After she departed from her mother’s bedchamber, Octavia could feel the doubts bubbling up inside of her. Did she dare give Harred a painting of hers? What if he didn’t really want one but was only being polite?
She descended the stairs and headed into the drawing room. Harred was staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, and it gave her a moment to silently observe him. Why did he affect her so much? Her heart always seemed to beat faster when she saw him.
“Harred,” she greeted.
He turned and a slow smile spread across his face. “Octavia,” he responded. “I do hope I did not call too early.”
“You did not.”
His eyes dropped to the painting in her hand. “Dare I hope that painting is for me?”
“It is, but I do not want you to get your hopes up. I am no great talent,” she replied.
Harred walked closer to her but stopped a short distance away. “May I see it?”
She took a deep breath before she held up the painting for his inspection. As his eyes studied it, she rushed out, “I hope you aren’t too disappointed—”
“I love it,” he said, speaking over her. “I do believe you are selling yourself short, my lady. The painting is exquisite.”
Now she knew he was just trying to flatter her. No one had ever said her paintings were “exquisite.” But as she started to contradict him, he spoke first.
“I shall place this in my study,” he said as he accepted the painting. “That way I can look at it whenever I want.”
Octavia thought it was best if she told him what she had painted. “This is my country home- Alwick Hall- and the surrounding gardens.”
“You have a beautiful country home,” Harred said. “It looks peaceful.”
“It is,” she readily agreed. “It was the most idyllic place to be raised when not in London. There were plenty of places to explore and I spent most of my time in the woodlands, which are depicted in the far left corner.”
Harred brought his gaze up to meet hers. “Thank you,” he said in a gentle voice. “I shall treasure this always.”
Octavia could hear the sincerity in his voice and she was touched. Why was it that he seemed to break through her senses, allowing her to be vulnerable around him? Frankly, she hated being vulnerable around anyone. So why was Harred different?
Fredrick’s voice came from the doorway. “Harred,” he said in a booming voice that echoed more loudly than the small room required. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you by at this early hour?”
Harred broke her gaze and turned towards Fredrick. “I have come to see if Lady Octavia would care to go on a carriage ride with me.”
Octavia went to respond but Fredrick interjected, “That sounds rather enjoyable. I do believe I will join you.”
“Wonderful,” Harred said, albeit his words tight. “That is assuming Octavia doesn’t have any objections.”
Fredrick leaned his shoulder against the wall and asked, “Do you have any objections, Octavia?”
She had many objections, but she didn’t dare admit that to her brother- or anyone else for that matter. “I have none,” she said.
Harred placed the painting down onto a table. “I will retrieve this after our ride. I don’t want it damaged.”
With a curious glance at the painting, Fredrick asked, “Isn’t that one of Octavia’s paintings?”
“It is,” Harred confirmed. “She was gracious enough to give it to me.”
Fredrick arched an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t say anything. For which she was most grateful. She didn’t want to explain why she’d agreed to give Harred a painting, partly because she didn’t know why she had in the first place.
Harred stepped forward and offered his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”
Octavia placed her hand on his and allowed him to lead her out of the townhouse and onto the pavement. After they were both situated on the phaeton, Fredrick sat down next to her, forcing her to sit in the middle of them.
She didn’t dare complain about how cramped she was, but surely everyone was uncomfortable, as well. Why had Fredrick insisted on coming on this outing? A phaeton was designed for two riders, not three.
