“Lady Hester is the sweetest woman I’ve met all season. She’s kind, patient, and is truly interested in others. She reminds me a bit of my deceased sister.” Lady Amelia’s gaze softened. “I could easily see a gentleman falling in love with her. She has a beautiful heart.”
At her defense of the unfortunate Lady Hester, he found himself responding. “Then you would agree that beauty is subjective and in humans it is part of character as well as appearance?”
Her gaze refocused on him and her eyes seemed to light from within. “Yes, that is exactly how I feel, though I don’t believe I’ve ever articulated it so perfectly.” Even as she explained herself, her cheeks flushed. She quickly turned to her sister. “Does not Lady Hester remind you of Belinda?”
As the two conversed, his mother frowned, but his thoughts were on Lady Amelia’s revelation. Once again, she had mildly critiqued herself and grown uncomfortable when he understood her. His instinct was telling him, despite her beauty and talent, she didn’t see herself as worthy, but by what standard and why?
“What are you thinking?”
Harewood’s low-toned question brought him out of his reverie. “I’m thinking I need to accept Lady Amelia’s conditions forthwith.”
“Then I highly suggest you do not inform her of your financial situation.”
He frowned, turning his back toward their guests. “If she’s to be my wife, she should know.”
Harewood gave a solemn nod. “I agree,ifshe is to be your wife. But until the banns are read, I strongly caution you not to even hint at it. After her reaction to Lady Hester’s betrothal, it’s best that she knows you well before you admit the condition of your purse. Only then, when you are sure of her, should you tell her.”
He didn’t like the idea of omitting such critical information, but Harewood did have a point. Also, he trusted Harewood above anyone else. They had depended on each other ever since they’d discovered they were far better together against the upperclassmen at school than alone. Finally, he nodded. “I will refrain from any comments that may have her questioning my ability to provide for those in my care.”
“Good. Now, I suggest you escort the lady into dinner, I do believe I hear Mr. Pratt approaching.”
At the mention of Pratt, he also noticed the sound of footsteps. Following his friend’s advice as he was wont to do, he took the next step in securing his wife.
Chapter Five
“It’s just wrong.”Amelia crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room. Her upstairs studio, now littered with similar crinkled white balls, looked like it had snowed inside, which fit her mood and the gray skies outside perfectly.
She rose and strode to the lit fireplace, her body stiff from sitting for several hours and her mood foul. She should have known better than to try to sketch Sommerset on a dreary cold day more than 12 hours after seeing him. If she hadn’t been able to do it after he’d visited the week before, there was no possibility she could do it now, yet here she was attempting the impossible again. She should have braved her cold studio and come up straightaway after dinner last night, but she’d been overconfident in her memory of his face when he explained he could not paint. There had been something akin to pain in his eyes as if he’d been told what he desired most, he could never have.
Dropping more coals into the fire, she set the tongs aside before holding her stiff fingers over the warmth. It didn’t help that her dreams had been a mixture of Michelangelo sculptures, angels, the acropolis, and Sommerset leaning in to speak to her as he had at the ball more than a sennight ago. She’d woken up multiple times which left her tired and cross. Not wanting to be around her family, she’d sequestered herself to sketch, but that had been a study in frustration.
She turned away from the fire and observed the sky. The clouds were various tones of gray, and the smoke from the many London chimneys melted into them. Despite it being not much past noon, it appeared quite late in the day. She lit the lantern closest to her, trying to dispel the bleakness and melancholy that seemed to have taken hold. There was only one more lantern to light, but the flames did not dispel the grayness of her mood.
She moved to the desk in the corner and opened the drawer, taking out the miniature she’d painted of her sister Belinda not long before she died. To this day, she considered the small painting her best piece, even though she’d known so little of painting at the time. It had been as if her subject had inspired some muse inside her who guided her brush. She held the miniature in both hands. “I’m out of sorts today, Belinda. I feel restless and anxious. Tell me why.”
Though she could often hear Belinda’s voice from years past in her head, no words came through clearly. She had not expected them to, but sometimes talking to her sister helped her find her own way. Belinda had taken a piece of her heart with her and seeing her made her feel whole again…sometimes. But not today.
Gently, she laid the miniature back in the drawer and closed it. Maybe she just needed to work on something else, something stormy and dark. Something she would never show a soul. Pulling a new paintbrush from her box, she scanned her paints for just the right color for her mood. Bitumen or ivory black might do.
A knock at the door made her jump before Mariel strode in wearing the very color she needed, a pale gray to start the background.
“I’m painting.”
Mariel gave her an understanding smile. “I know, but you have a caller.”
She opened the bitumen. “Tell Lady Spencer I’m not at home.”
“It’s not Lady Spencer. It’s a gentleman caller. Unfortunately, Mother is not at home so I will join you.”
It was Mariel’s tone more than the words that caught her attention. Still refusing to look at her sister, she spoke to the blank canvas. “Who is it?”
“It’s both Lord Sommerset and Lord Harewood.”
Her heart constricted. No. Dropping the paintbrush, she fell more than sat on the stool behind her, trying to get her lungs to work.
“Amelia, what is it?” Mariel’s skirts brushed against the furniture in the crowded room as she approached.
Her older sister grasped her arm, just as she pulled air into her lungs. “It’s nothing. No, it’s everything.” She turned her head to find worry etched in Mariel’s brow.
