He has no answer to that. Spirits save us, how I detest what the drug does to people. Good, clever, gifted people, ruined. I do not trust myself to discuss it further. I’m here for Charlotte, I must not spoil things for her. Mangan has his dissolute moments, but he is a decent, caring man beneath the image of outlandish genius. I do not know this other artist well enough to assume the same is true of him.

At last Mangan’s voice shatters the uncomfortable moment. “Cease your dithering, man, and come here. Cast your eyes upon this delicious example of young womanhood. How would you paint her, Bram, tell me that? How would you capture that essence of the ingénue, eh?”

I follow Bram as he answers Mangan’s summons. I walk in the cool of his shadow. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal strong forearms which are splattered with paint, and he moves with an easy gait. He wears his hair longer than most men of my acquaintance, and has about him the sense of someone breaking free of their fetters. I find conflicting thoughts chasing through my mind. I have no time for wastrels and hedonists, and yet there is something undeniably attractive about this man. Something beyond his dark good looks and lithe body. Something more.

When we find her, Charlotte is glowing with excitement. She grabs hold of my arm and whispers urgently in my ear.

“Isn’t Mangan simply marvelous? I can’t wait for him to begin work. Imagine, little me being transformed into art by him!”

“I find it hard to believe your parents agreed to this. Have they met Mr. Mangan?”

“Oh yes, at the Asquiths” do. Though they’ve never been here of course.” She laughs gaily. “Mama would faint away at the sight of Gudrun, though I think Pa would become a regular visitor if he knew what went on here.”

“Better not tell him, then.”

“I shan’t. This will be my place to come where I can shake off all silly convention and etiquette, just for a few hours. Oh, Lilith, it’s going to be such fun!”

Mangan throws an arm around Bram’s shoulders. “I am to undertake a rare commission of Miss…”

“Charlotte. Please, call me Charlotte.”

“… You should paint her while she sits for me. What do you think to that idea?”

Bram smiles, and I am irritated to find myself responding to the warmth in his face, the sincerity of the gesture.

“I’d love to paint you, Charlotte. If you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Heavens, no! I’d be delighted. A portrait as well as a sculpture in stone! Are you famous yet? Oh, never mind, I’m sure you will be soon. When can we begin? My engagement diary is practically empty, I swear. There is nothing to do this time of year.”