Dunstan finished his lemonade. “I am so glad you agree. Shall we keep painting?”
Lucinda rose from her chair, if only to put distance between her and the infuriatingly stubborn man on the ground.
Tony observed Dunstan was patient and supportive of the girls’ work. He kept his calm and by the end of the day, Tony was full and the girls had nearly finished their art works. Dunstan promised to come to the house and help them finish their pieces tomorrow in the garden if the weather permitted. Both his sister and Lucinda were very pleased by their efforts. It wasn’t until they were packing up that Tony saw he was the subject of Lucinda’s sketch.
“You’ve made me too short.”
“I assure you I have not,” she replied with raised brows.
“Why is my hat like that?”
“Like what, my lord?”
“At that angle.”
Lucinda glanced down at her work. “That was the angle in which it was on your head at the time I drew it. Any more complaints?”
“They were not complaints, just observations.” He was secretly pleased that she had chosen him to be the subject of her sketch. He should not have been, but he was.
Now she had her hands on her hips. “Really, because they sounded like complaints to me.”
He laughed and handed her up into the carriage. “Why would you be so upset when you know I have no sense of art?”
“I am beginning to think you have no sense at all.”
Oh, that was a low blow.
“You pride yourself on reading people, but you have no idea about women.”
“I agree,” said his sister as she took her turn to be handed up.
“I read you just fine, Miss Sterling.” He took his seat opposite them, but they said nothing to him for the trip home. He knew she was angry with him, but he was not sure what about.
Lucinda felt offkilter by the time she got home. She was angry, but not sure why. Well, yes, she knew. It was Tony Ashton. It was like he was trying to upset her. Was he mad at her for not reacting as he wished about her parents?
She could not apologize for her reaction. It was what it was. Since that night, however, he had stayed away from her. Was he pushing her away so that she would concentrate on Dunstan as her future husband? Perhaps she should take his hint and try to forget about him and indeed concentrate on becoming a countess. Dunstan was a nice man, kind and considerate. She could do a lot worse. He seemed sensible and not interested in the seedier side of society. All in all, he was a good catch, and Tony knew it.
She had decided. The Earl of Dunstan would be her pick for a husband. Now all he had to do was ask for her hand. First, she would see how tomorrow’s meeting in the garden went as they finished off their art projects. Perhaps she could hint her interest, as up until now she had shied away from showing too much attention.
The next day Lucinda dressed with care and made sure she was looking her best for Lord Dunstan. She did not even know his first name. Perhaps today was the day she would find out.
The garden was always well kept, and they set up their stations in the summerhouse at the southern end of the garden. Because it was cooler today, they retrieved blankets to lay on laps as needed.
Marianne’s watercolor was wonderful. She really did have an eye for shade and contrast, and she was eager to get on with finishing her project. Lord Dunstan arrived punctually, as expected, and amiable chatter soon filled the summer house. The dowager duchess brought out her needlework and settled to watch over them.
Tony had an appointment and would not be joining them today. Her disappointment soon turned to relief, as she no longer had to listen to his critique of her sketch.
“Oh, Lord Dunstan, I have brought something to show you. I wanted your opinion on the quality of the works.”
He looked over at her from his position and smiled. It was a nice smile. Not the cheeky, knowing smile of Tony, but she had told herself she was not going to compare the two.
“I am intrigued.”
Lucinda went to the table next to the dowager and retrieved the two miniatures of her parents and presented them to him. “These are my parents, Edwina and George Sterling, Viscount Foxton.”
He studied them closely, turning them over. “What a handsome pair. I cannot see the painter’s signature, but it is fine work.” He kept them in each palm as if trying to see if one weighed more than the other. “You look like your mother, except for the hair. It is such a wonderful shade of glorious auburn.”
“Thank you.” She put out her hand to take back the two items, but he did not return them.
