Page 60 of Romancing the Artist

The whole of it made the kiss between them more problematic. Forgetting it would be easiest, even though it seemed impossible. And what had he said before the kiss? That being near her felt like part of an adventure.

Her stomach dipped in delight.

And here she was. Thinking of him again after telling herself, in clear terms, not to.

“It was a delightful moment,” she whispered aloud as her room changed from blue-gray to warmer tones of gold. “But I cannot make it more than that.”

She rose and readied herself for the morning. Today, Edward would come again. Unless she sent a note to delay him. To tell him she had no need of him until the next day. Would that worry him? Yet giving herself one more day’s distance to fortify her feelings seemed wise.

She went to her desk and wrote the note.

The countess and earl had planned a bonfire for that evening. She could blame the delay on assisting them with that. The countess was unlikely available to chaperone them anyway.

That was the best course of action.

She signed the note with her initials. She did not seal it. It was not private. Anyone might read a simple deferment of plans.

Nodding to herself, Caroline opened one of her largest windows and took in a deep breath of the sweet summer air, salted and flavored by the sea. And she most certainly didn’t think of that kiss, or the rather dashing gentleman who had shared it with her.

* * *

The curtains in Edward’s bedchamber burst open, letting in bright morning light from the east. Edward winced and sat up, shielding his eyes. His valet had woken him this way before, but only after Edward had ruined a pair of trousers by catching them on a hook. He’d ruined his shoes, too, stumbling into a brook with a fishing pole he’d purchased on a whim.

But it wasn’t his valet intent on punishing him with the early morning light.

“What are you playing at, Edward?”

It was his father.

Blearily, Edward rubbed at his eyes and then ran a hand across his face. “Playing at? Father, I’m still asleep. I can’t possibly have done something to upset you today.”

“Not yet, but the day is still young.” Mr. Everly stomped from the window to the bed. “Where were you last evening?”

Edward scrubbed the top of his head with one hand, then smiled to himself as his memory caught up to him. “I had dinner with Grace and Jacob. I told Mother before I left.”

“You were not the only guest. Is that correct?”

Gossip among the servants had moved faster than Edward thought possible. It took his mind a moment to catch up, and he effected a confused expression while he formed his response. Best to deliver it slowly, as though uncertain. “I suppose not. Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett were present. And Miss Clapham.”

“Precisely!” His father paced away a few steps, only to turn again and hold out both hands toward Edward. “Miss Clapham. Is it not enough that you spend an hour every day at her side, but now you must go driving with her in the afternoons and be her dinner partner in the evenings?”

“We went driving once,” Edward pointed out, sitting back against the headboard of his bed. “The day after the picnic, after the countess said it would be a good idea. And Mother insisted I take Charity with me. There was nothing inappropriate about that.”

And no one knew about the kiss. The kiss that had left Edward permanently distracted, keeping him unfocused during the day, and haunting his dreams at night. A kiss he’d promised to forget yet couldn’t go even five minutes without thinking on it.

“But the dinner,” his father said, shaking his head.

“One dinner.” Edward held up a single finger. “At my sister’s house. My sister, who you will recall, is married to the vicar. There is nothing untoward about that, either.”

Mr. Everly folded his arms over his broad chest and glowered impressively at his son. Edward had grown too used to his father’s severe looks to be affected by them. And truly, he’d done nothing wrong. Nothing his parents or anyone else would ever hear of.

“Grace invited me to dinner because she knew Miss Clapham and I are comfortable with one another—”

“Comfortable? Is that all?” his father interrupted, voice raised and tone incredulous. A twitch of his left eye gave further indication the man wasn’t the least bit amused. “Edward, people are beginning to talk.”

“People are always talking, Father.” Edward sighed and threw his blankets off, wearing only his nightshirt as he shuffled to where he’d left a dressing robe on the back of a chair. He slid it over his shoulders, keeping his back to his father. “What are they talking about that has upset you?”

“Miss Clapham!” His father suddenly thrust a card out toward Edward. “This arrived for you today. Unsealed. By a servant at the kitchen door. ‘Mr. E. Everly,’ it says, ‘please allow for a change in plans today. The house is busy with preparations for the bonfire this evening. May we resume our appointed meetings tomorrow? Lady Inglewood agrees.’ And then she signed only with her initials. Her initials.”