The warmth of his breath skittered over her skin, making gooseflesh erupt over her cheek, turning her face rosy. The feeling only got worse when Will brushed his fingers across her arched cheekbones.
She kept the position while Will went back to his easel and took up his pencils. She tried to slow her beating heart with long, slow breaths, but she failed. With his eyes stuck on her all through the three hours, the heightened attention to him only grew.
The slightest glance made her heart pound through her ribs, and she felt that her face was permanently red through it all.When William told her that he was done for the day, Rachel did not move away as she usually would.
“May I see the drawing?”
His grin was wide, “Sure.”
Moving from her seat, Rachel went to his side and saw the drawing, done in kohls. The drawing was magnificent, with her full bust outlined, her head tilted up, and the fall of her hair around her shoulders looked as if she could reach into the paper and caress her hair.
“It's…” she fought for a fitting word, “…lovely. It so lovely, William.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “But I still do not think it is fitting. I want to see another version of you in the library and in the garden. This room is a bit too austere and dry to match you.”
“And you do not think I am as austere as this room?” Rachel asked. “I do not know anything else?”
He was wiping the coal dust off his hands. “I think that you have passion and inner fire that only needs to be discovered and let loose.”
Rachel felt as if she were stepping over a wide boundary when she asked, “And how do you think I can find that fire?”
“I—”
“Daughter?” her mother called as she swept into the room. “I see that your session has ended.”
Instantly, the warmth that had settled itself inside her heart grew stone cold. Thankfully, there was a decent three feet of space between her and William, and she saw how her mother swiftly judged it as well.
“Yes, Mother,” Rachel said. “We were just seeing how far Mr. Smith has come. I think it’s a bit plain though, Mother, and that another location might be best for him to capture all the elements you would like for the true portrait.”
Her mother’s sharp eyes flicked between her, Mr. Smith, and then landed on the drawing between them. Rachel stood away when her mother came closer to the easel and skimmed over it.
“I think it's…” Lady Mary stopped, “…it is lovely, but it does need something more, so I agree. You shall have more time.”
“Mr. Smith wants to try the library next,” Rachel said in relief. “I think it best to start on the morrow. I am a bit tired.”
“Too tired to start to plan your debut ball with me?” her mother asked.
Reigning in her irritation, Rachel calmly said, “I think you can handle that alone, Mother. I do not need to be there. Besides, I know nothing about how to arrange a ball.”
“Fine,” Lady Mary waved her. “Rest if you must but know that one day you are going to have to throw balls of your own. I am going to have a sit down with you and the housekeeper one day to start your training.”
Still irritated but masking it, Rachel managed a faint smile, said her goodbyes to her mother and William before hurrying to her rooms. Only there was she safe to let her smile drop and her irritation show.
“Ugh, if only she would do away with this ball entirely,” Rachel huffed to the empty room. “She knows how distressing this is for me but is still doing it anyway.”
She did not need to rest, but Lady Mary had a way of walking into her room to check if Rachel was doing what she had told her that she would be doing. So, with a heavy heart, she climbed into bed and turned away from the doorway.
A quarter of an hour must have passed before Rachel sensed another person in the room. It was either her mother or Jane, but with her feigning sleep, she did not dare turn to look.
But she realized that it was the two of them when Jane quietly asked, “Shall I wake her, Your Grace?”
“No, no,” her mother said. “Leave her be. Her father and I will be off to an afternoon service as well, so she will not see me until probably tomorrow.”
Another wave of relief washed through Rachel, but she did not move; not until the two left the room did she begin to breathe easily. She allowed herself to drift off and woke again in the afternoon.
While sitting up, she wondered if William was back in the garden and drawing more imaginary birds on the dusky twilight. Slipping out of bed, she donned her shoes and moved from one corridor to another, then finally out of the house.
As she had hoped, she spotted the wild tuft of William’s head peeking over an evergreen bush; only this time, his focus was a tree. His eyes flicked up to her, then back to the tree. She sat beside him and managed to spot what he was drawing.
