Mina scoured her thoughts for something to say, but this moment was too contrived to allow for a natural discourse. She motioned for them to sit, and the silence lingered. For her part, Lily watched the whole thing with half-lidded eyes that broadcasted her exasperation.
But what was one to say? When meeting the young lady her son fancied, the first thought would be to discuss family history and connections, but no one present desired to venture down that conversational route.
Oliver watched Mina, his gaze begging her to make an effort as Miss Banfield’s hands rested in her lap, her shoulders tensing under the heavy silence.
“I understand you study naturalism,” blurted Mina. Her cheeks pinked, but ignoring the flash of embarrassment, she forged ahead. “Both Lily and Oliver have regaled us with your efforts to catalog the plants, wildlife, and insects of Essex.”
Miss Banfield’s brows rose. “I do enjoy the subject, madam, but I fear they may be too liberal in their praise. I am a hobbyist, that is all.”
“Nonsense,” Lily said as she picked at a pork pie.
Oliver joined in, elaborating on all of Miss Banfield’s studies. For her part, the young lady struggled to meet anyone’s eyes as Mina’s children praised her to the skies, but Miss Banfield held herself without the taint of fear so many timid ladies held. A faint pink filled her cheeks, yet when her gaze rose from her lap, it glowed with pleasure and gratitude. Mina wondered if she was simply unused to such compliments.
Watching carefully, Mina searched for any sign of artifice. Insincere people were rarely careless enough to allow the mask to slip after such a short acquaintance, but there was a sense about them. Some aspect that sent an uncomfortable shiver across her skin and whispered to her heart that they were not to be trusted. Though by no means infallible, Mina had learned to trust those instincts, and they remained silent at present.
“You brought your sketchbook?” asked Lily, motioning to the satchel.
“I hardly think your parents wish to be bothered by such things,” replied Miss Banfield, casting a glance between Mina and Simon.
“You draw?” asked Mina.
“Some, though I prefer watercolor,” replied Miss Banfield.
“She has the patience I do not, Mama,” added Lily with a self-deprecating smile.
Oliver sent Miss Banfield a smile. “You should show them. Mother is quite the artist herself.”
“‘Artist’ may be a bit strong,” said Mina, her cheeks flushing a darker pink. She was no longer the quailing creature of her youth who was often embarrassed, but her skin refused to cooperate and enjoyed embarrassing her to no end by broadcasting her feelings to anyone who cared to look.
“‘Artist’ is precisely what you are,” said Simon with a sigh, for this was an old argument.
“We are not here to discuss me,” muttered Mina. Turning her attention back to Miss Banfield, she said, “I would like to see them, should you care to show me.”
Miss Banfield looked quite confused at that, as though she couldn’t imagine why anyone else would wish to look at them, but without further ado, she opened the straps of her satchel and retrieved her watercolor journal. The young lady’s lips pinched together as she flipped through the pages, doing a quick inventory of what was there and what she deemed worthy of being viewed. Then she turned the book and held it out for Mina to take.
Mina’s brows rose as she examined the painting. Miss Banfield had captured a butterfly in various positions as it flitted across the sky; each one was little more than a few quick strokes of her brush, and Mina was awed by the confidence with which Miss Banfield had rendered the butterfly in flight.
“This is lovely,” whispered Mina as she leaned closer to examine the layers of colors and techniques with which it’d been wrought. “Did your governess teach you?”
A small smile appeared as Miss Banfield’s eyes brightened. “It was not her forte, though she knew enough of the basics to show me a few things. I am mostly self-taught.”
Mina flipped to the next page and shook her head at the painting of a pasture that somehow captured the place with such accuracy that Mina knew precisely where it was, yet with an interpretation that infused the scene with the artist’s own sentiment. If pressed, Mina could not say for certain what it was about the painting that elicited such longing in her heart, but there was no denying that the image was steeped in it.
Posing a few questions, Mina prompted Miss Banfield to discuss her artwork, and soon the conversation meandered around the subject. The colors and paintbrushes used. Their favorite paper and the strengths and weaknesses of each type. The technique behind certain strokes.
While Miss Banfield spoke, Mina searched for those subtle signs of duplicity that whispered a warning to any who chose to listen. But she found nothing to give her any sense of unease. Within minutes of meeting Miss Banfield’s mother, Mina had known her character. Perhaps not the intricacies but enough.
Simon said little whilst the two ladies spoke, but when Mina met his gaze, she saw much of the same surprise she felt.
“The light is so lovely this afternoon. Perhaps I should send for my things and paint,” said Mina. “Would you care to join me?”
Miss Banfield’s brows rose. “You wish to paint with me?”
Mina might’ve been amused by the surprise in the young lady’s expression and tone, but given her cold reception, Miss Banfield had plenty of reasons to question the invitation.
“It’s not often I have someone around who enjoys painting as I do,” said Mina. “And I would appreciate the opportunity to learn some of those techniques you mentioned—if you’d like to show me.”
Miss Banfield straightened, slanting a look in Oliver’s direction, though Mina saw the pleasure shining in her gaze. “If you wish me to, I would be honored.”
