The Muse Read Online Free PDF Page A

pearls you wear are quite distinctive and handsome.  Are they a family heirloom?”
    Imogene brought her hand to her throat.  “They were given to me by my mamma, and also to her, by her mother.  They are very precious to me and I feel…close…to her when I wear them.  She was lost to us eight months past.”  Immediately she wondered what had loosed her tongue.  Why was she telling him this?  What was wrong with her?
    “My deepest condolences.”  He bowed his head slightly.  “Colin and I have also lost our mother, little over a year ago.”  They became quiet again for a moment.  “At times, I daresay I feel rather cheated.”
    Imogene set down her spoon and turned to him.  “I know of what you mean.  You have expressed my feelings exactly.  That is precisely how I feel about it but never have been able to put it as you have just done.”  She shook her head. “It is extraordinary, sir, I care not to speak of my loss, but strangely, it does feel liberating having this discussion with you.”  Imogene pondered his way with her.  He was direct but not offensive.  She liked how he didn’t pry or hover, but was patient in conversation.  In an effort to continue their dialogue, she asked, “Do you have particular interest in jewellery, Lord Rothvale?”
    His eyes burned at her and she could swear he was thinking something other than what he replied.  “It would be fair to say that I have an interest in fine art of all mediums.  I appreciate the creative design aspect of it.  But my particular interest is in paintings, specifically portraiture.  I have always been fascinated by portraits, even as a child, pestering my parents to tell me of what they knew of some ancestors’ portraits; wanting to know who the artist was as well as the sitter and the situation of the scene.  One of my favourite places at home is the portrait gallery.  I am continually working on the family history and find that portraits provide essential information.  Have you ever sat for your portrait, Miss Byron-Cole?”
    I was correct!  He is a scholar.  “Yes, actually I have.  My papa commissioned a portrait of my sister and me together.  We sat for it about four years ago now.  Mr. John Opie was the artist; he completed it just before his death.  It hangs at Drakenhurst Hall, my home in Essex.
     

     
    GRAHAM found himself in a situation like nothing he’d ever experienced before.  With every question and reply, he simply wanted more.  So much more.  The thoughts swimming around in his head were wild and totally unexpected, but that wasn’t stopping him from moving a bit closer to her in his seat and drawing her further into intimate conversation.  He would take any advantage he could.  He sensed that if he didn’t act quickly he would be making a mistake he could never recover from.
    “A most excellent master of the craft.  I should very much like to see it, your portrait.   You know, John Opie painted my mother’s portrait in the early days of her marriage.  It is one of my favourites.”  I so want a portrait of you, Imogene.  “A technical question for you, if you don’t mind?  Did Mr. Opie use an optical device, something like a wooden box that he looked into?”
    “He did actually.  He used it at the very beginning mostly and for our facial images I believe, for it was right up close to us.”
    “Was the room dark when he used it?”
    “It was.  And the device?”
    “A camera obscura.  It can project an image through a mirror and lens that is useful in replicating scenes and in drawing an image true to life.  The artist must still possess his talent, mind you, but it can assist most excellently with scale and proportion.”  Graham smiled at her and tried to show calm when all he could really imagine was her in repose, covering minimal as he used the camera obscura to draw her.  He felt himself stir at the thought and willed it down.  Could this really be him?  Was he getting