“Surely, Markham was more diligent than that. I do understand why she was hidden away so long. What should I do?”
“You are her guardian. You must do what you think is best.”
“I promised her I would not send her away, but how can I let her continue on with this season knowing that there may be Prussian spies after her?”
“I have sent Beckett to find out more. It is important to maintain your ignorance on this issue for the moment. If we can confirm that they are indeed aware of her and think she hassomething they want, I will let you know and you must get her out of London as soon as possible.”
“In the meantime, I put her in danger at every turn?”
“I have faith that you will do the right thing. Do not leave her side outside the house. In fact, do not leave her side in the house either. Even the staff are not to be trusted until we know more. She may yet remember things from her youth.”
Tony nodded and left the parlor, his mind a whirl on just how he was going to accomplish being by her side day and night without her becoming suspicious. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her when it was not yet necessary to tell her anything.
An invitation arrivedthe next day from Lord Dunstan. He had nearly completed the portrait of her parents. Lucinda did not know whether to be happy or relieved. To have the miniatures back in her possession was one thing. To have a full-size portrait of both her parents together was another thing.
This would also be the first time she would see her potential new home. Although after the opera, he may have changed his mind. Lucinda’s stomach churned and ached. Was she nervous about the portrait or seeing him again?
The earl’s butler greeted them at the door and after coats and bonnets were taken he led them down a hallway towards the back of the house. A large light-filled room beckoned them. Stepping into the room, she heard Marianne gasp. One wall was filled with paintings of all sizes, not unlike a wall of an exhibition, where each picture jostled for space. There were a few covered paintings still on their easels scattered around the large room. A table sat over to one side filled with glass jars and paint brushes, rags, and other assorted bits of bric-à-brac. Dunstan stood in the center of the room, waiting for them, a handsome smile upon his handsome face.
“Ladies, welcome.” He kissed both their hands but lingered longer over Lucinda’s. Her face heated as they gazed at each other.
“We are so excited, my lord,” said Marianne. “Thank you for the invitation. Your house is lovely, but this room… This room is extraordinary.”
He let go of Lucinda’s hand but tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Thank you, Lady Ashton. I do spend most of my time in this room, so I am always surprised by people’s impression of it.”
Lucinda looked at the packed wall to her right. “Are all these yours?”
“Yes. I only put paintings in the house that are not mine. It just feels too arrogant to put my own paintings up.”
She looked up at him. “But your paintings are so lovely. It is a shame only visitors to this room will see them.”
“I tell you what. You pick one and I will place it in my study. Every time I see it I will be reminded of your visit.
“Which will you pick?” he whispered in her ear.
“Do I have to decide right now?”
“Of course not. I have refreshments coming. Let us sit for a while so you may study them.” The earl led her to a small set of chairs by the window. He had never paid such individual attention to her before. It made her warm all over. She could get used to this type of attention.
Lucinda looked over at the wall, inspecting each. There were so many to choose from and all were so different from each other. There were vases of flowers and bowls of fruit and, of course, the landscapes that he preferred to paint.
When the tea arrived, Marianne poured, and they settled down to a lively discussion on the weather.
“Do you prefer a sunrise or a sunset, Lord Dunstan?” Marianne asked him.
“Both have merit. Golden hour at the end of the day can be magical but a red dawn is evangelical. Even more than the color and the light of a dawn there is the sound.”
“The sound?”
“Yes. The cockerel heralding in the day, the cheerful chirps of the swallow and finch.”
Marianne smiled and said, “I must confess I have never been up at dawn.”
“Oh, you really must, Lady Ashton. At least once. But do not do it here in London. Wait until you are at your country home. There the air is cleaner, and the sounds of the wildlife will not have to compete with merchant carts.”
“You have made me long for Ashtonvale.”
“What about you, Miss Sterling? Have you been lucky enough to see a sunrise?”
