“It’s not nearly finished,” she finally stammered. “Truly, it’s not meant to be seen by anyone yet.”
Branford looked up at her words. “It’s the hibiscus from Jamaica—the one you admired at the Royal Botanic Gardens.”
She nodded.
“You are doing it from memory?”
She nodded again. “I seem to have a good eye for color and detail—though I wish I had the opportunity to paint it from life.” A guilty flush suffused her cheeks face. “I did, however, steal a tiny petal that had fallen to the ground and put it my reticule.”
“It’s exquisite,” he said softly, and the look that appeared flickered in his eyes sent a burst of unexpected warmth shooting through her. “Do you have some of your other paintings here? I should very much like to see them.”
Alex hesitated, but then moved to the table. She cleared a book off a leather portfolio and after untying the silk ribbons slid it across the age-dark oak. “Some of these are not yet finished either,” she warned.
Branford drew the portfolio closer and carefully opened it. One by one, he studied the delicate watercolors, spending what felt to her like an excruciating amount of time on each one.
At last, her ordeal was over. Closing the covers, Branford looked up.
She steeled herself for a polite platitude. Unlike grandiose oil paintings, watercolors were not considered serious art by most of the beau monde. And judging by the twitch of lips, the earl was among the unimpressed …
“You are prodigiously talented, Miss Chilton.” A spark—was it admiration?—lit for an instant in his eyes, melting their usual sharp-edged sapphire blue to a softer hue.
Alex felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl. “You are being overly kind, sir.”
“I am not,” countered Branford. “I wouldn’t insult your efforts by being anything less than forthright.”
He re-tied the ribbons and handed the portfolio back to her. “Now, about the coded message you wish to show me?”
Alex quickly moved around to the other side of the table and began fumbling through a pile of books. “I made a copy of it,” she said, “in case you would like to take it with you.”
“I should like to see the original too, of course.”
“Of course.”
She handed him a single sheet of foolscap, dog-eared and heavily creased. He unfolded it and stood, head bent, studying its contents.
“Hmmph.”
Her hands fisting together, Alex waited expectantly.
Branford was silent for a few more minutes. Another “hmmph” … and then he looked up.
“Well?”
“It follows none of the more basic patterns that come readily to mind. I shall need to spend more time with it.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. “It’s probably nothing important.” A sigh slipped from her lips. “As Justin keeps saying, it’s most likely just a list of new plants and where hefound them—he could be extremely secretive at times, and the use of code was perhaps just another manifestation of that. There is really no urgency to it, sir.”
Branford didn’t answer but compared her copy to the original. Satisfied, he tucked her version into his pocket. “Speaking of your brother, I take it he has fully recovered from his accident?”
A troubled look came to her face at the mention of ‘accident.’ “Yes, he is quite fine, thank you.”
Still, the look of worry remained.
“Is something troubling you, Miss Chilton?”
She regarded him with a slightly defiant air. “You will no doubt think me a foolish female—Justin certainly does.”
“I will think you foolish only if your pride prevents you from speaking out on something that is obviously causing you concern,” he responded. “It is not a weakness to seek advice.”
