If the portrait was any indication, the duchess was the fetchingest woman of her time, just as Mrs. Spencer always claimed.
“Stunning she is,” Win agreed. “The artist is Giovanni Boldini, the most famous portraitist of his day. They called him the Master of Swish due to the grace of his brushstrokes.”
“I can see why. The painting moves, as though she’s alive. I can almost hear her talking to someone off frame.”
“The man was gifted,” Win said. “Though he had the choicest subjects to work with. Boldini and John Singer Sargent painted all the stunners of the Belle époque. Sargent sketched Gladys Deacon numerous times, but ultimately never painted the duchess for fear of not being able to capture her true beauty.”
“So Boldini was more of a risk-taker, then?” Pru asked.
“That, or he was hoping for a good shag. The man was a known cad.” Win gave Pru a quick wink. “Boldini painted Coon, too. The duke was furious both times but had to allow it. A Boldini portrait was a mark of social standing.”
Win took a few steps closer to the painting. He studied it for a minute as he ran his hand along a crevice on the wall.
“She was a fine-looking broad,” he said.
So this was Mrs. Spencer. Beneath it all, behind the guns and the spaniels, she was a young woman, painted by a celebrated artist, looking toward some nameless companion elsewhere in the room.
“What is going on with this wall?” Win mumbled, still pushing against the crack. “I hope this room doesn’t split in two.”
“Or the house,” Pru said. “Do you think it’s her, Seton? Really her?”
Win peered over his shoulder.
“Of course it is! Look at the color of the eyes, the shape of her nose. Can’t you tell?”
Pru nodded.
“Yes. I suppose I can.”
Win lifted his hand from the wall. He took a step back.
“You’re looking well, Lady Marlborough,” he said and took a deep bow. “As always, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
He turned and took a seat at the table
“Sit.” He patted the chair beside him. “Have a rest.”
Pru nodded and followed his lead, all the while surreptitiously eyeing the door. Surely Mrs. Spencer would barrel through at any second. She’d yell at Pru for not doing her work, and at the biographer for not doing his.
“Where do you go from here, Miss Valentine?” Win asked.
“How’s that?”
“After you leave the Grange? Where shall you go?”
Pru cackled, though she was not especially amused.
“What a question,” she said.
The embarrassing truth was that Pru had no idea where she’d go. This was her world now, as unglamorous and unkempt as it was. Given Mrs. Spencer could die at any time, life at the Grange was also fleeting. Where did she go from there, indeed.
“So you don’t know where you’re headed, either,” he said with a smirk. “Join the club.”
“No. I do. I’ll, uh, return stateside.”
“Where, though? Rumor has it America is fairly expansive.”
“East Coast,” Pru mumbled.
It sounded right, for the most part. California seemed an impossibly far journey, in more ways than one. On the other hand, Boston was unthinkable too.
“New York maybe,” she added.
“Sounds like you have it well thought out.”
“Yes, plans like mesh.” Pru locked her fingers together. “I should be leading armies with my tightly constructed agenda.”
Armies. Pru dropped her hands as she felt a jab in her ribs, like a long-ago injury acting up. She hadn’t thought about Charlie in a while. Or if she had, it was only for a moment. If and when she returned to the States, would he once again infiltrate her days and leak into her dreams?
Pru began to feel a little sick.
“Is everything all right, Miss Valentine? You look pale.”
“Yes, yes, I’m fab. And what about you?” she said quickly.
Go away, Charlie. Go the hell away.
“Will you go back to London?” she asked. “Is that your home?”
Win shrugged.
“I have a place in London, yes, a flat I share with two cousins. We also have a family home on the ?le Saint-Louis in Paris. Not sure on which doorstep I’ll eventually find myself.”
“Maybe whichever is closest to your publisher?” she said.
“Come again?”
“Or your editor.” Pru pointed toward the painting. “For the biography? Once you finish writing, I imagine you’d want to be near your publishing house. Or does location not matter? I don’t know how it works.”
“Uh…” He snickered bitterly. “As luck would have it, neither do I.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to appear chipper. “Once your book is a smash hit and you ascend to literati status you’ll need to be where you can hobnob with other writers and visit all the best salons. Just ask Mrs. Spencer.”
“Lord, other writers. That doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“So you don’t know where you’re going, either,” Pru said. “Excellent. I don’t feel as bad about my complete lack of direction.”