Tilting her head a little, Rachel tried to find a hint of deception in his gaze, but she had little experience in spotting trickery. With a long inhale, she sank to her chair and trained her eyes out the window.
“They hardly listen to me,” she murmured, then flicked a look to Mr. Smith. “My parents, I mean. They only listen when it is something that they want for me but will dismiss me when it is something that I want for myself.”
A fleeting tick in his jaw and a dark flash over his eyes told her that he was displeased as well. Feeling a bit boldened, Rachel said, “Not to offend you, Mr. Smith, but I had not agreed to this painting. I suppose that explains why I was so stiff and tense during yesterday’s fitting.”
“I see.”
His simple answer was not one she had expected, but it had not come with any judgment or terseness.
“I feel—” she bit back the words sacred, terrified, and trapped, “—looked over. As if I were a child and not the lady they know I am.”
“Is that the only thing you fear?” Mr. Smith asked pointedly, and without knowing if it were right of her to tell him more but not wanting to lie to him, Rachel nodded.
“No, but I don’t think I shall share that with you,” Rachel said. “I do not mean to disrespect you; I just—” she faltered.
Mr. Smith took her words in good stride. “I am not insulted, My Lady. Why should anyone share their fears with a stranger? I, however, am honored that you chose to tell me what you have. And be assured, not a word of what you have told me will leave my lips…unless you ask me to.”
Stunned but comforted that he would not tell her parents, Rachel smiled. “I—”
But then, Jane came back into the room, and Rachel shifted her words. “Thank you.”
He moved his head and looked around, his expression contemplative. “I am not sure this is the best environment for you.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I think this room is too bare and bland,” he replied. “There is little coloring and not much…Joie de verveto do your beauty justice.”
Reddening, Rachel ducked her head. That was twice Mr. Smith had alluded to her beauty, something she had not thought of before. No one— particularly no man—had ever uttered those words. And he had done it so calmly that she wondered if he realized what he had said.
“Where do you think?” she asked.
His eyes met hers, and his gaze was level. “I do not know yet, but I suppose we will have time to find out. Let’s finish this session, shall we? The right location will find us along the way.”
He moved back to the easel while Rachel reached for the glass that Jane still held. She drank, then handed it back to her before regaining her position from before.
Can I tell him all that concerns me about this? That I feel this portrait is a cheap way of selling me off to me who would not care about me?
Looking at him, she met his eyes briefly, and his flickering smile placed her at ease.Mayhap I can trust him.
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Chapter 3
“I think that is it,” Mr. Smith said as he placed a pencil down. “It is not finished, far from it, but it is getting closer. Would you like to see?”
Standing, Rachel moved over to the easel and gazed down on the image he had sketched into life onto the paper. With surprise, she gazed down at the portrait of herself. There were still some lines faint and wispy, and a portion of her shoulder was not drawn in, but what was left was still substantial.
For a moment, she wondered if Mr. Smith had drawn another person instead of her because this lady on the paper was utterly gorgeous. She refrained from brushing her fingers over her cheek and nose, making sure the same form rested on her face.
“It is wonderful, Mister Smith,” she murmured.
“Your face has caught my artist's eye,” he mentioned. “Like the fair Joan of Arc, you are noble and gracious, but I feel I have done you an injustice by using dark lines. You deserve bright oils, My Lady.”
Blushing at the mention of the noble warrior, Rachel felt the warm complement settle on her heart.
“You are a fair subject for my brush,” he went on.“If I have seen your beauty, others will too, and I am assured that you will make a beautiful bride and good wife.”
Rachel went rigid, the sudden motion drawing Mr. Smith’s attention. He turned to her with a light smile. “Do you not think so?”
