The grandfather clock's hollow sound sounded in the air, and Rachel realized that it was the third time she had heard the chime. Had three hours passed by so quickly?
“I think—” Mr. Smith said as he laid down his pencils, “—that is all for now.”
“Are you sure?” Rachel asked. “I am sure we can go another—”
But then, her father strode into the room, his tall, burly figure clad in muted grey tones suddenly possessed the air in the room. He looked at her with tight censure in his dark green eyes, and Rachel knew that she was going to be scolded for contradicting a man. Dread settled stonily in her stomach.
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Chapter 2
She’s still tense…why?
While moving the graphite over the paper, William kept his eyes flickering up and over the gentle lady sitting too stiffly for her to look normal. So, he took it upon himself to curve her stiff shoulder, smooth out the knit in her brow and remove the tautness from her neck.
Her face needed no retouching as she was enchanting, like a princess torn away from the pages of a fairy-tale. Her lovely oval face had softly rounded cheeks that framed rosy and full lips. The eyes that once met his were wide and rimmed with thick sable lashes making her emerald gaze so vivid.
William took pleasure in drawing in the delicate contours of her face, her pert nose, piquant little chin with a quaint divot at its center. Her dark locks fell in a controlled stream to her waist; he could not deny the need to see what it would like tangled and wind tossed. Even more, what would it feel like when the strands passed through his fingers?
She is a lady; I am only a commoner; nothing can happen, but I can dream.
Under her forced façade, Lady Hampton still looked very annoyed, and he wondered why. It was too soon for him to start digging into why she was miffed. But one day, as soon as the shock of their sessions wore off and he got to know her more, he would be able to tweak some answers out of her.
As time ticked away, he could see her getting more rigid, and when the echo of the grandfather’s chime came, he decided it was time to call off.
I think—” William said as he laid down his pencils, “—that is all for now.”
“Are you sure?” Rachel asked, snapping her head to him, and making her curtain of hair flutter. “I am sure we can go another—”
But then someone came in, and Lady Hampton paled. He pivoted a little to see an older man.
“Pardon her, Mister Smith,” George Hampton, the Duke of Hurstmere, reprimanded Lady Hampton, “She knows that it is not her place to contradict you. Isn’t that so, daughter?”
“Yes, Father,” she said quietly. “I apologize. It was not my place.”
But you meant every word—I can tell.
Turning, William bowed to the Duke, “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am William Smith.”
Nodding tersely, the man came to look at the sketch on the papers, and his brows inched up. William watched as the Duke’s gaze flickered from the paper to his daughter, who was still seated. The sketch was not finished; some lines were bold and bright while some were faint and wispy, but what William was proud of was how he had captured her eyes.
“It is going to be one of many, Your Grace,” he explained. “The first drawing is hardly the one that will prove fortunate enough to be immortalized in oil.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” William said. “We will try a few more settings, in the library or garden perhaps, and find the right angles and backdrops to make the entire work stunning.”
“I know nothing about such procedure, so I will leave you to master your trade,” Duke Hurstmere said. “And Rachel, no more contradicting Mr. Smith, you hear me?”
“Yes, Father,” she said meekly. “I do.”
“Are we finished here, Mr. Smith?” he asked.
Shooting a look over to the young lady, William replied, “For the time being, yes.”
“Good,” the Duke said. “Rachel, come with me.”
A flash of despondency ran over her face, but she masked it quickly. “Yes, Father, and again, Mr. Smith, I do apologize.”
