Page 107 of The Duke Undone

Dressed all in black, the professor of perspective was delivering a cheerless lecture on the history of techniques for drawing cubes and circular shapes. Assistants stood beside him holding three-foot diagrams. Lucy sat far back from the raised platform. After two days of missed lessons, she had chosen to make her reappearance at the lecture, hoping to blend with the crowd. But as the lecture stumbled along, the professor shuffling notes and mumbling to his assistants, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“How do you know the Duke of Weston?” Maude whispered, leaning forward from the bench behind. Jealousy was stamped on her face. Lucy might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so unfortunate.

“I give him art lessons,” she whispered back. Maude’s eyes flashed disbelief.

“At midnight?”

The audience began to clap. Lucy untwisted in time to see an assistant displaying a particularly striking illustration of a reflection in a polished globe. She brought her hands together automatically, clapping as the applause faded. From the row ahead, Constance Pitcairn turned at the sound, caught her eye, and blushed scarlet.

Staggered, Lucy stared at the sketchbook on her knee.

Her worst fears, confirmed.

The story was on everyone’s lips. The Duke of Weston had plucked her from the tableau vivant and whisked her down the hall. To his bedchamber.

Gossip, she told herself. Who could vouch for what happened between whom at a party such as that?

Rumors, though, had propulsive force and gathered strength as they traveled. What if Miss Yardley caught wind that Anthony had a lover and rejected his suit? He wouldn’t inherit, would have no means to acquire the lease on the buildings. She’d have lost him, and gained a scandalous reputation, for nothing. She and Aunt Marian would seek housing in a jerry-built suburb, find something they could afford if they were lucky. If not, they’d look further afield. She might end up in Scotland after all.

Even the professor’s soporific consideration of the rendering of the architectural orders couldn’t settle her pitching mind. Unique among the lecture-goers, she remained for the duration on the edge of her seat.

She stood as soon as it ended, prepared to dash for the door, but Maude was up too, waving to get her attention.

“Where’s Kate?” Maude demanded. She was wearing a blue satin dress with ribbon bows on the shoulders and a skirt foaming with lace flounces. Given the lecture, Lucy couldn’t help but note her elaborate coiffure’s architectural aspect. She looked every inch an impatient debutante. Nothing like a sixteenth-century Huguenot’s imploring lady.

“What do you want with her?” She sighed. It was generally considered rude—answering a question with a question. Lucy gave a close-lipped smile in case there was any doubt.

“We want to sign the petition!” Lucy’s gaze shifted as Susan popped up out of nowhere and stood hovering at Maude’s elbow. There was no censure in her eyes. More a species of awe. Perhaps she now uttered Lucy and dildo in the same titillated undertone.

Lucy rubbed her temples. “Wonderful news.”

“Is it the one Gwen signed?” asked Maude suspiciously.

“It’s the petition for the life class.” Lucy waited for their faces to register the information. Nothing. Susan was staring, fiddling with the tip of her braid.

“Yes, Gwen signed it,” Lucy said, sighing. The Gwen Burgess effect. It was what she and Kate were counting on. Nonetheless, she felt let down by Maude and Susan’s evident disinterest in the issue itself. “Signing tomorrow would be better,” she added, glancing around the room.

Visitors, Academicians, art critics, students, ticket-holding members of the public—people milled about in every corner. But Maude shook her head.

“I want to sign before Agnes signs.”

“There she is!” Susan dove forward, leading the way toward the stage. Kate was standing by the empty lectern, locked in a heated exchange with Simon Poole. Lucy’s eyes met Maude’s, and before she could help it, they’d exchanged identical smirks.

Kate and Simon had understood enough of the professor’s inaudible points to disagree about them? Incredible.

“Perspective must color architecture. It’s atmosphere. Light and shadow. The sensory.” Kate had begun to bellow, flinging out her arms.

“Practicability is the issue.” Simon Poole was tapping his foot with irritation. “A building must stand first and foremost.”

“Mathematics!” Kate ejected the word with disgust. “Forget your numbers and perceive. How do you experience space? That’s the first question for the artist and the architect.”

“Of all the fanciful . . .”

The two were separated, by Maude, only with some difficulty. Kate’s disappointment at an argument ended too soon gave way quickly to delight as she collected new signatures.

“You missed my victory over Davis.” Kate looked at Lucy sidelong as they navigated away from Maude and Susan, who’d turned to greet Constance Pitcairn. “Where have you been?”

“Home.” Lucy cleared her throat. The word felt tender in her mouth. Home. Everything in her future was uncertain. How had it come to this?