Chapter One
London
June 1816, the end of the season
“My lady. TheEarl of Sommerset has come to call and your mother has requested your presence in the garden.”
Lady Amelia Mabry gritted her teeth before taking a deep breath and setting down her paintbrush. It wasn’t the butler’s fault that she couldn’t get her male figures right. Nor was it his fault that a peer of the realm chose an inconvenient day and time to call. She couldn’t quite muster up a smile, but she did keep her irritation out of her voice. “Let Mother know that I have been painting and will need a few moments.”
“Of course.” Channing gave her a nod and turned on his heel, exiting her studio room on the third floor of Craymore Hall.
Once his footsteps faded, she turned back to her painting of two men conversing in Hyde Park. Studying it, she then looked at the sketched image in the book her sister Joanna had lent her. Why did the male figures seem accurate to her? She’d used the same sketch for her painting of three men after a hunt, but they had been so flawed that gentlemen at her exhibit remarked upon it. Picking up her brush, she changed the shading on the shoulder of the tailcoat and hat of one of the men. Stepping back she frowned.
Dropping the brush onto her palette in frustration, she turned away. It was useless without a male model. She was doomed to painting flowers and women. The thought had her whipping off her apron, too angry at her own incompetence. “And now I’m to play happy hostess to some earl?”
Despite her best efforts, there was paint on her hands, and she moved to her water basin to clean it from her fingers. Her fingers remained a light violet color, so she didn’t make any extra effort with them. It wasn’t as if she wished to impress the gentleman below. What was his name? Lord Saunders? Selkirk? Summer? No, that wasn’t it. Oh, Sommerset. She’d met him, hadn’t she? Yes, they’d danced once, and if he was who she was thinking of, there had been a reason she’d avoided him most of the season.
Wiping her hands on the towel, she added a few more coals to the fire so it would be warm when she returned. It was critically cold outside. Whyever would her mother wish them in the garden?
Not a little irritated with both her mother and Lord Sommerset, she stalked down the stairs and waited as Channing helped her on with her blue spencer. Pulling on her gloves, she turned to the man. “Are they at the front walk?”
“No, my lady. They are at the dolphin fountain awaiting you.”
That one was outside the ballroom. She glanced up the stairs wishing herself back in her studio. There was no help for it. If her mother requested her presence then she had to go.
“Excuse me, my lady, but you may have a bit of paint on your cheek.”
She grinned. At least she hadn’t stained her pink dress. “I do believe that is quite acceptable. I am a painter after all.” Feeling a bit rebellious, she walked past the mirror in the entryway without looking into it and proceeded back to the empty ballroom and out the French doors into the cold and cloudy late June afternoon.
Descending the four steps to the path, she walked briskly toward the dolphin fountain. Just as she caught sight of it, the sun peered through the clouds casting its dappled light upon the tawny hair of Lord Sommerset. She halted. His tall form all in browns and tans set against the cold patina of the dry fountain sparked a vision of him replacing Neptune atop the Trevi Fountain in Rome, the sun illuminating him as the quintessential male being pulled not by winged horses but lions. Her pulse raced. If she could capture him in a painting, it would be breathtaking.
“Ah, here she is.” Her mother noticed her and waved for her to proceed.
She forced herself to move forward gracefully despite her wish to be back in her studio painting the image in her head, not that being in her studio would help. Her artistic abilities were such that painting was almost impossible without the object before her, and it wasn’t as if she could run back and bring her easel down to the garden.
“Amelia, Lord Sommerset tells me that you two have met before?”
She nodded. “Yes, we have.” She turned toward the man. His eyes filled with shades of gold and brown like his hair. “I wasn’t aware you were still in Town.”
He smiled, showing very white teeth. “I am, and will be for a fortnight or so.”
“Then will you be attending Lady Dulac’s ball? It is truly the final one of the season.”
Her mother started down a path, a clear indication that they should follow.
He held his arm for her, and she placed her hand upon it. From what she’d heard whispered, he never called upon anyone, which begged the question, why was he here? They were barely acquainted.
He moved them forward. “I do. My mother would be much displeased if I did not.”
That sounded like he’d prefer not to go. “If you enjoy dancing and a very good dinner, you will have a lovely evening. Have you attended her balls before?”
Lord Sommerset halted, allowing her mother to continue a bit farther down the path.
“Lady Amelia. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She sucked in her breath at the surprise proposal. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few sentences to each other all season. And for good reason. As handsome as the man was, in her private thoughts she’d dubbed him the Golden Adonis, he was far too tempting a subject. Though he had made an impression upon her, it was only in her need, perhaps obsession, to capture his appearance on canvas, but most definitely not him in marriage. She had far too much to accomplish before she could marry.
Unfortunately, turning down a third suitor in one season just wasn’t done. Her parents might request that she give up her painting. She couldn’t do that. Her mind raced with possible options. What if he rescinded his offer? Then her parents would be none the wiser.
