The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove (13 page)

George put down the document he’d been reading and pinched his nose between his eyes, a sure signal that he had something unpleasant he needed to say. He did that more and more lately. In fact, from the time she’d told him she was pregnant, George had begun to turn, slowly but surely, into a milder version of her own overbearing father. She felt herself shift into battle mode, but George lobbed the first round.

“Yes he was, no thanks to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you are spending entirely too much time with your hobby and not nearly enough with your child.”

One deep breath. Two. “George, we’ve talked about this more than once. I consider art to be my profession. I go to work. You go to work. We both spend time with our son. We are both good parents.”

“There is a difference,” he said. “My work supports this household and yours does not. That puts yours in another category entirely, of less importance than being a good mother to Little Georgie.”

The tears began to form; she fought them back. “Just because I don’t spend every waking moment with our son doesn’t mean I’m not a good mother. In fact, I cannot be a good mother if I can’t work at something that fulfills me.” She began to pace with the baby.

George got up from his desk and took the boy from her. “You’re making him nervous,” he said. He pulled a chord for the maid and after a few moments Polly appeared in the doorway.

“You called, sir?”

“Yes. Will you please take Georgie for a bit? Mrs. Powell and I have…some work to do together.”

“Yes sir.”

The maid took their son and George went back to the safety of his desk. “I see you have registered for another series of classes at the Art Institute.” He held up an invoice that had no doubt come in the mail.

“Yes. Why?”

“I think it would be better if you took a break.”

Lia’s head popped up. “What?”

“You heard me. I said no more painting lessons. Not for a while. I…I think we should try for another child and—”

Remain calm.
“You are out of your mind if you think either of those things is going to happen.” She said it slowly, conviction dripping from every word.

“Lia…”

“George.”

“You’re being unreasonable. If Em were here, she’d—”

“But Em’s not here…and that’s the problem, isn’t?” Lia sat down next to George and put her hand on his. “My dear friend. My dear brother—because that is how I think of you—we can’t go on this way. For two and a half years we’ve played this game, and there’s no need to anymore. I gave you an heir, but there is no way in hell I’m going to replay the scenario that got us Little Georgie in the first place. I’m a good sport, but even I have my limits.”

“As my wife, you’re under an obligation…”

Lia caught his eyes and held them. “Are you going to force me, George? Really? It’s come to that?”

George looked away. “I don’t know what to do, Lia. I want—”

“I know what you want. And if I could give her to you, I would. Truly I would. But I won’t sacrifice everything that makes me
me
, just because of the decisions we made and the situation we find ourselves in. That’s not right. I’m sorry, but I’m not the martyr that Em was. Not by a long shot.”

George closed his eyes and rubbed them again. He was holding back tears himself, his voice the very definition of bleak. “She’s seeing Jonathan Brenner.”

“What? She hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

“Nor to me. I heard about it at the club.” He laughed without mirth. “She’s become quite the catch, you know. Gorgeous, sweet, and rich as Croesus.”

“Do you know how serious it is?”

George shook his head. “But if I were Jonathan, I’d move as quickly as I possibly could.”

A germ of an idea began to form. “Maybe you and I could just call it a day,” she quipped with a half-smile.

“Honestly, I’ve thought about it.” He shrugged. “There’s no way we can legally divorce, and it would destroy you socially were we to separate. And even if we did, it wouldn’t get me any closer to my goal.”

“The goal of being with Em.” It was surprising how saying those words aloud held no hurt or pain for her at all, only a wish, a desire on her part as well as his.

George looked at Lia and squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry.”

With a crooked smile, she squeezed back. “I am sorry too, not for what we don’t have, but for what you and Em should have.”

George picked up the invoice from the Institute. “You. Me. This isn’t the way things were supposed to turn out.”

“No,” she agreed. “And it’s killing us both.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“M
ark my words: Miss Withrow will return to London absolutely desolate she’s left behind an acolyte of such prodigious talent and explosive promise.” Sandy made his lighthearted pronouncement with a melodramatic sweep of the hand. Lia and he had stopped at Child’s Restaurant on Broadway, one of their favorite haunts in which to share a meal after art class. Usually they split an order of corned beef hash or creamed oysters on toast. And Lia rarely passed up the butter cakes, dripping with maple syrup.

But today her food remained untouched and she didn’t respond to Sandy’s gentle teasing. He reached across the table and took her hand. “What’s wrong, love?”

Was it disloyal to confide in someone outside the family? Lia wasn’t sure; she only knew she had to talk this out with someone who might understand what it’s like to be in an impossible situation. “When you left the other day, George announced that he was no longer going to pay for my classes at the Institute.”

“What?! Surely he was joking.”

“No, but that’s not the important part.” She took a deep breath. “Sandy, I need your advice.” She proceeded to tell him about the whole sordid mess: her father’s need for money; his and her father-in-law’s obsessive love for her dead mother; and the pain their selfish needs had inflicted on Lia, her husband, and her sister. “So, if you were me, what would you do?”

Sandy took a long sip of coffee before responding. “The obvious answer is to leave the marriage,” he replied. “Although I can tell you in the state of New York that is much easier said than done.”

Lia leaned forward. “George said as much. Why? It’s often crossed my mind, why not quietly divorce him?”

“Sister, I could tell you stories. I have friends…of my persuasion, shall I say…who would love to be out from under their marital shackles, as would their spouses, in most cases. But the courts say only in the case of adultery, and it would ruin them and their families should their…proclivities…come to light. So they are doomed to suffer.”

“I should never have agreed to the marriage,” she moaned.

“And what would you have done, darling, when both your father and your brutish brother-in-law were held up to the glare of the spotlight for all to see? It would have been horrendous, not only for them, but for you and your sister. People keep secrets for a reason.”

“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?” Lia said gently as she caressed his forearm. “How difficult it must be to be different from everybody else.”

“The ‘being different’ part isn’t so bad, it’s the judgment of people who don’t know me from Adam,” he said. After a moment’s pause he added, “And it’s damn difficult on the rest of the family, which is why…” he caught Lia’s eyes, “I am seriously considering a move to the West Coast.”

Lia shot back in her seat, her eyes wide with surprise. “Sandy, really?”

“Yes, my darling girl. All the money in the world—and my family has plenty of it, believe me—doesn’t stop the rumors, the innuendo. ‘Did you hear, Colonel de Kalb’s son is a flaming sodomite,’” he mimicked. “‘Must be because the colonel married that Indian woman.’ Or how about, ‘Oh, I hear he likes little boys,’ and so on. It’s…hurtful, to say the least. And especially painful for my parents, who know much of what is said is true…although not the part about little boys, I assure you.” The young man who had kept Lia going with his cheery banter for the past three years was dead serious today.

She came around to Sandy’s side of the table and hugged him fiercely. “You are a wonderful person,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t deserve any of that.”

“Nor do you,” he said, returning her embrace.

At that precise moment Lia’s mother-in-law walked in the restaurant with one of her friends and saw them, shock etched on her prim face. Lia stood up slowly.

“Good afternoon, Margaret, Elvira,” she said smoothly. “I think you know my friend from art school, Sander de Kalb.”

Sandy stood, ran one hand nervously through his hair and held out his other to the older woman. “A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Powell.”

Margaret Powell reluctantly shook his hand and introduced him to Elvira Longchamps of the Albany Longchamps. She gave both Lia and Sandy a dark look. “Elvira and I were shopping and I decided to pick up some oysters for your father-in-law,” she said. She glared pointedly at Lia. “George,
your
husband, is partial to them as well.”

Lia raised her chin. “Why thank you for the suggestion, Margaret. Perhaps I’ll pick some up to take home.”

After Margaret and Elvira left, Lia and Sandy looked at each other and burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. They gathered their belongings and set out to walk to the nearest streetcar stop. Sandy resumed talking about his move.

“I picked San Francisco because of the art scene there. Bohemians and all that. I think I should make a good bohemian, don’t you?”

“What do your parents think?” she asked.

“They’ll be sad to see me go, of course. In all ways that truly matter I am a most wonderful son.” He winked at her. “But they think it’s best for all concerned that I cease giving their social circle fodder to gossip about.”

How would she cope without this lovely man? “When do you leave?” she asked.

“Oh, it’ll be awhile yet. I have both business and, um, social matters to clear up first. There’ll be plenty of time for weeping and wailing, don’t worry.”

Lia playfully poked him in the ribs and put her arm through his. “You are incorrigible,” she said. They walked peacefully together until they reached the streetcar that would take her to her father’s house where she was due to meet George and Little Georgie for dinner. “Thank you for your friendship,” she said as she boarded the car.

Sandy swept his arm down with gallant grace. “Always, my love.”

Lia let herself into her father’s house with the key she had kept from before her marriage. She put her painting supplies by the door and heard quiet voices, so she walked toward her father’s drawing room. Through the half-opened doorway she saw Emma holding Little Georgie, who was sleeping peacefully in her arms. George was standing close to her, their heads together. It was such a lovely picture it made Lia want to cry with the perfection of it. She wished she had her sketch book so that she could capture the essence of the moment. They should be together, she thought with blinding clarity. They
need
to be together.

As she was watching them her father came up from behind, startling her.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said. He stood next to Lia watching George and Emma with the toddler. “They make a pretty picture,” he said dispassionately. “I’d hoped you’d be able to meet your husband’s needs. It’s a pity you can’t seem to step into Emma’s shoes, but there’s nothing to be done about it. He loves what he loves.”