After contemplating over it for a while, Edward decided that it probably was not his concern. All he needed to do was do an excellent job with her portrait, get his payment, and leave off to another job.
But the thought from last night—that somehow this assignment would be different came back to him.
I suppose I will have to wait and see.
He did not have to wait long to see why Lady Hampton had hurried off. While rounding the garden, he came up to a small stone chapel and saw her and her parents kneeling before the alter with a quick look inside.
And they are religious; that would explain why the Duke said that she knows better not to contradict me. I suppose they have taught her to submit to every man too.
Walking away from the building, William wondered what more there was to Lady Hampton, or should he call her Rachel? She had the look of a scared rabbit—but then yesterday, her shoulders had squared in defiance.
Were there more sides to the lovely lady than what she showed to the world?
He went back to his room to dress for the day, wondering how long the three would take in the chapel. Musing about the drawing resting in the folio, he wondered if the sunroom was the right setting for Rachel. It seemed so sterile and plain. Did it fit her?
I will need to know more about the lady before deciding on that.
He arrived at the solarium before Rachel and her maid did, set up the easel, laid out his pencils, and fixed the drapes when the two walked in. Rachel had her hair in the same style as yesterday, and though her dress was a different color, it was the same high-necked puritan style.
It dawned on him that her parents did not want her in any current clothing; another piece added to the portrait of Rachel’s complex life. He felt sorry for her.
A woman of her beauty should be clothed in the finest silks and trefoils.
He bowed. “Good morning, My Lady and Miss Colton.”
“You too, Mr. Smith,” she curtsied.
“Shall we pick on where we left off?” he asked pointedly.
She looked confused for a moment. He knew she was wondering if he meant the portrait or the aborted conversation they had earlier. She flushed, and he knew that she had landed on the conversation, but Rachel gestured to the chair.
“Yes, please.”
She sat, and William leaned in to angle her face again; he dropped his voice so only she could hear, “Are you still upset?”
Her gaze flickered, “Yes.”
Slightly taken-aback by her forthrightness, William realized that his impression of her was all wrong. It was not only that she held all her feelings inside; she just did not have anyone to tell them to. If her parents were so controlling, he would wager that they were unwilling to listen to her deepest concerns.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled his fingers from her face. “If you want a listening ear, I would be more than happy to listen. You should not have to bear such burdens in your heart.”
She made to reply but bit her lip and turned away. Instead of taking her hesitation as a refusal, he took it to mean that she needed more time. After all, she would be spilling her innermost secrets to a stranger.
Going back to the easel, William reached for his pencil.
***
I’m sorry. If you want a listening ear, I would be more than happy to listen. You should not have to bear such burdens in your heart.
It was not only Mr. Smith’s kind words that had her considering his offer but his earnest look as well. She wondered why he wanted to know. Because her stiffness might make his task worse? Or was he genuinely concerned about her?
When the morning session ended, and Rachel asked Jane to get her some water, she turned to Mr. Smith. “Why do you want to know how I feel? Does it matter to you?”
He set his pencils away. “Yes, because I hate to see someone in distress.”
Warily, Rachel asked, “And you are sure this is not because my expressions would make your assignment hard?”
He took her hand and pressed it to her chest. Again, his touch strummed up a shiver inside her, and she knew he felt it. “If it bothers you, it will make your soul dark. You are too young and too pure to have a dark soul.”
