Yes. Right here. This would do very well.
Eva threw down a small blanket on the little hill. She sat and made herself comfortable. The lake stretched out in front of her, and the sun had begun descending to her left, casting shadows that broke and formed as the water’s surface moved. A line of houses marred the lake’s shore close to her, where the village had begun to spill into the countryside, but she would leave them out.
She opened her sketchbook and paged to find a clean sheet. She would need a new book soon.
Her hand paused when a page turn revealed the drawing of Gareth. As she intended, her few lines indicating his face proved enough to revive the memory of looking at him in that beautiful light. Nostalgia squeezed her heart while she remembered that day. Sadder emotions hurt her when her thoughts turned to the night of the ball.
Had he returned to Albany Lodge? She had not seen Erasmus or Harold in the village when she walked there, so perhaps he had. Still, he had not called on her. After what she said the last time they saw each other, she could not blame him.
It was for the best. They never could be only friends. Not when her stomach did little flips at the sight of him. Not when she yearned for the intimacy and pleasure more than she worriedabout her reputation and future. If he still wanted her, she would succumb, gladly, perhaps even encouraging it as she had the last time. Then with time it would become known they were lovers, and she would be scorned, and Rebecca would never find a husband, and—
She found a clean page. She began drawing the view, with an eye to using her lines and notes to help her plan a painting.
The time passed quickly. Only the sun suddenly shining right in her eyes alerted her to how long she had been there. She emerged out of her reverie and eyed her page. The drawing captured the perspective well, and the shape and shadings of that stand of trees on the left shore. A closer tree, right down from where she sat, she had depicted in more detail, especially the way its branches framed part of her view.
“Impressive. Will it be a painting?”
She looked over her shoulder. Gareth stood behind her, close enough to see the drawing. Her stomach flipped and flipped. Her heart filled with so much emotion it briefly made her dumb.
“Yes,” she said. “That is why it is not very finished.”
“Notes and reminders, you mean. Not a final draft.”
“That is what I mean.” She made to stand. He offered his hand to help. She tried not to allow the brief touch to affect her, but it did. “What are you doing here?”
“I called at your house. Your sister said you had come here. I decided you would need a ride home.”
“I do not think it wise to ride through the village on your horse with you.”
“Not a horse. Come with me. I will show you.”
He brought her to the lane that ran along this side of the lake. A fine carriage with a matched pair stood there.
“I had some business that required a carriage,” he explained. “Lance has at least four now, so I borrowed this one.”
He stopped walking and faced her.
“Before we take another step, I want to explain something, Eva. My mother was a butler’s daughter, and she herself would have gone into service if my father had not favored her. Not a bad life, and a respectable one. She did not even know him. He was the duke she glimpsed sometimes. But she took what he offered because it provided a security to her and her children better than anything she might otherwise know. So I do not see these arrangements as scandalous at all.”
“Yes, you have explained that. I understand.”
He looked away, his hands on his hips, exasperated with her. “I did not like it, if that is what you think. I did not encourage Whitmere. Quite the opposite. You had demanded that promise from me, however, so I had no right to interfere with your own decision.”
“Of course. You do not have to explain. I should not have accused you as I did, or behaved so emotionally. I was tired and embarrassed. Let us not dwell on it.”
He led her to the carriage and handed her in. She looked out the window as they rolled through the lanes of Langdon End. The village looked different from the seat of an expensive carriage.
When they reached the road that connected their properties, the carriage did not turn left toward hers. Rather it aimed toward his.
“Do not worry. I have no dishonorable intentions. I want to show you something.”
Despite the way joy hummed inside her, she believed him about the intentions. Gareth could not be called cold today, but he remained distant in subtle but unmistakable ways.
“Have you made some amazing improvement? The roof is done?”
“I would not abduct you for that. This is far more interesting. While I was in London, I bought some art. The lodge’s wallsare too empty, don’t you agree? I decided to purchase some pictures that are fitting to its heritage and the bloodline that runs through me. You will like them, and can come study them if you choose. If you are very nice to me, maybe I will let you copy them the way academy students copy old masters.”
A breeze of misgiving made her nape prickle.
