I dampened Mr. Willingham’s handkerchief and wrapped it about the stems of the flowers. “I like them. Thank you.”
“Wait,” Mr. Willingham said as he crowded me, “Jemina, Mrs. St. Maur, you and I were visiting.”
“I suppose both of us are here for the lady.” Lord Ashbrook pulled at the paper and exposed more blooms. Then he made a show of claiming my fingers again and putting his mouth to my knuckles.
The touch was soft, as was his lips. “Chocolate, my dear? Is that what I taste?”
His cheek quivered. Was that a suppressed laugh?
Ashbrook cleared his throat. “I’d like to finish our conversation in private, ma’am.”
My hand became lost in his palm. Though there was strength in his hold, he didn’t tug me. I wasn’t uneasy about him, not like I was with Willingham.
Like they had a mind of their own, my fingers tightened about his.
Had I ever held Ashbrook’s hand before?
Then I remembered him rescuing me from Bedlam. Yes, he held my hand and gave me his shoulder for support. My legs were weak from the shackles used to restrain the crazed. Then he whisked me into his arms when I stumbled.
My heart beat hard.
“Mrs. St. Maur?” Mr. Willingham’s shadow crowded us. “Sir, you are intruding.”
“I have an appointment, Willingham. I believe you are lingering.”
I pointed my first suitor to the door. “Thank you for visiting, Mr. Willingham.”
When I turned back, my gaze tangled with the earl’s. He wasn’t letting go, and for the briefest moment, I didn’t want to box his ears.
Yet, this was Ashbrook, the barrister who forgot to tell me he had a piece of my life hidden on his desk.
“Hmmm.” Willingham coughed.
The earl hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed his position nor lost my gaze or fingers.
“Lord Ashbrook, is there anything you wish to ask my other guest before he leaves?”
He sighed and released me. “Is shipping a good business, Willingham, or is it still recovering with the war just ending?”
“Very fine, your lordship. The recovery from 1812 and the Peninsula War have been challenging.”
Ashbrook had a distant look for a moment.
“My firm has many ships,” Willingham’s tone boomed. “All full of business. I can provide very well for a new bride.”
“Can you, sir? That’s nice to hear.” Ashbrook turned and motioned me to the watercolor. “Mrs. St. Maur, is this new? I hadn’t noticed it on my last visit, but we were occupied.”
Why did his stance, hand on his hip, tailcoat open showing the fine buttons of his bottle-green waistcoat, feel territorial?
Maybe because it was.
Ashbrook was a preening rooster, but if Mr. Willingham could learn anything from the earl, it would be how to command the floor without hovering, how to display his strength and not be domineering.
My barrister could be very condescending, but he always allowed me the space to object, to speak my mind.
I liked that about him.
Willingham followed me to the painting. “You visit here often, Ashbrook?”
