Even if,even ifhe wished to marry her and then go about his travels, it would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. He would regret it when he returned to a wife who was old and wrinkled while the world still considered him a young man.
And she could never abide by a husband who turned to other women, which he inevitably would, although she knew that was how a good number oftonmarriages played out.
George was an older gentleman, prepared to settle down. He did not feel the need to sail to other lands. She was much younger than him. He would not turn to other women.
Sebastian had dreams he must pursue, and they most certainly did not include a thirty-year-old widow who wished for nothing more than motherhood.
“Let’s not talk about it,” she said. “We are friends.” She stepped back to look up at him, her hands clutching his arms now.
He blinked a few times, as though he was going to argue, but then nodded instead. “Friends.”
“Yes.” But her smile trembled. “May I see what you drew?” She attempted to sound cheerful. She did not wish for their afternoon to be ruined. She strode toward the blanket and looked over her shoulder in time to see Sebastian moving her easel out of the wind.
He saved my hat and now he’s saving my painting.
She blinked away the thought. It meant nothing. He would have done it for anyone.
“May I?” She would have his permission before opening the sketchpad.
He nodded again, apparently not yet ready to dismiss her non-answer about his uncle. But this was her life—her decision.
She dropped onto her knees, on the blanket, and turned to see what he had sketched.
He’d drawn her, at her easel, standing at the cliff’s edge. It was beautiful. But more than that, he’d drawn her in a manner that she didn’t appear the thirty-year-old widow that she was. He’d drawn her as a woman who commanded the sky and the seas. She looked proud and strong. She looked like a woman who could take on the world.
She blinked and did her best to hold back unexpected tears.
“I don’t know what to say,” she finally managed.
He dropped to the ground beside her and closed the sketchbook. “It’s how I see you.”
10
Surprise!
Margaret sat in front of her vanity as Esther brushed out her hair before restyling it that evening. The guests had returned from town a short while ago, but she had not wanted to go in search of George.
She and Sebastian had walked back to the house quietly, their lack of conversation not quite as comfortable as it had been before and then gone their separate ways with a short bow from him and an awkward curtsey from her.
Sebastian.
Her friend.
“My Lady,” Esther fussed. “You caught too much sun today. I can cover the rosiness with powders for this evening, but it might feel tender. I’ll make you up some fard to apply before you retire. My mother swears by it.”
“Fard?” Margaret scowled at herself in the mirror. Indeed, her nose glowed a little, as did her cheeks. She’d intended to don a hat but forgotten while collecting her supplies. She should have been more careful.
“Oil of almonds, ditto of spermaceti and honey. I’ll make some up in the kitchen so that it’s ready before the evening is over.”
The combination sounded… sticky. Margaret went to scrunch up her nose but relaxed it again quickly when she realized it pained her to do so. Drat! And Penelope had told her to look her finest. She grimaced, wishing that there would not be any fuss. It was a sweet sentiment and only showed that Hugh and Penelope cared for her, but…
She stared at the rosy glow on her nose. “Powder, Esther, But I’m not certain as to this fard.” She could dab some lavender water on it later this evening. She turned her face to one side and then the other. Her cheeks were quite pink as well.
She’d initially decided upon an olive-colored gown for the evening. Esther brought it out, however, and they both agreed that the color emphasized her… glow.
“You haven’t worn the ruby one yet, My Lady.” Her maid fetched a gown Margaret had purchased last spring.
A silken material, the hues of red shimmered from light to dark when it rippled or swirled. The décolletage was low, lower than any other gown Margaret owned, but she could always wear a fichu. Esther raised it to Margaret’s face and indeed, it did seem to tone down her rosy hue.
