Page 74 of Romancing the Artist

Birch trees were not meant for climbing. They were tall and stately trees, with slim branches that might make for decent handholds. But they were not comfortable to climb for long, and not a single branch was thick or sturdy enough for one to sit upon.

It was a shame, really. After the night and morning Caroline had been through, she wanted very much to climb into a tree and hide from all the world. As she had when she was a little girl. Instead, after bidding her father farewell after breakfast, she contented herself with being among the trees rather than in them.

She sat in a boat, on a narrow bench seat, in the middle of a clearing in the earl’s birch wood. She’d cast off her bonnet and gloves, leaving them piled atop her parasol and sketchbook. She simply sat there, with her face turned upward to catch the warmth of the afternoon sun.

All was quiet, except for the sounds of birds and squirrels, and the leaves rustling with the wind. She settled in the clearing looking for escape and solitude, yet the longer she sat, the lonelier she grew.

Until a crashing in the woods drew her out of her thoughts.

Her heart sped faster, and she looked in the direction of snapping twigs and crackling leaves. A smile of anticipation escaped her, and she bit her lip to keep from calling out. And then, Edward appeared.

“There you are,” he said, a grin splitting across his face. Immediate relief flooded her. She hadn’t been certain what to expect when she saw him again. More morose frowns and melancholy, perhaps. Or he wouldn’t come to Inglewood at all, she had supposed. “I thought we were to meet at the usual time and place,” he said, “which would be two hours from now at the castle. How did you know I would be here?”

“I might ask you the same.” Perhaps she could call it coincidence, or a gift from Providence. “Have you still not learned how to walk quietly through the woods?”

“Haven’t the patience for it,” he said, coming across the grass to the boat. “Permission to board?”

“Permission granted.” She didn’t move, and he took the wooden plank seat across from her, their knees nearly touching.

Edward held a book in his hand. A sketchbook she had given him weeks before, telling him to occupy himself with drawing while she worked on her paintings or her own sketches. He opened it and took out a pencil. “Though I know sprites prefer the woods to stone castles, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“I didn’t, either. I meant to walk to the beach. But the trees seemed more welcoming today.” She noted words on his page surrounding his dragon-teacup. “What are you doing?”

He tilted his book up slightly, concealing it from her. “Never you mind, Mistress Sprite. I am hard at work, and that is all you need know. Oh. And that I love you, too. But I think you suspected as much.” He said the words softly, a note of teasing in his voice, but the earnest warmth in his eyes bore witness to the truth of them.

Caroline stared at him, lips parted in surprise. This was not at all what she expected after their emotional parting the previous evening. What had happened to transform him from a burdened, defeated man into this? And in a single night!

“Edward.” She couldn’t get out another word. Only his name. And in a most accusatory tone, too.

His expression softened. “I will tell you everything soon. I promise. But I thought it best that we be clear on that account before a minute more passes. I love you. With everything I am or will ever be.” He came off his seat enough to place a kiss on her forehead, sealing a promise and his words, then he sat down and went back to his book. “I spoke with Mariah this morning.”

Caroline’s curiosity shifted immediately, as his tone seemed somewhat strange. “Already? You have been busy this morning. Did she have anything of interest to say?”

“Yes.” He glanced up at her, his blue eyes bright with laughter. “She is taking her suitor to see her parents. They might be standing in her father’s study at this very moment, proclaiming their love.”

Caroline’s gasp startled a squirrel above them, and it darted away with several angry chirping sounds. “Who is he?” she asked at last.

“His name is Lucas Jones. He’s the apothecary’s son.”

“The one in Scotland?” When Edward raised his eyebrows at her, Caroline explained, “I visit the apothecary quite regularly. He carried some of the ingredients we need to enrich our pigments. He told me all about his son at Edinburgh, learning how to be a physician. That is extraordinary.” Then she shook her head at him. “Why would Mariah think her parents would disapprove of him?”

Edward explained what the two of them had shared with him, along with his own suppositions. Some class distinctions were difficult to cross, and though the Kimballs weren’t excessively proud, they had married several daughters off to men of fortune and property. Mariah Kimball had done as she thought best, and perhaps their ruse had helped her after all. And it was a very good thing they had already admitted to each other that they had already stopped pretending.

Caroline was still turning over the love story in her mind when Edward spoke softly from his side of the boat.

“What will you work on today, sprite?” He’d opened his book and was writing in it, not quite looking at her. She studied his bent head and then the book tilted carefully on his knees, its pages hidden from her sight.

Impatience and curiosity pinched at her, but she dismissed them with a contended sigh. “I finished Atlas last night. When I could not sleep.”

He raised his gaze to hers. “If I was the cause of any anxiety, Cara, I apologize. I did not leave in the best frame of mind.”

She smiled back at him. “You seem much better now.” She picked up her sketchbook from where it rested on the ground. “You will tell me why later, will you not?”

“Indeed.” He winked at her. “Just as I will be certain to kiss you as you deserve to be kissed. Later.”

Her heart skipped and warmth simultaneously pooled in her belly and burst into her cheeks. “I can hardly wait,” she said, breathless. He chuckled and went back to his work. It seemed the kissing would come much later. What had happened to her spontaneous Edward? The mystery would wait, she supposed. Along with the kissing.

Patience quite suddenly seemed like a most overrated and unnecessary virtue.