The Sculptress V.S. Alexander (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📖

“Nothing happened between Linton and me,” Emma countered, knowing she had broken away from Linton’s embrace when Louisa entered the studio. She felt compelled to add, “Linton was going to model for me.”

“That hardly appeared the case. You can deny your attachment to Linton, but it’s clearly obvious to everyone else— including me.” Louisa lowered her head. “But, I suppose, I, too, must be forgiven.” She pursed her lips. “Society is not to be trifled with, particularly in Boston. It’s a lesson my mother taught me in childhood and I have never forgotten. Society cannot be denied, nor can those who uphold it.” A steely resolve filled her friend’s eyes. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I returned to the Fountain. I felt I had nowhere else to go—to the only person who might understand what I had seen. Alex had begged me to tell him your reaction to the sale of Diana. You must believe me, I tried to lie, but he saw through me from the beginning. I sat, overcome with emotion, and shed a few tears. Alex was understandably upset—he had no idea where my grief was coming from—and after much pleading from him, I disclosed what I had witnessed. You must remember that your husband is my friend. I swear I told no one else, but the rumor has gotten out. I’m afraid even Tom may know before long.”

“I see,” Emma said and clasped her hands together. “My intuition about this maroon dress was correct.”

Louisa sighed, the corners of her mouth turning down in sadness.

The disagreeable man from the group stepped toward them as a chilly silence took hold. “I’m indeed sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to congratulate you, Mrs. Swan, on your recent sale.” Everett offered his hand.

Emma stood stone-faced, not willing to reciprocate to the one who had maligned her.

He withdrew his hand. “I must say, after seeing your statue and reading Monsieur Vreland’s review of the opening, I was quite amazed it sold. However, scandal has a way of making objects more valuable. Shall we say curiosity overcomes taste?” He laughed, then scowled at her and returned to the group.

Louisa smirked. “See, the rumor has spread. He’s a buffoon with no manners and very little breeding. He’s attached himself to Vreland like a leech.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Emma said. “If I don’t leave Boston, I’ll be run out on a rail.”

Frances, arms aflutter, breezed toward them. “Mrs. Gardner and Singer Sargent have arrived,” the hostess said. “Please do say hello to them.” And then she darted on to her next destination as quickly as she had come.

“I’ll be leaving soon for France,” Emma said.

“France?” Louisa’s brown eyes glittered with skepticism. “So, you’ve decided?”

“Yes. I’m following Tom’s suggestion.” Emma looked into the garden. The scene was tranquil, aided by the string trio’s soothing music. Anne sat on a white marble bench under a wisteria arbor. Bent with interest and attentive eyes focused on the young lady next to him, a handsome young man in a black tuxedo sat next to her housekeeper.

“Anne seems to be having a good time,” Emma said. “I must remember what it was like to sense the first blush of love.” She thought better of her words as soon as she said them. “I’m glad she’s here.” She gripped Louisa’s hands and looked into her eyes. “You must promise me that you will stop behaving like a duchess and treat Anne like a human being.”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a domestic—an Irish immigrant.”

“You mustn’t let her status influence your behavior. If something happened to me and Tom, Anne would be in charge of the household, until the legal arrangements could be straightened out. I’m not so concerned about Tom’s parents, but my mother . . . she might put Anne out on the street.”

Louisa nodded reluctantly.

Emma looked toward the fireplace where a regal, bearded, middle-aged man in a dark suit stood smoking a cigarette. “Would you like to accompany me? I’d like to reintroduce myself to Mr. Sargent.”

“No,” Louisa said. She pointed toward the ballroom door where Mrs. Gardner had attracted a flurry of activity. “Mrs. Jack has arrived. I’ll see what stories she has to tell. You have more common ground to cover with Sargent than I do—as one artist to another.”

“Well,” Emma said, “Good-bye for now. This may be our last meeting before I leave.”

“Good-bye, then. Bon voyage.” Louisa turned quickly and headed toward the crowd gathered around Mrs. Gardner.

For a moment, Emma was left alone at the end of the ballroom. She looked at the ornate crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, the sedate groupings of fashionable women and cigar-smoking men, the domestics who stood like formally attired pawns behind the serving table. All of it seemed like a gauzy dream as she contemplated her move to France and how she would break the news to Linton.

Overcome by apprehension, she walked toward Sargent and the gilt fireplace. A frown crossed his face as Emma headed his way, indicating he’d rather not be bothered. She continued to walk, with reserve, toward the artist, who apparently valued his time with his cigarette. He looked somewhat like a stately grandfather with his high hairline, gray-flecked beard, and thick eyebrows. She greeted him with a firm, “Good evening.”

The painter flicked a bit of cigarette paper from his mustache and returned a slight smile.

“I don’t know whether you remember me from a brief meeting at the Fountain Gallery long ago,” she said. “I’m Emma Lewis Swan, the sculptress.”

Sargent tilted his head and his shaded eyes took on an interested glow. “Of course, I remember you, Mrs. Swan. You created the lovely Diana, which recently sold.”

Emma wondered how he knew of the sale.

“Oh, don’t look so puzzled. I make it my business to know what’s selling and what’s not. You know how easily art falls in and out of fashion. In fact, I had some interest in your sculpture, but Alex Hippel had already promised it