Free A Lady of Talent by Evelyn Richardson Page B

height whose expressive eyes and prominent nose lent an air of sensitive intelligence to his smiling countenance.
    “Signer Canova!” Cecilia exclaimed in delight as, snatching up a handy rag, she wiped off her paint-daubed fingers. “How very happy I am to see you! Do come in. I have been thinking longingly of Italy—Naples especially—on this gloomy day, and you are like a ray of sunshine, a welcome reminder of those happiest of days.”
    “Ah, the Marchese di Shelburne, your father—how much we miss him! Such a clever, amusing man and warm companion. It is to his friendship that I owe the many connections that now bring me here. But I still miss him, as I do you, my talented young friend. I hear great praise of your work, here in London, Signorina Cecilia. Your papa would be very proud.”
    “You are too kind. Signer.” Cecilia smiled gratefully at him. “But see for yourself.”
    The sculptor stepped forward to take a closer look at the evolving sketch of Barbara Wyatt. “You are struggling with this one, I see, Signorina Cecilia. There is great beauty there and the beginning of a sense of the person underneath.” He pointed to the detailed rendering of the nose and chin. “But the eyes, though lovely, are empty.” He shrugged. “No matter. I know you. You will work and you will work, and in time you will get it exactly right. Still,” he glanced over at the recently finished canvas of Sir Jasper, “you are busy, I think, and that is good.”
    “Yes, that is good, though they are only portraits, and not the paintings I truly wish to do.”
    Canova raised a sympathetic eyebrow. “So young and so impatient. These things take time, my dear. Even Signorina Angelica was forced to paint portraits to survive, despite her reputation as a history painter. Do not worry: sooner or later all those hours you spent copying the sculpture and the ruins, the paintings of the Italian masters, will ultimately convince the critics that you are capable of working on greater things. And, now that I am advising your government on the purchase of Lord Elgin’s marbles, as well as executing a few commissions for your prince regent, I am in an excellent position to remind them all of your considerable talents for painting history as well as portraits.”
    Cecilia smiled gratefully. “You are too kind. But tell me, how have you been enjoying London?”
    The Italian’s eyes lighted up. “It is a most remarkable city! Such wide handsome streets and squares, so clean, so ...” he searched for the words, “... so very prosperous. And everyone has been so kind—the prince, the queen, the Landsdownes, the Hollands... Oh, everyone has kept me exceedingly busy and exceedingly well entertained.”
    “Not so well entertained, I hope, that you will not be able to join me on Sunday. There are a number of artists living nearby, and we hold informal conversazioni at one another’s studios. This Sunday it is my turn to host our little group.” Cecilia shot him an impish look. “It would indeed be a feather in my cap if I could offer the possibility of your presence as further enticement to my guests.”
    Canova laughed. “But of course. Anything I can do to further the reputation of one of my favorite artists.” Then his expression grew sober. “It is rather like the old days, is it not? The congenial conversation, the fellowship of artists, and the pleasure of good company. I still miss your papa’s afternoon gatherings at the Villa Torloni.”
    “As well as those at the Palazzo Sessa. We sorely felt the lack of Sir William when he returned to England, but Papa did his best to carry on the tradition.”
    “Signer Hamilton was a good friend and a most important patron. We are all indebted to him.” Canova agreed.
    They spoke for some time of mutual acquaintances and shared memories of Cecilia’s life in Italy, as well as the projects on which they were both working. In fact, it was not until Tredlow came to announce the