Ophelia's Muse by Rita Cameron

Author:Rita Cameron [Cameron, Rita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

“Here, my dove.” Rossetti placed a pillow behind Lizzie’s back as she lounged in an armchair in his studio. She was half asleep, dozing in the sun that streamed in through the studio windows. The balcony doors were open, and a warm breeze rustled the sketches pinned to the walls. When she stretched, her hair, loose and simply parted, tumbled over her shoulders.

Since her return, Rossetti had tended her like an exotic orchid, fretting over her care and comfort. She was too weak to go out much, and he was happy to stay with her all day in his studio. He sketched her and read poetry to her, much as he had before her illness. They had few visitors, and the studio was once again their private world, full of pet names and secret meanings, references decipherable only by themselves.

Her weakness may have cooled another man’s regard, but Rossetti was more drawn to her than ever. The more ethereal she became, the closer he wanted to hold her, as if he could keep her from floating away, like the last fading memory of a dream.

Lizzie’s eyes fluttered open and she peered up at him. “Have I been asleep long? I dreamed that we were in a little cottage together, somewhere in the country, with a thatched roof and chickens in the front yard. You were painting in the garden while I tended the roses.”

“Even your dreams are lovely. Would you like to go to the country?”

“I’d be happy to leave London—especially for the summer.” She glanced out the window at the Thames. Now that the August heat was upon them, it would soon begin to stink and they would have to shut the windows against its stench.

“I’d like to paint you crowned in roses,” Rossetti said. “And perhaps I can—I’ve been offered the use of a cottage just outside the city. Should we go set up house there? I could do some painting out in the fields. I’ve been away from nature for too long; I’m afraid that my work suffers for it.”

“Would it be just the two of us?” Lizzie glanced at a half-finished painting in the corner of the studio. The alluring eyes of Annie Miller stared back at her, an unwelcome intrusion in a room that was otherwise a shrine to Lizzie’s image.

“Just the two of us, as we’re meant to be. Though we’ll have friends come to visit—we can make picnics and go out on great rambles to paint by the streams and the woods.”

Lizzie looked away from the portrait of Annie, but not before she noticed that Rossetti had been working on it since her last visit to the studio. She tried not to worry. After all, it was she, and not Annie, whom Rossetti wished to take to the country.

“I’d love to go away with you. But what will I tell my mother and father? The only reason that I’m able to sit for you is that my father is still so angry with me that he’s decided that I’m below his notice.

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