Rachel reached up and held his face in warm palms. “You have my heart.”
As she slipped from his grip, William had to let her go. He sat back with the portrait, staring at it with a sense of hopelessness. If he had not felt lost before, he surely felt it then. The days felt fleeting, and William felt that not days, but hours, were going to be a thin barrier between him losing Rachel.
Eventually, he stood and slipped the drawing into the folio. Then taking it with him to the house, he rested it on the table before taking out his private drawing of her. This one was filled with secret symbols, flowers that showed Rachel’s true nature, one of strength and defiance. He drew until midnight and exhaustion dragged him into bed.
***
William woke from dreams of Rachel and sat up just as dawn was lightening the room. He did not linger in the bed long and, after washing up, headed to the servants' dining room for his morning meal, seeing as he had not eaten in more than half a day.
After that, he headed to the garden with his pencils and sat. Routinely sketching the flowers around him, he felt his mind starting to drift. It was a maid who found him and told him that he had a messenger waiting for him in the foyer.
“A messenger?” he asked askance. “For me?”
“That is what the man says, Mr. Smith,” she replied.
Hurrying to pack his things up, William followed her into the house and, while holding the drawing materials under his arm, went to meet the man. The messenger was dressed in a dusty coat, trousers, and squashed hat.
“Mister Smith?” he asked.
“Aye, tis me,” he said while his curiosity deepened. “What do you have, sir?”
“I’m Richard Malloy, and I have come from your hometown in Waltham Cross, and I have some news for you,” the man said staidly.
***
Rachel stepped onto the empty gazebo and wondered where William was. It was not like him to be late in their sessions. She took her seat and waited patiently for him to come down the path.
Reflecting on the day before, she had no doubt that William meant every word he had said. Just as she knew that if given a chance, she would have chosen William to wed her rather than the stuff shirt, Lord Strathmore.
If only I had the power to change my fate.
She stood and went to the garden to pick a flower then carry it back to the bench, where she spotted William coming down the lane. When he stepped under the eaves, Rachel realized that he looked distracted, and his flickering smile as a greeting told her so.
“William?” she asked with her brows furrowing. “Are you well?”
“Very much, why?” he asked while pulling out the drawing from the folio.
“Because you look very displaced and preoccupied,” Rachel explained. “Did you sleep well?”
His brief shake had her sighing in sympathy. “Mayhap you should take this time to rest. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“Thank you for your kindness, sweetheart, but it will be best for me to get this drawing done so I can start with the oiled portrait,” William said kindly. “I have done more in worse circumstance so do not feel too sorry for me.”
His soothing expression had the uneasiness inside her chest calming, but a smoldering nugget still rested there. As William went about his drawing, she tried to keep a conversation with him, but after his stifled one-word answers, she decided to fall silent.
Something more than not sleeping was eating at William, but she did not know what, and with him not volunteering to tell her, Rachel found herself at a loss.
When he broke the sitting sometime after noon, Rachel said, “I won’t ask you to tell me what is bothering you, but I do ask you to try and get some rest. If you do choose to tell me, I am willing to listen.”
He gave her another fleeting smile, “Thank you.”
Reaching over, she lightly touched her fingertips to his face. “Try to get some rest.”
With that said, she left for the house and to her rooms. Jane, who was puttering around the room, instantly saw her distressed face. “Has something happened?”
“Something is troubling William, and he will not tell me what,” Rachel said. “I don’t think it’s as bad as when he knew that I was going to be married off and did not tell me, but it feels similar.”
“Well, your parents have been gone for days now. It could not have come from them,” Jane surmised. “It must be something else.”
