The Education of Mrs. Brimley Read Online Free PDF Page B

at the painting. Indeed, his brush-strokes, alternately bold and delicate, were of a master’s hand, obviously rendered by talented fingers. Her gloved hand reached to the very spot where his artist’s fingers had caressed her chin. Heat resurged in her cheeks.
    “If you’re not a critic, then what are you, Mrs. Brimley?” His voice shocked her back to reality. She turned toward him.
    “I . . . I’m a teacher in need of viewing a portrayal of a special subject,” she stammered. “I had hoped you could direct me to a source.”
    He cast her a sideways glance. “What kind of special subject?”
    “This is most difficult,” she began, searching for socially acceptable words to explain her need. “The nature of the subject is such that I’m not sure there exists a proper way to address . . .”
    His sigh signaled annoyance. Patience did not appear to be his virtue. She took a deep breath and, finding no other recourse, lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I need to see a painting of—”
    “Speak up, Mrs. Brimley,” he intoned in a particularly loud voice. “You are interrupting my work and unless you can articulate your purpose—”
    “I need to see a painting of a man’s genitals.” Cowering in embarrassment at having to shout such a shocking request, she glanced again about the room to verify no one else had witnessed her humiliation.
    But for the hiss of the fire, there was silence. Chambers stood deadly still, his face contorted in apparent disbelief. Suddenly, he laughed. Loud raucous laughter that erupted from his chest and shook his entire body in mirth. He laughed so hard, he knocked against the drawing board and it slammed to the wooden floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
    Never had she been so mortified. If only she had had the foresight to slip a fan on her wrist, she could hide behind its folds. Having mentally rehearsed this moment on her trek through the woods, she had anticipated that he’d be shocked, or disgusted, but not that she would be subject to ridicule. Her cheeks burned hot enough to melt wax.
    “Mrs. Brimley, you jest!” He tried to drink from his glass of brandy, but he was seized by gales of laughter. His hand shook, splashing the liquid onto a set of charcoal sticks. He abandoned the glass for one of the charcoals and shook the liquid off. “Pray tell me, why do you wish to see such a thing?”
    The grin on his lips, combined with her own mortification, did not encourage her to cooperate. She had been the subject of jests before, a cruel experience that she did not wish to repeat, especially with this man. Unfortunately, she suspected her explanation would only provide more fuel for his frivolity. “A gentleman wouldn’t ask such a question,” she snapped.
    “Mrs. Brimley, you forced your way into my studio seeking assistance. You will humor me if I insist on an answer.” The laughter eased from his face. He reached for the fallen board and propped it on the easel. “Why do you need to view such material?”
    Despite her rigid training, her shoulders sagged. She turned away so he couldn’t see her face, and removed her glasses pretending to clean them, needing time. Think. Think. What to say?
    “Mrs. Brimley?”
    She heard the impatience in his tone. Exasperated by her lack of courage, she turned to him, shoving the lenses back in place. “I’m to teach the girls at Pettibone how to prepare for their marital duties, and I’m lacking in essential information.”
    His hand moved freely over the paper in tiny arcs. His focus on his work and not on her person lessened her embarrassment almost to the point of gratitude. Words came easier without his laughter or his intense stare.
    “How is it, Mrs. Brimley, that you lack such basic information? Has not Mr. Brimley provided adequate instruction?”
    She removed a small handkerchief from her cuff, worrying it with her hands. She had hoped to keep her circumstances