Title: The Painting
Author: Fallenbelle
Summary: Julia has quite the surprise planned for their first wedding anniversary.
Rating: Teen for descriptions of nudity, language.
Author's Note: I must admit, I kind of got this idea after a discussion of Julia painting William in the nude about the same time I saw the Miss Fisher episode "Murder at Montparnasse". This is what happens when those ideas are combined. Vague season 8 spoilers, but pretty much pure imagination and wild, unfounded speculation. Blame Demosthenes23 and Fralinger for this. Unbeta'd-all mistakes mine alone.
With their first anniversary as a married couple coming up, Julia could hardly believe that it had been a year already since she'd married William, but it had indeed flown by. It was truly one of the happiest times in her life, and she was lucky to have a man like William for a husband, for many reasons.
He wasn't difficult to look at, in fact quite the opposite, and while he was no longer the beautiful youth he must have been in his younger days, he still cut a damn fine figure and his experience made him all the more appealing in Julia's eyes. While she still possessed a bit of a jealous streak, she was now secure enough to know that he loved her beyond compare, and could safely note with pride the appreciative glances he received from other women. While she'd managed to overcome her jealousy, she was still thankful that the attention of other women was something he still seemed oblivious to or simply not interested in, and did nothing to encourage it himself-a fact she was most happy for.
He was also her biggest supporter, whether it be her career, her crusades for women's reproductive rights, or suffrage, and supported her to the best of his ability. Admittedly, he didn't care for her putting herself in harm's way on a regular basis, but he supported her desire to have the same basic fundamental rights he himself enjoyed, and in return, she had promised to never go on a hunger strike or other act of disobedience should she find herself in jail, and would try to avoid trouble as much as she could.
Julia knew that he wasn't so concerned on having a suffragette for a wife as much as he feared for her safety. But that's when she told him that she also feared for his own safety and wasn't trying to stop him from performing his calling: seeking justice.
Thus, they both agreed to be careful and to respect what the other was trying to accomplish. Not that it was the easiest of agreements, or that there wasn't some occasional friction in regards to the topic, but it was a tacit understanding at least.
So, with their first anniversary as husband and wife quickly approaching, Julia struggled to think of something with which to surprise her husband. Tradition dictated that paper was the go-to gift, and she supposed a book would be the most practical choice, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go this route. She'd always been reluctant to select a book for him after he had once told her that Mendel's plants had been mere light summer reading, and there was no telling which subject would pique his fancy next. Also, there was his claim that he didn't care for novels, though he'd enjoyed it when she read Dracula to him at night and had even reenacted a key scene from the story that focused on her neck after one particularly inspiring passage.
Thus, she had long ago decided that it was best for him to select his reading material himself and merely tantalize him with snippets from her more scandalous novels. Plus, they already had copies of Tales of the Arabian Nights and the Kama Sutra, and Julia was hard pressed to think of any noteworthy additions to their collection of scandalous tomes at present.
Photography was paper, and she had considered sitting for a portrait briefly, but her more artistic, bohemian side didn't necessarily love the idea. For one thing, he already had pictures of her in addition to their wedding portraits, and besides, the camera captured you exactly as you were-there was none of the beauty or artistic license of a painting. Plus, she already knew how William felt about scandalous photographs-he had claimed they led men to dark places, and she herself far preferred the beautiful eroticism of a painted nude over the crassness of a photograph, and she suspected that he did as well.
Previous experience with that Bertrand Leichmann painting once so prominently displayed in his office had taught her that despite his protestations, he was intrigued with a beautiful nude. Sure, he'd tried to claim that it was a landscape, and she had been puzzled at his obtuseness, but once she'd found out who the model was, she knew where his discomfort and denial had come.
Admittedly, that was not one of their better memories and for the longest time, Julia couldn't understand what it was about Sally Pendrick that had bewitched him so, until she realized that William seemed to have a thing for tall, intelligent blondes; as evidenced by herself, Enid, Anna, and Sally. Julia didn't know how she was supposed to feel that she fit the pattern all too well and ultimately decided to just not think about it.
But, in the end, they'd overcome their problems and mistakes, and were now happily married. Plus, over the years, she'd seen him stop to admire nudes as they'd encountered them in various places or museums, and of course he'd been drawn to Rembrandt's Bathsheba as he babbled about paint shades and brush strokes. There was something about the beautiful intimacy inherent in the portrait that attracted him, and she loved that he was drawn to them-it spoke of the passion underneath his proper suit and tie-a passion she was now more than acquainted with as his wife.
But still, there was no doubting his appreciation of that genre of painting, and what better gift to surprise him with than a nude of her? He needn't feel guilty about admiring it, it would replace the bad feelings associated with Sally Pendrick's nude, and truth be told, she'd always wanted to pose as an artist's model-something seemed so bohemian and free about it. She had never dared tried it back in university for fear of being exposed and giving the stodgy male establishment a reason to dismiss her from her studies But, the desire had remained-heightened all the more by her trip to Prague.
Besides, wouldn't canvas qualify as a sort of paper product?
Thus, she began to make discreet inquiries and repeatedly heard of a young painter from Montreal, aptly named Jean L'Artiste who excelled at painting the female form most temptingly, and how the finest ladies of Toronto were having their portraits painted by him.
She found his studio in an artist's collective-a space shared by multiple painters and sculptors in a neighborhood complete with smoky cafes and brothels- a natural spot for young artist types. Upon meeting him and giving him her rather immodest proposal, he readily agreed to her terms. It turns out that he was bored with painting society ladies and was more than ready to create a true piece of art. Julia explained that she would pay handsomely, but that the painting must remain a secret and he must not tell anyone of it.
Of course, he was disappointed that the commission wouldn't bring him more notoriety, but once he saw the amount she promised, he got over his reservations and quickly agreed to the terms.
So, the next day she arrived at his studio, intending to wear only the necklace and matching earrings that William had given her on their honeymoon in New York-purchased from Tiffany's on 5th Avenue. In fact, she often wore only the jewelry for him sans any other item of clothing when she seduced him, and most naughtily and on multiple occasions, William had stated that it was his favorite outfit of hers. The effect the ensemble had on him was most unusual, but she appreciated it nonetheless, relishing in the exhilaration in stripping her most proper man of his propriety.
Still, on more than one occasion she'd wondered where he'd found the money to splurge for their opulent honeymoon and expensive jewelry and had even asked, but his response was merely that it was his duty to make the grand gestures to her that spoke of his feelings for her and would never divulge much on the matter.
Well, as Mrs. Murdoch, she considered it her job to shock her husband and surprise him (and despite his sputtering, he did enjoy it), and thus, found herself lying in a supine recumbent position, arms akimbo over her head, and back ever so slightly arched. She was also nude except for her honeymoon jewelry and wedding rings, her hair fanned out across a divan amidst exotic scarves.
It was rather disconcerting being this exposed in front of another man other than her husband, but she chose to fantasize that she was lying in wait for William to take her, and the sittings were all the more tolerable for it.
She could hardly wait to surprise him with the painting-he would undoubtedly never see it coming.
Unfortunately, the surprise of the whole thing actually became bigger than she had intended, and surprise was just one of the emotions William Murdoch would experience upon viewing a nude portrait of his wife.