“Stuff and nonsense! Besides, we aren’t posing for the portrait,” Aunt Dora said, refilling her teacup.
“May Willow and I come with you?” Serafina asked, already eager to see how the portrait was progressing—and to see Julian, of course.
“Of course you’re coming with us,” Aunt Sophy said. “Julian invited all of us, and I’m certain he wants to see you the most.” She grinned. “Besides, we don’t want to leave you behind in case that dreadful man comes sniffing around.”
“And we wouldn’t leave that adorable puppy behind, either,” Aunt Bianca said, reaching down beneath the table.
Serafina knew her aunt was feeding Willow the crust of her toast. The woman always left them on her plate, and they had suddenly begun to disappear. She’d have to keep an eye on that. Her aunts were generous ladies, but overfeeding a dog, especially a small one, was not healthy for the animal.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Julian’s townhouse, driving the carriage to the side where the carriage house was, according to Julian’s directions in his note. They were ushered in through the side door, off the portico, where the view was secluded. “His Grace is taking your safety very seriously,” Aunt Bianca said.
“As he should,” Aunt Dora chimed in. “My son is furious over Grimsby’s nefariousness.”
“Your Graces, Miss Davies, please follow me,” the butler said. “His Grace, the Duke of Strathmoor, is waiting in his studio, upstairs.”
“The townhouse is rather deceptive. Outside, it looks plain, like the others, but inside, it’s most impressive,” Aunt Bianca murmured. “Good to see everyone here knows of Julian’s true identity. And I’m impressed that he has a studio.”
“Behave, Bianca,” Aunt Sophy admonished in a whisper.
“I’m only teasing, and it was just among us,” she whispered back. “He can’t hear me.”
Serafina looked over at the butler and noticed him smiling.
The butler brought them up three flights of stairs to the top floor of the townhouse. When he opened the door, Julian stepped forward, greeting them with a smile.
Happiness sparked through her at the sight of him. Had it truly been only two days since they’d last seen each other? It felt like weeks. His eyes found hers, warm enough to send her heart into another somersault.
“Welcome to my studio,” he said.
The duchesses murmured appreciatively, clearly impressed by the generous space and the array of paintings on display. Heavy curtains draped the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, but the tall windows at the back stood open, letting in a fresh breeze and a flood of afternoon light.
Two unfinished canvases waited on their easels—one capturing a blazing sunset, the other an enchanting night-time scene of people strolling along Upper Church Street on a fashionable promenade.
“Thank you, Powell,” he said. “Please ask Mrs. Freyer to prepare some refreshment—fruit, cheese, and those excellent cucumber sandwiches. Lemonade and a pot of tea as well. Oh, and do be sure to include a plate of those wonderful apple tarts.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Powell smiled as he left.
“Your Graces, Serafina, it’s a pleasure to host you. Please make yourselves comfortable,” he said, indicating the settee and armchairs. “You too, Willow.”
The little dog barked and lifted the bandaged paw, as her tail thumped happily against the floor.
“We’ve placed a pillow in the corner next to a small bowl of water,” he said.
Willow yipped, seeming to say, “thank you,” making everyone laugh.
“I declare. That dog understands English,” said Aunt Bianca. “I didn’t know they could thump their tail while performing another trick. And it appears she’s already made that wounded paw a useful tool for attention.”
Serafina giggled and nodded, saying, “I’ve noticed that too, Aunt Bianca,” while adding, “although Mr. Hanson says her paw is healing well.”
“Julian, you’ve thought of everything a studio could have,” Aunt Dora said.
“Did you renovate?” Aunt Sophy asked.
“Yes. Powell is responsible. He shepherded these changes shortly before I came down at the insistence of my man of business. They wanted to be certain the house was comfortable, and given that I was traveling incognito, I couldn’t stay at my family’s townhouse, and there weren’t many townhouses to choose from,” Julian said.
Serafina studied Julian’s handsome face, and all she wanted to do was kiss him—just as he had kissed her in the upstairs parlor at the duchesses. Slow…gentle…utterly toe-curling. Would every day with him be like this? Light-hearted, warm, and impossibly romantic?
She caught herself. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. And until Grimsby was caught, everything felt perilously uncertain,dangling in the air like an unfinished stroke on one of his canvases.
