“My dear, how lovely you look. Oh, to have such a natural beauty, such a natural presence!”
The chintz fabric of MissHaven’s gown rustled as she moved closer. “I spoke with Mr.Fielding earlier this morning. The poor man was beside himself. I blame myself entirely, of course.”
Olivia feared that any response she might offer would lead to some sort of trap, yet MissHaven’s ensuing silence demanded she speak. “What do you mean?”
“When you and I spoke the other night, I offered to find you a match and happily took to the challenge. But I fear I’ve been misguided. Mr.Fielding was so captivated by you, and based on our conversation I believed you to feel the same. Imagine my surprise when he told me that you were quite cool to him last night in the drawing room after dinner! He said that he tried to approach you, but you turned and fled out the door. Surely he must’ve been mistaken.”
Olivia’s defenses flared, but she determined to remain in control. “I’m not here to find a husband, MissHaven. I do apologize if I made you believe otherwise. When I do find a match, it will be entirely of my own making.”
Miss Haven straightened in obvious annoyance. “Does that extend to Mr. Avery?” Her pointed question smacked of an accusation, and she narrowed her vibrant eyes toward Olivia. “Mr. Fielding said you seemed to be quite friendly with him on the veranda. We must be very careful, mustn’t we, Miss Brannon? How quickly one’s reputation can be blemished by careless actions and words.”
The statement—and the insinuation behind it—struck.
Never before had anyone accused her of loose behavior.
How was one to respond?
Without another word MissHaven flounced away.
Heat rose from Olivia’s bodice to her neck, her cheeks. She was not prone to tears, yet the searing sting of tears gathering in her eyes pricked.
She sniffed and reminded herself that her goal here was not to make friends.
She was not here to impress others.
She was here to prove herself—prove her abilities.
But the cruel nature of MissHaven’s words still hurt.
After several minutes, Mr.Romano adjusted his easel so he was seated closer to Olivia. His accented voice was barely above a whisper. “You have a secret, MissBrannon.”
She eyed him.
“I find you interesting. And not just because you are a pleasant muse for my paintbrush. You see, I firmly believe that confidence, knowing one’s worth, is the most beautiful trait a woman can possess.” A hint of amusement curved his lips, and his dark eyes did not leave his work. “Does this surprise you?”
She considered his actions since his arrival—his praise of beauty, his flirting. She lifted her face in response. “Perhaps.”
“Ah, ah, ah! Leave your chin just like that.” He dipped his brush in fresh paint and his dark eyes never left his canvas. “I see many people. Many women. Very few hold true to a conviction, for it is easiest to do what is expected and easy. But you, I think, are different. You have a secret, and because of that you refuse to sacrifice the most essential parts of your soul.”
She warmed at the vote of confidence. This was a difficult game to play—to be an impostor in such a world. Perhaps he knew it too.
“That is perhaps one of the loveliest compliments I have ever received, Mr.Romano. I fear I will revisit those words very often. Thank you.”
He grinned. “It is my honor, MissBrannon.”
Chapter28
Was he... jealous?
Lucas tore his focus away from Romano. The painter was sitting quite close to MissBrannon, and he must have said something entertaining, for a soft smile curved her lips.
It was not his business, of course. And he refused to be the sort of fellow who would even harbor envious thoughts, but if MissBrannon were to smile at him the way she was smiling now, it would be the pinnacle of his day.
“Why did you leave the cribbage table so abruptly? I thought we might play another round.”
Lucas resisted the urge to cringe at the familiar feminine voice and looked up. MissStanley, Wainbridge, and Tate had gathered near him. Lucas bolstered his attitude, for if there was one truth about a house party, it was that one was never alone.
Tate clapped Lucas’s shoulder as he passed him to drop into a nearby chair. “Never mind Avery, MissStanley. He’s upset he lost, ’tis all. Avery can’t stand a loss.”
