted his cheek, but her eyes glistened with tears. ‘I hope we will see you tomorrow.’
Once he stepped back out into the winter air, he hurried to his studio and let himself in. He leaned against the door with visions of Tranville hopping from his mother’s bed into Ariana’s.
Throwing down his gloves and hat, he crossed the room to a bureau where he kept paper. Pulling out several sheets, he grabbed a piece of charcoal and began sketching.
The lines he drew formed into an image of Ariana.
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