Page 9 of Romancing the Artist

“I am grateful for any place in your home, my lady.” Caroline’s heart thrilled at the richness surrounding her, not so much for its expense as for its beauty. Gilded frames held beautiful works of art, portraits of people from the past, and tables here and there held statuettes and busts of subjects she itched to examine in detail.

Lady Inglewood’s gentle, dark eyes accepted Caroline’s enthusiasm without a blink, though they crinkled at the corners with her smile. “I have assigned one of our maids to look after you while you are with us.”

“A maid?” Caroline sounded far more provincial than she liked, but hurried to recover in a more even tone. “Thank you. That is most kind of you.”

The countess smiled anyway, the look understanding rather than amused. “Her name is Emily.”

* * *

Caroline hadn’t any idea what she’d missed by doing her own hair. Not until that evening, before dinner, when she sat before a mirror twice as large as the one she had at home. Emily, a woman near Caroline’s own age, had curled and twisted Caroline’s hair into a style befitting a princess. She’d brought flowers, too, to weave in here and there to elevate the style.

Caroline wore no other ornaments. She had very few. A small amber cross, a simple silver chain, and that was all. She hadn’t ever needed much else. She wore her favorite gown, too. One her family had commissioned especially for her to wear at the earl’s home. It was cream-colored with enough ruffles near the hem to satisfy even the most fashionable of country ladies.

“Though I cannot say I like the direction we are going with sleeves,” her mother had said of the fashion plates they examined together, “I am grateful there is more fabric to gowns now. When I was your age, thin white dresses that barely covered our bosoms, let alone our arms, were all the rage.”

A soft knock drew Emily to the door, which she opened a bare crack at first. Then she stepped back and curtsied as Caroline’s Papa stepped inside with one hand behind his back. He’d dressed in one of his finest suits for the evening, looking less and less the part of a farmer with his regal bearing. Emily fluttered away like a butterfly, lighting on little messes to tidy while Neil spoke.

“Cara, you look beautiful.”

She turned in a circle for him. “Do you think I’ll do?” Though she managed to keep the question light, a knot had formed in her midsection. Eating at a table with an earl and countess, no matter how familiar they were to her, wasn’t something she was accustomed to. Her mother had always been there before, on their previous visits to the castle, and Caroline had followed her mother’s lead in every move she made.

“Indeed, you will. And it seems I have arrived just in time for the finishing touch.”

Caroline smoothed out the front of her gown. “Finishing touch?” Had she missed something in her preparation?

Her papa drew his arm out from behind his back and held out a rectangular case, made of wood, with a small silver clasp at one side. “A gift for you, my dear.”

Caroline crossed the room, looking at the case with confusion. “Papa, you needn’t give me anything. I have everything I could need.”

“Stop protesting and take the present.” He turned the box and held the underside in both hands, nodding to the clasp. She gave him one more suspicious glance before flipping the little latch up and raising the lid of the box with both hands. Then she practically turned into a statue as she stared down into the box.

Jewels rested on a plush, velvet lining.. The most beautiful, sparkling jewels she had ever seen. Sapphire earbobs with a matching pendent and chain, and a pair of pearl earrings with the smallest of light blue stones dangling beneath them.

“Where did these come from?” she whispered. Certainly they must be made of paste. They could not be real. Her family wasn’t poor, but they certainly didn’t keep jewels lying about. She had only seen such beauty once before, when her mother and her papa wed, and a trunk had come from his mother. Her eyes came up to meet his, and she saw the mischief in the way his eyes crinkled at the corner. “Are these your mother’s?”

“They were. Once.” He closed the box and held it out to her. “Now they are yours. I kept a few small pieces to pass on to my daughters. I chose these for you the first time I saw them.”

Her gratitude made her eyes grow wet and a thick lump of emotion form in her throat. He’d never once made her feel like she wasn’t truly his. Though they hadn’t been bound by blood, Lord Neil had been her father in every way that mattered. “Papa. It’s too much. I don’t need them.”

“No one needs jewels, Cara.” He motioned to the maid, who came with a quick step. “Wear them as you wish. But I think the pearls would look lovely on you this evening. And every time you put them on, I hope you will remember that your mother and I are thinking of you.” The maid took the box, and the moment it left her papa’s hands, Caroline threw herself into his arms and started to cry.

“What’s this? Tears?” Papa tutted and returned her embrace. “I didn’t think you the sort to cry over pearls? Or perhaps they are too ugly—”

“Papa, hush.” She laughed at his lame attempts at teasing. “They are perfect, and you know it because you are perfect, too.” She stepped away from him. “Thank you, Papa. I will put the pearls on right away.”

Once the earrings were in place, with Emily’s help, Caroline accepted her father’s escort to the dinner table. He walked through the halls of the earl’s home with the same confidence he strode through their orchards at home. His surety bolstered her own, and Caroline tilted her chin up and recalled the lessons her grandmother and mother had given her on decorum.

“So much of being a lady is in how one comports herself,” her grandmother had told her. “A lady walks with confidence and grace, always aware of her surroundings.”

Papa had been born a lord. Caroline had been born a gentleman’s daughter. Though she had spent summers running barefoot through the orchards, and winters curled up in the hay loft with her kitten while she read aloud or sketched, she had every right to be a guest in a fine home.

And perhaps, if she told herself that often enough, she would begin to believe it.

Chapter 4

“Have you seen Edward?”

The moment he heard his mother ask that question, Edward paused in his steps. He’d been about to open the door from the Blue Room, the west-facing sitting room, and step into the adjacent music room. His mother’s voice had come from across the narrow corridor where his father’s study was located.