The Artist's Muse

Meeting an Artist

It appears that there has been a new suitor enter the marriage mart this season. Lander Thyne has arrived from Italy to host a series of art courses while also considering finding a bride this season. He appeared at the first ball of the season and made quite the statement with the young ladies, each of them rushing to have his name on their dance cards.

Much to their dismay, he exited the ball early and has not been seen since unless one enters his studio. This author anticipates his courses will be full of hopeful ladies wishing to become his muse.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 21 JULY 1815

x.x.x

Benedict straightened his collar and smoothed his sleeves as he drew closer to the building where the artist was holding his first class. He typically didn't get anxious when meeting new people, but it felt like more than attending an art class. To Benedict, it was an opportunity for a new beginning. If the artist was as connected as the rumors stated, he could be opening the door to a new adventure.

He hadn't expected, however, to walk into such a crowded room. The large studio was packed with men and women Benedict had never once seen at an art course or exhibit.

Benedict stopped in the doorway with his supplies tucked firmly under his arm, watching in bewilderment as women surrounded someone near the center of the room. Men lined the outside of the female ring, watching in disdain as the women smiled and laughed at the man in the center. Benedict couldn't see the man fully. Word from Lady Whistledown's column had evidently reached the eligible members of the ton.

With a small shake of his head, Benedict found an unoccupied spot in the back corner of the room and began setting up his materials. He was there to learn even if was the only one there for that purpose.

Several minutes passed for a deep, silky voice instructed everyone to please return to their stations as the class was about to begin. Benedict had draped his jacket over the back of his seat and rolled his sleeves up as the other pupils had been obsessing over the instructor. He was more than ready to begin.

As everyone returned to their seats, however, Benedict turned his attention to the center of the room and learned why there had been such a large crowd in the center of the room. Now alone, the most beautiful man Benedict had ever seen stood in the center of the room. His light brown hair was roughly pushed out of his chocolate eyes that were roaming the room to observe each of his students. He wore a white shirt that, like Benedict, had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His trousers were slightly more fitted than what was fashionable, but he made it appear as though it was the style. The artist's long fingers were loosely wrapped around a paintbrush.

Benedict's breath caught as the artist's eyes flitted over him. It felt as though the temperature in the room had increased by several degrees in mere seconds.

Immediately, Benedict mentally scolded himself. He was being ridiculous. He was there to learn, and while he had men who loved other men, Benedict was not one of those men. He could acknowledge the artist was a very handsome man, but that was not out of the ordinary. It was acceptable to acknowledge another human being as being good-looking. That was all Benedict had been doing. At least, that was what he told himself as he forced himself to focus on the words coming out of the artist's mouth.

"My name is Lander Thyne. While I have no familial affiliations with anyone who possesses a title, I have worked extremely hard to create a name for myself in the art community," Lander said as he slowly walked the center circle. "I have decided to return to my homeland to share my knowledge with the people of my home."