Damn the woman.
***
How was it, Lenora thought dazedly as she approached the assembled people, that Mr. Ashford could so thoroughly send her brain packing for parts unknown with one look? Was it because he had essentially replaced Hillram? Or something else entirely, some baffling attraction she could not begin to understand, given how gruff and unpleasant he was? Whatever the cause, it was incredibly unfortunate. Especially as Hillram’s sisters were present.
“Lenora,” Clara said with warmth, enfolding her in a tight embrace. “We’re so happy to see you. It’s been too long.”
Lenora returned the embrace, overwhelmed by the aching familiarity in the gesture. She had always liked Hillram’s sisters immensely, and the fact that she would be able to claim them as her own sisters after her marriage had been a bright spot in an otherwise untenable situation. Yet she’d been dreading this meeting. Undoubtedly talk would turn to their brother, and might-have-beens, and the tragedy of it all. Something she tried to avoid at all costs.
As expected, Clara’s eyes were moist when she pulled back, and Lenora felt panic bloom. She had come here to face her guilt over Hillram’s death. Yet she found she wasn’t ready for the memories just yet. In desperation, Lenora turned her attention to Phoebe. The younger woman had been a freckled imp when last she’d seen her. Now, however, she was a lovely young woman. “Phoebe, look at you,” she said. “You’re as fine a lady as I’ve ever seen.”
The girl smiled ruefully. “You mean I have finally grown into my looks. And it’s about time, I would say.” She gave a small sigh. “But London has done wonders for you. If only we had been sisters, as had been destined, we could have taken on the city together.”
“Sisters?” Mr. Ashford’s voice was sharp. When Lenora looked at him, the intensity that was always present in his gaze seemed to have increased tenfold. And it was centered unerringly on her.
“Yes,” Lady Tesh said, her tone thoughtful. “Lenora was engaged to be married to young Lord Hillram, the current duke’s son, before his untimely passing.”
“Was she?”
Those two words, said in that deep timbre of his, shivered through Lenora. What was wrong with her? She flushed in discomfort.
“But tell me, Lenora,” Clara said, “have you kept up your drawing?”
Lenora winced. “Some,” she mumbled.
“She has not,” Margery declared, fixing her with a look.
“I have,” Lenora denied. It was an old argument, after all, and one they’d had numerous times in the last few years.
“You have not. She has not,” she said to her cousin. “Oh, she still draws, and does some fine watercolors. But nothing like she used to.”
Mr. Nesbitt spoke up, interest keen in his eyes. “You’re an artist, then?”
“Insipid pursuits for debutantes to pass the time,” Mr. Ashford mumbled.
There was a pregnant pause. Margery, ever the peacekeeper, laughed lightly. “Perhaps for some. But our Lenora’s talent went well beyond a mere hobby. She could draw something as mundane as a rock and make it look like it could jump right off the page.”
“Ridiculous,” Lenora whispered, her face going hot. Her embarrassment stemmed from more than Margery’s praise, however. The censorious stare Mr. Ashford fixed her with had her feeling ashamed somehow that she had ever set pencil to paper.
Blasted belligerent man.
“I remember your paintings well,” Phoebe said. “So fanciful and full of life. Why don’t you draw like that any longer?”
Lenora looked at the floor. How could she tell these women that it was a kind of penance she had given herself, for the great betrayal her heart had committed?
Lady Tesh patted her arm. “We shall see about you finding that bit of yourself again, shall we?”
A doubtful scenario. For as much as she had come here looking to forgive herself, giving herself up to the vulnerability of creating from her heart was not something she would ever do again.
Margery turned to Clara in the ensuing silence. “Would you mind terribly if Lenora and I came calling during our stay?”
“I would like that above all else,” Clara exclaimed. She turned to Mr. Ashford. “Perhaps you could accompany them. I know my father would like very much to meet with you.”
Which was the very last thing Lenora needed. To visit Hillram’s home, Danesford, and deal with all the emotions it would bring up was bad enough. To do so while Mr. Ashford was with her would be pure torture.
The man, however, seemed equally disturbed by the idea. “I’m sure the young ladies don’t need my escort. I’ll come another time.”
Relief and disappointment fought within Lenora’s breast. She held on to that relief with both hands.
