Nora wished it were so easy. “He’s a dog.”
“A dog who will ruin the portrait if you can’t make him behave,” Lady Roundtree insisted.
“I draw from my imagination,” Nora said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I can sketch him bouncing on his tail or playing a flute, if that’s what you want. He doesn’t have to really do it.”
In fact, the longer they dilly-dallied, the more likely someone would come to call and catch Nora in the act.
A puppy top-heavy with curling yellow ribbon could easily be explained as one of Lady Roundtree’s many eccentricities. Nora’s skill with pencils, on the other hand… Even though she sketched and shaded her realistic portraits in a style completely unlike the ink cartoons, it would still be best if no one outside this household learned of her proclivity.
Especially not someone like Mr. Grenville.
“He’s not listening!” The baroness’s voice rose higher with each word. “I need Captain Pugboat on this footstool. The portrait must come out perfectly.”
Nora flipped the puppy onto his stomach and held him in position for several seconds. “Stay.”
The moment she let go, Captain Pugboat immediately rolled paws-up.
She returned him back upright and repeated the process, holding him in place for an extra few beats. “Stay.”
He licked the tip of her nose.
“Don’t let him do that,” Lady Roundtree shrieked. “It isn’t seemly!”
“He’s a dog,” Nora repeated with deliberate patience. Carefully, she lifted her hands from his soft, wrinkled sides. “Please stay. I’ll give you all the teacakes when we’re done.”
Captain Pugboat gave his curled tail several enthusiastic swishes, then closed his eyes.
“Is he looking in the right direction?” Lady Roundtree fretted. “He’ll ruin the portrait if he isn’t bright-eyed and leonine.”
Nora placed her sketchbook on her knees. “Do you want me to draw a dog or a lion?”
“I want you to drawmydog,” the baroness explained. “Like a lion.”
“Of course,” Nora murmured beneath her breath, and picked up her pencil.
She would draw as fast as she could. Not just to reduce the chance of discovery, but also because her mind was still reeling from last week’s musicale.
Every moment had been thrilling.
Although the audience could not decide whether the soprano or the violinist was more gifted, Nora’s gaze had been locked on Heath Grenville at the pianoforte in back. She’d felt Mr. Grenville’s presence before he walked out on the dais. Even during his sister’s jaw-dropping announcement, Nora had been unable to tear her eyes from him.
Mr. Grenville had been the only one in the room who didn’t look shocked. He had known the announcement was coming, that a scandal this big would be unveiled.
Her publisher considered it a perfect caricature opportunity. Had already offered to triple her price. Yet Nora could not bring herself to draw the moment of Camellia Grenville’s ruination, no matter how much money she was offered.
Lady Roundtree’s head jerked up from the pillows. “Would this be easier with watercolors?”
“It would not be easier with watercolors,” Nora replied distractedly.
Not for her, at least. Paints of any sort had been far too dear in her family, and she’d rarely had an opportunity to practice.
Drawing, on the other hand… She’d had plenty of practice. And for the first time, what had begun as a lonely habit was now granting her the ability to provide for the family that had always provided for her. Nora had sworn to help them in any way she could. Yet here she was, sketching a leonine puppy for free rather than a caricature whose earnings could restock the empty larder.
Was it selfish of her not to draw the Grenvilles’ pain? Her family was suffering, too. Grandmother and Grandfather weren’t fighting to save their reputations, but to have enough to eat.
While Nora was here in this comfortable home refusing to dash off a simple cartoon, her little brother was home toiling asunpaid companion, as maid-of-all-work, as farmhand, as footman, as scullery maid, as caretaker.
Thatwas the family she owed her loyalty to. The Winfields, not the Grenvilles. So why was her stomach tied up in knots?
