Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (25 page)

“
My husband was the
Marchese
Dilan-Fiorri. He carried an ancient title. I was the daughter of a
duca
, however, so it was no misalliance. Our marriage was arranged. I met him at the ceremony. What can I say? He was a very handsome man. I was quite overcome. But I was also young and willful. My jealousy was easily aroused. As was my anger.”

Averill turned back to her palette
, thinking if she ignored the woman, she’d leave.

“It was as if we were destined to
rage at each other. It’s a wonder we managed to produce Antonio’s father, Sebastian.” 

She chuckled at that, while Averill gathered burnt sienna
paint on her brush.

“He became my only reason for living after...”

Averill glanced at
Dona
Francesca before returning to her mix. It wasn’t working. She pulled in a bit of green. That made a disgusting color.

“
Sebastian died when Antonio was very young. There was…a carriage accident.”

Averill glanced over
again. Tears glimmered in the woman’s eyes before she turned away. Averill went back to her mix. It might need a bit of white to lighten it
…
She added white, but the new color was bad, too. This was annoying. She wasn’t getting anywhere with the old woman in the room.

“I miss Sebastian so much.” 

Dona
Francesca dabbed at her eyes. Averill looked away from the woman’s sorrow, and then something turned her back. The woman’s face had a wash of afternoon light across it, imbuing it with ethereal, aged beauty. It could be transferred to canvas if Averill had the right colors. She went to a fresh canvas and brought one back, listening with half an ear as
Dona
Francesca started speaking again.

What she really needed was
the color of old lace.
Sun-aged linen…

She
mixed paint until she had the right hue. And then she was concentrating, fleshing in
Dona
Francesca’s face, blurring her eyes with a sheen of tears and the mouth with a drooping sadness.

“What was Sebastian like?” 

Averill prompted it as the woman sniffed delicately into her handkerchief, apparently lost in memories. The setting couldn’t be more perfect. The sun more becoming. She had to work quickly, though. Averill added lined hands to caress the ivory-topped cane. The faded bloom on
Dona
Francesca’s cheeks was illuminated in the fading sunlight.

“He was very handsome, almost the image of his son
. And Antonio is very handsome. You agree with me?” 

She turned speculative eyes on Averill, who tried not to blush
.
Dona
Francesca smiled.

“I
wouldn’t blame you, child. Antonio is blessed. Did you appreciate the suit I had made for his portrait?”

Averill blushed
worse and forced herself to concentrate on her work
. She chose that suit? Unbelievable.

Dona
Francesca chuckled. “I might be old, but I still know how to dress a man. And with a handsome man, such as my grandson, it’s a joy. I see how it affected you. I had it made as a copy of the suit Sebastian wore for his own portrait. Strange, isn’t it?”

Averill glanced up
. The old woman had a humorous gleam in her eye. It was a good thing Averill had already captured the sad expression. Now, all she needed to do was get the dress right.

“I have Sebastian’s portrait in my entry hall
. It’s the most magnificent piece I ever saw…until this morning. When I saw the one you’d painted.”

Averill caught her breath in surprise at such praise.

“I don’t find that surprising…since it was your father I hired to do Sebastian’s.”

Averill’s brush fell
from nerveless fingers, leaving a blotch of pink paint on the floor. She didn’t notice. She stared at the old woman. It was if her mind was as frozen as her fingers.

“What
…did you just say?” 

Dona
Francesca tossed back her head and laughed. Averill watched her. She couldn’t seem to move.

“Your father
painted my son, Sebastian. Oh. I see I finally got your attention. I asked for you this morning because I had stupendous news, and you ignored me. You treated me like Avery did. That, if anything, made me even more certain.”

“My father wasn’t a painter.” 

She had to break this paralysis. Averill forced herself to move, bending to retrieve the brush. Standing back up. Looking at her painting.

“
Oh, yes. He most definitely was. I’m still surprised at my own blindness. Your father was definitely a painter. An Egyptian. His name was Avery Ben-Masiz. However, I don’t believe I would quantify him as a mere painter. The man was a master. There are portraits done by him in nearly every house I can name.”

“
No. No. That’s impossible. My father wasn’t an Egyptian,
Dona.
You’re wrong. I got my dark skin from my mother.”

“Dark skin
? Oh. Dear Averill. You are very fair. That isn’t the resemblance to your sire. However, I believe, if you were placed side-by-side, the shape of your face and your eyebrow arch are identical, not to mention your hair.”

“Every Egyptian has hair this color,
Dona
Francesca.”

“True enough
. Does everyone have such a high widow’s peak, too? Does their hair lay glossy and straight, yet with one wave at the temple? It surprises me how alike you are. I’m amazed at my blindness, but I’ve already mentioned that, twice. That wasn’t what convinced me though. It’s more your attitude, the way you hold your brush, and of course…it’s in your talent.”

My father can’t be Egyptian
! If he was, my mother couldn’t have been a dancing girl! No European women danced in Cairo. She has to be mistaken.

“I was
very fond of Avery, child. Very. I should’ve recognized you immediately. You’re very like him. Truly. You even glare the same way. But come. Don’t take my word for it. Come to my home, and I’ll show you the proof.”

It was too far-fetched
. Averill had heard of the Ben-Masiz family. They were well-known, high-ranking, and wealthy. It wasn’t possible.

“
Now. Let me see how you have painted me, child.”

Dona
Francesca walked around the easel and clapped her hands.

“Wonderful
. I’ll buy this the moment it’s finished, also. Get your shawl, Averill. I’ll have Antonio fetch a gondola.”

The old woman smiled, and Averill had rarely felt such tenderness directed at her
. She looked down.

“
I knew you were painting me, child. It felt exactly the same as when your father did. I knew what you were doing the moment you reached for that canvas. You wanted to capture a feeling. How’d he used to say it? He said he didn’t paint people, he painted the soul within.”

That was exactly what she felt, but she hadn’t been able to put it into words
. And that’s what decided her. She followed
Dona
Francesca meekly from the studio.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

They made a small procession to the waterway: 
Dona
Francesca, her attendants, Lady Brighten clutching a purse that probably contained the payment, and Antonio. Averill trembled slightly as he assisted her to her seat. He averted his eyes when she tried to thank him. He also had a reddish triangle of flush on each lower cheek. She felt
Dona
Francesca’s eyes on them the entire time and had to look away.    

It was her first ride in one of th
e long, slender boats called gondolas. She looked around curiously. Great houses rose from the water, much larger than Lady Brighten’s. Greenish water lapped at their foundations. It was strange to see how these people built right into the waterways.

At least Averill would have the ride to remember, even if the story about her father turned out to be a fairy tale
.

Her father, a
Ben-Masiz?

It was absurd.

But when she stood before the portrait of Sebastian, Averill’s certainty wavered. The youth was so skillfully painted, it took her breath away. Then Antonio’s portrait was fetched and set beside it, and Averill wasn’t the only one gaping. The similarity was there, and it was stunning.

Averill had captured the quizzical expression in Antonio’s eyes and the sensual promise of his lips, almost as if he dared fate to disappoint him
. The image of Sebastian, in a like suit, was almost identical. The resemblance in technique was overwhelming, as was the instinctive use of color. Only the structure Sebastian was posed against was different. Averill bent to read the artist’s signature —
Avery Ben-Masiz.

It couldn’t be, but she had to believe the proof before her eyes
. She was a Ben-Masiz. She had to be. She tempered the emotion before it showed, although nothing really had changed. This solidified her credentials as a painter, but she was still as socially unacceptable as ever.

“
Well? Are you convinced, child?” 
Dona
Francesca whispered.

“Of course, she is
. Why, it’s as clear as if he left a document lying about some place. They might as well have been painted by the same hand.”

“I was speaking to Averill,”
Dona
Francesca said in rebuke, and Averill had to hide the smile.

“I’m without an argument,” she said finally.

“Skeptical to the end? Exactly what I would have expected from Avery’s daughter. Come. Let me show you the other rendition I spoke to you of. That should sweep away any lingering doubts.”

“There’s another painting
? Isn’t this exciting, Averill? Just think, if you hadn’t come with me to Venice, we never would’ve found out.”

Dona
Francesca looked at Lady Brighten for several long moments before turning back to Averill. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Lady Brighten’s color rose and she dropped her eyes.

“I
will extend my invitation to your patron, too, of course. But, as I am unable to take the stairs, anymore, I must enjoin my grandson in the tour. Antonio? Please escort the ladies.”

“Your servant.”

His reply was in the dead-sounding voice, and Averill caught
Dona
Francesca’s frown at it. Then, Averill’s eyes widened as he bowed and proffered his arm to her. She glanced up at him and saw that his features were as tight as her own must be. She didn’t dare touch him!

“Thank you,
Don
Antonio. Such a gentleman you are. Come along, Averill.”    

Lady Brighten took Averill’s place and brightly continued her chattering
, unconsciously saving her.

“I believe we can charge even more for a sitting once it’s known that this Avery was
related. Even if he’s not your sire, the similarities are too strong to overlook. Why, your names even sound alike!”  She let go of Antonio’s arm to clap her hands.

Averill walked a correct three steps behind
them with her eyes on their backs. She supposed she should thank Lady Brighten for reminding her of her position so readily. She blinked away the sheen of moisture.

“There’s more to this mystery, Averill.”  Lady Brighten turned her head slightly as she spoke
. “You do realize that, don’t you?” 

“Yes, my lady,” Averill answered.

If I really am Avery Ben-Masiz’s daughter, there’s much more to the mystery, but it doesn’t really matter.
Averill looked down at their heels. Tenny was still as unreachable for her as before.

~ ~ ~

“Averill! Have you heard? There’s been a dreadful accident at the
Dona
Francesca’s mansion! Terrible. Horrible.”

Antonio!

Averill’s heart fell, and she stepped back from the rendition of
Comte
Dachon’s wife before any reaction transferred to her brush. Everything about her went dark. Frightened. If anything had happened to Antonio, she’d be forever locked into the black canvas. She hadn’t known how much power it had.

Or how empty her days would seem without
seeing him.

Any emotion
was insane, but that didn’t stop it. It wasn’t love. She loved Tenny. It was their child growing within her. She had the memory of his kisses to torment her almost every time she shut her eyes. She mustn’t become involved with Antonio! She didn’t need any more complications to her life. She couldn’t allow Antonio to continue as he was, either. It wasn’t in her. But if something has happened to him before she could make amends...?

No
. She wouldn’t think of it.

“What could be so important that you’d disturb my sitting, Lady Brighten
?” 

The
Comtesse
Dachon asked it, raising a perfectly groomed hand to her lips as she spoke. It didn’t help. Averill had seen the yellowed, foul-smelling teeth the
comtesse
tried to hide at their very first sitting. She hadn’t even hesitated when the woman suggested a somber pose. It was obvious the
comtesse
couldn’t close her lips correctly. It was a difficult portrait, but Averill thought it was coming along well enough. She’d even managed to disguise the
comtesse’s
condition by painting her lips in a slightly curved position.

She hadn’t any inspiration, but that didn’t matter
. She knew her role and that no one would pay for an unflattering portrait.

“What...has happened, my lady?”  Averill
finally asked, acting as unconcerned as they’d expect.

“It’s the portrait of Antonio
. It’s fallen. They’re afraid it can’t be salvaged. They’re asking for you. Immediately. They sent a gondola.”

Averill’s relief was so tangible, she nearly laughed aloud
. They were calling
that
a dreadful accident?

“
Well. I mustn’t delay, then,” Averill answered, wiping at her brush.

“What of my sitting?”

“We’ve finished for today,
Comtesse
. Come. See for yourself. It’s coming along quite nicely, I think.”

Averill watched the woman scan her painted face and then she turned and beamed at Averill
. “Why…it’s a very good likeness. You’ve done well. I look lovely.”

“
Your entire family is lovely, my dear
comtesse.
I can see how proud you must be of all your children. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Vernon? Serve the
comtesse
some refreshment. Come along, Averill. Don’t dally. They said immediately!”

Averill
just had time to put on a cloak and her bonnet, before following Lady Brighten. It wasn’t until she was seated in the gondola that she realized she still wore her paint-smudged smock. Her fingers were spotted, as well. And she didn’t even have gloves.    

She wondered
, yet again, why she cared.

~ ~ ~

“You can repair it, can’t you?”

Averill had never seen the
Dona
Francesca show such emotion. She found that more interesting than the slight damage to the corner of Antonio’s portrait. The paint hadn’t cured completely, so that a bit of the background had smeared when it had fallen. Averill pursed her lips and glanced sidelong at where Antonio stood. She caught his gaze on her, but he looked quickly away.  

“How could such a thing have happened?” she asked.

“The hook wasn’t strong enough for it. I’ve seen the man punished. I won’t abide such incompetence in my household. You can repair it, can’t you?”

“If not,
Dona
, another can be painted.”

“It wouldn’t be the same, though
! Call me an old fool, but I can see the proof in front of my face. I begin to think I’ll never see the old Antonio again, unless it’s in this painting.”

“Grandmam
ma,” Antonio said. “Please. You said you wouldn’t speak like that.”

“Oh, Antonio, I don’t wish to lose you, too!”

Averill averted her eyes. There was too much emotion on display. She noted Lady Brighten didn’t avert her eyes. She looked to be absorbing every detail of the lady’s distress. If Averill ever painted her patron again, it wouldn’t be a flattering rendition.

“It can be repaired,
Grandmamma. Trust Averill. Come. I’ll escort you to your rooms.”

“She can’t take the painting, though
. It has to be done here! Do you understand, Antonio? Here!”

“But why,
Grandmamma?”

“She won’t let me see it...just like before.”

Averill raised her brows when Antonio looked over his grandmother’s shoulder at her. It was Lady Brighten who answered.

“That’s ridiculous
! Averill doesn’t bar—”

“I’ll correct the damage here,
Dona
Francesca,” Averill spoke up, interrupting Lady Brighten’s words. “It will be as you ask. I can repair it. I swear.”   

“Bless you, child.”

Averill watched them leave. Lady Brighten waited until the double doors shut before speaking. Her voice was taut, low-toned, and crisp, sounding like the sisters at the orphanage had when they were disciplining.

“
That was stupid, Averill. A new portrait would bring in much more than correcting an old one. This is why I speak for you, why I’m your patron.”

“Perhaps I need a new patron,” Averill said quietly.

Lady Brighten was taken aback. Then, her eyes and lips narrowed.

“I wouldn’t ask it of the
Dona
Francesca if I were you. I don’t believe she’ll be as accepting of certain things, as I am.”  

“She already knows I’m the by-blow of a painter
. What of it?”

“Does she know of
the child you carry?”

Averill went white
. Faint dots swirled through the air. She grabbed the top of a chair for stability. She’d never fainted. She wasn’t beginning now. Not in front of Lady Brighten.

“
You couldn’t hide it forever, Averill. I am a woman. I know the signs. I just wonder if Captain Tennison knows.”

“How...do you know it’s...the captain?”

“I don’t. I’m guessing. But he disappeared from every social function, and strangely enough, that’s exactly the time that Sen-Bib character first started bothering me about you. Then…when you arrive at my doorstep, every painting you have seems to feature Captain Tennison. It’s as plain to me as this minor damage here. You were together. And you were lovers.”

“What...will you do?”

Lady Brighten must know she’d won. It showed in the conciliatory tone she used next. Averill kept her eyes on the floor.

“
Oh, Averill, why do you make me say such things? I don’t want bad blood between us. All I want is a business relationship. A lucrative one. And you continually sell your talent too cheaply.”

But it’s mine to sell!

“I also don’t believe you’re going to be able to repair this painting. The damage is too great.” 

Averill
watched with horror as Lady Brighten stuck a fingernail under the canvas nails, and pried on it until it tore.

“
I believe you’re going to have to start another one. And it will cost the
Dona
Francesca double. Do we understand each other yet?”