He cocked his head at her. “But, you do not?” he asked gently.
Charlotte’s face burned even more. “Well…it is just a sketch, after all. What could be the harm?”
“Should anyone ask, I shall say I drew it from memory.” He grinned at her, and she returned his smile, then positioned her face in profile to him.
“Like so?”
“Exactly.” He took a new sheet of paper and began.
“Finished,” Frederick exclaimed after twenty minutes, setting down his pencil. He held the paper close to his chest. “Do you wish to see it?”
“I am nearly afraid to, but I shall screw up my courage and take a peek.”
He held out the paper, and she gave a small gasp. He had perfectlyrendered her in profile, and yet—had he made her prettier than she actually was? It appeared so to her mind. Is that how he saw her?
“I believe you have done what every talented artist does, Mr. Morton, and flattered your subject’s appearance beyond reality,” she said softly.
“Not at all,” he vehemently responded. “I do not wish to brag, but I believe I have captured you quite accurately.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you care to keep it, Miss Kendall?”
She shook her head. “I should have to hide it from my sister, as I said, so I must refuse. But, thank you for the opportunity to witness your artistic skill. You are quite accomplished. Far more so than I.”
“Thank you. I always loved to draw and scribble on paper as a child, and so our father hired a drawing master for a period of about two years when I was twelve.”
“He taught you well.” Charlotte studied her own watercolor landscape. “My own father was not as attentive to my childish inclinations as yours, sadly. Of course, he made sure I could read and write and do sums, and his library is always open to me. He did hire a music instructor to teach me pianoforte, but otherwise, there was no thought of furthering what meager gifts I possess in drawing. Still, I believe I am improving on my own—if slowly. I just wish I could have a few lessons that might help me comprehend some techniques of shading, perspective, and so on.”
“I would be happy to teach you, if you do not think it too bold of me to offer. I could come to visit Haverstone’s library, and we could work there or we could meet somewhere on the estate…” He cleared his throat and looked away.
After a moment, Charlotte nodded. “You are very kind, Mr. Morton. My sister keeps me so busy it may be difficult, but I should like to try.” She tilted her head, considering. “I am an early riser and usually walk before breakfast. I could secret my own painting kit out of the house easily enough. What do you say to a lesson next Tuesday ateight o’clock? We could meet here?” She saw relief wash over his face.
“Capital. Tuesday it is.”
*
Realizing it wasgetting late, the two walked down the hill, parted company, and Charlotte hurried back to Haverstone. As she entered, Dawson informed her that Lady Gillingham had been looking for her and was presently in the drawing room. As Charlotte moved in that direction, she realized she was still holding her watercolor. How would she explain it to Dorothea? Quickly, she rolled it up and tucked it out of sight into a large floor vase to retrieve later. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked over to Dorothea, who was sitting on the small sofa with a serious expression on her face. Charlotte’s heart sank. Was she to be reprimanded?
“Good afternoon, Dorothea. Dawson says you were looking for me?”
“Yes, I went to your room, but you weren’t there. I thought you were resting.”
Charlotte tried to appear nonchalant. “Oh, yes—I had intended to, but I decided I would be better off having a vigorous walk after so much sitting. I went up to the temple.”
“So far? Gracious, my dear, do be careful. Men do not like women to be too athletic.” She rose and pulled the bell cord. When a servant arrived, she ordered tea to be brought in.
She returned to her place on the sofa, motioning Charlotte to be seated as well. “Now,” she said, “your absence meant that you missed a very important caller. It is not your fault, of course, because we did not expect him—he sent no note alerting us to his intentions, but here he came, and you were nowhere to be found.” She pressed her lips firmly together.
“Who called?” Charlotte asked after a moment.
“Mr. Morton,” she replied with a pleased tone.
Confused, Charlotte almost blurted out that such a thing was impossible as she had justbeenwith Mr. Morton. Then, she realized her sister meant Mr. Robert Morton.
“He came here? To call upon me?”
“Yes, and he waited a full twenty minutes. This is very good news, my dear, excellent news, in fact. First, he attempts to ask you for a second dance at the assembly, and then he calls upon you. I think his intentions are clear—he finds you a desirable partner. Of course, Ididlet it drop that he was the fourth caller for you today. It will do no harm for him to realize how highly sought after you are following the assembly.”
“Dorothea, tell me you did not tell him that.” Charlotte felt her face burn.
“I most certainly did. Why should he not know that should he wish to court you he will have some competition? We do not want him to take you for granted.”
