Her head ducked, and a blush stained her face, “I would rather not say.”
Rough fingertips held her chin and turned Rachel back to him. A warm, vibrant heat rested in William’s eyes, “I see. Your face tells me all I needed to know. I was kissing you, wasn’t I?”
“In…the most of it, yes,” she replied. “I—”
Her words were cut off because he was leaning into her, and Rachel could read the intention to kiss her ripe in his eyes. But the rustling of a bush had her jerking away and scooting to sit at the far end of the bench. And in good time too as a gardener came around the corner to attend to a shrub.
The man gave them a cursory glance but a more formal greeting when he realized that Rachel was sitting there. Her heart was pounding out of her breastbone at the realization that she had nearly gotten caught in a compromising position.
When her heart calmed a little, Rachel asked, “May I see what you’ve drawn?”
He silently handed over the paper, and she spotted a strange image made from clouds. The more she stared at it, the more she traced the form of a woman, ephemeral, and made of mist. She tried to imagine what he meant by it.
Before she could ask, Jane hurried into the garden, “My Lady, your parents are asking for you.”
Startled, Rachel handed William the paper, and after promising to meet him in the gazebo for that morning sitting, she hurried into the house in time to meet her parents in her rooms.
Her mother’s gaze was censuring. “Where were you?”
“I took a turn around the garden,” Rachel replied. “I wanted to pass some time.”
“Your father and I are going to Manchester for three days,” Lady Mary declared. “There is a conference there that we cannot dare miss. You will be home under the oversight of the housekeeper, and I trust that you will take care to follow her orders.”
Rachel blinked. “You are going away?”
“Yes, and you are to be on your best behavior,” Lady Mary ordered. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, mother.” Rachel refrained from rolling her eyes. “I do.”
“Good,” she said. “We are leaving this afternoon, and we hope that when we come back, most of that drawing will be done so we can transition to making that painting.”
“And my engagement, I suppose,” Rachel said sullenly.
“Yes,” Lady Mary said. “I am going to ignore that tone because one day, you will see that what your father and I are doing is the best for you.”
While resenting the blithe tone her mother used to dismiss her again, Rachel decided to take the gift of her parents leaving as the boon that it was. “Thank you for telling me; I should have my breakfast now.”
After her meal Rachel found herself in the garden with William. As she moved to her seat, she felt his eyes skimming over her body, and when she met his gaze, she could see the question resting in them. But he did not ask, and for that, she was grateful.
They hardly spoke during the session, only with William giving her soft commands to tilt her head up a little or to shift her body this way or that. Jane came by with glasses of water and lemonade with the news that her parents had left, and Rachel felt her teeth grit.
“They have left?” William asked over his glass of water.
“Yes,” Rachel replied. “Somewhere in Manchester for three days.”
William’s hand hovered over his paper, “Interesting.”
“Hardly,” Rachel muttered. “Not when I have less than six days to ready myself to marry a man who will never respect me or love me.”
She had kept her tone low, but by the look on William’s face, the wind must have blown her words to him. Thankfully, he still did not say a word about it. His brows dipped in concentration, and he went back to drawing, leaving her to exhale the tremulous breath trapped in her chest.
Rachel shared a look with Jane, but then they slipped back into silence. Hours later, when William broke the sitting, Rachel asked Jane to leave them a little. With a hesitant nod, Jane left them, and Rachel sat forward. “I think you heard that, didn’t you?”
“I have,” William responded while wiping his hands clean of the dust from the pencils. “It distresses me more than you can think how they are damning you to a fate that will kill your bright, precious soul.”
Sighing, Rachel said, “They do not care. I wish—” she broke off shaking her head. “—It doesn’t matter.”
He reached over and nudged her head up with his knuckles. “No, it matters to me. What is it?”
