‘You mustn’t give up, Livvy. Is your brother not busy about his dream that many would see a foolish fancy? And your father,’ how he hated mentioning him, but Clem was appalled at the thought of Kerensa’s daughter being so miserable, ‘has given you his approval. He didn’t build this room specially for you because he believed it was a waste of time, did he?’

‘No.’ Olivia immediately regained her usual confidence, her sense of power. ‘Thank you, Clem. I haven’t been thinking about things from my father’s perspective. He knows a thing or two about art. He’s always encouraged me. Timothy’s opinions and lack of support have been confusing me, making me feel guilty.’

She dried the last tear, knowing she should pull away from Clem, but she liked his soft touches. They were doing astonishing things deep down inside her, giving her sensations of delight she never experienced with Timothy. He never showered her with affection as Clem sometimes did his wife, and in bed he acted as if their intimacy was something he should be apologetic about. She had suffered some anxiety on their wedding night, a legacy from her ordeal of the evil designs of one Captain Hezekiah Solomon, once a friend of her father’s, a barbaric murderer, who had very nearly raped and slashed her to death. Even though the ageing sea captain was dead, by her father’s sword, her terror had remained cruelly fresh in her mind. Timothy had been thoughtful towards her and remained so, but now she was frustrated in every sense that he never tried to make progress with her.

She touched Clem’s cut cheek. ‘I did this to you. I’m very sorry, Clem.’

‘No matter.’ He took her fingers in his hand. And she locked them together tight.

‘Do you feel better now?’

‘Yes, if I could just stay like this for a while.’

Every minute he had been under her roof, Olivia had watched Clem. He seemed to fill any room he was in, moving with an animal ease. He had a way of reclining in a chair in an indolent manner, his long legs stretched out, masterly, inviting somehow. His hands were big and rough, always scrubbed clean yet work-stained. They drew her eyes whatever he’d been doing. His smile, and it was rare to see it at its fullest extent, was beautiful to behold and she had longed to put it on canvas. His eyes were his best feature, at times soulful or secretive, or lazily surveying whatever caught his attention, or laughing with fun when he played with the twins. Sometimes they had alighted on Catherine, transferring messages that he desired her. Aware of this, Olivia had felt jealous and so very lonely.