Chapter Fourteen
AMSTERDAM, 1619
‘Oh, Clara, you should’ve seen it,’ Adela said again.
Clara sighed and put down her brush, turning to her sister sprawled on the wooden bench beneath the window. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. You can tell me all about it over supper. And sit up. You look like a strumpet.’ In truth, she looked rather fetching with her flushed cheeks and mass of dark curls cascading around her. She had run straight up to the studio the moment she arrived home from Antwerp.
Adela frowned and sat up. ‘Did you refuse to come to the wedding because Henri asked you to marry him first?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Constanza.’
Clara shook her head, laughing. Of course, Constanza would know. Henri must have told her everything. How cruel she must think me. ‘That was a long time ag
