“I would hate to be his enemy, then. I forgive you, Walter, it’s all right.” He patted the dog’s head, and something warm wrapped around her. He was a good man; she knew that no matter how much she’d tried to deny it.
“And now I must take them out for a walk. Walter, Romulus, come.”
“Oh now, that’s not fair,” Lord Raine said. “You get to leave after my public humiliation, and I must face those who witnessed it.”
Dimity walked away but turned after a few steps. “You spoke so beautifully, my lord. That poem was lovely.”
She’d been mesmerized when he’d recited it, his voice deep and sure, each word spoken as if it was important to him.
“Thank you. It was something I read to my father in his last days.”
“And I’m sure he found comfort in that, my lord.”
“It’s my hope he did.” He said the words solemnly, and she knew he’d loved his father deeply.
“Did you see your father before he died, Dimity?” He spoke softly so only she could hear.
“Yes. I played the piano for him.” And she held that memory close when the pain of missing him was strong.
“A wonderful memory to have, I am sure.”
“Yes, even if he was...”
“Even if he was?”
“Excuse me, my lord.” Dimity called to the dogs and quickly hurried from the room. She’d nearly told him her secret. What had she been thinking?
“Oh, Dimity,” Maisie sighed. “How wonderful he was. That voice.” The maid sighed again, joining her in the hallway.
“They were all wonderful,” she said, making her way down the stairs to the front entrance. Once there she pulled on her bonnet, leashed the dogs, and was soon outside in the sunshine.
She visited the park twice a day with Walter and Romulus. Sometimes the duchess came with her, but often it was just Dimity, and she loved this time alone to think. Today she had much on her mind.
“Miss Brown.”
Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Mr. Diard had followed her. Of his assistant there was no sign.
“Mr. Diard, what can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you would like company on your walk. The duchess is busy, so I shall return when she is once again alone so we may discuss the portrait.”
“And your assistant?”
“Is in the kitchens meeting staff. He likes to do that with every household to make sure my sitting will run smoothly.”
“Of course,” Dimity said, not really understanding what Mr. Allard would be doing, as the staff in the Duchess of Yardly’s household dared not step so much as a toe over the line.
“Just a few minutes of your time on a sunny day, Miss Brown.”
“Of course.” She could hardly say no, no matter that she wanted to.
“I understand you are a piano teacher also. Where did you learn to play?”
“My father was an excellent pianist and also taught music.”
“I was never able to master it, much to my mother’s regret. Painting was always something I excelled at,” he said.
“I cannot paint,” Dimity said.
