Chapter Three
They continued to talk, getting to know each other in the most generic terms. He preferred spring with the promise of the coming year. She enjoyed the colors of fall and the crisp bite. Amber spoke easily with him, knowing that this day was a respite from the usual grays of her life. And as they talked, her artist eye caught the curve of a bird’s throat as it broke into song. She saw a dewdrop catch the light on a spring bud. And she saw that everything smelled sweeter and looked cleaner as they progressed through London.
“Where are we going?” she asked. But even before the words were finished, he pulled the phaeton to the side, and his tiger sprang into action. The boy held the horses’ heads while Lord Byrn set the brake, then leaped to the ground.
She smiled as he landed, appreciating the solid sound. Not light like a boy, not precarious as a drunkard, but firm and easy as a man in his prime. And truly, she could not help but notice the muscles of his thighs and the curve of his calves. She had no quarrels with Lord Byrn’s form, that was for certain.
He handed her down, grabbed her sketchbook and pencil for her, then held out his arm to escort her to an impressive home such as she had never been inside. There was nothing distinctive about it except that it was clean, large, and in Mayfair. Amber found an unaccustomed spring in her step as they walked up the steps.
Lord Byrn knocked, and when a butler with a very large nose opened the door, he handed over his card. “Lord Byrn and Miss Thisbe—”
“Miss Amber Gohar,” she corrected. She had no idea what prompted her to give her true name, correct surname and all, but the idea that she would step into a place so grand as anyone but herself was an insult to her pride. So she used her true name, and when the butler raised his eyebrows at her interruption, she shrugged. “He never pronounces it correctly.”
“Quite right,” Lord Byrn said. “I can be most muddleheaded about names.” Then he patted her hand as if he were a fond uncle. “We’ve come to see the Joseph Wright portrait. Miss Gohar has a fondness for art, and we beg the countess’s indulgence.”
“Very well,” the man intoned as he sketched a short bow. “Follow me, please.”
They did while Amber eyed everything from the soaring column staircase to the dull wallpaper. They were escorted into a front parlor and asked about tea. Lord Byrn declined, but said, “No need to bother the countess. I’m sure she has better things to do than rattle around with us. We’ll only be a moment.”
The statement fell on deaf ears. The butler bowed himself out, leaving the door ajar such that a footman stationed in the hallway could eye them suspiciously. Lord Byrn fidgeted with his watch as they sat, his expression forced.
“What?” she whispered to him.
“I had hoped to catch the countess out. We’d have no problem otherwise. But if she is in the house…” His voice trailed away, and he looked chagrined.
“Is the woman difficult to charm?” Amber had already figured out that Lord Byrn’s charisma smoothed his way as much as his title.
“The worst,” he said with a funny groan. “She has heard too many pretty words in her life to enjoy any of them.”
“Oh, dear. What will you do?”
“Use not-so-pretty ones.” Then he shrugged. “But she’s mostly immune to those, too.”
And that was all they were able to say before an elderly woman dressed in the finest silks stepped into the room. She was announced not by the butler, but by a firm stomp of her cane and a piercing look.
“What is this about you and my portrait?” she demanded the moment she crossed the threshold. “You haven’t shown the least interest before now.”
Lord Byrn was on his feet, bowing over the countess’s hand and giving her a very charming smile. “What very fine looks you are in today. Have you changed your hair? I do believe it is more fetching than ever.”
“Yes, yes,” she said with impatience. “Whyever do you want to see my portrait?”
“It’s not for me, but for Miss Gohar, here. She has a particular fondness for the man’s work, and I have promised her a visit to see it. It won’t take but a moment—”
“Humph.” She looked sternly at Amber, who curtsied as gracefully as she could. She’d never had to do so before such an intimidating lady, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon had taught it to them all. It was part of the regular deportment class that all the girls were expected to attend.
“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she said.
“We’re not acquainted yet, now are we?” The dowager clomped over to her seat and settled in with Lord Byrn’s help. Then she gestured to Amber. “Sit down, gel. Tell me about yourself.”
Oh, dear. She had not planned a story with Lord Byrn. They’d talked of the weather, not of whatever he wished to say to the countess. Fortunately, she had spent much of her life daydreaming about who she would be back in Germany. Except the moment she opened her mouth, Lord Byrn rushed in to speak for her.
“Miss Gohar’s mother and mine are distant relations, and when we learned that she would be traveling to London, Mama insisted that they visit. And then I was naturally all too eager to help. So here we are, hoping that you will indulge us. I’ve planned a visit to the Royal Academy as well.” He ended with his charming smile again, though Amber could detect the strain in his features. It grew quite obvious as the countess stared at him. Eventually, he realized that she wasn’t speaking, and he ventured a question. “Countess? Will you indulge us?”
“I already am,” the woman retorted soundly. Then she turned to Amber and arched a brow. “I am waiting.”
“My lady, there isn’t much to tell,” she began. And again, Lord Byrn opened his mouth to interrupt. He wasn’t being rude, Amber realized. He really thought he was rescuing her.
“Countess, Miss Gohar is not used to—”
