Dorothy by Anya Wylde

Author:Anya Wylde
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Huxley’s excellent form threw a large shadow over the Aëdon hanging on the wall. The candle in his hand illuminated the young, newly arrived dauber who stood listening to him with his mouth open and paint dripping down from his brush onto the carpeted floor.

Dorothy inched closer hoping to prevent any more damage.

“It must evoke an emotion,” Huxley was saying in a low, earnest voice. “I must feel terror, horror, wonder, love, anger … something when I look at your work. You are skilled, but to be a true artist, you must delve deeper—”

Dorothy plucked the brush out of the young man’s hand startling them both. They stared at her incredulously.

Dorothy nodded towards the blue paint puddle soaking into the rose carpet.

“Lawks!” the artist squeaked. “I am sorry, I will get something to clean it up.” He didn’t wait for Huxley to respond but darted towards the kitchens.

“I would like a word,” Huxley said when Dorothy made as if to leave.

She reluctantly turned back, trying not to notice how narrow the hall was and how close they were forced to stand or how the soft grey cotton shirt stretched across his muscled chest.

“I know women like flowers,” he began, “and I am not objecting to the profusion of overfilled vases that have suddenly erupted all over the house but the bright yellow sashes in my study—”

“They look lovely with the green brocade.”

“They make the room … different. I don’t like different. Nor do I appreciate the fact that you have asked all the maids in the house to wear ribbons in their hair.”

“It makes them chirpier. The grey livery is so dull—”

“They are meant to render the servants invisible.”

Dorothy shrugged. “I like the ribbons.”

“Does every single curtain have to be opened in the morning?”

“I like the light.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.

Dorothy stared at the shadow on his cheek. She wondered how it would feel against her skin.

He raised his brow. “You are staring.”

She flushed. “I was just wondering … Shouldn’t you be a little careful? All those caricatures and comical watercolours of politicians and royals lying so boldly in the house … The six acts have been passed and … and you could be booked for sedition.”

“Are you coming to care for me?” he mocked.

Dorothy took an involuntary step closer to him. “Why do you give so much of yourself to these artists? Why risk your life to save them?”

He caught her chin and turned it towards the light coming from the burning torch. He searched her face for a moment. “Ah, you really want to know.”

She nodded, not daring to speak. She was certain her voice would tremble as it did every time he touched her. And he would know … and she couldn’t bear for him to know about the devastating effect he had on her.

He turned his face so it was shadowed while he spoke. “When I was a child my mother taught me to sing. My father disapproved of this feminine hobby. He thought it would make me less of a man if I learned such frivolous things.

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