Chapter Text
The sun peeked in through the windows of her storage room, not bright enough to damage any of her paintings but just enough that she didn’t need a candle to see what she was doing. Or, more accurately, what she had just done.
The room where she stored her works in progress, as well as her finished commissions which had yet to be collected by their buyers, had been the last of the three to get a meticulous cleaning. Most successful artists had servants to clean up for them, but Vivianne Miedema had a very particular way of storing things which no one, not even Lars, could figure out.
It wasn’t as if anyone would be coming into the storage room today, but she had needed something else to do while she waited for her clients to arrive, after she had made sure that her studio and parlor were spotless. The only other option was to just sit still, which would inevitably lead to her plucking out bits of her hair anxiously.
Vivianne had painted local magistrates and still-lifes, merchants and the view from her window, and, when her inspiration ran dry, portraits of Lars which made him look purposefully like a buffoon. But this would be her biggest test yet.
Almost as if on cue, there was a rapping at her door. Trying to take a deep breath, but ending up almost choking on her own oxygen, Vivianne went to answer it.
“Miss Miedema?”
She nodded, gesturing for the man to come in. Normally, it was customary for her to go and meet her clients at their homes, but this was a foreigner, and the home where he was lodging during his stay was, as his note had put it, preparing for a party to celebrate his arrival.
“Lord Evans,” she said, giving a deferring curtsy. He walked in, looking around her home then, the dwelling apparently meeting with his approval, took a seat on the settee.
“Can I get you anything, my Lord? Water?”
“No, thank you,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I assume you’ve received and read my note?”
“Yes, Sir, and I’m very honored.”
He gave her a smile, and she forced herself to sit down in the hardback chair opposite his more comfortable seat, taking another breath.
According to the note which had been sent ahead, Lord Richard Evans had arrived in Amsterdam several days prior, on business to negotiate new trade agreements between Scotland and some of the more prominent Dutch merchants. Lodging in the Van de Donk home, his daughter’s eye had been caught by a portrait that Vivianne had done the prior year, of the Van de Donk family’s daughter Danielle. Meaning to have a portrait painted of his daughter anyway, Lord Evans had immediately commissioned Vivianne.
“And three months will be enough time?”
“Absolutely, my Lord,” said Vivianne, biting her lip at the anticipation of the restless days and nights ahead which would be required to produce top quality work in the timeframe provided, combined with her other works-in-progress. Quickly, she forced a winning smile onto her face.
“Wonderful. I have heard nothing but praise for you, Miss Miedema.”
She gave him a quick tour of her studio, indicating the area where his daughter would be sitting, watching him carefully for any sign of displeasure.
“Thank you for agreeing to a commission at such short notice, Miss Miedema,” he said, shaking her hand as he stepped back out onto the Amsterdam street. “Not only have I been needing a portrait of my Lisa, but being here will give her something to do while I’m occupied with business.”
He smiled crookedly, shaking his head, clearly thinking about the mischief his daughter might have gotten up to otherwise.
“She’ll be here before midday tomorrow,” he said as he got back into the Van de Donks’ carriage. “I’ll discuss how we want it to look with her tonight, and she’ll bring the instructions tomorrow.”
As Lord Evans retreated down the street, Vivianne closed the door behind him and let out all the air she had been holding in. He hadn’t been as frightening as she’d imagined he would be- she could tell by the lines around his eyes that he smiled frequently, and it was a welcome contrast to the self-important nouveau-riche merchants and their snobby wives and daughters who were her typical clients. She could only hope that his daughter would be one of the rare exceptions as well.
The only person besides herself and Lars that Vivianne would let touch any housework in her home was Jill. Their cook was friendly and fun, and all too willing to come in several times a day to do the cooking and baking for the painter and her brother, before returning to her own home.
Jill’s parents needed the extra income, and Vivianne, although she wouldn’t admit it, was grateful for the company, and the delicious aroma of the fresh bread.
Pulling her hair back so that it didn’t get too near to the fire, Jill got straight to work, and Vivianne took out her sketchbook. It had begun its life as an account book for her brother’s work, but when he had taken over their father’s, the old one had been set aside, until Vivianne had been searching for spare paper to practice her drawings.
She found herself biting her lip, watching Jill bustle around, making quick drawings of the other woman. Jill’s sleeves were pulled up, and Vivianne could see how the smaller girl’s arms were small but defined. She made careful note of her lips, and the way she bent over to put the bread in the oven. Clutching her charcoal pencil tightly in her fist, Vivianne sucked in a gasp, furious at herself.
She was doing it again.
She always told herself that her fascination with looking at women was merely out of artistic curiosity- she certainly preferred painting them as opposed to men, that was certain. All of her practice sketches ended up with soft lines, wide hips, and a full mouth. She had sketched Jill many times, and whenever she went out with Lars and caught him watching a pretty girl walk by, her eyes always followed her as well.
“Well,” said Jill. “You’re rather quiet today, Vivianne. How was your meeting with Lord Such-and-Such?”
Vivianne quickly shut her sketchbook, tucking it under her arm before she answered her friend’s question.
“He was actually very polite,” she said. “Basically repeated what the note said- he wants a portrait of his daughter done by the time they return to Scotland in three months.”
Jill clicked her tongue.
“I’m not doubting you, Viv, but… Are you sure that’s enough time? What with everything else you have to get done?”
Viv was about to reply that she would simply have to make time when she was saved by the sound of the door opening, then shutting again, the heavy footsteps announcing her brother’s arrival home.
Lars was kept rather busy by his job as a notary and book-keeper for one of the biggest merchant companies in Amsterdam. Normally, the position would not have gone to someone who had only completed a single year of university, but their father commanded enough respect and affection from his colleagues that, when the pox had swept through a year ago, taking both their parents in one swoop, they had given her brother their father’s job without a second thought.
That, combined with careful budgeting and Viv’s paintings, kept the Miedema siblings afloat and in their comfortable home.
Leaving his boots by the door, Lars strode into the kitchen and peered over the rim of the pot in which Jill was cooking tonight’s stew, only to get promptly smacked across the hands with a spoon.
“It’s not done yet! God’s sakes, leave it be!”
Viv rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head at her brother as he went to wipe the ink stains from his hands and plopped down at the table beside her.
“Did that Lord come today, Viv, or is that tomorrow?”
“It was today,” she responded. “He seemed… well, pleasant. At least more so than I was expecting. In a rush, though.”
Lars hummed nonchalantly, still gazing over at the food.
“He’s returning tomorrow,” she said. “To be honest, I think he just needs his daughter out of the way while he negotiates, and didn’t know quite what else to do with her. Speaking of his daughter, don’t be here tomorrow. He seemed relaxed, but I doubt he’d be too pleased with his daughter being in a house with a strange man.”
She hid her grin behind her hands as Lars scoffed, pretending to be offended.
“You insult me, sister!”
“Always,” she laughed, relaxing into the familiar company of her brother and Jill, and trying to forget all about the fact that the biggest job of her life began tomorrow.
Lady Lisa Evans had her head on a swivel as her hosts’ modest carriage rolled through the streets of Amsterdam. She had been hoping to take one of the boats that she’d seen all around, but her father had pointed at the carriage instead, already prepared, with a fond smile.
“Remember,” he said, avoiding ruffling her hair as he might’ve typically done, worried about spoiling her coif.
“You agreed to try not to give me a headache if I brought you with me.”
“I know, Papa,” she said, getting on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I promise!"
"I trust you, Lisa," said her father, cupping her cheek. "You look beautiful."
The smile which had been fond dimmed slightly, and she knew what he was thinking- that she looked like her mother.
It had certainly raised some eyebrows- according to social custom, Lisa ought to have stayed at home, taking over from her mother as the Lady of the home following her death, as well as securing a prosperous marriage. But Lord Evans thought his only child needed a change of scenery following the loss of her mother, not to be trapped alone in a manor while he went off to Amsterdam. The chance of securing a well placed husband from the Continent was also no blight on the situation.
Now, as the carriage began to slow, the driver shouting some instruction or warning in Dutch, she swallowed around the lump in her throat and put a smile back on her face. It wouldn't do to be grouchy today, after all!
The coachman with the slightly hunched shoulders escorted her to the door, double-checking to make sure he had the right address (it wouldn't do to leave her at a random house in the middle of Amsterdam, after all). He rapped on it knuckles-first and, while they waited for an answer, Lisa took her opportunity to look up at the house.
It was certainly not a mansion like that of the Van de Donk family, but compared to some of the cramped-looking dwellings she had passed on the way here, it was nothing to turn up one's nose at. A few signs of disrepair, perhaps, but enough care had been taken to at least try and paper over them.
The door swung open, and a young woman nodded in greeting, wiping her hands on her apron and leaving behind a streak of flour.
"Lady Evans," said the coachman. "I'll be back to collect you later."
Lisa gave him a smile of thanks, following the woman at the door into the house.
"Welcome," said the girl, dropping into a small curtsey. As she dipped down, Lisa could see the places where her dress had been patched, and felt suddenly more cognizant of her own finery.
"Vivi- Pardon me, Miss Miedema- is waiting for you just up that first flight of stairs. Please, do tell me if you require anything. We're honored to have you."
Lisa nodded, trying to give her normal bright smile but finding it a bit more difficult as she trod through this stranger's home. Her father had expressed his apprehension at leaving her unchaperoned, but there was nothing to be done about it- the majority of their household had remained in Perth, and of her two typical female companions, Emma's father had almost finished marriage negotiations for her, forcing her to remain behind, and Beth had been exchanging sideways smiles with the Van de Donks' daughter ever since they arrived. Not one to begrudge her friend her fun, Lisa had agreed to pretend that Beth was under the weather so she could get to know Daniëlle a bit better.
The first door, the one indicated by the young woman who had answered the door, was wide open, but Lisa still tapped on the frame, announcing her presence to the woman bustling in the corner. She gave a slight jolt, turning her head back to see who was at her door.
"Lady Evans," she said, immediately rising to her feet and giving a curtsey as Lisa nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Welcome. Would you like to sit?"
Lisa nodded, throat closed, suddenly shy, and followed the painter into the modest sitting room.
"I do apologize," she said. "I know you must be use to... grander settings than this."
"No need to apologize," said Lisa, taking the indicated seat. "Thank you for agreeing to this at such short notice, Miss Miedema. My... My father sent along these instructions."
She passed her the paper, filled with her father's small writing. On it, he had written out instructions for position, dress (not the one Lisa was wearing today, but a similar one), jewels and adornments, and everything in between. The artist scanned it quickly, then turned back to Lisa, expression unchanged.
"I understand," she said. "Today, I want to get some basic sketches done- positioning and all that. If you wouldn't mind following me, my lady?"
Lisa nodded, trailing after the artist, careful not to trip over her dress, to a chest of drawers back in the well-lit room which she assumed to be her studio.
Vivianne knew how to keep calm.
Or, at least to present an aura of calm while her heart was beating at a million miles a minute. She could hear Lady Evans' footsteps behind her, shoes clacking on the floorboards as they walked the few feet back to her studio. The journey took only seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Vivianne, who was furiously trying to will the blush on her cheeks away.
She didn't know what she had been expecting from Lisa Evans- possibly one of the dour, dull girls who she would have to breathe a flush of life into with her brush. Maybe a child- Lord Evans had seemed like the sentimental type to want an image of his daughter in her early years. But the young woman with the beginnings of smile lines, dulled by her carefully closed expression, had certainly not been what she had expected.
"Alright, my lady," she said, swallowing around the nervous lump in her throat that formed when Lisa Evans, standing beside the tall chest, looked to her for further direction.
"Can you put one arm on top of the chest- that one, yes- and then turn to face me?"
When Lisa turned her body out, arm still atop the furniture which would be used to get the positioning correct, then replaced by the proper backdrop, the light streaming in through the window brushed the side of her face. The glow framed her perfectly, and Vivianne had to hold back a little gasp. Because she, this girl who she had never met before today, was absolutely the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
"Miss Miedema? Is... Do you need me to move at all, or is this good?"
The blush that Vivianne had almost entirely managed to get rid of made a triumphant return. She had been lost in her own mind for a moment, but she quickly brought herself back to earth.
"If you could just turn your leg a bit... There, perfect!"
Taking a deep breath, Vivianne put her pencil to paper and began to sketch.
Lisa's limbs were beginning to get tired. Standing in the same position for long periods of time was never exactly comfortable, but she didn't want to shift and accidentally ruin the artist's image. A piece of her hair had fallen into her eye, and she tried to blow it away, back into the loose mass hanging around her shoulders, framed by a crown of braids. Her shoulders were straight, chest facing forward, head turned slightly. Her feet had started to ache, and she couldn't wait until she was able to sit back down and stretch out.
She had run through every song she knew in her head in an attempt to keep herself entertained, and gotten through a few lines of poetry before forgetting a word and messing up the internal meter. So now she had turned to watching the artist at work.
Vivianne Miedema hadn't been quite what she was expecting. Her father had told her that she was young, of course, but Lisa hadn't had an idea of just how young- roughly her own age, maybe a few years younger- until she had arrived. The sunlight had shifted since they first entered the room, and it was casting its glow over the Dutch woman, making her hair appear almost red. She was biting at her lip in concentration, scratching pencil just audible in the periodic silences when they couldn't hear the maid downstairs. Every minute or so, she would look back up at Lisa, then back down at her paper.
Finally, just when Lisa was sure that the crick in her neck would become permanent, Vivianne put down her pencil.
"Remember how you're standing, my lady," she said. "It's helpful to have you in the same position each day."
Lisa groaned internally, but when Vivianne nodded that it was time for her to drop her arm, she sighed in relief, winning a little smile from the other woman.
"It can be a bit uncomfortable," she said sheepishly. "I apologize for that. But you won't need to stand every day."
The little smile from the reserved artist brought out Lisa's own smile.
"Thank goodness," she said. "I think I was turning to stone!"
Another smile, this one a bit wider.
"You did very well. If I remember correctly, you're staying with the Van de Donks?"
Lisa nodded, watching as Vivianne carefully stored her materials and following her back out to the sitting room.
"Well," said the artist. "When I painted Daniëlle, she just could not keep still!"
Lisa laughed aloud, shaking her head.
"That doesn't surprise me one bit! She seems the type."
As they lapsed back into silence, Lisa realized that she wasn't quite sure what time the carriage was coming for her.
"Miss Miedema," she said. "I hope... I hope my presence isn't an imposition. If you need, I can find a way to send for-"
"It's quite alright," said Vivianne, immediately wanting to kick herself for interrupting the high-class foreigner. Glancing quickly at Lady Evans' face, she noted with relief that she didn't appear offended. Taking a deep breath, she continued.
"We're at your service, My Lady, and you're welcome here for as long as you need be."
Lisa's smile returned full force to her face, and Vivianne saw the lines deepen, brought out by the grin which looked so natural on Lisa's face, and which only made her look more beautiful.
"I thank you, Miss Miedema. And, since it would appear we will be spending quite a bit of time together, I think it's best if you call me Lisa."
The artist looked alarmed for a moment, not having expected to drop the title. But then she nodded, tucking in a curl which had come loose from her bun.
"As you wish, Lisa."