He bowed, “No harm was taken, My Lady. Have a good evening.”
While the lady, her maid, and her father left the room, William packed up the pencils. He shot a look to the drawing and back to the pencils before packing up the papers in the leather folio that would keep it flat. Before he met the Duchess and her daughter, a maid had shown him to a modest room in the guest’s quarters, so he knew where to retire.
At least they did not stick me with the servants’ halls. I have had enough of that.
He got his things together, closed the easel up and tucked it under his arm, and left to the secondary set of stairs that led to the same quarters that the main staircase led up to.
The room was quaint, and the bedroom was spacious. He took a moment to appreciate the crisp linens dressing the four-poster bed and the water waiting for him on the washstand. Crossing to the window, he glanced out, expecting to find a view of the English countryside, and smiled at the sight of the vibrant gated garden.
The dying sunlight hit him as he gazed out beyond the garden to see the winding, twisting hedge maze, centered by a flowing marble fountain. Instantly, his hand started to twitch with the urge to reach for his pencils and paper to catch the moment. The sunlight dazzled over the marble, and the water spewing from the fish’s mouth broke the light in a mesmerizing phantasmagoria of colors. The sight begged to be drawn.
But he lifted his left hand and used his right to massage it. William knew the dangers of overdoing it with his hand. He cringed a little at the memory of how stiff his hand had been some years before when he had used it from sunrise to sundown.
He turned away to appreciate the washstand, and the stack of clean towels sat beside it. Leaving the window open, he went to disrobe from his day clothes and donned another set after a quick wash. The housekeeper had assured him that he would be getting the same meals with his board, but it would be best for him to dine in the kitchen.
Dressed in loose trousers and a long linen shirt, an acquisition from his travels in Scotland, he left for the kitchens and greeted the cook. After a quiet exchange of words, the thick beef stew and flaky brown bread were sat before him, and William began to eat.
Having dined in many manor houses, William was used to eating good meals, but just like the rest, felt the same loneliness that came wrapping itself around him. It was an old feeling that had settled itself inside him from the day he had left home to chase his dream of being an artiste.
Finishing his meal, William handed the utensils to a maid and drifted back to his room. Working with the aristocracy had been a double-edged sword; he had met a lot of lovely ladies, but none of them had paid him any mind. He had lingered on the edge of their world, only able to look in.
But now, why do I feel as if things will be different.
He perched at the window again and gazed out at the countryside and the rolling hills beyond the boundaries of the manor lands. He wished England were like Scotland; back in the lowlands, the lawn would be teeming with fireflies, tiny dots of lightning to color the bushes and flowers.
The image of Lady Hampton’s face, interspersed with the fireflies in his mind, had him reaching for his private sketchbook and his pencil. He framed her with her head looking up, her long, luxurious hair fanning out, and the pinpricks of the lightning bugs formed a halo around her head.
He drew until the gibbous moon was high in the sky, and the relaxed look that he had given the lady rested on his mind while he went to bed. Hopefully, the next day he would get a chance to find out what had made her so angry.
***
Dawn found William wandering through the garden, the sketchbook in the crook of his arm while he detailed a dewdrop still lingering on the Begonia’s petal. He drew another line down the stem of the flower and added a little shade to the petal while patiently waiting for Lady Hampton to speak.
He had seen her enter the garden a while ago but had pretended not to see her because he wanted her to be bold. From the way her father had spoken to her the day before, he had a deep, troubling feeling that her family did not give her much room to control her life.
If she wanted to be married, she would have to learn to be a little more assertive.
“You take deep study of all your subjects, don’t you?” her voice was quiet but sweet, like honey.
He lifted his head and gave her a gentle smile, “I find that a close examination gives the best results. Good morning, My Lady.”
Her guarded eyes flickered away from him to another bush but went back to him, “You too, Mr. Smith.”
“Call me William,” he said.
She shook her head, “I’m sorry, I could not dare.”
Cocking his head, he insisted, “In public, perhaps, but I would much prefer for you to call me William.”
“It is not right,” she said. “I would not be able to reply in kind, so please, do not ask me again.”
Deciding not to push—well for now—William agreed. “May I ask, why were you upset yesterday? You were very tense in the sitting.”
“I—” Her head snapped over her shoulder, and her face paled a little. “I am sorry, I have to go.”
Before William could say a word, she was gone, disappearing in the dissipating mist like an ephemeral spirit, leaving William to wonder why she had run off so fast.
Perhaps her parents keep her close, like a babe in leading strings. And with how they dominate her, how is she ever going to marry?
