Rather than simply scowling and scoffing at Jonathan, his father’s face tightened. Tightened into something that might have been a smile. “My son has always been his own man,” he said, then took a long drink of the punch he held.
Uneasiness quivered through Jonathan’s gut. He hadn’t the first idea what his father meant by those words, but they weren’t laden with the usual barbs of disapproval. It was almost as if his father was struggling with something himself.
He was given a sliver of insight into what that might have been when the unknown, short man chuckled and said, “I told you that, given the right setting and encouragement, even the most prodigal of sons will rise to the challenge of proving themselves.”
The ground could have shifted under Jonathan’s feet and it wouldn’t have unsettled him as much as those words.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Lord Frome said. “Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Balthazar Thomas.”
The short man stepped forward, holding out a hand for Jonathan to shake. “How do you do?”
Be engaging. Flatter. Charm. Then they will like you. Then you will belong. Every instinct Jonathan had rushed to the fore.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thomas.” He took the man’s hand with a broad smile, feigning enthusiasm for making his acquaintance.
“As it is my pleasure to meet you at last,” Thomas said. “You must know that I have promised your father that our good influences throughout this party will cajole you back into proper society.”
“The company one keeps is so essential to enjoying life these days,” Lord Frome added. “One must foster friendships with the right sort of men to secure one’s place in life.”
Jonathan’s hand slipped away from Thomas’s. “You are quite right,” he said, though in truth, he was completely baffled by the exchange.
Again, he glanced to his father. Had whatever agent Brutus employed to ensure he was hired to photograph the party won his father over by making him believe the weekend would reform Jonathan’s soul and return him to his family fold?
That bloody well wasn’t going to happen.
Still, Jonathan smiled warmly at his new acquaintances, mimicking the way they all stood and their relaxed manner as if he’d been one of them his entire life.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of the company,” Lord Frome said, gesturing for Jonathan to step closer to the lawn and chairs where the other men had continued their conversations while peering curiously at him. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce our latest guest. This is Mr. Jonathan Moorgate, son of Moorgate here and the photographer I’ve hired to catalog Fairford House and its surroundings this weekend.”
Jonathan nodded to the company of men who were mostly older than him. “How do you do?” He forced his smile to remain as open and friendly as possible, even as his gut twisted with anxiety at suddenly being in the company of a dozen men he did not know.
“A photographer, you say?” one of the older gentlemen, who was sitting and had a cane planted in the grass between his feet, asked. “Moorgate, I did not realize you had a son intrade.”
He laughed.
Jonathan’s father’s expression went blank. He darted a glance at Jonathan, daring him to be an embarrassment.
“Every second son needs to find a way to carry himself through the world,” Jonathan said with a modest shrug. “Some choose the church, some the army, but I chose the fascination of scientific progress.”
His clever answer was met by hums and sounds of approval from the men he was on display for.
His father’s expression softened.
A ripple of relief coursed through Jonathan’s entire body. “I would be happy to provide you with a demonstration of the latest photographic techniques,” he added before really thinking about his offer, eager for more of the smiles and looks of interest he was getting. “It is truly fascinating how far the scienceand art of photography have advanced since the days of our grandfathers and Louis Daguerre’s stiff and stilted portraits.”
More sounds of approval surrounded him. Jonathan smiled and breathed them in. It had been ages since anyone of his father’s class had so much as nodded at him, let alone made him feel as though he were worth his salt.
Best of all, the tension in his father’s face had softened as he glanced around at his friends, likely surprised that they hadn’t immediately branded him as a profligate waste of everyone’s time.
“I know you wish to begin your work as soon as possible,” Lord Frome said. “You can enjoy a bit of refreshment with the rest of my guests, or I could take you on a tour of the estate right away. I know that artists like to observe their subjects thoroughly so that they can determine the best views for their work.”
Jonathan smiled and nodded, his insides lifting with hope. “A tour would be lovely, my lord.”
“I will accompany you,” Jonathan’s father said, dampening the good feelings that had floated up in him.
“I would enjoy a tour as well,” Thomas said, tucking his thumbs in the waist of his trousers and rocking a bit, like he was eager to move.
“We should all go,” a third man, tall and with dark hair and eyes, said, handing his punch glass to one of the footmen and coming over to join them.
